Chapter 9: A Day in the Romero Family

  I opened my eyes.

  Time to start the day.

  I got up and headed to the shower. I’d have to be quick; I didn’t want María to scold me. Again. She could get way too intense.

  I was in my room—if you can even call it that. I’d just finished meditating, right after a good session of silent exercise to revitalize the body.

  As I walked toward the bathroom, I stripped off my combat suit, letting the insects gather the clothes to wash them.

  I took a moment to glance around the room. Seven by four meters, no windows, a single door, exercise equipment, and shelves packed with books. There wasn’t much light either—just the minimum necessary. Paper and Lucía like to say my room is creepy and boring. María calls it “the cave.” I don’t see the point of adding more color to a place that doesn’t need it.

  I have it only because María gets pretty intense about rest and health. Better not to argue about those topics.

  After the shower, I took the clothes my loyal insects brought me. Today I’d wear something more casual. I wasn’t on duty, after all. White T-shirt, blue jeans, black boots, a green leather jacket.

  As I approached the door, it opened automatically thanks to the facial-recognition system. Reliable device, I have to say.

  The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the mushrooms in the inner garden. I like how they shine; they give a sense of order, of life, even if the whole world outside is rotten. Here, I can feel a bit of peace.

  “Even if I don’t deserve it.”

  As I passed María, Paper, and Lucía’s room, I noticed that two of the three were still sleeping together, as usual.

  “Looks like Paper went out early again,” I thought—half proud, half uneasy.

  She often does. She wakes up at five, goes for a walk around town, or trains. Her routine. “One she’s kept up for the last nine years.”

  Better make breakfast. It won’t be long before those two get up. Thinking too much usually isn’t good—or at least that’s what María always says.

  Smiling, I walked to the kitchen. I was going to make something special today; after all, it was Lucía’s last day of school before her two-week break.

  The kitchen greeted me with its usual silence. I don’t need to speak for the lights to turn on. The system recognizes me immediately—always obedient, always consistent. I rolled up my sleeves as the electrical hum of the panels filled the room.

  I opened the pantry. Everything in its place. Fresh fruit from the Imperial Capital, meat of various Ranks stacked neatly, bread from the Northern Kingdoms, vitamin supplements. And, of course, coffee. A small luxury I can’t afford to give up, even if it’s absurdly expensive.

  As I made the coffee, the vermin began to crawl out of my body to clean. I’d like to let them help in the kitchen, but Paper vetoed that idea a long time ago. And no matter how many times I explain that my bugs don’t carry diseases, pathogens, or anything harmful, she simply doesn’t listen.

  With the vermin handling the cleaning, I focused on preparing breakfast.

  I checked what ingredients were available. Several options crossed my mind.

  “I guess I can play it safe?”

  With everything ready, I got to work.

  First: Paper’s pancakes. Her favorites—blue mushroom pancakes with homemade honey.

  I know I made them yesterday, but there’s nothing wrong with spoiling her two days in a row.

  Sweet, fluffy, with that earthy note she likes so much. I mixed the flour, farmed eggs, stabilized yeast, and finely ground blue mushroom powder. The batter turned that distinctive pale sky-blue as I whisked it. I added a few drops of vanilla essence to deepen the flavor. Most of these ingredients were imported. Very expensive, too.

  While the pancakes browned on the griddle, I started on Lucía’s breakfast. Something sweet, but nutritious. I prepared a small bowl of caramelized white mushrooms, grown in the capital, and paired them with a cream imported from the “inevitable” Ronoldo Empire. High in protein, smooth—almost like dessert. Perfect for the little one.

  The vermin stayed busy, cleaning every utensil the moment I stopped using it. Absolute efficiency.

  Then came the savory breakfast—for María and me. I sliced thin strips of Rank 5 meat, so it wouldn’t be too intense for her, well cured, paired with black-grain toast and marinated egg. Simple. Strong. Functional. Just how we like it.

  Drinks came after. I made two thick shakes for the girls, one each. Synthetic milk base, blended fruit, and a few vitamin additives. Tasty and energizing.

  For María, a carbonated drink made from tart fruits. A morning indulgence she likes; she says it clears her mind. Whatever that means.

