My Infinite Mana System

[Aisoo_Star]

The gray outside my window wasn't just a color; it was a mood.

A heavy, suffocating blanket of clouds smothering the city, and me along with it.

The light that managed to bleed through the dusty curtains was weak, anemic, painting long, distorted shadows across the cramped apartment.

It illuminated the evidence of my life: a bare mattress on the floor, a leaning tower of second-hand books threatening to avalanche, a single chair wearing my hoodie like a ghost of yesterday.

This wasn't a home; it was a waiting room. And I'd been waiting years for a purpose that never showed up.

I sighed.

Another day, Another shift of forced smiling at strangers, carrying their plates, blending into the background like a piece of scenery.

What do you have to show for it, Allen? A sore neck and a stack of rent receipts.

Damn, the adult life is hard.

I sat up, the groan that escaped my lips sounding as tired as I felt.

I worked the heel of my hand into the permanent knot at the base of my skull, a souvenir from last night's double.

The movement was automatic, a ritual of resentment.

My feet hit the cold floor, and I shuffled toward the kitchen, my posture slumped, each step a conscious effort against the gravity of my own apathy.

The air had a bite to it, raising goosebumps on my arms.

My eyes, gritty with lack of sleep, scanned the counter for salvation.

The coffee pot. My one faithful companion.

I reached for it, my mind already miles away, back in the comforting numbness of the routine.

Then... A searing, electric jolt, raw and violent, exploded up my arm.

It wasn't a muscle spasm or a pinched nerve.

This was something alien, something inside me.

My fingers spasmed open. The pot slipped, plummeting in terrible slow motion before shattering against the countertop.

The sound was a gunshot in the silent apartment, glass skittering across the linoleum like a handful of diamonds.

"Damn it...!" The curse was a sharp, startled gasp.

The pain was already receding, but it left behind a… a hum. A vibration humming just under my skin.

I stared at my hand, my heart suddenly a wild drum against my ribs.

It was glowing. Tiny, impossible filaments of blue lightning danced between my fingertips, crackling with a soft, hungry energy.

They snapped and weaved, casting jagged, dancing shadows in the dim kitchen.

I couldn't breathe. This wasn't exhaustion. This wasn't a hallucination. This was…

What the hell—

Before the thought could fully form, the air in front of me shimmered.

It solidified into a pane of light, translucent yet impossibly vivid.

Glowing text etched itself into existence, sharp and sterile against the backdrop of my dingy life.

Ding!

The sound was clean, digital, and utterly out of place.

[Alert: Awakening Triggered.]

I flinched. The words hung there, immutable.

My eyes raced over the rest, each line more insane than the last.

[Congratulations! You have awakened with 'Infinite Mana']

[Mana - (SS/Null Rank) (Infinite)]

Infinite? SS, Null Rank? The words didn't make sense.

[Special Traits:]

- [Due to its rank, your mana is self sufficient and self sustaining.]

- [Due to its rank, your mana operates beyond any conceivable, and inconceivable system of limitation.]

- [Your mana is "truly" infinite/boundless, sustaining endless usage without pause, restraint, consequences or depletion.]

- [Due to its rank, no existence, or force, conceptual, or absolute, can drain, nullify, manipulate, erase, restrict, interfere, or interact with your mana, it is "truly" immutable.]

My mind stuttered, trying and failing to process the sheer, arrogant scale of it.

It read like the fine print on a god's contract.

The screen updated.

[Analyzing user latent potential...]

[Affinity matched: Lightning - 99.9% Synergy]

[Granting Innate Ability: Lightning Manipulation - SS/Null Rank]

Another screen, another wave of impossible information.

Lightning. The very thing currently flickering over my own skin.

[Special Traits:]
- [Due to its rank, your lightning transcends the concept, and logic of normal/true lightning.]

- [Due to its rank, whatever your lightning touches is erased, not just physically, but conceptually.]

- [Due to its rank, your lightning grows stronger in response to resistance, always surpassing, transcending, and overpowering any opposition.]

I stood frozen, my breath held tight in my chest.

Conceptual erasure?

I looked from the screen to my hand, the blue energy still dancing harmlessly across my skin.

It felt warm. Alive. It felt like… power. A terrifying, all-altering kind of power.

I sighed realizing something I almost missed.

