Journey Through the Idolverse

The System's voice had receded once more, leaving me alone with the vibrant Glimmerleaf Vine on my desk and the glowing instructions for "First Boost." 50ml Natsuiro Family Spring Water, 3 drops morning dew… My mind, still grappling with the tangible reality of "magic," immediately defaulted to its usual analytical mode. This wasn't some grand, heroic quest for a dragon's hoard; it was a mundane, manual chore, one that demanded my attention before dawn. For a programmer who thrived on efficiency and automation, this felt like an affront to every logical principle. A low groan escaped me. This was going to be an exercise in exasperation.

The following morning, a profound well of willpower was necessary to drag myself from bed. The world outside was still shrouded in darkness, a muted canvas of charcoal grays and sleepy blues. The air, crisp and carrying the faint scent of damp earth, was a stark contrast to the usual aroma of instant noodles and stale coffee that clung to my late-night coding sessions. My internal clock screamed in protest; sunrise typically signaled the end of my workday, not the laborious commencement of this. With a sigh, I retrieved a small, clean eyedropper from an ancient science kit (a relic whose continued existence baffled me) and a tiny, equally pristine test tube I'd unearthed. My new mission: Operation: Dewdrop Harvest.

As I ventured into the garden, my senses, no longer dulled by that inexplicable mental filter, were acutely heightened. The world itself felt subtly transformed. The air vibrated with a faint, almost musical hum – a low, pervasive vibration, like a perfectly tuned machine. Each blade of grass, each delicate spiderweb, seemed to faintly pulse with the same soft, ethereal glow I'd observed on the Glimmerleaf Vine. It was barely perceptible, a phenomenon my old self would have dismissed as weary eyes playing tricks. But now, it was undeniably there: liquid magic, clinging to the leaves. My fingers, usually nimble across a keyboard, fumbled awkwardly with the tiny dropper, attempting to capture precisely three perfect, glowing drops into the test tube. This manual precision, demanding absolute focus with tools that felt like a child's playthings, was utterly maddening.

Just as I secured two precious drops, a blur of motion at the garden's edge seized my attention, sending a jolt of alarm through me. It was Matsuri.

She wasn't engaged in some grand, arcane ritual, as my newly unfiltered mind had half-anticipated. Instead, she was performing her usual early morning stretches. Yet, her movements transcended normal human capabilities. Each stretch flowed into the next with an uncanny grace, her limbs extending just a fraction further, her balance impossibly stable, as if she subtly commanded the very air around her. She hummed a cheerful, off-key tune, a nonsensical jingle I vaguely recognized from a forgotten childhood cartoon. But now, that simple hum somehow made the ambient magic ripple, creating faint, shimmering waves that pulsed around her as she moved. My old filter would have simply registered, "Matsuri doing her weird morning exercises." My new perception screamed: 'SUPER STRENGTH MAGIC. AURA MANIPULATION. SHE IS NOT A NORMAL HUMAN.'

Matsuri concluded her routine, oblivious to my hidden presence, and then casually approached a cluster of glowing Moonlight Bloom flowers. With another soft hum, she tapped a petal. The flower pulsed brighter, and a single, perfectly formed droplet of pure, shimmering dew detached from its surface, floated into her cupped palm, and was flicked into her mouth. Effortless. Fluid. No clumsy dropper required.

"Morning, Rekka-chan~!" she chirped, finally spotting me. Her eyes, still gleaming with that subtle, unnatural light, twinkled mischievously. "What are you doing out here so early? Playing in the dew? Trying to catch fairies?"

My face instantly flushed crimson. "N-Nee-san! Of course not!" My voice cracked with frustration. "I'm just… uh… collecting samples for a school project! Plant studies!" The lie felt painfully transparent, even to me. "What are you doing, just drinking flower water?"

"Hmm? This?" She giggled, tilting her head. "Just getting my morning boost of life force! You should try some, Rekka-chan! It'll make you super energetic!" She gestured vaguely at the glowing flowers.

I eyed them nervously. "Uh, no thanks, I'm good." I attempted to conceal my dropper behind my back. My mana-less hands felt utterly inept compared to her casual display of magic. I even tried to pick up a small, ornate gardening trowel nearby, thinking I could just scoop up some dew. But as my fingers brushed it, it felt oddly heavy, almost unresponsive, like its internal mechanisms were somehow locked. My old self would have simply assumed it was stuck in the mud. My new self realized it was likely a magic-activated trowel, perfectly normal for them to use, but a dead weight for me. Great. Barred from using basic garden tools.

As Matsuri disappeared back inside, humming her magic-charged jingle, I sighed. This was going to be an arduous process. I completed my task, three meager drops secured, feeling utterly ridiculous and profoundly out of my depth.

