The thread of Rat Stage foundation didn’t flare up his spine.
It spread wider, pressed into bone and muscle.
Denser.
No wobble.
Just weight.
Jasper exhaled.
“Oh. That’s different.”
Leon sipped his tea.
“Food temperature is just temperature. The warmth you feel now is rooted Asteria. Beast menu. It builds mass, not volume.”
Jasper pointed a fork at Leon.
“Still illegal though. Cheesecake should be cold. I’m calling the culinary police.”
Genevie laughed.
“They don’t have jurisdiction in the beast sector, cub.”
Jasper kept going.
Fork after fork.
The hot savory cheesecake didn’t taste like dessert.
It tasted like something his body actually needed.
Each bite cracked the crust, spilled warm filling, and released that cold pop of frost berries.
Sweet hit first, then smoke, then the heavy savory base.
He barely chewed.
Just swallowed, grinned, went back for more.
The Asteria inside the moon-milk didn’t burn.
It settled.
Every spoonful pressed his Rat Stage thread wider, like molten metal being hammered flat and spread out.
No spike.
No flare.
Just mass building, slow and real.
Jasper licked the fork clean and scraped the plate.
Half gone, then three quarters, then just crumbs and a smear of frost berry juice.
He sat back and patted his stomach.
“Okay. Yeah. Hot cheesecake wins. Cold cheesecake could never.”
Genevie’s tails swished.
“Told you, cub. You can’t ice something that’s meant to root.”
Jasper nodded, still chewing the last bite.
“Every cheesecake I’ve eaten was cold. This one’s illegal. But I’m not reporting it.”
Jasper wiped the last crumb of cheesecake off his fork and set it down with a warm smile on his face.
The Asteria was still sinking, heavy and steady in his gut.
He turned to Leon.
“So,” Jasper said, leaning on the table.
Leon finished his tea and set the cup down.
No steam left.
Just the faint smell of bitter leaves.
Leon looked at him.
“You can sense Asteria. You can pull a thread of it and hold it. You can push it into your bones and make them harder. For about three seconds.”
Jasper blinked.
“Three seconds?”
“Three seconds,” Leon confirmed.
“Then it leaks. You’re a cup with holes right now. The thread is there, but the cup isn’t sealed.”
Jasper frowned.
“What about fighting? Can I throw a punch that cracks stone?”
Leon’s mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
“You can throw a punch that hurts your hand more than the stone. Rat Stage isn’t power. It’s potential. You have a foundation now. But you can’t run on it yet. Can’t channel Asteria through your limbs. Can’t reinforce your skin. Can’t do any of the beast techniques.”
Jasper tapped the table.
“Anything at all? Besides eating and feeling dense?”
Leon paused.
“One thing. Very weak telekinesis. Barely counts. At first level Rat Stage you can push Asteria out and move something small. If you’re lucky.”
Jasper sat up straighter.
“Like what.”
Leon flicked a fry off Jasper’s plate.
It hovered half an inch off the table and wobbled.
Then dropped.
“That,” Leon said.
“A fry. Maybe a cup of water if you strain. That’s the limit. It takes everything you have and does nothing useful.”
Jasper stared at the fry on the table.
“So I’m basically a mortal with a flashlight in his chest. And a party trick that can move a french fry.”
“Accurate,” Leon said.
“You can see the road now. You can’t drive on it.”
Jasper sighed.
“So Rat Stage is… prep work.”
“Foundation,” Leon said.
“Literally. You build it now or the whole thing collapses later. Beast cultivators who skip this eat cheesecake and punch trees. Then their arms break at Ox Stage because the base was thin.”
Jasper glanced down at his stomach.
The warmth was still there.
Heavy.
Rooted.
“So no fireballs,” he muttered.
“No,” Leon said.
“You can eat hot cheesecake without freezing. And move a fry. That’s something.”
Jasper groaned and flopped back in the booth.
“Worst superpower ever.”
Genevie walked past with a tray and flicked one tail.
“Give it time, cub. Every wolf starts as a pup that can’t even howl right.”
Jasper stared at the ceiling.
“Still illegal that it’s hot though.”
Jasper squinted at the 25 fries left on his plate.
Then at Leon.
Then back at the fries.
“Three seconds of bone-hardening is useless. But a flashlight that moves fries?” He grinned.
“That’s a party trick.”
He held his hand over the plate.
Twenty of the fries twitched.
Five shot up, wobbling half an inch off the plate.
Fifteen slid to the corner and sat there like they’d been grounded.
The last five dove straight into the ketchup cup.
Jasper dipped the ketchup five, then scarfed the other five dry.
20 fries left.
Perfect.
Now the ketchup fries started dancing.
Little wobbly jumps, spinning in red circles.
The grounded fifteen bounced in place like an excited audience.
Jasper leaned back, cleared his throat, and started singing dead serious:
“I’ve been a nasty fry. Nasty. I’ve been a nasty fry. Nasty.”
The ketchup fries spun faster.
Leon didn’t even blink.
He set his tea down and stared.
“Jasper. What in the world are you doing.”
Jasper gave him the cheekiest grin, flicked a dancing fry with his finger, and said: “I’m doing a fries strip club, Leon. For research. Gotta test the limits of Rat Stage telekinesis.”
Genevie walked past with the tray, saw the dancing ketchup fries, and just flicked a tail.
“Cub, you’re gonna get the beast sector banned from dine-in.”
Jasper shrugged, still conducting the fry show.
“Hey, if I can only move a fry, I’m making it count. Plus, hot cheesecake was illegal. This is just retaliation.”
Leon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Foundation work. Not fries choreography.”
“Says you,” Jasper said, as one ketchup fry did a little twirl and flopped face-first into the ketchup.
“Even my Asteria has rhythm.”