‘All descendants of Magister Mulligan have received thorough care based on his instructions. Growing up in an environment rich with Mana and being subjected to Mana Immersion – that is all you need, on top of normal practice, to let your Mana develop naturally.’

I am pretty sure my mother breastfed me when I was a baby. Does that count? I mean, shouldn’t the fact that I wasn’t given formula make me just a tad more magical?

No?

“Ok, book, let’s say I’d never get fed the magical stuff. What now?”

I genuinely wouldn’t be surprised if the reply was, ‘Go die.’

But the book, not to my big surprise, glitches.

Suddenly, the other script takes over.

‘Training Mana is considered a practice obsolete and barbaric. This belief is born from the fact that only two continents in the whole world had a good stranglehold on magic for roughly the past two millennia. Epretos, the second most magical – and fertile – continent, and Kome, the land on which every [Mage] should spend most of their existence. Why are they so fertile, so good at growing food, and training magic? That, my disciple, is a secret. The reason goes beyond what you understand of the world at the moment. But there’s a strict connection between the great fertility of land and magic.

‘The Empathetic School of Magic emphasized the practice of meditation and communion with the world. They would have their disciples sit on benches for months while staring at small flowers blossom and, eventually, die in cycles. Or they would stare at the fire, the clouds, and even the sun—those idiots. Such methods were considered to be the most ancient ways to truly connect with magic. Their core belief was that a true prodigy would have understood the whole world before even casting a [Light] spell. In fact, they actively discouraged any use of magic for the first ten years of education… you might see how it comes to be that they don’t exist anymore. Ten years in the Reductionist School, on the other hand, and you might become a [Grand Mage] with enough talent.’

I can’t help but think about what I’m reading.

The process of conjuring a spell matrix in front of me has been pretty magical, whereas the Reductionist approach has been extremely formal about everything until now. I looked down at the pages as more ink appeared.

‘The belief that it is a barbaric practice comes from elitism. The greatest [Mages] have come from Epretos and Kome, with the sole exception of the Hydras—but those creatures use methods that are better not casually discussed.’

‘Even though the Empathetic School of Magic has turned out to be obsolete and subpar, that does not mean there are no lessons to be gained from what they did. I—well, Magister Mulligan, decided to try out the methods they shared with the whole world. Yes, unlike any other [Mage], the Empathetic School was very open to sharing its techniques. Some of the most prominent Reductionist [Mages] have postulated that they might have been trying to sabotage the entire world’s magical progress. Nonetheless, when Magister Mulligan delved deep into their knowledge, he discovered that, indeed, most of their students had an augmented capacity for Mana. Beware, the augmentation was only on the baseline. If they had practiced magic for ten years instead of staring at potted flowers, they might have had as much as two hundred times the Mana capacity they had. But it is also true that ingesting Mana potions of dubious manufacture is not an optimal method to increase one’s Mana.’

‘Well, it is if you can find an [Alchemist] able to craft almost perfect Mana Potions and who’ll also sell them for a reasonable price. Sadly, most [Alchemists] should have gotten the greed [Fireball]ed out of them—to which Magister Mulligan had contributed to a great degree; he’ll have you know. Especially Dragon [Alchemists]. A particularly high-level Dragon [Alchemist], a true legend of the past, tried to enthrall Magister Mulligan’s soul with a potion. As is customary for their filthy and manipulative race, they wish to control everything and everyone. Suffice it to say that Magister’s newly made hat was extremely fashionable and soft on the scalp. Made of premium leather.’

What I have gathered so far: the second algorithm that governs this book loves to ramble.

‘But let this wonderful story of hats not distract us from this very important lesson about the Empathetic School of Magic. Magister Mulligan has personally unearthed proof that their theories predated the supposed Golden Age of Dragons, led by their strongest ever, the Black Queen of Dragons. She, whose fame and judgment are good, supposedly created the Reductionist School. But then, when was the Empathetic School of Magic founded? And by whom? The Black Queen is a name that eludes most [Historians] and [Scholars] alike. She is several millennia older, at the very least, than the oldest manuscript we have with her name on it. That means she lived more than thirty thousand years ago. In his time, Magister Mulligan heard theories that this Black Queen supposedly lived even longer. However, the world had undergone so many wars and destructions of historical documents that it was impossible to say with certainty.’