Nah, I don't trust this.

This level of illusion doesn't work on me.

I have heard of things like this happen to people.

My alarm would probably soon ring. Then I would realize this is a dream.

I am still asleep on the mattress. Have to wake up, clean up the glass, and go to work.

But the screen didn't waver. The lightning didn't fade.

A wild, desperate curiosity clawed its way up through the disbelief. I had to know. I had to test it.

My eyes landed on an empty tin can sitting in the sink. A perfect, pathetic target.

"Okay," I whispered to the silent room, my voice hoarse. "Let's try this."

I raised my hand, palm open toward the can.

I draw the tiniest thread, a single droplet of mana.

I focused, pouring every ounce of my will into restraint.

Just a spark. Just a flicker. Don't blow up the sink. You can't afford a new sink.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. A flush of embarrassment warmed my cheeks. Of course. It was a—

CRACK.

The sound was shockingly loud. A bolt of pure, blinding blue energy, no thicker than a piece of string, lanced from my palm.

It wasn't a graceful arc; it was a vicious, instantaneous strike. It hit the tin can dead center.

A perfectly smooth, cherry-red hole the size of a coin bored straight through it.

The edges glowed, molten for a second before cooling into a twisted, surreal scar.

The air filled with the sharp, metallic tang of ozone and vaporized steel.

I stared, my jaw slack. I had felt the release of power, but it was… nothing.

Less than nothing. It was like exhaling a single breath and watching it topple a tree.

"No way," I breathed, the words barely audible.

I didn't use anything. A fraction of a fraction. And it just... created a hole on it.

I flexed my fingers again. This time, I didn't hold back. I simply willed it.

My entire hand erupted. Not in a violent burst, but in a controlled, brilliant cascade of energy.

Blue-white lightning coiled around my wrist and forearm, crackling and snapping with contained fury.

It lit up the entire kitchen in strobing pulses, bleaching the grime from the walls, reflecting a thousand times in the broken glass on the floor.

The hum was a powerful melody now, a song that resonated in my bones. It felt right. It felt like me.

The gray world outside my window looked different now. Not smaller, but… irrelevant.

The monotony, the ache, the endless loop, it all seemed to fade into a dull background hum.

A faint, disbelieving smirk touched my lips, a foreign expression that felt like my own.

"I think," I murmured to myself. "I am going to enjoy this."

 

[Aisoo_Star]

The storm had always been my secret friend.

When I was small, and the sky would crack open with thunder, other kids would scramble for cover, hiding under blankets with their hands clamped over their ears.

Not me. I'd crawl onto the sofa by the big living room window, press my nose against the cool glass, and watch.

I'd wait for that brilliant, terrifying flash, the one that would split the world in two for a single, blinding second.

I thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

It was raw, untamed power, and it felt like magic.

Back then, I believed in simple magic. I believed the world was fair. I believed good people always won. I believed my parents were invincible, their laughter a permanent fixture in our warm, brightly lit home.

All of those beliefs burned away ten years ago, on a night that smelled of smoke and screamed with a different kind of fire.

I ran a hand through my damp hair.

The cold shower had done little to wash away the fatigue, only replacing the grime of the restaurant with a deeper, bone-chilling cold.

I looked at the mirror on the wall. My reflection was a study in washed-out grays, black eyes shadowed with exhaustion, skin pale from too many nights under fluorescent lights, a face that had forgotten how to smile.

The restaurant shifts had carved away at me, but the real hollowing out had happened a long time ago.

My gaze drifted to the nightstand, to the single photograph I kept.

The edges were soft and frayed from too much handling, the colors faded like an old dream.

They smiled back at me, forever preserved in a moment of sunlit happiness.

My father, his arm slung around my mother's shoulders, a mischievous glint in his eye.

My mother, her head thrown back in mid-laugh, a sound I could almost, but not quite, remember.

A lump formed in my throat, hard and painful.

"I did it," I whispered into the stillness. The words were ash in my mouth. "I have now awakened. You were right, Dad. I had it in me all along."

He'd always believed it. He'd fill my head with stories of Hunters, not just their epic battles, but their motivations.

Which was simply either money, or power.

He'd crack jokes about the arrogant ones who met stupid ends in dungeons, a cautionary tale wrapped in a laugh.

