Mirac's heart was pounding, almost in sync with the rhythm of the pendulum marking the seconds in the grand hall. His absurd theory, even though it was only a theory, had shaken him to the core, igniting a flame of excitement mixed with unease.

'I can't believe it! Could it really be true? Is it possible there's someone else, besides me, who has been reincarnated in this world? And perhaps, that very person somehow introduced the Gregorian calendar? It would make perfect sense. I know I shouldn't jump to conclusions, but at the same time, I have to remember that now ANYTHING is possible. Therefore, I shouldn't dismiss this possibility either. But if someone else has truly been reincarnated, when could it have happened? Perhaps centuries ago, or maybe just a few years ago. I have no way of knowing. And what if it was more than one? Maybe many others, at different times, each leaving subtle traces that now elude my understanding.'

His gaze grew more intense, while the splendor and noise of the party seemed to fade into a distant background, like a transparent veil separating him from the rest of the world.

His small fingers drummed nervously on the armrest of the throne, while his eyes, filled with an unusual intelligence for a child his age, carefully scanned the surroundings.

'Good… Very good!' Mirac finally thought, smiling, calming himself, and resuming a more childlike demeanor. 'I'm satisfied with today's discoveries. As time goes on, I'll have the opportunity to delve into the details and verify their authenticity.'

At this point, despite telling himself he wasn't in any rush and that everything would gradually reveal itself with time, Mirac couldn't contain his impatience! His eyes sparkled with excitement, and the growing smile on his lips betrayed his rising enthusiasm.

Every observation of the party seemed like a clue to analyze, and the thought of beginning his investigations filled him with a lively energy.

His mind was already projecting itself toward the incredible adventures and future discoveries.

'I can't wait!'

* * *

Without Mirac realizing it, the moment he had been waiting for had finally arrived: the cake cutting!

'Finally!'

In the center of the hall stood an imposing, towering white multi-layered cake, adorned with intricate sugar roses and golden pearls that sparkled in the light of the chandeliers.

The soft layers alternated between rich creams and glossy icing, giving off a delicate scent of vanilla and almond that filled the air, drawing the admiring gazes of the guests.

Each layer was perfectly balanced, with thin streaks of berry jam adding a touch of color to the pure white of the cream covering the dessert.

Ginevra and Arthur approached the sweet masterpiece with grace, lifting a knife decorated with the royal family's seal and slowly cutting through the soft layers as the hall filled with applause.

'Oh come on, how long is this going to take?! Hurry up, I'm hungry!'

Mirac couldn't hold back any longer! His gaze was hungry and full of hope as he dreamed of the moment he'd finally taste that long-awaited dessert.

In front of him, a small table had been carefully prepared, soon to be graced by his beloved slice of white cake.

'I can't wai-!'

But his long wait was abruptly cut short when Carmen approached and handed him a plate with a different slice of cake: plain, pale, missing the sumptuous decorations, and completely devoid of honey, chocolate, or any of the gourmet ingredients his eyes had craved.

Mirac looked at his sad slice with a near-disappointed expression, holding back a sigh as he watched everyone else enjoying the richly adorned cake.

'What the hell is THIS supposed to be?' he cursed inwardly, his face expressing, one way or another, that very thought.

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Carmen, the red-haired servant, quickly noticed his disinterest. Trying to break the awkwardness with a smile, she came closer and looked at the boy, hoping to encourage him:

"Oh, are you not hungry by any chance?"

'Of course I am!' he thought back at her. 'But what kind of joke is this cheap knockoff?'

With a dismissive gesture, he pushed the plate with the cake slightly forward.

Carmen sighed deeply, almost in disappointment, and pulled the plate back toward the little birthday boy, trying to persuade him:

"Come now, young sir, eat! This cake was specially prepared just for you. We used healthy, easy-to-digest ingredients, and made sure it wasn't too hard or dry to avoid any choking risks."

But Mirac stayed motionless, the plate untouched. His eyes, usually bright with curiosity, were dull and judgmental. With a firm motion, he pushed the cake away from him again.

Seeing this, Carmen huffed, her face showing clear exasperation. Her tone, which had been gentle, immediately became more severe:

"Oh, come now, young sir! You shouldn't be throwing a tantrum!"

