Judge stood up from his throne after a long while, just sitting around till he got cramps wouldn't help him with getting his audience, and definitely not in his acts for world domination. Imagine limping into a battle, trying to be all menacing, and your enemy's just like, "Dude, do you need a stretch break?" Yeah, no thanks. If he was serious about world domination, he had to stay on top of things—or at least be able to walk without wincing.
Sure, world conquerors probably had worse problems, like finding an empire-sized pair of pants, Like, where exactly do you find empire-sized trousers? Is there a special tailor who takes measurements for "world emperor" capes? Does one have to invent a whole new currency when you've conquered everything? These were pressing questions, but right now, he had to focus.
He thought hard as he walked to and fro, he wanted to get out in his adult form, After all, nobody would take a baby seriously if he tried to assert global dominance. Imagine waddling into a kingdom and declaring yourself supreme ruler while still wearing a diaper. You'd be lucky if they didn't just hand you a pacifier and send you on your way.
But the skill description was pretty clear, if he exited the studio, he would be returned to the exact spot where he entered. Normally, that wouldn't be a big deal, but he'd entered the studio while in his crib. And, well, his crib wasn't exactly designed for a full-grown man, also, being a baby wouldn't help in moving around, he still needed to get out.
"Great," he muttered. "Stuck between world domination and the literal crib I was born in." Talk about an existential crisis.
But then, like a spark of genius—or maybe just desperation—an idea struck him, he had to make sure he hadn't turned on his super brain to be proud of himself. What if he didn't transform into a full adult right away? What if he took on the form of a young boy? Just tall enough to walk around and maybe do some baby parkour (if that was a thing), but still small enough to fit into the crib. It was brilliant. Well, brilliant in the "I might not end up stuck in baby jail forever" kind of way.
But before he could even start patting himself on the back for his sheer genius, something caught his eye. There was an open window in his mother's room. An open window in a house filled with gold-plated everything. A house so fancy it probably had a butler for the butlers. A red flag popped up so fast, it practically smacked him in the face. If his family was rich enough to gold-plate everything in sight, they probably had more enemies than a politician with Twitter.
Surely, they wouldn't just leave windows hanging open for any random assassin or thief to stroll through and have a cup of tea with his mother while she preaches them about the error of their ways, it had the word "trap" written all over it. Or she was confident enough that nobody could enter the place, maybe she was secretly a ninja. Was she that confident in her strength? or did her confidence emerge from the family's knights?
Still, whether it was a trap or not, Judge had no intention of testing his parkour skills anytime soon. The last thing he needed was to be featured in the morning paper with the headline: "Local Baby Found Dangling from Windowsill in Bizarre Escape Attempt." Not the legacy he was going for.
Either way, it would not spell a good ending for him. So he looked for the next best plausible solution, and another plan put his mind into work. Inspired by a memory of his grandfather teleporting them to a gazebo in the garden using some sort of magical sphere. If only he had one of those magical spheres right now, his problems would be solved. But alas, his grandfather had not exactly left the family teleportation device lying around in the open like a TV remote, and they did not even had a TV.
While he had no way of obtaining the sphere, he could still attempt the ethercraft, but he did not know how to do ethercraft which worked on a different principle than magic. In his previous world, magic was like ordering takeout: clear visualization or the right chant, and boom—magic. Here? It was more like trying to assemble IKEA furniture with instructions written in ancient runes. But hey, he'd give it a shot.
He felt like he was trying to solve a Rubik's cube while blindfolded, and he wasn't exactly the genius kind. Still, he gave it a try, closing his eyes and visualizing him teleporting across the throne room. He imagined it in vivid detail—the room, the walls, the floor. And then, just like that, he teleported!
He nearly threw himself a little party, complete with confetti and a tiny cake, maybe a little piñata hanging on the wall, until reality slapped him in the face—hard. The harsh truth set in, it only worked because he was inside the Studio.
Magic in this world wasn't going to be a walk in the park—it was more like a walk on piled-up hot coals, uphill, both ways. He tried to wrap his baby brain around how the magic worked here. Did it require a medium, like the sphere his grandpa used? Did he need to sacrifice a goat or dance under the full moon? Nope, too complicated. His mental CPU started overheating, so he wisely decided to give up.
Deciding that his baby brain had officially hit its limit for magical theorizing, he gave up. His mind was overheating like an old computer with less RAM than his trusted allies, with too many tabs open. He needed a break, so he turned back into a baby with baby clothes (Because being naked didn't exactly fit his rich background) and returned to where he came from. His nap in his little baby jail felt more comfortable than ever after tiring his legs for too long. Getting the audience for his throne room could wait until after nap time.
Soon, morning came, and so did the disturbances. Baths were not his cup of tea, and the maids definitely weren't either, they insisted on cleaning every inch of him like he was some kind of royal teacup. But he was still thankful towards them for cleaning him up and dressing him.
After taking a bath and changing clothes, his mother came to take him and give him breakfast. Starting the day with a full belly was always the way to go, even if you were trying for a PhD in world domination or just doing the practicals.
After his daily protein intake, he thought about how he could take the sphere from his grandfather. Start small, he reminded himself. World domination could wait; first, he needed to swipe a magical ball from Grandpa. He hadn't formulated a concrete plan yet, but it was on his to-do list—right under "escape from crib" and "learn how ethercraft works without breaking brain." But it was above "Learn the language."
His father came in after some time, "Where is my little angel?" he called out in that cringey, sing-songy tone that only dads could pull off without feeling embarrassed. Judge, however, cringed internally. Little angel? Really? Dad, I'm trying to take over the world here. His father scooped him, and started to walk out, followed by his mother.
Just then, a knight rushed to his father, "Sir Stein" The knight held the handle of the sheathed sword and bowed, it seemed to be a form of salute in this world. "What is it?" his father gave him to his mother, who smiled and cuddled him as if she was trying to reassure him that everything was alright. But he was a veteran when it came to scenes with foreshadowing, and this was prime foreshadowing territory, and nothing about this situation screamed "all good."
"We found a lead on the cult's whereabouts," the knight reported. "We should investigate further."
Judge's enhanced baby senses kicked in, and he noticed ether particles zipping between them as they talked, so fast that it would be impossible to see without something like an enhanced cognition.
So, this was how he was able to understand the language! But the thrill of discovery was quickly put to rest as his dad turned to his wife and him, "Bye honey," He first said to Eleyn "Bye, sweetie. Daddy's gonna go whack some bad people!" Judge was about to die from the cringe. His father said it, but he was the one embarrassed.
It still dawned on him why his father was using ethercraft to translate what he said. "He could be having his own circumstances," He reassured himself and tried to feel his father's warmth.
His mother walked forward the other way from his father on the smooth, polished marble tile of the very long hallway from yesterday, he was thankful that at least the floor was not made of gold.