Chapter 61: The Little Tyrant’s Ambition

Yes, that’s right—the Little Tyrant Virtual Glory Duel Machine…

That was the name Marlon had chosen to trademark for his soon-to-be-released creation, a virtual dueling machine that he dreamed would someday become every young boy’s most cherished childhood memory in this world—just as it had once been for him on Earth. He could already imagine that familiar boot-up jingle echoing once more, “Aha! Little Tyrant, endless joy awaits!” — a line that had burned itself into his heart back when he was small.

So, when Marlon arrived at Musa Mein’s temporary laboratory, holding little Amy the fox girl by the hand, his other arm awkwardly full of blank blueprints, rulers, and assorted drawing tools, he wasted no time at all. He dove straight into his work—the very first step to resurrecting Little Tyrant in this foreign world: drawing the engineering prototype diagrams.

Admittedly, by this point, Marlon had already returned about ninety percent of his school taught geometry knowledge back to his teachers. Yet when it came to sketching spatial projections, drawing front, top, and side views, or breaking down a device into exploded structure diagrams, his hands still moved with a confidence born of habit.

After all, there was no helping it. Once, back on Earth, out of sheer boredom, he had watched an online video of some engineering genius dismantling one of the earliest Little Tyrant game consoles into eight pieces—only to reconstruct it into the shell of an Xbox using scrap plastic within mere hours.

That video had seared every detail into Marlon’s mind. So now, when he set pen to paper, he simply had to “replay” those memories—copying what he remembered from the video frame by frame. While other engineers needed days of design revisions, Marlon needed only to freeze the memory in his head and reproduce it line by line. Naturally, his speed was almost inhuman—so fast it bordered on the absurd.

“Marlon, these blueprints… are you telling me you just drew all of this off the top of your head?”

Musa Mein’s voice trembled slightly, equal parts disbelief and admiration. Before him lay over a dozen sheets of paper, each filled with precise, intricate diagrams drawn in less than an hour. His gaze toward Marlon now carried a faint glimmer of awe.

For Musa Mein, a man who lived and breathed science, technical mastery was the foundation of his very existence. And though what Marlon had just demonstrated wasn’t exactly “inventing something new,” the sheer precision and professional quality of those diagrams… that was not something an ordinary person could accomplish.

The reason was simple—this world had no compulsory education, no geometry lessons to instill spatial awareness into young minds. Ninety-nine percent of the population, from toddlers to old men, wouldn’t understand the simplest geometric concept even if you drew it in front of them.

Musa Mein, being a scientist, was among the rare exceptions. He understood geometry. But even so, watching Marlon effortlessly sketch out those flawless diagrams was like witnessing someone clear Super Mario in a single, graceful life right before your eyes.

It left him speechless—and filled with a reverent, almost devotional admiration for Marlon.

“Well…” Marlon scratched the back of his head, tempted to play it cool and say he’d just made them up on the spot. But after a moment’s thought, he decided to downplay it. “Not quite. I’m not that amazing. I was actually thinking about it the whole way here, and it finally came together.”

Unfortunately, even that humble explanation only made Musa Mein’s respect grow deeper. Thinking about it “on the way back,” and then producing a complete set of engineering blueprints within minutes? If he had thought for a few hours longer, what kind of jaw-dropping designs would he have produced then?

“I see now… why the Gods of Contract and Machinery have chosen to bless you.”

Musa Mein sighed softly, then turned back to the table. On a set of backup blueprints Marlon had drawn, he began tracing thin, blood-red runic arrays into the margins with delicate precision.

Realizing he wouldn’t be of much help for the moment, Marlon decided to step out, still holding Amy’s hand. Outside, he caught sight of a passing worker from the Crane Dance White Sand Construction Company and stopped him.

“Hey, could you do me a favor? Go find either Old Saint Paladin or Old Andrew—either one’s fine—and send someone to keep watch outside Musa’s lab. If anything comes up, tell them to find me at the orphanage kitchen.”

After issuing his instructions, Marlon continued toward the orphanage kitchen with the quiet little fox girl trotting beside him.

By now, the orphanage was running smoothly, almost entirely self-sufficient. Though Marlon didn’t have the time to supervise everything personally, he had modeled the operation after the children’s welfare home he’d volunteered at back on Earth—establishing clear rules, structure, and appointing temporary heads for each department.

Still, whether those temporary leaders were truly capable remained to be seen. That was why Marlon had decided, on a whim, to inspect the kitchen that afternoon.

With so many orphans to feed, the orphanage’s logistics and kitchen departments were both large—and, naturally, the ones most prone to corruption. As the saying went, “The buyer never starves, and the cook never goes hungry.” It was far too easy for someone in those roles to pocket a little extra on the side.

Marlon knew that if there were ever going to be problems, the kitchen would be the first place to find them.

Not wanting to draw attention, he made a wide detour and slipped quietly through the back door of the kitchen.

Inside, steam filled the air, thick with the scent of rice and broth. Eight burly, broad-shouldered matrons were bustling about alongside a team of ten orphans assigned to kitchen duty that week, each one working so fast their heels nearly kicked their own backs.

Having the war orphans rotate through the kitchen was another one of Marlon’s rules—it prevented anyone from growing too complacent and ensured the children learned basic life skills.

His goal had always been clear from the start: he hadn’t opened this orphanage to coddle them for life, but to teach them how to stand on their own—to grow up safe, skilled, and capable of building new lives beyond the shadow of war.

“You lads, careful there! You can take down the steamer trays now! Ah—watch those fingers! If anyone gets hurt, our dear Little Marlon won’t spare us old ladies!”

“Girls! Are the trays and ladles all washed? Remember the rule our Little Marlon set—each one must be washed three times a day! He says it helps keep everyone healthy. I don’t understand how it works, but if Little Marlon says it’s right, then it’s right! Don’t you forget it!”

“Hah, you kids don’t know how lucky you are! Back when I was young, my parents died, and I wandered the streets until I was old enough to catch the eye of that useless husband of mine. Only then did I finally have a roof over my head. You’ve got our Little Marlon—he cares for you like a father! You’d better remember his kindness and repay it someday, or the Gods of Quinn will surely curse you!”

“And speaking of blessings, I owe my good fortune to Little Marlon too! My husband’s the gardener here at the orphanage, my boy got a job as an apprentice laborer at the Crane Dance White Sand Company, and the foreman says he’ll be promoted to first-class worker in three months! His pay will double! We’ve already had several families wanting to marry their daughters to him—ha! So you kids, you grow up quick and get into that company, and you’ll never go hungry again. As long as Little Marlon’s around, none of us will ever have to worry about an empty stomach!”

As Marlon quietly stepped into the steamy kitchen, he heard the booming voice of Aunt Sophia—the head cook he had appointed himself—echoing over the clatter of pots and the hiss of boiling water.

Her voice was richer and deeper than most men’s, her laughter hearty and full of life. Listening to her rally the others with such confidence, Marlon couldn’t help but smile faintly.

It seemed… he didn’t need to worry about the kitchen after all.

Previous chapter | TOC | Next chapter