‘Dragons, disciple, have less of a need for physical training than any other creature. Even Hydras are far from Dragons’ natural capabilities. And then, one would ponder the truth regarding the Empathetic School of Magic. How could it be yet another Dragon’s discovery? The Reductionist approach fits their hyper-efficient, ruthless crowd of selfish, unheroic morons. But the Empathetic one? How could one suppose a Dragon would stare at flowers all day instead of making unholy experiments and trying to subvert the order of nature?’

I raise my eyes from the book. My head is spinning.

“Can we actually skip to why I would need to know this? Am I supposed to stare at things as they live and die?”

The book erases many of its lines at once and rewrites them.

‘Magister Mulligan himself has managed to glimpse into the Empathetic School of Magic and expand his own Mana capacity thanks to its theories. Mana is a finite resource, but you can tap into a greater state of being by being observant. Do that, disciple, and you shall gain the same benefits that Magister Mulligan received.’

I look at the book with a raised eyebrow.

Does the book simply want me to meditate? Is that what this is?

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Isn’t that how it works in video games, anyway? You sit down, contemplate the beauty of creation, and the Mana flows into you? Is that what the Empathetic School of Magic is?

But shouldn’t there be something more akin to making the Mana flow inside of you? Like, have some kind of a [Mana Absorption] skill?

I look at the book, tempted to ask more questions. Then, I look at the ingredients and consider the fact that I pretty much got ready for the date four hours in advance.

You know what? I don’t mind having some time to kill. I won’t ask the book; I’ll figure it out for myself.

…

I fetched a piece of paper and a pen from my bag of holding. They also have specially enchanted pens that don’t require you to dip them in an inkwell every ten seconds.

So, let’s write down a list of things that could be considered a part of the ‘Empathetic School of Magic.’

Meditation, duh. That’s the first offender. It’s almost stupidly obvious.

The second one is a more active type of deep self-reflection? Like, if meditation means a mindful state of rest, that’s one thing, but if it means active observation, that’s a completely different thing, no?

What else? How do people get Mana in video games? Meditation, Mana potions…

Oh, right.

Third, trying to actively absorb Mana from the environment.

That would be something akin to trying to move Mana inside your body, I suppose. If Meditation let you synch with the natural flow of the Mana of the universe, yeah… Mana Absorption would be the coercion of Mana, I guess.

Fourth would be prayers, perhaps.

Who knows, with enough luck, I could get the [Light Mage] class to turn into the [Cleric] one and smite people with a [Heaven’s Thunder] or something. Wouldn’t that be swell?

I stop.

I stop thinking about magic.

I look around the room. Suddenly, the wound on my finger stings more—almost as if it was burning. I look at my little stovetop and the ingredients in the living room of this quasi-studio-apartment.

Do you ever get this moment of dissociation from reality? Do you ever stop doing whatever you are doing and look at yourself from the outside? Is that something that people do, or is it just me? I think it’s rather common among millennials, at least. Many of us, as kids, had to live through moments of pure and absolute boredom, unlike the newer generations. Well, we did have that only for a certain period in our lives, obviously. The Internet came pretty hot on our tails. I did not have to stay stuck with my thoughts as much back on Earth. When you have a phone that keeps you company at every twist and turn, you are never alone—in a sick way, obviously.

But that’s beside the point.

I look at myself and the little wound on my finger.

Then, I look at the book.

A big sigh escapes my mouth.

If I was on Earth, would this be college life? Would I be cleaning up my messy room, perhaps hiding the proof that other chicks had been around?

I lived alone on Earth—well, with my cat, Dostoevsky. And don’t get your panties in a twist thinking about that filthy animal. My hot neighbor is probably taking care of him as we speak. If anything, my cat learned how to parkour around the balcony and reach the hot woman architect’s flat on the other side of the hall.

I wonder if I could have scored anything more than a few cursory chats if my mother hadn’t been around as much as she loved to. She would often come to my place, especially after dad had died; she would cook, clean, and do my laundry. I don’t even remember the last time I actually had to do any laundry. Honestly, I think she had me buy a big apartment so that she could come over with the excuse to clean up constantly.

