…
 
‘What are you doing out here all by yourself, Princess?’ Duchess Kim questioned once she spotted the golden-haired beauty leaning against the stone railings of the balcony.
 
‘Lamenting my misfortune,’ murmured the princess before taking a deep sigh. She did not turn to acknowledge the most powerful noble lady of her kingdom. She knew that things like these would not anger her.
 
‘Why must I marry him?’ She asked, finally turning to look at her. The Duchess of Steelhorn was a tomboy of sorts, wearing men's clothing instead of dresses. She had shoulder-length deep blue hair and graceful conduct that put many gentlemen to shame.
 
‘What elicits such a response-‘
 
Peter sighed, letting go of the dolls. 'this boredom... Even this doll play gets boring at some point. To think I will make imaginary characters for my dolls just to pass some time. Heh... The tales of princess and her tomboy duchess'
 
...
 
“Is he playing with those dolls again?” Joseph asked his pretty wife with a smirk on his face after glancing at the wooden crib. His son looked to be very focused on moving his dolls and bashing them together.
 
He wondered what Peter might be thinking.
 
“Yes, he sure does love them.” She replied while changing from the sleeping gown into a modest dress. Joseph found her charming in each of her dresses.
 
“That’s good then.” Joseph nodded with a darkened expression while his voice got quieter as he remembered some old memories related to those dolls.
 
Sensing the shift in his emotions, Mariah approached him and embraced his sturdy figure in a tight hug.
 
“Don’t worry, darling. Nothing will happen to our child this time.”
…
 
From that day henceforth, Peter had an outlet to use his limited time. The existence of the system presented a lot of things for him to ponder.
 
He could have speculated on everything that conjured inside his tiny brain, but that would have been stupid. There was no one he could reach out to confirm or deny his assumptions.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
 
Yet he did exactly that. Not for long. Just three to four days by the status screen’s estimate.
 
Am I the special one? The chosen one.
The only one who has a system, so to speak? Or was it one of those novels where everyone had one? Am I living in a novel?
 
No, He decided to ignore the last one. He already had enough reasons to have an existential crisis. Plenty of them.
 
If everyone had a system from birth, how many skills do they have on average? What about stats?
Where were my Strength, Agility, Mana, Dexterity, and Intelligence indicators?
What will happen on my fifth birthday? Would I see stats after that? Am I only seeing a limited status window? How to gain skills? How do they work? Can they be evolved?
 
These questions and many more. He had (or rather was) unable to do anything but think due to his body limitations.
…
Peter calmed down a bit. A lull came, and he decided to stop speculating about things whose answers cannot be confirmed for some time. Instead, he decided to focus on researching things.
 
He tried to summon his status while he was with his mother. She did not react to it. He was fairly sure that it was because it was invisible to her.
 
Next, he tried to experiment with his only skill. Not much success with it on the very first try. Similar to last time, the moment he used it and it materialised, exhaustion followed, and he quickly fell asleep.
 
…
 
Why did that happen? Was I not ready to use it yet? Was it due to my age?
 
These questions were answered after two weeks. He was using it almost every day before going the bed.
 
He noticed that he could keep it open a little bit longer. Meaning it used some kind of fuel to operate. An energy of sorts. Then, He had a dreadful thought. What if it was using his life as energy, and he was slowly decreasing his lifetime?
 
Scared, he decided not to use it.
 
It only took a day before he was able to denounce that thought and build enough courage to keep using his skill. He hypothesised that the reason he felt exhausted was due to emptying his reserves of whatever energy the skill used. If it were his life force, he would be dead already.
 
He was also increasing his reserve the more he used it, which should be impossible if it were lifeforce. Proof of that was the increased time he was able to keep it open.
 
For now, he named this energy ‘Mana’, and as unoriginal as it was, it happened to be a wee little tribute to all the novels that he read.
 
…
 
Life commenced. Confined in a crib inside his parents' bedroom, spending his days drinking breast milk, shitting in his clothes, playing with dolls, or using his skill to increase his mana.
 
Soon, he was four months old. His foggy vision improved, and so did his nerve control. He gained some control over his tiny body. Able to sit properly, command his hands to move, and not have his leg move instead.
 
He was not always successful, but hooray for the small gains. Small wins are winnings, too.
 
He tried to learn their language, and he was able to memorise a lot of words due to the dynamic nature of a child’s brain. He was still only memorising, not learning. Learning a new language was hard. It would take time.
 
He believed that by the time his vocal cords finished developing completely, he would have learned it.
 
‘Let’s hope for the best.’
 
…
 
Not everything was a reason to be sad about. He finally learned his name.
 
Peter. That’s his name.
 
“What are you _____ about, Pete?” Mariah wondered, picking him up with a smile on her face. Two dimples on her cheeks. With a gentle touch, she pulled him close to her face.
 
She leaned forward and touched her round nose with Peter’s, causing him to laugh.
 
‘Mother is soft to touch,’ Peter noted.
 
She looked at him and then at the door, a cute pout replacing her smile as her eyes turned to stare at the ceiling.
 
He guessed whatever internal thought she was having ended because she then stood up, and put his head on her left shoulder to rest while one of her arms supported his weight and the other wrapped around him.
 
Once she was sure that he would be comfortable, she started to walk to the wooden door.
 
After four whole months plus some days later, he was finally getting out of the only room he knew. Another small win?