My mother would playfully swat his arm, but when she'd look at us, her eyes held that same spark of hope.

They saw a future for me painted in brilliant, lightning-struck colors.

But I hadn't been special. Not for a long, long time.

In a world that measured your worth by the power in your veins by the time you were sixteen, I was a zero. A null.

By eighteen, you're written off. The gate closes.

I was twenty. I wasn't a late bloomer; I was a fossil. A relic of a hope that had died in a fire.

My fingers tightened on the photograph, the frame digging into my palm.

The memories came then, unbidden and brutal.

The acrid smell of smoke, and dust. The oppressive, blistering heat. The deafening sound of abilities.

They died protecting me. And the guilt had been my constant companion ever since, a lead weight settled deep in my chest.

A hundred well-meaning voices told me it wasn't my fault, that a ten-year-old couldn't have done anything.

But logic is a weak weapon against a memory that haunts you every night.

The feeling that it was my fault, was a ghost I could never shake.

All there did was only to protect me, they didn't care about their self at that moment.

"I'll make it up to you," I promised the frozen smiles in the photo, my voice raw. "I'll become someone you'd be proud of. I won't be useless anymore. I won't let anything stand in my way."

Not fear. Not people. Not guilt. Not this city. Nothing.

The photograph slipped from my fingers, landing soundlessly on the rumpled bedsheet.

I stood up, the movement decisive now. I pulled on my black hoodie, and shoved my hands into the pockets.

The air in the room was suddenly too thick, too heavy with the past. I needed out.

I stepped outside, and the city wind, sharp and cold, slapped me awake.

But first, I had somewhere important to go. A place where it all began, and where it all ended. The cemetery. They needed to hear it from me.

 

[Aisoo_Star]

The iron gates of the cemetery stood open, a silent, grim mouth leading into a city of the dead.

I hadn't crossed this threshold in years. I'd told myself I was too busy, that the memories were too painful, that life just kept moving forward.

But standing here now, feeling the cold iron under my palm, I knew the truth.

It was guilt that kept me away. A deep, corrosive shame that I was alive and breathing in a world where they were not.

The sky was a sheet of leaden gray, pressing down on the world.

The air was thick and still, heavy with the promise of a rain that refused to fall.

I walked slowly, my boots crunching on the gravel path, a sound that seemed obscenely loud in the profound silence.

Rows of headstones stretched out on either side, a monotonous grid of carved names and paired dates.

A lifetime reduced to a dash between two numbers.

The first, date of birth. The second, date of death.

My black hoodie was little defense against the biting wind that snaked through the monuments.

With every step deeper into the cemetery, the noise of the living world faded, all of it receded until there was nothing.

Just me, my breathing, and the weight of a thousand silent stories.

And then I found it. Their stone was simple, unadorned.

Gray granite, clean lines. No angels, no flowery epitaphs. Just their names.

Amara Quovar. Elias Quovar.

The dates were carved with a sharp, unforgiving precision.

I stopped a few feet away, my hands shoved deep in my pockets, my shoulders hunched against a chill that wasn't entirely from the wind.

What do you say to the ghosts of the two people who meant everything? How do you explain a decade of emptiness?

"Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad," I began, my voice a rough scrape, barely audible. It was swallowed by the vast, waiting quiet. "It's been quite a while."

I forced myself to take a step closer. The grass was neatly trimmed around the base of the stone.

"I… Well something happened yesterday." I swallowed, my throat dry. "I awakened. I know. It's late. Pathetically late. But it happened."

A short, brittle laugh escaped me, a sound so foreign it startled me.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed. It felt like breaking something.

"I got a lightning ability. And… something else... I also have infinite mana. Can you believe that? You both always said I had potential. I guess you were right all along."

The wind chose that moment to gust, whipping through my hair and tugging at my clothes.

I looked down at the cold granite, and the words caught in my throat, thick with an emotion I couldn't name.

"I wish you could see me now," I murmured, the confession ripped from somewhere deep. "I wish you were here to tell me what to do with it. Dad, you'd have a hundred jokes about not electrocuting myself. Mom, you'd… you'd just look at me with that smile. The one that made me feel like I could do anything."

The memories flooded in, not as a painful assault, but as a warm, devastating wave.

