[Location]: Ludwig Manor · Front Garden
Hathaway walked out the main gate and instinctively squinted.
There were two light sources in the garden: the sun in the sky, and the black beast parked next to the fountain.
It was a Heavy Griffon Carriage that screamed the Ludwig family aesthetic (read: expensive, domineering, and extremely traditional).
The pitch-black carriage body was crafted from unknown magical beast bones and black gold. The door was emblazoned with the striking family crest: A golden roaring lion on a bright crimson background, surrounded by red and white roses, with a faint underlay of a white briar sea.
Pulling the carriage were two fully armored Thunder Griffons (probably Level 12 high-tier mounts). They were draped in heavy mithril barding. With every snort, blue electric sparks exploded in the air.
And Rhode von Ludwig was leaning against the carriage door.
She was still wearing those welding-grade ultra-black sunglasses to suppress the red glow in her eyes. Her loose T-shirt printed with the word "GLORY" and the flip-flops on her feet formed a tragic contrast with this solemn, noble carriage.
"You're lagging, Hathaway."
Rhode, with a lollipop in her mouth, slapped the carriage door impatiently. "If you didn't come out, these two beasts were going to dismantle the fountain. They're molting recently, so they're grumpy."
Hathaway was about to apologize when Rhode took off her sunglasses, ready to board. However, the moment those 150-Lumen High Beams swept over Hathaway, Rhode's movement froze.
She looked like she was staring at an elephant with no trunk. Her high-brightness red pupils contracted violently.
"...Hathaway?"
Rhode leaned in, practically pressing her face against Hathaway's, which was slightly rude.
"Where are your lights? Where's your brightness? Why did you... flame out?"
Hathaway blinked. Her deep crimson pupils, filled with intricate geometric patterns, looked dark and quiet under the sunlight, not leaking a single ray of light.
"Uh..." Hathaway felt a bit guilty. "Maybe it... mutated?"
Rhode's expression went through an extremely complex roller coaster in that instant.
"Not glowing anymore?" Rhode stroked her chin, her tone sour with envy. "So you don't have to wear those triple-layered lead sleep masks anymore? ...Tsk, that's actually kinda convenient."
But immediately after, Rhode frowned, looking at Hathaway like she was looking at a "disabled person."
"But... don't you feel it's a loss? If your eyes aren't bright, how are you going to flash your high beams at those blind bats from the Wellington family during an argument? That tactical deterrence of 'I'm not speaking but I'm glaring you to death' is completely gone!"
Hathaway shrugged. "Maybe I can try hiding in the dark and jumping out to scare them?"
"Too damp and gloomy. Too Holheim. Not rock and roll at all."
Rhode shook her head in disgust, put her sunglasses back on, and pulled open the carriage door. "Whatever, get in. The sorrow of 'losing the family's traditional talent due to genetic mutation' can only be soothed by spending money."
It's a joke to her, Hathaway realized, a cold knot forming in her stomach as she climbed in. Rhode thinks it's just a harmless mutation. She doesn't know the truth.
The eyes didn't change because of genetics. They changed because the soul inside changed.
I'm not her cousin. I'm an alien ghost hijacking a high-end account. If a powerhouse like Rhode finds out I'm actually a squatter occupying this body... she won't be buying me dessert. She'll be exorcising me.
Hathaway followed Rhode into the carriage. The moment she crossed the door, the laws of space twisted subtly.
[High-Tier Spatial Folding Technology]
The carriage, which looked only a few square meters from the outside, was internally a luxurious lounge of a full fifty square meters. Thick wool carpets covered the floor, there was a circular leather sofa, and even an alchemy bar that was automatically mixing drinks.
"Sit tight."
Rhode threw herself into the sofa and snapped her fingers. "To the Tulip Club. Full speed."
ROAR—!!!
The two Griffons outside let out an earth-shaking roar.
Hathaway nervously grabbed the handrail, but the expected push-back force never came. The [High-Tier Inertial Dampers] perfectly smoothed out all acceleration. The scenery outside the window instantly turned into a blur of light, but the liquid in the wine glass didn't even ripple.
"Too stuffy."
Rhode seemed to find this smooth flight too boring. She suddenly pressed a red button on the armrest. "With weather this good, we should get some wind."
Click.
The armored plates on both sides of the carriage slid open slowly, revealing huge panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows—and then, the windows rolled down. The perfect soundproofing barrier and windproof barrier vanished instantly.
BOOM!!!
A gale of 400 km/h slammed inside instantly. The quiet lounge turned into a wind tunnel laboratory in a split second.
Hathaway's long hair was blown into a Sadako mess, and the juice in her hand almost spilled.
"That's more like it!" Rhode laughed into the wild wind, her silver messy hair dancing madly. "This is what being alive feels like!"
Hathaway begged to differ. Being shotgun blasted by cannons was very much not being "alive."
