Max’s fingers trembled slightly around the mug.

He had not heard the name of his world for so long, not from another person’s mouth, not from anyone who should have known it existed, and now, here it was again, spoken so casually over tea as if Earth was some neighboring village this strange man had visited once or twice when he was bored.

He did not understand how this person knew.

"Don’t be so shocked," the man said, taking another calm sip from his mug. "You are in my realm. All of your memories, desires, fears, and even parts of your potential future are open for me to read as I wish."

He said it so casually that Max felt flabbergasted for a moment.

The man spoke as if invading someone’s entire existence was no different from checking the weather.

"You’re scary in a way," Max chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Since you know so much about me, how about you finally explain what you really are?"

"I have no name."

The mug stopped right before the man’s lips.

"At least, I have not had one in a very long time."

He placed the mug back on the table so hard that the wooden table split in half from the middle, the crack running straight between them like lightning carved into wood. Yet somehow, the tea inside both mugs did not even ripple in the slightest, as if the liquid had decided it was far too refined to participate in such violence.

Max looked at the broken table. Then at the perfectly calm tea. Then back at the man. The man smiled as if nothing strange had happened.

"You can call me John," he said, lifting his chin slightly with a weird amount of pride. "I quite fancy that human name. It has a certain charm to it."

Then he burst into laughter.

It was not a dignified laugh either. It was loud, pleased, almost childish, completely unfitting for an ancient being who sat in a realm of spirits and spoke about reading memories like they were pages from a book.

Max stared at him in silence.

For the first time since arriving in this place, he was not sure if he was dealing with a god, a ghost, a madman, or some bored immortal being who had spent too much time alone and decided that "John" was the peak of human culture.

"John..." Max repeated the name slowly, as if tasting how ridiculous it sounded in his mouth after everything this man had shown him. "What exactly are you? And why am I here with you? I refuse to believe you were so bored for who knows how many years that you suddenly decided it was time to kidnap somebody into your realm just to drink tea with you."

Max asked while watching his own tea spill from the cracked mug and drip onto the grass below. His eyes followed the warm liquid for a moment longer than they should have, and for some reason, he felt slightly sad. It had been delicious, ridiculously so, and a small part of him had already been preparing to ask for a second cup before this strange man casually mentioned Earth and ruined the peaceful mood.

John looked at the broken table, then at the tea soaking into the grass, and for a brief moment, there was genuine sorrow on his face, as if the destroyed table meant nothing to him, but the wasted tea had wounded his soul.

"I am a Spirit Sovereign," he finally said, straightening his back with a strange amount of dignity.

"The ruler of all spirits and beyond. Well, there is a lot of fancy history attached to that title, a few wars, a few betrayals, a few songs, several monuments that probably no longer exist, and some people who worshiped me far too seriously, but you do not need to know all of that just yet. Your hands are already full with the task given to you by someone very, very ancient, far beyond my own existence."

Max’s eyes widened.

"You know of the system creator?"

He stood up so quickly that the grass beneath him trembled, and only then did he realize that the restriction over his body was gone. He could move again. His hand twitched slightly, instinctively searching for the familiar feeling of his magic, but even that thought barely reached the surface of his mind before his attention snapped back to John.

"You could say that," John replied, turning his head to the side as if he suddenly found the tree beside them more interesting than Max’s glare. His fingers scratched lightly against his cheek, and for the first time since Max had met him, the calm, mysterious air around him cracked just a little. "I have some history with that person..."

He let out an awkward cough.

It was such a human sound that Max almost forgot he was sitting across from a dead ancient sovereign who had just read his memories like an open book.

"How about I just show you what you can do with the power to command the spirits?" John added quickly, lifting one finger as if trying to change the topic before Max could bite into it any deeper.

But Max did not blink.

He stared at John so intently that the smile on the man’s face slowly stiffened.

"Seriously?" John sighed, lowering his hand. "Why do all of you young ones look at me like that? Forget it, it is my own fault for looking so plain. I should have manifested with more horns, perhaps wings, perhaps a floating crown behind my head. Maybe then you would be more interested in my grand and ancient existence."

He stood up, or rather, floated up to his feet without his legs doing any work at all, his white silk garment swaying around him as if gravity had politely decided not to bother him.

Max’s eyes narrowed.

John noticed the look and cleared his throat again, a little too loudly this time.

"I cannot tell you much about the one you call the system’s creator," John said, and his tone finally lost some of its playfulness.

"That person has enemies so strong that even a single breath from them could blast you into pieces, and despite me being dead for a very long time, I still do not wish to make enemies of them. I have plans, you know. Peaceful plans. I want to build a family one day, maybe raise children, maybe drink tea in a house that does not collapse under my hand."

He paused and looked away slightly. "Even if all of that is just imaginary for someone like me."

His fingers scratched his cheek again, and the awkward smile that followed made him look less like an all-powerful being and more like a lonely man who had been trapped too long with only his own thoughts for company.

"But if you inherit my power," John continued, his voice growing steadier as he looked back at Max, "those answers you seek will one day come to you without you even trying. You will not need to beg me. You will not need to chase shadows. The path will open on its own, because the spirits remember far more than the living ever could, and if they accept you, then even forgotten truths will eventually crawl out from whatever grave they were buried in."

Max remained silent.

His eyes moved over John’s face, trying to understand how much of this was honesty and how much was another test, another joke, another layer of something he was not yet able to see through.

John smiled softly, spreading both hands as the world around them began to shimmer, the grass, the tree, the broken table, even the spilled tea slowly glowing with faint spirit light.

"So, tell me, Max," he said, his voice carrying that ancient weight again beneath the ridiculous human name he had chosen for himself. "Are you ready to inherit my power and become the new Spirit Sovereign?"