The smell of my mother's spice bread baking. The sound of my father's booming laugh echoing through the house. His hand, heavy and reassuring, on my shoulder.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging half-moons into my palms. The physical pain was a anchor.

"I'm sorry," I breathed, the words fracturing. "I couldn't do anything. I just… stayed."

I knelt then, the dampness of the earth seeping through the knees of my trouser.

I reached out, my fingers tracing the carved letters of their names.

The stone was cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the living warmth they'd once had.

"I don't know if you'd be proud of the man I became," I said, my voice low and steady now, a vow made in the quiet. "But I'm going to become someone you can be proud of. Someone powerful. Someone strong. I won't waste this. I won't waste the second chance you gave me."

The wind rustled the grass around me one more time, a soft, sighing sound.

It felt like a benediction. An acknowledgment.

"I'll come back," I promised, pushing myself to my feet. My knees were damp, my heart was heavy, but for the first time, it wasn't filled with just despair. There was a purpose there, too. A spark. "Next time, I'll have something to show you."

I stood for a final moment, memorizing the sight, then turned to leave.

The walk back felt different. The crunch of gravel under my boots was the only sound in a world that seemed to be holding its breath.

As I reached the rusted iron gates, the first drops of rain finally began to fall.

They pattered softly against the leaves of the old oaks lining the path, in a gentle, percussive rhythm.

I paused and looked up at the churning sky. Far in the distance, beyond the city skyline, lightning flickered.

"I'll make you proud," I whispered into the rain.

The wind snatched the words away, but the promise settled deep in my soul, a core of unbreakable resolve.

"I promise."

With a deep breath that filled my lungs with the clean, rain-washed air, I stepped through the gates and back into the world of the living.

"That was too emotional" I said to myself, touching my eyes.

I was practically almost embarrassed of myself, but a faint, determined smile touched my lips for the first time in a decade.

It felt strange on my face, but right.

"Well it's time," I muttered to myself, pulling my hood up against the falling rain and walking forward without a single glance back.

 

[Aisoo_Star]

The rain had softened to a fine, cold mist by the time my key turned in the lock.

The city lights bled onto the wet pavement, painting the streets in smears of gold and neon.

A chill hung in the air, sharp and clean, but I barely registered it.

My skin was still humming, my blood singing with a current that had nothing to do with the weather.

My mind was a thousand miles away, replaying the last few hours on a loop.

After the cemetery, I hadn't gone home. I'd walked straight to 'The Gilded Spoon', the restaurant I had been working in.

And then, I quit.

I didn't look back. I didn't say goodbye to any of the other servers, it wasn't like I talked to any either.

I just walked out, leaving a piece of my old, hollow life behind in that dingy kitchen.

That job had been my cage for years. A way to numb the thoughts, to outrun the memories.

If I was constantly moving, constantly busy, I couldn't stop to think about my past, the silence, the crushing weight of being ordinary.

I'd convinced myself that occupying every waking minute was a form of freedom.

But I'd been wrong. I wasn't free. I was just… empty.

A ghost going through the motions, serving food to people whose lives seemed so much more vivid than my own.

That's why I wished for this. For awakening. To gain the most important thing in life. Wealth. Protection. And power.

I needed to be strong enough to ensure nothing and no one could ever take anything from me again.

And now, it was here. This power I had was mine. No one could tax it, no one could fire me from it, no one could ever take it away.

A quick, scalding shower washed the cemetery's chill and the city's grime from my skin, but it did nothing to calm the restless energy crackling within me.

I sat at my desk. The laptop's glow was the only light in the room, painting everything in shades of pale blue.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. There was only one thing to do. Only one path forward.

The Hunters Association.

Every awakened who wants to become a hunter was required to register.

It was the only way to get a license, to access dungeons, to step into the world that truly mattered now.

The Association was the gatekeeper, and I finally had a key.

I found the number and dialed. It rang twice.

"Hunters Association, registration department. How may I assist you?" A woman's voice, clipped and efficient, devoid of warmth.

I cleared my throat, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice.

"I would like to register."

"Name?" I could hear the faint clack of a keyboard in the background.

"Allen Quovar."

"Age?"

"Twenty."

The typing stopped. The silence on the line was brief, but it was there. A pocket of judgment.

Twenty. A late bloomer. A dud.

I could almost hear her thoughts.

