Grimore

The air was thick with excitement as the wind carried the delicate, glowing fluffs of firefly dandelions. It was the time of year when all the 15-year-olds gathered from across the country to participate in the sacred awarding ceremony for grimoires—a rite of passage that would mark the beginning of their journey to become Magic Knights. The scent of fresh flowers mingled with the murmurs of anticipation that buzzed through the crowd.

An ancient stone tower, its walls thick with the weight of history, stood tall in the middle of the gathering. The ceremony was about to begin. The crowd settled into a hush, the only sounds now the gentle rustling of the dandelions and the distant murmur of excited voices.

A frail, elderly man with a long, flowing beard stood at the front, his robes swirling slightly as a soft breeze blew through the open tower doors. His voice, though quiet, carried across the hall with an air of authority. "Welcome, young men and women. Today marks the beginning of your journey," he said, his words slow but imbued with deep meaning. "I wish you faith, hope, and love on the path ahead. May your magic guide you."

A slight murmur passed through the crowd. The man, known as the Master of the Grimoire Tower, muttered something almost imperceptible, but his words echoed in the minds of everyone present. "I am the master of this Grimoire Tower."

The teens glanced at each other, the words sinking in. Some were nervous, others eager, but all of them were ready to start this new chapter. This was the moment that defined them. The moment they could finally prove themselves.

A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd as the Master stepped back, gesturing toward the rows of grimoires floating on their pedestals, each one waiting for its destined owner. The air crackled with magic as the moment they had all been waiting for arrived.

"I haven't seen a Wizard King rise from this area in many generations," the Master continued, his gaze sweeping across the hopeful faces. "But I wish with all my heart that someone among you will rise to that great honor."

Suddenly, a commotion arose among a group of teenagers, whispering and glancing toward a trio that had arrived late. Their attention was immediately drawn to one figure—a boy with white hair, his gaze distant and unbothered, walking with a confidence that made the others uneasy.

"Look at them," said one boy, his voice laced with disdain. "The orphans from the church. They look like they can't even afford proper robes." He sneered, but his voice dropped when he noticed the white-haired boy. "Except for him. Something about him... He just radiates this noble aura, like he couldn't care less about anything, and that... pisses me off."

The white-haired boy, Satoru, walked ahead of the others, a faint smile on his lips. He was, indeed, different. The crowd's eyes followed him, but his expression never wavered. It was as if he didn't care about any of this.

As the muttered gossip grew, the Master cleared his throat, bringing everyone's attention back to the ceremony. "Now, it's time for the awarding of the grimoires!" His voice boomed, cutting through the noise of the crowd.

One by one, the grimoires began to rise from their resting places and float toward their destined owners. A sense of awe filled the room. Magic was real, and these young people were about to become part of something ancient and powerful. The connection between the grimoire and its wielder was a mystery, but the bond was undeniable.

Father Orsi and Sister Lily stood among the crowd, anxiously watching Asta, the boy with no magic of his own. They knew he had struggled for so long to fit in, to be worthy of a grimoire.

"I really hope Asta finds a suitable grimoire," Sister Lily muttered, her hands clasped together as she watched the ceremony. "He's never had any magic of his own..."

"Don't worry," Father Orsi said, though his voice held a note of concern. "Yuno has always been exceptional. And Satoru... that child..." He trailed off, looking at the white-haired boy in the center of the room. "I've never seen anything like it. The magic power that radiates from him—it's boundless. It's as if anyone who tries to understand it will be consumed."

Sister Lily nodded, her heart heavy. She knew that Satoru was special, but something about him also made her uneasy. There was something almost... otherworldly about him.

Meanwhile, the ceremony continued as each candidate received their grimoire. A blonde-haired girl's eyes sparkled with tears as she cradled her newly acquired grimoire. "This is my grimoire," she whispered, overwhelmed with emotion. "I'm a mage now..."

The others compared their grimoires with each other, boasting about their sizes and thickness. "Look! Mine's bigger!" one said. "Haha! Mine's thicker, it's definitely a sign of greatness!"

Suddenly, a loud cry broke through the chatter.