The violent wind made her instinctively uneasy. She didn't know any advanced airflow guidance techniques. In her panic, she subconsciously mobilized the massive mana within her body, wanting to create a "quiet place" in front of herself.
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Vrrrm.
There was no dazzling magic circle, nor the sophisticated fluid dynamics shield Rhode usually used. There was only a mass of deep crimson mana, dense to the point of being nearly solid, plastered onto the air in front of Hathaway like a lump of carelessly thrown red cement.
The next second.
The wind that was violently pouring in stopped.
It wasn't blocked; it was frozen. That lump of mana had forcefully erased the fluidity of the air on that side of the carriage.
The Griffons flying at high speed suddenly felt a heavy drag behind them, as if the carriage had suddenly slammed into a mountain.
"...What in the Abyss?"
The wine glass in Rhode's hand wobbled. As a powerhouse with 72,000 M-Units of mana, she recognized the essence of Hathaway's move at a glance.
"Hathaway," Rhode's mouth twitched. "What is this ugly operation? [High-Tier Aerokinesis - Solidification]? No, there's no spell structure at all. You used a whole 5,000 M-Units of mana to forcefully compress the air into a solid!"
Rhode looked heartbroken, as if she saw someone using a Picasso painting to wipe a table.
"That is just too... Nouveau Riche! Is this the playstyle of a 'monkey with an artifact'? Even a goblin who only knows how to throw fireballs knows to save mana, and you used an output of that magnitude to... block some wind?!"
Hathaway looked at the solidified air that resembled jelly in front of her and awkwardly released the mana. The wind poured in again, but much gentler this time.
"I... just didn't want my hair to get messy," Hathaway explained weakly.
"If you're afraid of a mess, use a Styling Spell! That move just now could have blocked a siege cannon!"
Rhode put her sunglasses back on. Although she was scolding, she didn't turn away. Instead, she lowered her sunglasses slightly, her crimson eyes staring intently at Hathaway.
It wasn't the look of a cousin. It was the look of a predator analyzing an Anomaly.
"Hathaway," Rhode said slowly, her voice dropping a register. "You are eighteen this year. Technically, you just finished your First Growth Spurt."
Hathaway froze. The term acted like a search query in her messy, fragmented brain. A split second later, a cached memory from the original owner—a textbook page from 'Basic Witch Physiology'—surfaced abruptly.
...Phase 1 (0-18): Awakening.
...Phase 2 (18-26): The Plateau.
The Plateau. The biological "Cool-down Period." According to the cached textbook data, mana growth stagnates at 18 to let the body stabilize. Most Witches don't see their second explosion—the "Golden Decade"—until they turn 26.
Wait.
Hathaway's heart skipped a beat.
I am 18. I am supposed to be in The Plateau. My mana pool should be a stagnant pond right now.
But the math isn't the smoking gun. The Physics is.
5,000 mana was "Pocket Change" to me. But to the original Hathaway (who only had 8,000), that was over 60% of her total reserves.
And the Quality... The original's memory tells me her 8,000 units were like Steam. Even if she dumped all of it at once, she could only create a soft 'Wind Shield'. But I just turned air into Concrete. That requires High-Tier Density.
I didn't just spend 'more'; I compressed it with a pressure that belongs to a monster. I just proved my "Cap" is no longer 8,000, but something far, far higher.
That isn't a "Growth Spurt." That is a biological impossibility.
Suddenly, Rhode moved. She didn't lean back. She leaned in.
With a rough motion, she ripped off her welding-grade sunglasses.
Flash.
It was like someone turned on a tactical flashlight in a pitch-black room. 150 Lumens of pure, biological crimson light blasted directly into Hathaway's retinas at point-blank range.
"Argh—!"
Hathaway squeezed her eyes shut, physiological tears instantly streaming down her face. She was blinded. The world turned into a washout of aggressive red pain.
My eyes! Is she trying to X-ray my brain with just her gaze?!
Before Hathaway could wipe her tearing eyes, Rhode’s hand—strong as a vice—grabbed Hathaway’s wrist, pulling her sleeve up. Then, Rhode’s other hand clamped onto Hathaway’s chin, forcing her face up, directly into the searing red glare.
"Open your eyes," Rhode commanded, her voice vibrating with mana.
Hathaway forced her eyelids open, tears blurring her vision. All she could see were two burning red suns scanning her with the rough, aggressive precision of a bouncer checking a fake ID.
Rhode checked the Inside of the Wrist. Clean.
She tilted Hathaway's head to the side, checking the Back of the Neck under the harsh light. No glowing tattoos.
She leaned in close, sniffing the air around Hathaway’s mouth.
"Breathe."
Hathaway exhaled tremblingly, blinking rapidly to clear the spots in her vision. She was shaking, not acting, but from genuine physiological distress.
"No sulfur (Demons). No charcoal (Devils). No rotting rose scent (Fae Court)."