The interesting thing is that we bought an apartment for her in the same building, but she basically spent almost all of her time in mine. The few times we both went down to her place – a few floors down – I would find much more dust there than in mine.

And I can’t help but wonder; how different would it have been if I had gone somewhere far, like Harvard? If I had accepted any of the offers I got, would my mother be a less important figure in my life?

I rub my fingers together, muttering a lone word.

“[Light].”

By now, I can cast it even without thinking.

A small light appears in front of me, untethered. No anti-matrixes or anything complex. I look at it. See, I kept the brightness low even though my [Eyes: Major Light Resistance] means I don’t really need to. But it’s much more pleasant to look at if I keep it dim.

I observe the [Light] wistfully.

Is this my college experience? Is this what it would have been like? Chicks at my place after a day of studying? Can’t be, right?

So, when does the other shoe drop? When does this become a mess? When am I called to become a [Hero] or a [Villain]? Wait. Would there be a [Villain] class? And do [Villains] get more chicks than [Heroes]? Like, don’t women write a bunch of letters to serial killers?

One wonders, right?

I sigh.

Even if I had to take on a massive quest… would it be that bad?

Man, am I losing it?

It would obviously be bad!

Who wants to be a goddamn [Hero]?! Why would I risk my life for a stupid bundle of [Lights] and some presumptuous fame?

To hell with it.

I look at the ingredients and smile in contentment. Magic will be useful for looking after the people I love, sure. Protecting my friends—that’s a priority now. But I’m not a [Mage]. I’m a Baker with capital B.

I still cradle the light in my cupped hands and close my eyes, focusing on the slightly ethereal feeling spreading across my fingers and palms.

I utter a small prayer.

Ma’, Joey here. I hope everything is still fine up there. I bet you are playing cards with the Holy Virgin and robbing her blind. Tell dad not to eat too much now that he’s up there—he might actually get fat. If he does, make fun of him like you always promised to. That daily bread won’t be easily forgiven, I bet.

Other than that, nothing much on my part… I mean, stuff is good now. Well, at least I think it’s good. Work’s fine. Friends are working hard. I sat down and learned some magic—nothing too satanic, I promise.

Oh, and by the way, I was wondering if you could send me some holy spirit if you have anything to spare. I was going to try and meditate a little bit, but maybe you can – I don’t know – send some providence? FedEx me some of that holiness so that I can regenerate Mana faster? Oh, right, Mana is the magic inside of you. It basically makes you do magic.

I giggle to myself as I explain.

Nonetheless, Ma’, look after yourself up there. I’ve been thinking about you a lot since I started going hard at magic. I should have probably listened to you and dad, right? Study Medicine and do crazy research. You would have loved to brag about that to your friends, wouldn’t you?

But yeah, magic is pretty fun, I’ll admit. I can put holes through wood. Today, I was tempted to shoot in the air, but then, I realized I could have hurt someone and ended up in jail. Gotta go outside the walls to do that, I think. I’ll ask Lucillus and Antoninus if they want to take a short walk with me tomorrow.

I keep cradling the [Light].

But Ma’, listen, I’m ‘calling’ because I was thinking about you. It just kind of came to me that I’m basically doing what you wanted me to. Studying Medicine, but instead of Medicine, it’s magic. And nothing, I just wanted to tell you that I wondered if you would have been such large of a part of my life as you had been…

Honestly?

I don’t see any other way I would have had you as a mother.

Every day, when something gets tough, I think of you. In a way, you are always with me—all you have taught me, all the ways you showed me to live even like this.

I just wish I could have done more, Ma’. So much more.

There’s unanswered anger in my head, mixed with several other emotions, but it still comes up on top. And the more I think about the anger, the more I slowly slip into a meditative state. I can just feel it. I’m not a body anymore; I’m a ball of raw sensations that culminate with fury.

Then, something weird happens. Suddenly, warmth spreads through my hands where I was cradling the [Light].

What the hell?

I look down at my hands, still feeling the heat.

“Am I really becoming a [Cleric]?” I mutter with wonder as I bring my finger to my eyes.

But… nope.

Still bleeding.

Hell, is it even more inflamed?

What the hell just happened?