"My grimoire's not coming!"

The crowd turned to see Sats, kneeling with his arms stretched wide, waiting desperately for a grimoire to choose him. His eyes were wide with panic, his voice high-pitched. Beside him, Satoru struggled to suppress a laugh, a playful smirk on his face.

The Master, watching with a slight frown, sighed. "Try again next year."

Sats' face twisted with disbelief. "What?!" he screamed, his voice cracking. The surrounding crowd erupted in laughter. "Hahaha, it's actually amazing!" some shouted. "This is too funny," others added, unable to contain their amusement.

Satoru, trying to control his laughter, shot a glance at the others, his expression almost playful. Asta and Sister Lily, their faces flushed with embarrassment, tried to hide in the crowd, but the ridicule was too much to ignore. Father Orsi stood, speechless, his mouth slightly open in shock.

Just then, the room went silent as a bright light flared up in the center of the tower. The crowd turned their attention to Yuno, who stood with his grimoire glowing with a radiant, golden light. A four-leaf clover shimmered on the cover, the symbol of extraordinary luck.

"Four-leaf clover... from the legend?" someone gasped. "The first Wizard King received one like that... It's said to have incredible power."

The crowd gasped in awe, their whispers filling the air. Yuno turned toward them, his eyes cold but determined. "I'll become the Wizard King," he declared, his voice ringing clear and true.

A deadly silence fell over the room. Every eye was on him. No one spoke. Then, as if on cue, the entire hall erupted in loud cheers. "Whoooo! That's awesome!" they cried, clapping and shouting.

Satoru made his way to Yuno's side, his grin wide and teasing. "Wow, that was so cool, future Wizard King!" he said, laughing and slapping Yuno on the back.

Yuno gave him a sidelong glance, his face impassive. "You're not funny, you know," he muttered, his voice colder than usual. "But what about you? Where's your grimoire?"

Satoru shrugged casually, his expression playful. "Oh, I haven't got one yet. I was just waiting for you to finish."

With that, he began walking toward the center of the room, removing his glasses. The air around him seemed to shift, a faint blue glow enveloping his body. The hum of magic filled the room, a subtle yet undeniable presence that sent a ripple of anticipation through the crowd.

Yuno and Asta stared at him, eyes wide, their expressions a mixture of awe and confusion. Satoru walked forward, his steps measured and confident, as the crowd unconsciously parted before him. The Master watched, his eyes narrowing in interest.

As Satoru reached the center of the room, his feet lifted off the ground. He was hovering—floating in mid-air. The crowd gasped. "Wait, he's flying?" someone whispered. "No mage can fly without their grimoire. The Wizard King was the only one known to do that."

Satoru's body glowed more brightly as he ascended, hovering higher and higher. His eyes shimmered faintly as he looked around at the crowd below him. The Master's expression shifted from surprise to deep interest. "What is this? This child..."

Yuno clenched his fists, a pang of envy in his chest. "That jerk. How does he always manage to do this?" he muttered under his breath.

Asta, too, couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of jealousy. "How can he do that...?" he whispered, eyes glued to the floating boy.

But Satoru was already lost in his thoughts, his mind focused on the grimoires swirling around him. With a flick of his hand, the grimoires began to gather, floating toward him in a chaotic whirl. They clashed into one another, but none seemed to satisfy him.

"This isn't it..." Satoru muttered, his eyes scanning each one critically.

The energy around him intensified, the air growing thick with power. With a determined shout, Satoru called, "Come to me!" The magic in the air vibrated as the glow around him intensified.

The Master's eyes widened in shock. "This much magic... How can that be?" he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with disbelief. He stared at Satoru, trying to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the power emanating from the boy. The room was thick with tension, and every mage present could feel the oppressive weight of the magic building, pressing down like a storm on the horizon.

Satoru, however, seemed completely unfazed. He stood there, hands still poised in the air, as if in communion with the magic around him. The hum of power swelled louder, vibrating through the very stone of the tower. The massive pool of grimoires continued to swirl around him, drawn to his overwhelming presence, clashing against one another in a desperate attempt to get his attention.

