Rick and Morty: Smartest Morty in the multiverse

The morning sun slipped past the slats of Morty's blinds, gilding the room in a soft golden wash. He stirred awake slowly, eyes opening with the unhurried calm of someone whose path for the day had already been mapped in the mind hours before the body caught up. No dreams, no unrest just the clean certainty of forward motion. After a brief moment of stillness, he threw the sheets aside and swung his legs down, touching the floor with the deliberateness of a man stepping into a ritual. The shower was quick but purposeful. Steam clung to the mirror as water coursed over him, and by the time he emerged, towel wrapped firm around his waist, the steam carried with it something heavier than warmth a resolve.

From the polished oak dresser, he pulled out the new clothes he'd handpicked yesterday: sleek black jeans that hugged his frame just right, a deep charcoal button-down with subtle micro-patterns that caught light only when he moved, and a sharply cut blazer that whispered style without shouting it. He chose his signature onyx ring set in a brushed metal band, it caught shadows more than lightnand slid it onto his right hand with reverence, a talisman more than an accessory. Around his neck, he clasped a thin silver chainbbarely visible, but felt in every movement. On his wrist

he fastened his skeleton watch, its exposed gears ticking with silent eloquence, the timepiece an extension of his intention, not just taste. Finally, he spritzed a refined, dark cologne earthy, smoky, with a faint mineral trail that lingered like memory and suggestion. By the time he was done, Morty wasn't dressed he was prepared.

He had just shut the lid of the cologne bottle when he heard Beth's voice float up the stairs: "Breakfast!" It didn't break his stride. He adjusted his collar slightly just a tilt, just enough, an unconscious motion now, one that gave shape to the man who'd taken his own measure and then headed downstairs.

The kitchen was already filled with the sounds of clinking plates and light chatter. Summer sat at the table, scrolling through something on her phone, half-focused on the conversation, and Beth, coffee in hand, turned just as Morty stepped in. Rick was noticeably absent, though his presence still seemed to hum somewhere in the walls, like leftover static.

Morty slid into his seat without a word, picked up a fork, and started eating. He didn't ask what the breakfast was. He didn't compliment it or complain. He ate it like fuel, like ritual, like necessity. Summer glanced over at him, almost hesitant, before setting her mug down and clearing her throat. "Hey, since you're taking the bike to school today... mind dropping me off to?" she asked casually, trying to make it sound like a throwaway favor, though her eyes searched his face like she already knew the answer.

Morty didn't look up from his plate. "I have plans," he said simply, his tone firm but calm. "I'll be working on the bike today."

Summer looked up, her brows raised. "Wait, what? That's not fair,your not going to school" she blurted. "You can't just he can't just do that, right?" She turned to Beth, expecting maternal logic to correct whatever Morty thought he was asserting.

Beth opened her mouth, the beginnings of a motherly reprimand forming on her tongue, but the moment her eyes met Morty's, the words vanished. He didn't glare. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't even stop chewing.

But the weight of his stare carried something older, colder like a marble statue that had no interest in debate. It wasn't disrespectful, but it left no room for argument. Beth's face faltered, her voice fell into silence, and she looked away as if something invisible had passed between them that only she could feel.

Just then, Rick entered the kitchen, scratching his head with exaggerated weariness, clearly unshaven and unrested, but not unaware. "What's this I hear about you and the bike?" he muttered, pouring himself a mug of black coffee with a flick of the wrist that sent droplets splashing onto the counter. "You gonna polish the rims or actually do something cool for once?"

Morty didn't even bother to explain. He swallowed his bite, reached for the orange juice, and replied flatly, "Just make it the greatest build in the multiverse."

Rick stopped mid-sip, his mug hovering near his lips. He laughed, at first. A real, barking, sarcastic burst of air that echoed in the kitchen like a challenge thrown at a child's imagination. But the laugh trailed off awkwardly as he realized Morty wasn't joking. Morty wasn't even flinching. There was no bravado in the claim just certainty.

Rick tilted his head slightly, curiosity tinged with wariness beginning to ripple across his face. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?" he asked, voice laced with amusement but now tempered by genuine interest. "Little chrome paint job? Add a flux capacitor? Tell me, Einstein, what's the plan?"

Morty turned toward Rick, slowly, then looked at him not with disdain, not even with condescension, but with a kind of distant elevation. As though the act of answering would've been an insult to the vision he already held in his mind. As if Rick, in all his chaotic genius, wasn't part of the equation.

Rick blinked. "Right. Cool. Just don't come crying to me when you blow your baby's engine halfway across the void because you forgot to calibrate your gravity core or something," he grunted, before walking off. He didn't wait for a response. He just disappeared back into the garage, trailing the scent of burned circuits and failed sleep.

Morty finished his breakfast in silence. Summer had long since gone back to her phone, though her eyes flicked up every now and then as if watching something she didn't understand unfold in real time.

Beth stood quietly at the counter, pretending to be invested in the news headlines on her tablet. Neither of them said another word to Morty. The room had shifted. Not loudly, not obviously. But the air around him no longer bent with familiarity. It bent with something else entirely like gravity finding a new center.

When he stood up, chair legs dragging softly across the tile, neither of them asked where he was going. They just watched him leave the kitchen, collar sharp, silver chain gleaming faintly beneath his open collar, and the scent of his resolve trailing behind him like a signature.

Upstairs, in the hush of his room, he would already be thinking, scheming, picturing dimensions not as infinite curiosities but as limitless parts bins. Because he didn't just want to ride the best machine in the multiverse.

He wanted to create it.