Transmigrated? My Cheat is a Random Dice?!

For the past three years, Desmond had devoted himself to mastering Inertia. Practicing every single exercise detailed in the Codex Polaris.

But the result was always the same.

No matter how many times he tried, he still couldn't pull a book into his hand and hold it suspended in midair. The best he could do was nudge small objects a few centimeters before running out of energy.

"Is there… a specific training method to strengthen my raw Inertia output?" he muttered in frustration, staring at the Codex Polaris, which now lay facedown on the floor.

The book offered detailed techniques, principles, and theories. But not once did it say, "This is how you increase raw power." That part, it seemed, he had to figure out on his own.

He bent down and picked up the book, holding it in his palm. As he stared at the leather-bound tome, a new idea flickered in his mind.

What if he tried something else?

He recalled the Fourth Polaris—Local Gravity. The memory of his mother using Gravity Minus to neutralize the terrifying pressure from that cursed dice resurfaced in his mind.

If he could manipulate gravity... maybe he could make himself lighter. Maybe he could float. Or even… fly.

Desmond closed his eyes, visualizing the familiar silvery light that represented Polaris energy. He whispered the command more firmly this time, as if daring it to fail him:

"Open Polaris Path… Gravity Minus."

A faint shimmer of silver pulsed in his palm.

He instantly felt the book in his hand becoming lighter. So light, in fact, it felt like holding a piece of crumpled paper.

Excitement sparked within him.

He lifted the book and tossed it into the air hoping it to float. To defy gravity. To prove he was progressing.

Instead, it drifted downward like a feather in slow motion… and then dropped with a soft thud onto the wooden floor.

Still, it fell.

Thud!

A sigh slipped through his lips. Not of surprise, but disappointment.

Yes, he had successfully reduced the book's weight. But no, it wasn't nearly enough to keep it suspended.

Worse, his body ached with fatigue. His stamina had been drained far more than usual.

"Dammit…" he cursed silently, clenching his small fists. "Still so far to go. This power… demands insane precision and even more insane stamina."

Rising from the floor, Desmond ran a hand through his messy dark hair. He was tired—physically and mentally. He needed a break from failure.

Maybe he just needed… a bit of company.

A thought came to him.

Sierra.

He hadn't visited her in a while. Spending time with her usually lifted his spirits. At the very least, he wouldn't have to sit here, brooding over how utterly weak he still was.

He exited his room and headed to the main living space, where Celestine sat on the couch, calmly sewing a new shirt.

"Mom," Desmond called, his voice still carrying a slight childish lisp, though it was clearly understandable now. "Can I visit Sierra's house for a bit?"

Celestine looked up with a warm, gentle smile. "Of course, sweetheart. Just don't stay too long, okay? And be careful on the road."

Desmond nodded eagerly and bolted out the door.

The village greeted him with the usual scenery: sun-warmed paths, fields of crops waving in the breeze, cheerful villagers going about their day.

He passed the blacksmith's shop, the familiar clang of hammer striking metal ringing through the warm air.

The blacksmith. Broad-shouldered, bearded, and always full of energy, was heating up another blade. Sparks flew in bursts of orange as he shaped glowing metal.

Desmond waved at him, his spirits lifted for the first time all day.

The blacksmith noticed and returned the gesture with a booming laugh. "Take care, Young man!"

Desmond's steps quickened. He felt a new sense of anticipation. His failures would wait. Right now, he just wanted to be around someone… normal.

Or so he thought.

Because as he reached Sierra's house and stepped into the front yard, what he saw made his feet stop cold.

Right there, in the middle of the peaceful garden, floating a full meter above the ground.

was Sierra.

The silver-haired girl floated in the air, her blue eyes closed, her presence almost ethereal. Her limbs relaxed, her posture serene, her entire body slowly rotating in place as if weightless.

She wasn't being lifted. She wasn't being held up by strings or spells. She was simply... flying. With a calm expression

And with her eyes closed, no less.

Desmond's heart sank.

This... this was what he meant when he thought of Sierra as extraordinary.

They were the same age, six.

And yet, here he was, a grown man trapped in the body of a child, struggling for months just to nudge a book across the floor using Inertia. Barely managing to reduce an object's weight with Gravity Minus.

And Sierra?

She was floating effortlessly.

It wasn't just impressive. It was humiliating.

I've got years of life experience. I've read countless books, fought with everything I had just to understand this world's power system. I've dedicated myself day after day. And she... she's flying like it's second nature.

The ache he felt wasn't physical. It was emotional. The sting of comparison. The quiet, bitter taste of inadequacy.

He clenched his tiny fists.

Am I seriously being outpaced by a six-year-old girl? Is this... karma? Or am I just... this pathetic?

A soft, bitter laugh escaped his lips.

He stood there, silent, simply watching Sierra float like a goddess in meditation.

Part of him wanted to sulk. To wallow in defeat.

But another part. Stronger, sharper, and more stubborn, refused.

No.

He wouldn't give up.

If Sierra could do it, then so could he.

He would train harder. Push farther. Break every limit set upon this fragile child's body.

Because someday, he would surpass them all.

Surpass Sierra.

Surpass this world.

And find his way back to where he truly belonged.