But Satoru, with his usual nonchalance, merely shook his head. He wasn't interested in just any grimoire. No, he needed one worthy of him—something far more powerful. The subtle glow around his body intensified, rippling like waves through the air, distorting the light around him.

"Come to me, the Grimore made for the Strongest" Satoru whispered under his breath, his voice calm and almost commanding, as though the magic itself had no choice but to obey.

At his words, a sudden, piercing light erupted from the shadows of the tower. Everyone gasped as the bright flash hurtled toward Satoru at breakneck speed. The magic swirled violently, and a low rumble echoed through the tower. The grimoires, which had been circling in a frenzied dance, froze momentarily in the air as if the very fabric of time had bent. Then, with a sound like thunder, one single, perfect tome shot forward, leaving behind a trail of dazzling light.

The crowd watched, wide-eyed, as the grimoire soared toward Satoru, its power overwhelming everything in its path. As the grimoire reached him, the light seemed to merge with Satoru's own aura, and the room shook violently. It was as if the earth itself was acknowledging the bond between them.

The tower master's jaw dropped. "No... no way!" he gasped, his voice strained with disbelief. The power radiating from Satoru and the grimoire was unlike anything anyone had ever felt before. It was overwhelming, impossible. He had seen many grimoires choose their wielders, but this… this was something else entirely.

As the light finally dimmed, the grimoire floated before Satoru, its sleek black and silver binding gleaming in the light, an ethereal blue glow shifting within its pages like a galaxy in motion. Unlike any other grimoire, it bore no clover symbol, nor any marking one might expect of a normal tome. Instead, it had an infinity sigil etched into its cover, surrounded by intricate runes that seemed to twist and spiral endlessly, as though the book itself existed outside the realm of time.

"That… that is a grimoire?" someone muttered in awe, their voice barely audible.

The tower master, his heart racing, could barely comprehend what he was seeing. "It can't be… it's impossible," he whispered under his breath, his thoughts swirling in panic. His gaze darted between the grimoire and Satoru, trying to make sense of the impossible reality before him.

Satoru's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and satisfaction as he reached out for the book, his hand brushing against its surface. The moment his fingers made contact, there was a brief, deafening silence—like the world had stopped spinning. And then, the shockwave hit.

The force of the impact radiated outward in all directions. It was as though a tidal wave of pure magical energy had been unleashed. The surrounding grimoires were torn apart, shredded by the sheer magnitude of Satoru's power. The roof above them cracked and splintered, and large chunks of stone fell away, letting in the sunlight, which now streamed down upon the center of the tower where Satoru stood, a single figure amidst the chaos. His grin was wide, almost cocky, as he felt the grimoire's magic settle around him.

The light from the book flared once more, and for a fleeting moment, everything around Satoru seemed to still in reverence to the power contained within the tome.

Then, as the light finally began to dim, a soft voice—faint but clear—spoke inside Satoru's mind.

"Say my name."

The words echoed in his mind, and Satoru felt an overwhelming sense of understanding flood over him. He knew, instinctively, what the voice meant. Without a second thought, he whispered the name that had appeared in his mind:

"The Infinity Codex."

The moment the words left his lips, the grimoire pulsed with power. The chain of runes surrounding the book expanded outward, forming a swirling necklace that latched itself around Satoru's neck. The book, now transformed into a pendant, radiated a soft blue glow, pulsing gently in time with Satoru's heartbeat.

The crowd, still reeling from the devastation that had just occurred, stood in stunned silence. No one spoke. No one moved. The sheer magnitude of what had just transpired left everyone at a loss for words.

As Satoru descended back to the ground, his feet lightly touching the floor of the tower with a soft thud, the crowd stood in stunned silence, their collective breath held in disbelief. His silver hair shimmered under the rays of the sun that filtered through the broken roof, and the magnificent pendant—his grimoire, now transformed into a necklace—dangled around his neck, radiating with an otherworldly glow.