  Finally, the coffee. My coffee. Dark, strong, properly bitter. As it should be. As I like it.

  As I finished setting everything on the table, I mentally checked I hadn’t forgotten anything. Portions measured, plates warm, drinks poured.

  Complete breakfast.

  Everything in order.

  All that was left was for the girls to show up.

  “Though Paper isn’t here; I’d better save hers to take it to her later.”

  From my spatial storage I pulled out a temporal-compression lunchbox. A device similar to spatial storage units, but designed specifically for food.

  With the food packed away, I checked the time. 6:33. I could already sense movement in the girls’ room.

  They’d be out soon. I had time to do a few finishing touches—and hide my bugs.

  “Hi, brother. Good morning.”

  “Buaaa… Morning.”

  Twenty minutes later, María and Lucía were in the kitchen.

  Lucía looked especially tired, even after her shower. Did she sleep properly?

  “Luz, still sleepy? I told you not to stay up late last night.”

  The three of them had stayed up chatting and watching movies until late. Very irresponsible of them.

  I shot María a stern look. Far from remorseful or embarrassed, she looked proud.

  “Sorry,” the little one murmured, head lowered, as she sat down.

  “Hey, brother, don’t be so hard on the poor kid. Besides, it’s the last day of school. Who cares if she falls asleep?”

  “You’re still so irresponsible, Mari. Weren’t you crying yesterday when we got back? Where did that nice side of you go?”

  The only way to make her regret it was to drag out her dirty laundry.

  “You! Exposing a lady’s shame… Don’t you have honor? Attacking me like that. Besides, you used to fall asleep at school too. Don’t act responsible now.”

  Her face red after my jab, María fired back immediately.

  “Excuse me? At least I went, unlike someone else who partied all day.”

  “That’s because I actually had friends to go out with. Your only friends are those adorable insects and vermin that follow you around.”

  As always, arguing with María was an uphill battle with no end in sight.

  “Hehehe. Uncle, Granny, don’t fight, please.”

  Barely holding back laughter as she ate, Lucía urged us to stop. She didn’t like conflict much.

  “Truce?” I asked, cautiously.

  “Truce,” María agreed.

  With the truce sealed, we kept eating in a relatively comfortable silence. Even though I was still a little annoyed by how irresponsible they could be, I ended up letting it go.

  María ate while scrolling through her phone. Every now and then she showed something to Lucía and the two of them laughed.

  I stared at the device. It was one of the “new” inventions from the capital—something only nobles and the rich had access to. Paper had spent a fortune getting one for each of them. She offered me one too, but I don’t usually use it. Supposedly they connected to some kind of “network” via waves of some sort. But it doesn’t interest me enough to look into it.

  Lucía, meanwhile, kept eating her sweet little mushrooms while fighting off sleep.

  I took the chance to review the day.

  “Remember: no training at home today,” I said as I refilled Lucía’s glass. “You only have school today, Luz.”

  She pouted slightly, lowering her gaze.

  “But… if I don’t train today, I’ll fall behind. Mom could already do things at my age that I still can’t.”

  “It’s not a race,” I answered calmly. “Everyone has their own pace.”

  I knew what she was thinking. The comparison was inevitable. Even though Lucía was far above average for her age, Paper’s shadow was long. Her mother had been an anomaly since childhood; Lucía was simply… normal among the talented. Brilliant, yes—but not at her mother’s monstrous level.

  “I still want to train, Uncle,” she insisted softly, stirring her shake with the straw. “If I try harder… maybe someday…”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I reached out and gently ruffled her hair.

  “Listen to me, Luz. You’re going to train. You’re going to improve. But you also need to rest, understood? You’re not going to catch up to your mom with one more month of practice. Not in a year either. And that’s okay.”

  She didn’t answer right away, but she nodded with a small, resigned grimace. Whenever training came up, it always ended like this.

  “Okay, Uncle…”

  “Besides,” I added with a small smile, “if your mother finds out you didn’t rest like I told you, she’ll give both of us a lecture.”

  That earned a faint smile. María, meanwhile, watched us in silence, hiding a wider grin behind her glass.

  “I still want a good performance report from the instructors, understood?”

  “Understood, Uncle,” the girl replied, taking another bite of her mushrooms. How many plates was she on now?