With a quick turn of his head, Mirac set his small eyes on the red-haired servant, scrutinizing her as if she were some horrid traitor and his arch-enemy:

'Stop lecturing me when you're not the one who has to eat this pathetic excuse for a cak-!'

Suddenly, however, Mirac interrupted himself, struck by a thought that forcefully made its way into his mind.

'Wait a minute… Am I throwing a tantrum? Over food?! Of all people, ME?!'

He brought his eyes back to his slice of cake and almost bit his lips. Anger and pride clashed inside him.

Then, his mind was flooded with memories of his past: days spent rummaging through trash, begging with an empty gaze for a few coins.

'How could I have forgotten all of that so quickly?!' he asked himself, struck by his own arrogance. 'Living in luxury for just one year has already spoiled me so much? The old me would have been grateful even for a piece of dry bread! But now, I dare to complain about a slice of cake?!'

Clenching his fists under the table, Mirac realized his ingratitude. His eyes, which had been filled with disappointment, grew shaded with a hint of remorse.

Gazing intently at his plate, he finally became aware of how childish and foolish his behavior had been.

'You must never forget your humble origins... VECTOR!'

Then, with a determined motion, Mirac pulled the plate back in front of him. He looked at the slice of cake for a moment, as if to challenge it, then grabbed a piece with his small, chubby hands. He sank his teeth into the dessert, biting eagerly, and an explosion of familiar flavors filled his mouth, sweeping away any remaining hint of petulance.

Mirac ate with a nearly wild hunger, as if each bite were a tribute to his past and the hard work of anyone who had prepared the cake.

Crumbs flew across the table, cream stuck to his rosy cheeks, and fruit filling spread uncontrollably on his elegant clothes, staining his white shirt with spots of the same color.

However, Mirac paid no attention to any of this: at that moment, all that mattered was the food in his hands, which he devoured with the same voracity of someone who knew very well what it meant to suffer from hunger.

The little boy got his fingers, face, and even his hair messy, leaving traces of cake everywhere. The scene was a mix of clumsiness and genuine happiness: he looked more like a puppy than a child.

After finishing his slice of cake, Mirac smiled, satisfied and finally full: not just in body, but also in spirit.

Next to him, on his right, Carmen watched him with a look that mixed affection and surprise.

"I'm glad you liked it," the woman said with a smile, addressing the little birthday boy as she cleaned him up with a napkin.

Mirac returned the smile, showing his few little teeth.

"You must be little Mirac!" suddenly exclaimed a male voice, interrupting the exchange of smiles between Carmen and the boy.

They both turned in unison, their gazes immediately fixed on the figure of the man who had just arrived.

'And who the hell is this supposed to be?!'

In front of Mirac stood a man with a fascinating and imposing appearance. His long blonde hair, shining like gold in the sun, framed a face that exuded kindness and serenity. His blue eyes, intense and attentive, seemed to gently scrutinize the world around him, conveying a sense of peace and understanding.

His figure was tall and robust, giving off an air of solidity without appearing threatening. He wore a crisp white suit, elegant and simple, complemented by a cloak of the same color that gracefully cascaded down to just touch the floor. The white shoes, perfectly in harmony with the rest of the outfit, added a touch of freshness and modernity to the look. Their glossy surface caught the light in a captivating way, creating a subtle and refined contrast with the pristine white of the clothing.

Mirac estimated that the man was around 25 to 30 years old, an age reflected in his confident yet relaxed posture.

On his chest, he wore a golden emblem depicting a stylized flame that shimmered slightly in the light, an enigmatic symbol that immediately captured the attention of anyone who might look at it.

Seeing the crest, Carmen's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief.

"You are…" she began to say, but the words caught in her throat, as if the name itself were too significant to pronounce without hesitation.

The man smiled at her with disarming warmth, one of those smiles that could put anyone at ease.

Then, with a formal gesture, he placed the palm of his right hand on his heart, while the other politely tucked behind his back in a pose of elegant respect.

Finally, with a calm and deep voice, he addressed them, slightly bowing his torso:

"Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Armin J. Bellsing."