"Understood. What's your ability?"

"Lightning."

This time, the pause was different. Shorter, but the air in it changed.

The clacking resumed, a little faster. Lightning was uncommon. Volatile.

They always warned that lightning users could be their own worst enemies, all raw power and no control.

They'd assume I was a loose cannon. A risk.

"Noted. Are you planning to sign with the association as an independent or under a guild?"

She didn't ask if I could control it. They never did. That was for the assessment to reveal.

They'd let you walk in with your dreams, let the machine grade you, and then they'd stamp a big, fat 'E' on your file if you failed.

An E-rank was a joke. A liability. No guild would touch you.

The Association's promise of opportunity was a beautifully crafted lie for anyone who wasn't immediately strong.

They gave you just enough hope to make the fall crushing.

"Independent," I said, my voice firm. No guild. No masters. My power, my rules.

Another pause. This one felt heavier, like she was ticking a box marked 'Delusional Late Bloomer.'

"You'll need to visit your nearest Hunters Association branch to complete the process and obtain your Hunter's ID. Do you need the address?"

"No," I said. "I know where it is."

Everyone did. It was the tallest, shiniest tower in the financial district, a monument to a world I'd never been allowed to enter.

"Very well. Bring a valid ID and be prepared for a basic assessment."

"I understand."

"And one thing, Mr. Quovar."

"Yes?"

"Our mana calibration machine… is currently undergoing maintenance. A minor issue, but it will be resolved soon." Her tone was smooth, practiced. "Would you prefer to wait for it to be fully repaired, or would you like to proceed with a practical assessment without it?"

A machine that measured mana output. The thing that would play a huge role in my ranking. But...

"I'll have the test without the machine." I wasn't waiting another second.

I could hear the faint, almost imperceptible sigh in her voice.

"Ah. Okay. You are probably excited to awaken and want to become a hunter right away. It is like that for most people, but…" She let the unspoken warning hang in the air.

But don't get your hopes up.

"Good. Welcome to the association, Mr. Quovar."

The line went dead.

I leaned back in my chair, a surreal feeling settled over me.

It was really happening.

My fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the desk, and almost of its own accord, a tiny arc of blue lightning sparked between my fingertips, dancing for a heartbeat before vanishing.

A slow, genuine grin spread across my face.

This was real.

For the first time in years, I wasn't just looking at it.

I was part of it. I wasn't a spectator watching the game from the bleachers.

I was a player. And I was just stepping onto the field.

 

[Aisoo_Star]

The Hunters Association tower didn't just dominate the skyline; it seemed to absorb the very light around it, a monolithic spear of glass and steel piercing the morning sky.

I'd walked past its shadow countless times, a nameless face in the crowd, always looking up at its impossible height with a dull ache of longing.

Today, I didn't look up. Today, I walked toward its entrance, and the shadow it cast felt like a cloak settling on my shoulders.

I adjusted the collar of my black hoodie, a flimsy shield against the imposing grandeur, and pushed through the doors.

The lobby was a cathedral of power. Polished marble floors gleamed underfoot, reflecting the light from massive digital screens that covered the walls.

They flashed with highlights of famous dungeon dives, interviews with smiling, armored celebrities, and scrolling bulletins of high-rank quests.

The air hummed with low conversation and the confident stride of boots.

Hunters were everywhere. Some were encased in gleaming, custom-fitted armor that whispered of wealth and high-level raids.

Others wore practical, scarred combat gear that spoke of experience.

I moved through them, an unarmed ghost in a black hoodie, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet.

The woman behind the central registration desk was as polished and imposing as the building itself.

Her black blazer was razor-sharp, her dark hair pulled into a severe bun.

She looked up as I approached, her gaze cool and assessing, missing nothing.

"Name?" Her tone was curt, efficient. A woman who valued time above all else.

"Allen Quovar." I slid my ID across the smooth obsidian surface of the counter.

Her eyes flicked to her screen, fingers flying across a holographic keyboard.

I could see the faint reflection of data scrolling in her pupils.

There was a slight, almost imperceptible tightening around her eyes as she read.

Age: Twenty. Awakening: Recent.

"You're here for registration. Follow the hallway to your right. Assessment Room 3."

She handed back my ID, her expression giving nothing away. No judgment, no curiosity. Just procedure.