  María, lazily fixing her hair, shot me an amused look as she put her phone away.

  “Brother… even when you have an easy day, you make it sound like the end of the world.”

  María tossed out one of her jokes to lighten the mood. I appreciated it.

  “Don’t exaggerate. The staff’s job is to evaluate her properly. That’s why I brought them,” I replied, finishing my coffee.

  María smiled faintly but didn’t argue. After all, she knew well that this wasn’t a normal school.

  The school—and all the staff—were technically mine. When we arrived in this town a little over four years ago, there wasn’t a place you could call a school. Well, there was one, but it was inadequate. It didn’t meet my standards.

  So I bought the land, remodeled it, and hired the best staff I could find in the world. The one in charge now is a former teacher and mentor I had in the Ronoldo Empire.

  The school is free for anyone who wants to enroll, though you have to pass an entrance exam.

  “Still, you should remember she’s nine, not seventeen,” she added as she stood up.

  I didn’t reply. There was no need.

  “Alright, Luz, come on—it’s time,” she said, offering her hand.

  “Yes, Granny.”

  They headed toward the entrance. Meanwhile, I mentally ran through the pending matters.

  Before leaving, María leaned back through the doorway.

  “And you—don’t forget to take Paper her breakfast. If she doesn’t eat early, she gets unbearable later.”

  “It’s already prepared,” I pointed at the temporal-compression lunchbox on the table.

  “Perfect. See you at noon.”

  I opened the door for them, watching them leave for school. Then I closed it behind them.

  A moment of silence. I liked these small moments of steady routine. Everything working the way it should.

  “Time to go find Paper.”

  I finished cleaning the house, grabbed the lunchbox, checked its contents, and left.

  The fresh morning air greeted me as I descended through the town’s elevated walkways.

  It had been a small settlement when we arrived—just a few hundred people living on one of the many mountains in the Teeth of Messias mountain range.

  Now the population hovered around forty thousand and was still growing.

  No official name had been chosen yet. For now, people simply called it the Colony of the Teeth of Messias.

  A small bastion in the middle of nowhere.

  Tucked deep in the range, cradled by gigantic blue mushrooms that served as the foundation for every structure. Houses, shops, and workshops were embedded into the thick stalks like vertical fortresses. Platforms and reinforced-wood bridges connected everything like an aerial labyrinth. Mechanical elevators, spiral staircases, cargo ropes—each level had a life of its own.

  Without a doubt, proof of the great talent of the architects and artisans hired for the construction work.

  The natural bioluminescent lights of the mushrooms illuminated the path with that soft blue glow I always found… comforting. Much calmer than the coldness of imperial steel.

  As I walked, I occasionally checked that I had all the goods ready. And I admired the beautiful place I’d helped build.

  Honey, cheese, wax, paper. All products of my little biological network.

  First stop: the bakery.

  Old Han was already preparing the morning batches, his apron stained with flour and his face carved by years of work.

  He was a refugee who had escaped the Sacred Kingdom of Aurevigne, the holy land of Dinamo’s followers. A horrible place to live, if you ask me.

  Now he ran the town’s only bakery, with ten branches. His talent for baked goods had let him corner the entire emerging market.

  “Good morning, Han.”

  “Ah, Master Romero! Punctual as always,” he replied in that rough voice of his as he wiped his hands. “People are already asking when the next batch of your honey is coming out. That stuff is practically addictive. It goes perfectly with my creations.”

  “Here’s the new delivery.” I made a small gesture, and a spatial-storage device appeared on the counter. “Fresh honey, and this week’s cheese batches. Rat milk, just like you asked—”

  The inventor of spatial devices certainly solved the world’s logistics. In that small box I could transport enough resources to supply the entire settlement for the rest of the week. A fantastic invention.

  “Perfect, perfect,” he said as he inspected the goods with the trained eye of someone who knows his business. “I still don’t understand how your bugs manage that creamy texture, but I’m not complaining.”

  “Optimized process. The fermentation colonies operate with constant micro-adjustments of temperature and humidity. There’s no magic.”

  “Not for you, but for the customers, yes,” he laughed. Then he lowered his voice. “Are prices still stable?”