Rhode muttered to herself, letting go of Hathaway's chin. She stared deep into Hathaway's watering eyes, looking for the specific "Inverted Pentagram Markings" hidden in the iris.
Nothing. Just deep, panicked crimson, and a lot of tears.
"Clean," Rhode concluded.
She finally put her sunglasses back on.
Click.
The blinding red light vanished. Hathaway collapsed back onto the sofa, frantically rubbing her stinging eyes.
"Um..." Hathaway sniffled, her vision still filled with red afterimages. "What... what was that about?"
How should I react? Hathaway's mind raced. Should I scream? Should I cry? What would the original Hathaway do? I don't have her emotional memory! I don't know if she was a brat or a coward! Whatever. The pain is real, so let's just go with that.
"Are you crazy? You nearly blinded me!" Hathaway complained, her voice trembling naturally from the shock.
"Just a routine check," Rhode said lazily, picking up her drink as if she hadn't just visually assaulted her cousin. "Standard protocol for sudden power spikes. Had to make sure you weren't an Infiltrator."
"Infiltrator?" Hathaway rubbed her eyes, confusion written all over her face. "Like... a spy? Here? inside the Ludwig Carriage?"
Rhode looked at Hathaway's genuine confusion and scoffed. "You really didn't pay attention in History class, did you? Witches welcome visitors, but we hate Thieves."
Rhode took a sip of wine. "Shape-shifters, parasites, void-walkers... they love to sneak into wealthy families to steal resources. It happens."
"But..." Hathaway stammered, recalling the terrifying stories she read in storybooks. "Aren't they dangerous? Shouldn't we have alarms?"
"Dangerous?"
Rhode's grin turned sharp, revealing her shark-like teeth. "Hathaway, do you know why we don't seal the borders against spies?"
"Because... we are strong?" Hathaway guessed weakly.
"No. Because we are Greedy."
Rhode swirled her wine glass, her tone filled with colonial arrogance. "A spy is a two-way street. They use a Soul Cord to connect back to their masters. If I catch a spy, I don't just kill him. I hijack his Soul Cord. I trace the signal back to his home dimension."
"And then?"
Rhode slammed her glass down on the table.
"Then I send the Ludwig Fleet through his cord. We find their world. We enslave their gods. We strip-mine their resources."
Rhode laughed, a sound that made the air inside the carriage feel heavy. "A spy isn't a threat, little cousin. A spy is a Free Coordinate. It's a buffet delivering itself to our doorstep."
Hathaway felt a chill run down her spine. This is the logic of a Witch. Invaders aren't enemies; they are tour guides to new conquests.
"But..." Rhode looked at Hathaway again, her expression shifting from bloodlust to pure mockery.
"If you were a trained Spy from a hostile dimension... You wouldn't be stupid enough to dump 5,000 mana just to keep your hair tidy."
Hathaway blinked. Oh.
"A spy's job is to blend in. They would mimic your original 8,000 limit perfectly to avoid detection," Rhode explained with brutal logic. "Only a genuine, homegrown, brain-damaged Ludwig would blatantly expose a massive anomaly like that for such a trivial reason."
Rhode patted Hathaway's shoulder hard.
"Congratulations, Hathaway. Your sheer stupidity has cleared you of all suspicion. No spy would risk exposing a whole dimension just to fix a bad hair day."
Hathaway forced a smile, wiping the last tear from the corner of her eye.
Great. I survived because my 'OOC' behavior was interpreted as 'Generic Stupidity'.
"So," Rhode concluded, leaning back into the sofa. "Mutation? Early Second Puberty? A blessing from the chaotic void? Who cares. You aren't a spy. That's all that matters. In the Ludwig family, we don't ask 'Why', we ask 'How much'."
Rhode grinned. "Power is Power."
Hathaway let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Safe.
"However..." Rhode closed the window, cutting off the noise, and her grin turned feral. "Since you skipped the Plateau and have so much blue bar to squander..."
Rhode's finger moved to a black switch on the console marked with a Skull Symbol.
"Then you probably don't need this boring 'Baby Anti-Shock Mode' anymore, right?"
Click.
[System Notification: Inertial Dampers Disengaged. Manual Transmission Mode Engaged.]
Hathaway's heart went cold. "Wait, Cousin Rhode, what are you..."
"Sit tight, little cousin! Since you're a 'High-Capacity' monster now, let's see if your new body can handle real G-force!"
Rhode roared to the Griffons outside via mental link: "Did you hear that? The lady in the back has money to burn! Afterburners!"
SCREECH—!!
Cyan magical flames instantly ignited on the Griffons' wings.
This time, there was no magic buffer. A terrifying G-force instantly pinned Hathaway to the sofa, making her feel like her internal organs had been flung to the back of her head.
The black carriage turned into a black bolt of lightning, brutally tearing apart the White City's skyline.
Destination: The Tulip Club.
And the woman who was about to smash Hathaway’s rose-tinted glasses into a million pieces.