Next: The Natsuiro Family Spring Water. I knew our house was ancient, nestled in a quiet neighborhood, but a well? My old self had always dismissed it as a figure of speech when Mom spoke of "our special family spring." But now, the System had explicitly listed "Natsuiro Family Spring Water (sourced from the household well)." This wasn't some hidden ancient ruin, was it? Would I need a rope and bucket? Or would it be a literal glowing fountain in the basement?

My investigation led me to the rear of our garden shed, hidden behind a towering stack of dusty gardening pots. There, embedded within the old stone wall, was a simple, unassuming brass tap. It looked like any other outdoor faucet. But as I drew closer, the air around it grew strangely cooler, denser, and I could now discern the faint, intricate symbols subtly etched into the brass itself, swirling with an almost invisible light. My old brain would have categorized them as "quaint, old-fashioned decorations." My new brain screamed: 'MAGIC SYMBOLS. MAGIC POWER FLOW. WARNING: DIRECT MAGIC CONNECTION DETECTED.' This was the 'well.' My hands trembled slightly, a bewildering mix of awe and trepidation. This wasn't a normal faucet; it was a magical portal to an underground water source.

I reached for the tap, my fingers brushing the cool brass. No immediate magical burst, thankfully. I attempted to turn it, focusing on the simple twisting motion. It wouldn't budge. Not stiff, not rusty, just… inert. Like trying to activate a device devoid of power. My mana-less hands were useless. I grumbled, "Seriously? Basic tap operation needs magic now? Do I need special access just to get water?"

Just then, the back door creaked open, and Dad stepped out, stretching languidly. He was clad in his usual comfortable pajamas, a sight that once epitomized ultimate normality. Now, I observed his casual ease, how his movements seemed just a fraction too effortless. He yawned, rubbing his eyes, and casually walked over to the tap. He gave it a light, almost dismissive tap with his index finger. No twisting, no pulling. Just a gentle tap.

And just like that, the symbols on the brass flared with a soft, inner glow, and a perfectly clear, shimmering stream of water erupted from the spout, coiling itself into a watering can that seemed to float slightly as it filled. The water itself pulsed with a soft, inner light that would have been invisible to my old eyes. Dad picked up the filled can with one hand, a casual feat considering its apparent weight, and began watering the already glowing Moonlight Blooms.

"Morning, Rekka," Dad said, completely unfazed by the glowing water or the slightly floating watering can. "You're up early. Need some water for your project?" He gestured with the magic-infused water.

I simply stared, jaw agape. My father, the supposedly 'weird' occult-believing dad, was casually employing advanced magic to water his plants. It was akin to witnessing someone effortlessly juggle flaming objects while discussing the weather. "Uh… yeah, Dad. Just… 50ml." My voice was a little strained.

He chuckled. "Fifty, huh? Very precise. Must be a tough project." With another casual flick of his wrist, he poured exactly 50ml of the shimmering water into my waiting test tube. He didn't measure, didn't even look. He just knew. My old brain would have thought, 'Wow, Dad's good at guessing.' My new brain shrieked: 'MAGIC SENSING. PERFECT CONTROL. INCREDIBLE PRECISION WITHOUT OBVIOUS SPELLCASTING. MY FATHER IS A SECRETLY POWERFUL MAGIC-USER.'

By the time the sun fully ascended, I had my three drops of Glimmerleaf dew and my 50ml of Natsuiro Family Spring Water. I retreated to my room, feeling a bewildering blend of exasperation, awe, and a grudging, overwhelming fascination. My entire morning routine, once a simple sequence of events, had transformed into a fantastical, maddeningly inefficient treasure hunt.

[Objective Complete: Morning Routine Improved. Glimmerleaf Vine Preparation Started. Magic Power Absorption Efficiency: 0.001% (First Stage). Magic Power Detected in Natsuiro Family Well: High. Magic Power Detected in Natsuiro Family Members: Extremely High.]

The System's dry, technical report confirmed my wildest, and most amazing, suspicions. Magic power absorption at 0.001%? Infinitesimally small, but not zero. It signified hope. And my family? "Extremely High Magic Power." It was like discovering your entire family was secretly running on nuclear power while you were still fumbling with how to light a match.

I slumped onto my bed, staring at the Glimmerleaf Vine. My entire childhood, filtered through a comforting lens of 'normalcy,' lay utterly shattered, fragmenting into a thousand impossible truths. Every oddity, every unexplainable coincidence, was suddenly making terrifying, magical sense. Matsuri's "I AM GOD!" declaration, Mom's spontaneous kitchen portals, Dad's "blessed" spring water, even the instant kettle that steadfastly refused to work for me – it all clicked into a terrifyingly coherent pattern. It was a bewildering concoction of terror and excitement, a scary new game world I was abruptly thrust into, devoid of instructions, character details, and with a potentially flawed computer helper.