  “Yes. We keep the margin low. I’m not going to play the same game as outside suppliers.”

  I hated the mercenaries who charged outrageous prices, gambling with people’s needs—even if most of them had their reasons.

  Han nodded with a mix of relief and respect.

  “Thank you for that, Rob. People here appreciate it more than you think. Without you, this town would be paying at least thirteen times more for mediocre products.”

  I gave him a slight nod. It wasn’t false modesty. It was reality.

  While I logged this week’s payment, I noticed something.

  “Han, you made a mistake. You gave me too much.”

  Han simply laughed before replying.

  “Don’t worry. Pap came by before you. She bought a few things and left me a spatial device—with about half of what you brought me, more or less.”

  “Heh… that girl. She thought this old man couldn’t pay his debts.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Don’t even mention it. Just take it. You’ve done so much for this place—what’s a couple of Reals?”

  With nothing else to add, I accepted his offer.

  “Thanks. See you next week.”

  “It’s always a pleasure, Master.”

  I moved on.

  The next stop was Orlov’s butcher shop. A burly man who always smelled of smoke and spices, wearing a heavy leather apron.

  He was originally from the first settlement—an old “lumberjack,” if you can even call mushroom harvesters that.

  Now, like Han, he owned several butcher shops across town. Though he didn’t hold a monopoly.

  “Rob. The order?”

  “Here it is.” Another gesture, and the storage device was set down. “Fresh batch. Twenty tons of both for the week.”

  The weight-isolation feature still amazed me. Not that I needed it for myself.

  Orlov checked the contents with speed and precision.

  “Always perfect. Are the milk colonies still stable?”

  “Yes. The last litter of rats responded well to the adjustments. Steady output.”

  “Good work, as always. I’ll transfer it to the usual.”

  “One thing… did Paper stop by?”

  “No.”

  I nodded. No more words were needed with Orlov.

  My next stop was more delicate.

  A small shop for artisanal supplies, run by Mrs. Marthen. A woman of indeterminate age, always dressed in handwoven clothes and beaded ornaments. Her specialty: candles, ointments, and perfumes derived from high-purity wax.

  She was also a spy. A spy from the Ronoldo Empire—though she doesn’t know that I know.

  Either way, she was a very pleasant woman.

  That’s why I allow her to live in my town.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Marthen.”

  “Ah, Mr. Romero. My star supplier,” she smiled with that serene courtesy. “Did you bring the wax shipment?”

  “As agreed.” Another device was placed down, everything inside. “Same treatment, same purity. No issues.”

  “Perfect, perfect.” She inspected the goods with white gloves. “The quality of your bees remains unmatched. The nobles of the capital would fight to have access to this level.”

  “But they don’t,” I replied without emotion.

  “Fortunately for us, they don’t,” she laughed softly.

  With the transaction complete, I took my leave with a brief bow.

  Finally: Daren’s print shop. A young man with ink-stained hands, always working before the sun rose.

  A world-class criminal I supposedly killed. Someone unfortunate, unjustly sentenced.

  His only sin? Annoying the wrong person.

  Orphaned, rejected because of his ability, abandoned by his people.

  A good person saved by love. Romantic, right?

  Now he ran the only print shop in town.

  “Morning, Rob.”

  “Good morning, Daren. Fresh paper.”

  “Excellent. I just got an order from the town council. New records and trade authorizations. Your paper always makes the work easier: it doesn’t splinter, it doesn’t bleed ink.”

  “It’s part of the process. The bugs work well when they’re given the right environment.”

  Daren paid me quickly.

  “You’re still the best local producer… well, the only one. You have no idea what a relief it is not to depend on outside caravans.”

  “That’s the goal.”

  I had a few other places to handle, but I left those to my insects.

  On a global scale, that’s how I did things.

  But in this town, I preferred something more intimate.

  I always visited a batch of shops each day, rotating through them.

  With all deliveries done, I paused for a few seconds to watch the town from one of the high bridges.

  Everything was still running.

  As it should.

  “Now, Paper.”

  After giving Pap’s breakfast a quick check, I took the chance to look at the time.

  It was eleven. At this point it was almost lunch rather than breakfast. I left the area and headed toward her training spot.

  The trip was long.