I followed the hallway, the noise of the lobby fading behind me.

The air changed, smelling faintly of ozone and sterilized metal, the scent of power being measured and cataloged.

The doors were heavy, soundproofed, each labeled with a bold, white number.

Room 3 hissed open as I approached. Inside was a stark, white chamber, blindingly bright.

A man in a crisp, gray technician's uniform stood waiting, a clipboard in one hand and a wand-like scanner in the other.

His face was a mask of professional neutrality.

"Allen Quovar?"

"Yes."

"Step forward, please. Awakening verification first."

I stepped onto a circular platform set into the floor.

The technician raised his scanner. It hummed to life, emitting a soft, blue light that washed over me from head to toe.

It felt like a cool breeze, raising the hairs on my arms.

"Ability, Lightning," he muttered, confirming the data on his clipboard. He didn't look up at me. "Late bloomer. Age twenty."

The words were just facts to him. Data points.

But to me, they were the story of my failure, now suddenly and inexplicably rewritten.

He gestured with his clipboard toward a reinforced door on the far wall.

"Combat assessment is next. You'll face a series of simulated entities. The goal is to demonstrate control and tactical acumen. Not raw power." His tone suggested that raw power was probably all someone like me had.

I just nodded and pushed the door open.

The chamber beyond was vast and dark, the walls and ceiling a seamless, matte black that seemed to swallow the light.

The air was still and cold. A voice, synthesized and genderless, crackled from an unseen speaker.

"Ready when you are, Allen. Engage when the light turns green."

I took a deep, steadying breath.

This was it. The moment of truth.

I closed my eyes for a second, reaching inward.

The hum was there, a boundless ocean of energy waiting for my command.

It wasn't a struggle to draw on it; it was like deciding to breathe.

I opened my eyes. Tiny, eager arcs of blue lightning sparked to life around my clenched fists, crackling in the oppressive silence, casting jumping, sharp shadows around the room.

The light turned green.

The dark walls shimmered, and the air distorted.

Three figures materialized from the gloom, holographic goblins, their forms glitching slightly at the edges, but their snarls and the menace in their glowing red eyes felt utterly real.

They charged, crude clubs raised.

Time didn't slow down. It simply became clear.

I didn't think. I moved.

My body was a live wire. I sidestepped the first lunging strike, the club whistling past my ear.

My hand shot out, not with a wild blast, but with a focused, precise tendril of lightning.

It struck the goblin's chest with a sound like tearing silk, and the creature vanished in a shower of dissolving pixels.

Another was on my left. I dropped, sweeping its legs out from under it with a crackle of energy.

Before it could hit the ground, a second, sharper bolt from my fingertips erased it from existence.

The third came from behind. I spun, the motion fluid, my body thrumming with power.

I didn't even need to strike. I simply raised a palm, and a web of lightning erupted, enveloping the creature, overloading its simulation until it fizzed and died.

It was over in seconds. The room was silent again, save for the faint sizzle of ozone and the sound of my own breathing.

It hadn't been a fight. It had been a demonstration. An announcement.

The intercom buzzed.

"Assessment complete. Report to the registration desk for your ID."

I walked out of the chamber. The technician in the white room looked up from his clipboard.

His neutral mask had slipped. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape.

He gave me a small, jerky nod as I passed.

It wasn't just respect I saw in his eyes. It was a flicker of fear.

Back at the registration desk, the severe woman was waiting.

She held a single, sleek black card between her perfectly manicured fingers.

It was matte, with a simple silver emblem etched into its surface.

She didn't just hand it to me; she presented it.

"Congratulations, Mr. Quovar," she said. Her voice was different. Softer. There was a new, calculating light in her piercing gaze. "You're officially a registered Hunter now."

I took the card. It was cool and surprisingly heavy in my hand.

This small piece of plastic was a key. A passport. It was proof.

"Thank you," I said, my voice steady.

I slid the card into my pocket, feeling its weight against my thigh.

It felt like an anchor, finally tethering me to something real.

I wasn't a bystander anymore.

The thought was a bolt of lightning all its own, bright and terrifying and glorious.

I turned and walked back through the cathedral lobby, and this time, my footsteps felt like they belonged.

 

[theian]

I read the name of this As Infinite Nana System and I was excited for a gilf harem thing