For a brief moment, everything felt suspended in time. Satoru glanced down at the shimmering pendant, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Despite the chaos around him—the shattered roof, the destroyed grimoires, and the hum of residual magic that hung in the air like a thick mist—he felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. This was it. He had gotten what he wanted.

The tower master, still at the center of the room, could barely contain his fury. His face turned a deep shade of red as he sputtered, gesturing wildly toward the wreckage. "STUPID BRAT! WHO'S GOING TO PAY FOR ALL THE DAMAGE?" The words echoed around the chamber, and the crowd, still reeling from the magnitude of Satoru's power, turned to look at him with a mix of awe, fear, and anger.

Satoru simply scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin, his usual carefree demeanor unbothered by the master's outburst. "Hehe, sorry?" he said with a half-hearted shrug, clearly not remorseful in the slightest. The energy around him was still buzzing from the overwhelming magic that had erupted from the grimoire, and it made his every movement seem almost effortless.

Yuno, standing beside Satoru, couldn't help but shake his head, a small but knowing smile playing on his lips. "You always like to make a scene, don't you?" he remarked, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of amusement.

Satoru looked at him and grinned, his eyes gleaming with that same cocky confidence. "What can I say?" he shrugged nonchalantly. "It's just who I am."

Yuno chuckled lightly, but his expression quickly turned more serious as he glanced at the crowd, which was now starting to murmur. "Well, it doesn't matter," Satoru continued, adjusting the grimoire necklace around his neck, "I got what I came for. And honestly, that's all that matters."

Asta, who had been standing a little off to the side, finally found his voice, though his words were laced with a mixture of frustration and determination. "You... you're just going to leave it at that?" he called out, his voice trembling slightly. His fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes flashed with a mix of jealousy and admiration. "I'll catch up to you, you know? I will! I'm not giving up just because of what happened today. I'll get my grimoire... I'll show you."

For a moment, the noise in the tower quieted, all eyes shifting from Satoru to Asta. The crowd, which had just been whispering amongst themselves, fell into a mocking silence. Some people snickered, others whispered harshly. "Big talk from a guy who didn't even receive a grimoire," one person muttered under their breath. Another voice followed, "Yeah, right... you want to compare yourself to them? Dream on."

Asta flinched at the ridicule, his face flushing with embarrassment. His eyes flickered toward the ground, but he quickly forced himself to meet the gaze of those around him, the fire of determination flickering in his gaze.

But Satoru didn't flinch. He remained calm, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he approached Asta, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You'll catch up to Yuno, sure," he said, his voice casual, though there was a certain edge to it. "But you'll have a harder time catching up to me. After all..." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, "I'm the strongest."

The words hung in the air, and for a split second, it felt like the entire tower was holding its breath. No one had ever dared speak so arrogantly in front of the crowd, not with such raw confidence. Asta's eyes widened, the sting of Satoru's words hitting him harder than he expected. But there was something else there—something more than just challenge. A part of Asta felt both insulted and motivated, his desire to prove himself burning brighter than ever.

With a heavy heart but a clenched fist, Asta looked at Satoru, trying to mask the swirling emotions inside him. "I'll... I'll prove you wrong," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "I'm going to become the Wizard King. Just you wait."

Satoru, without so much as a second glance, turned away, his back to Asta and the crowd. As he walked toward the entrance of the tower, the crowd parted for him, like water parting for a ship. The whispers started up again, but this time they were different. It wasn't ridicule; it was awe.

"Did you see that? He's the one they're all going to remember. The guy who did something no one else could. The strongest."

"Unbelievable... he didn't even need a grimoire to be a wizard."

"Who is he?"

The master of the grimoire tower stood there, fuming, still demanding someone take responsibility for the damage, but even his fury seemed to pale in comparison to what had just transpired.

Yuno followed behind Satoru, his steps slow but confident. "I guess you were right about one thing," Yuno said quietly, almost as if to himself. "You really are something else, Satoru."

Satoru shot a glance over his shoulder, his grin returning. "Of course I am. What did you expect?" He waggled his fingers playfully before turning back toward the exit. "But don't forget, Yuno. You're going to be the Wizard King. I'm going to be... something even greater."