Alya insisted we practice in the alley behind the bookstore—the only place, she claimed, "where your catastrophes won't destroy Grandma's shelves."
I took offense at that.
But only a little.
"Okay," Alya announced, clapping her hands as Wak perched smugly on her shoulder, "today we're covering mana gathering, core tiers, and why you absolutely must not panic or explode."
I blinked. "Explode?"
"Don't worry, it's rare."
She paused.
"…Relatively."
"Alya—"
"ANYWAY!" She dramatically pointed at my chest. "First step: your mana core. Everyone has one. When you feel magic in your body, it flows through channels and gets stored in your core. Cores increase in tier as you train—Tier 1 is a normal person. Tier 2 means you can sense mana, Tier 3 means you can gather it."
My eyes widened. "People can feel their cores?"
"Yes," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "That's what the test is for. Now come here."
She grabbed my hands, placed them over her stomach, and guided them up to her chest.
"Close your eyes. Try to sense a warm, glowing… spot. A center."
I did.
I felt nothing.
Alya huffed and placed her palm over my sternum.
"Okay, your turn." She focused. "Just stay still. I'll check where your core is."
She pressed a little harder, channeling mana into the touch. A faint warmth spread outward. Wak stared at me intensely, tail swishing, as if evaluating me like a math problem.
Suddenly—
Alya's ears shot up.
Her eyes widened.
Her tail stiffened.
"…What," she whispered, voice trembling, "IS THAT?"
My eyes snapped open. "What? What?!"
"Your… your core—your TIER—"
"What about it?!"
"Mavis."
She swallowed.
"You're Tier 3."
I blinked.
"…Already?"
Alya stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
"TIER THREE?!" she shrieked. "HOW?! That means you've already developed the ability to gather mana. But you've never trained! You've never cast! You barely know what magic IS!"
"I… don't know?" I offered weakly.
Alya grabbed my shoulders and shook me lightly.
"Do you know how long it took me to reach Tier 2?! My whole LIFE! And YOU—YOU—just—Tier THREE—?!"
Wak hissed in agreement, offended on Alya's behalf.
"I'm sorry?" I squeaked.
Alya let me go and paced back and forth, tail flicking like a metronome of stress.
"This shouldn't be possible… unless you had some background training? Did you secretly practice as a kid? Was your family magical? Did you grow up near a mana spring? Did you—"
"I grew up in a fog."
She paused.
"…Right. That explains NOTHING!"
I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly.
"Maybe I'll learn fast?" I said hopefully.
Alya groaned.
"Well," she muttered, "at least gathering mana should be easy."
She taught me the basics—breathing deeply, pulling the air inward, imagining I was "drawing a thread from the world into a spool inside myself."
For most beginners, it took hours.
For me?
Five minutes later, Alya screamed, "STOP—STOP—TOO FAST—TOO MUCH!"
Mana rushed into me like water being sucked through a broken dam. The air trembled. My fingertips tingled.
Alya threw herself forward and smacked my hands apart.
"WHAT—ARE—YOU?!" she yelled, eyes wide.
"…A sailor?"
"That is a LIE!"
But she let out a long breath.
"Okay," she muttered. "You're a freak of nature. Fine. I can work with that. Let's just… stop for today. Before you absorb the alleyway."
I nodded sheepishly.
That night, after Alya left, I sat cross-legged on the floor of my tiny room, hands on my knees, breathing slowly.
Gather mana.
Gather mana.
Gather mana.
A warm pulse filled my chest.
Jerry coiled around my shoulders, watching silently, runes glowing faintly in the candlelight.
"You're absorbing too fast," he murmured.
"I don't know how to slow down."
"Then sleep. You'll figure it out."
And for once…
I didn't argue.