  More than a hundred kilometers from the colony, heading northwest, the mountain range became harsher—more desolate and dangerous. There were no trade routes here, no outposts, not even smaller settlements. Only mountains packed with dangerous mushrooms, dry winds, and an unnatural silence.

  I didn’t need an escort. This was safe territory for us.

  As I climbed the slopes, the first marks began to appear.

  At first, simple irregular cuts in the rock. Twisted edges, poorly formed lines—like someone had tried to cut through stone by brute force, without precision. All of them hidden behind mushrooms.

  Some cracks still held fragments of paper embedded at their ends, trapped like scars from old failed attempts.

  I kept going.

  As I advanced, the cuts began to improve. The lines were clean now—stable, long. There was no fracture, no splinters: only whole segments of rock displaced with surgical precision.

  The mass of mushrooms grew lower and lower, as if something prevented them from growing beyond their current height.

  Higher up, the cuts became imperceptible.

  Even to my eyes.

  The stone looked intact, but I knew it wasn’t. Every block—every meter of mountain—had been segmented down to the molecular level. A simple push would be enough to bring down entire walls effortlessly.

  There were no mushrooms anymore.

  I looked up.

  The mountain peak—where the summit used to be—no longer existed.

  It had been literally erased, as if a conceptual laser had sliced straight through it. A clean, unnatural line where ancient stone had once stood. An involuntary monument to my niece’s talent… and to her mistakes.

  At last, I reached the clearing.

  Paper was sitting on a massive flat rock, legs crossed, back straight, eyes closed.

  Around her floated a fine dust of paper, spinning slowly like suspended petals. Each particle followed an exact pattern—controlled, almost hypnotic.

  The glow made them stand out as if they were liquid silver.

  Between her hands she held a sheet.

  It wasn’t ordinary paper.

  It was a living blade, so thin it warped the air around it. The edge—at the limit of what could be understood—vibrated within itself, fighting to keep its own existence stable.

  I stopped a few meters away.

  I didn’t interrupt.

  The air carried that familiar tension. Small spatial ripples ran through the area, as if space itself were breathing under strain.

  Then it happened.

  The sheet began to vibrate out of control. A faint crackle came before the reaction. In barely a second, the paper burst into white flames, disintegrating completely. The incinerated particles scattered on the wind like snowy ash.

  “Tsk…!” Paper clenched her teeth, lowering her arms in frustration.

  The swirl of petals went wild for a few seconds before stabilizing around her again.

  I stepped closer.

  “Too unstable,” I said calmly. “Your concept still isn’t pure enough to manifest physically.”

  “I know…” she muttered without looking at me. “It was almost stable. I almost had it.”

  She stayed silent for a few seconds, breathing deep to calm the irritation.

  “But it’s not enough,” she added quietly. “It keeps bursting into flames.”

  When she finished speaking, she briefly touched her bandage.

  I couldn’t help clenching my fists at her comment. Anger surged through me—but I forced it down. This wasn’t the moment to regret anything.

  “I know. But look on the bright side: if you keep improving at your current level… how powerful will you be once you advance your Rank?”

  I wanted to give her more tangible advice, but ever since she learned the name of her ability, it had become almost impossible to give her guidance without risking her life.

  Paper frowned, but didn’t argue.

  “Someday I’ll control it.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  I smiled faintly as I lifted the lunchbox.

  “But first: breakfast.”

  At last, her face relaxed a little, letting out a long exhale.

  “Thanks, Uncle.”

  As I leaned in to hand her the food, the swirl of petals drifted around her again, gentle now—like it was protecting that small oasis of calm in the middle of her reckless ambition.

  We sat down. Breakfast in Paper’s hands. Everything seemed perfect.

  Then it came.

  The bells rang.

  Worldwide bells.

  Announcing his arrival.

  Announcing something I’d only seen once in my life.

  Time froze.

  The world froze.

  In the sky, a gigantic screen appeared, projected like an artificial cut across the clouds.

  A figure became visible.

  “Hello, hello—testing, one, two, three. Can you hear me? Hehe. Long time, people. Did you miss me?”

  The face of a smiling Dinamo filled the screen.

  His voice, heavy with omen.

  There was only one thought left:

  “Will it happen again?”