The moment Frank burst into the bathroom, everything seemed to move in slow motion. The toilet, as if insulted by Frank's authority, let out a deep, gurgling roar. It was the final warning of a beast on the brink of explosion.

And explode it did.

A geyser of brown sludge hit Frank square in the face. He didn't just get splattered—he got covered. Head to toe in a thick, goopy mess. "GAH!" he screeched, stumbling back, slipping on the slick floor. He flailed his arms, but down he went, sliding out into the hallway like a fish on ice.

And that's when the smell hit.

Students in the hallway froze. Their faces twisted with horror. "What is that?!" someone yelled, eyes watering. "It's... it's everywhere!" another screamed, holding their nose as they ran. In seconds, the hall was chaos—students gagging, fleeing, tripping over each other to get away from the stench.

Frank tried to shout over the madness, pointing back to the bathroom. "It's him! It's all—" But his voice was drowned out. To everyone else, Frank looked like the source of the disaster, covered in muck, dripping everywhere.

"Oh no, oh no," Bob thought, glancing from Frank to the screaming students. He still clutched the plunger. Then he saw Frank, soaked, furious, and flailing in the mess, and Bob blurted out, "Wow, Frank, something really fishy is going on, huh?"

Frank's face twisted in rage, and he tried to rush Bob, but slipped again, sliding further down the hallway.

Bob's instincts kicked in. He spotted a window above the sink. Not a great escape route, but there was no time to be picky.

"Sorry, Frank!" he called, jumping onto the sink. He squeezed through the narrow window, pulling himself outside and dropping to the ground. Covered in dirt, but at least he was clear of the mess.

Inside, Frank's struggle continued. He clawed at the wall, but every time he tried to stand, he slipped, the laughter and yelling getting louder. "Get back here!" he tried to yell, but he was drowned out by the chaos and his own falls.

Bob dusted himself off outside. "Well... that could've been worse," he muttered. Then came the cheerful ding! from P.U.M.A., filling his vision with a bright message: "Quest Complete! +25 Stink Points! Fantastic job causing mayhem, User!"

"Great," Bob muttered, swiping the message away. He knew the System wouldn't let up. He'd have to play along. For now.

Then he saw him—Merlin, just a few paces away, arms crossed. He wore an unreadable look, half-amused, half... something else. Bob gave a weak smile and a little wave, hoping this wouldn't get any weirder.

But deep down, he knew better.

Bob brushed dirt from his robe, trying to act like it was all part of some big, cool plan. Merlin strolled over, eyes twinkling.

"Ah, Bob," Merlin said, clapping him on the back. "Quick thinking with that... creative exit. Youth always find the most... unconventional ways to get where they need to be."

Bob nodded, forcing a grin. Sure, Merlin didn't know he'd just barely escaped a toilet disaster, but hey, if the old mage thought it was "creative," who was he to argue? Better that than the truth.

"How's the rune work going?" Merlin asked, eyes warm and expectant. "Mastered it all, I assume?"

Bob felt his stomach twist. The truth was, he hadn't exactly gotten far. The runes all blurred together in his mind, and every time he tried to practice, P.U.M.A. bombarded him with quests and point totals. But he couldn't tell Merlin that. "Yep!" Bob said, puffing out his chest. "Totally mastered it. All the, uh... rune-y... things."

Merlin beamed, clearly proud. "Excellent! You're progressing faster than I expected. Truly... like a phoenix rising from the ashes."

Merlin's smile grew wider. "Well then, it's time to put that mastery to the test. Follow me to the practice ground, Bob."

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As they headed toward the training area, Bob's nerves twisted tighter and tighter. The whispers started before he even got close to the practice dummies. Students nudged each other and pointed, muttering not-so-quietly.

"That's him," one student hissed, eyes wide. "The guy who broke the orb!"

"The walking disaster," another added with a smirk. "Bet he'll blow something up today."

Bob's face burned. He tried to ignore them, focusing on Merlin's steps. Each whisper felt like a jab in his ribs. Great.

They reached the practice ground—a large, open area with training dummies, target boards, and a few scorch marks left behind from overenthusiastic spells. Merlin gestured for Bob to stand in front of a small wooden dummy. "Let's start simple, Bob," he said, voice calm and encouraging. "I want you to cast 'Flame Flicker.' Think of it like lighting a candle—simple, steady, controlled."

Simple. Steady. Controlled. Bob repeated the words in his head like a mantra. He raised his hand, focusing on the dummy. A flame, like a candle, right?

He pushed his mana forward, and... a tiny spark fizzled from his palm, sputtering like a wheezing bug. It flickered for half a second before dying out with a pathetic little poof. The dummy remained untouched.

Bob's shoulders sagged. He glanced at Merlin, expecting to see disappointment. But Merlin's face was all smiles. "A small start, but still a start!" he said, clapping. "Even the greatest inferno begins with a single flicker."

Bob tried to smile, but the snickers from the watching students made it hard. "Single flicker... more like single failure," he thought.

"Onward, Bob!" Merlin said with a bright, almost overly optimistic tone. "Let's try something with a bit more... punch. Fiery Bolt." He moved closer, voice dropping to an excited whisper. "Imagine the spell like a shooting star, fast and bright. Not too much force—just enough to hit the target."

Bob nodded, trying to concentrate. This time, it would work. He'd prove to Merlin and everyone else that he was a real mage. "Fiery Bolt!" he yelled, thrusting his arm out.

The spell shot from his hand, but instead of a graceful streak of flame, it twisted wildly through the air like a snake with a grudge. Bob tried to steer it, but the bolt had other ideas. It smacked straight into a practice dummy... and then exploded into a fountain of thick, smelly ooze, splattering across the ground.

The students gasped, faces crinkling in disgust. Some pinched their noses, others coughed loudly, and one particularly unfortunate student covered in the splash looked like he might faint.

"Ew, what is that smell?!" a girl groaned, waving her hands frantically to clear the air.

"Is that supposed to be... fire magic?" a boy scoffed, backing away.

Bob's heart sank to his toes. He had no idea how a simple flame spell turned into a stinky mess, but here he was. He expected Merlin to say something—anything—but the old mage just chuckled.

"Good power!" Merlin said, sounding almost too cheerful. "Control comes later."

Bob sighed, forcing a nod. Control. Right. Sure, maybe someday he'd learn to control his magic... if he didn't drown in ooze first.

Merlin watched Bob's wild spell attempts like a man admiring fireworks. After a few too many mishaps—and a practice dummy that was now unrecognizable under a layer of sludge—Merlin called for a break.

"Take a moment," Merlin said kindly, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "Your power, Bob—it's immense. Massive, really. But without control, it's like a bull in a spell shop. You see?" He sat beside Bob, leaning back like a wise sage ready to bestow the secrets of the universe.

Bob's eyes widened, nodding along, but in his head, all he could think was, What kind of spell shop has a bull in it? And why would the bull be there in the first place?

"Magic," Merlin began, with a grand sweep of his hand, "is like a stream of water. Now, if you just let the water flow freely, it will go everywhere, flood everything, and cause chaos. But if you channel it—carefully, thoughtfully—you can direct it exactly where you want it to go." Merlin's voice had that dreamy quality, as if he was talking to the stars.

Bob nodded absently. "Uh-huh. Stream of water. Got it." But his mind was already wandering. It wasn't that he didn't care—it's just that Merlin's metaphors all blurred together, like trying to remember a dream after waking up.

"So remember," Merlin continued, clearly not noticing that Bob's mind was drifting far, far away, "magic is all about control. Guide it. Nurture it. Think of your fire as a gentle flame you want to fan, not a wildfire you want to douse."

"Yeah... guide it," Bob mumbled, forcing a smile. He nodded, pretending to listen, but his eyes kept wandering to the ground. And to the sky. And to the other students' spells that didn't reek or explode into goo. And then finally... to his P.U.M.A. interface.

Just a peek. Just a little swipe to break up the endless river-of-water metaphors. He slid his fingers in the air and the blue screen popped up, cheerfully blinking and shining like a carnival in his brain. He scrolled through the menus, letting Merlin's words fade into the background like boring elevator music.

Then something caught his eye—a small, pulsing meter in the corner of his interface. The bar was nearly full, glowing an eerie green, and right below it were three words that made his heart race: New Spell Slot.

His eyes widened, excitement bursting through the boredom. He'd done it—he had enough Stink Points for a new spell! A grin spread across his face, wider than it had been in weeks. Without thinking, he tapped the notification, his fingers trembling with glee.

Merlin continued talking, the words flowing around Bob like a soft breeze. But all Bob could see was that blinking alert, calling to him like a golden ticket to something better.