Before I could think about it further, the instructor's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Can anyone explain why an inefficient mana circulation pattern can lead to internal backlash?"
Several students raised their hands.
The instructor selected a young man in the front row, who confidently explained that excessive mana accumulation could damage the user's internal channels.
"Correct," the instructor said. "And what is the most effective way to prevent it?"
The student answered that the user should reduce the amount of mana circulating through the body.
The instructor nodded approvingly.
I stared at the diagram.
That answer was technically correct, but it wasn't the whole story.
Reducing the mana flow would prevent excessive accumulation, but it would also reduce the amount of energy available for casting spells. It was a safety measure, not an efficient solution.
There had to be another way.
I was still contemplating the problem when the instructor suddenly turned toward the back of the room.
"Mr. Voss."
My pen stopped moving.
"Since you seem particularly interested in the diagram, perhaps you can tell us whether there's another way to prevent internal backlash without simply reducing mana circulation."
Several students turned to look at me.
Wonderful.
I'd managed to attract attention without even raising my hand.
I could have given a vague answer and returned to my notes. That would have been the sensible choice.
Unfortunately, the question intrigued me.
I stood up slowly.
"Perhaps the problem isn't the amount of mana circulating through the body, but the way it's distributed."
The instructor adjusted his glasses.
"Explain."
"If the mana channels are treated as a closed circuit, excessive accumulation becomes inevitable when the flow exceeds the system's capacity. But if the circulation pattern includes controlled points of release, the excess mana could be redirected before it causes damage."
The room fell quiet.
I continued before I could reconsider.
"Of course, that would require a more complicated circulation pattern, and the release points would need to be carefully regulated. Otherwise, the user might lose too much mana or destabilize the spell."
The instructor stared at me for several seconds.
"An interesting hypothesis," he finally said. "Although it would require considerable evidence before we could consider it a viable method."
"I agree."
I sat down.
That should have been the end of it.
Instead, I noticed a student in the front row turning around to examine me.
She had long black hair, striking blue eyes, and an expression that suggested she'd just discovered something unexpected.
Amada Black.
One of the highest-ranked participants in the College Board.
She looked at me for a moment before turning back toward the board.
I lowered my gaze to my notebook.
Damn it.
So much for remaining invisible.
----
That night, the headaches were worse.
I sat in the old building's basement with Mr. Belt, who was finishing another puzzle. This one was smaller—only 3,000 pieces—but it was intricate, a portrait of a woman with sad eyes.
"You're becoming gaunt," Mr. Belt observed without looking up. "Working too hard?"
I didn't answer. Mr. Belt had never asked questions about where I got money or how I survived. He'd just quietly allowed me to stay in his space, to use his room as a refuge. That unspoken acceptance was more valuable than I could articulate.
...And I didn't have strength to have a conversation with him.
So, I just left to sleep without giving him a proper reply.
Thankfully he didn't stopped me.
I barely made it to the mattress before my body gave out.
The moment my head touched the pillow, a sharp pain shot through my skull. I clenched my teeth and curled up, pressing both hands against my temples as if that would somehow stop the pain.
It didn't.
For a while, I could do nothing but endure it.
Sweat trickled down my forehead, soaking the thin pillow beneath my head. My vision blurred, and the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to twist and stretch.
I had experienced headaches before, but this was different.
It felt as though something inside my skull was slowly tearing itself apart.
"Fuck..."
The word escaped my lips as little more than a whisper.
I reached for the medicine beside my mattress, fumbled with the packaging, and swallowed a pill with the last of the water in my bottle.
Then I lay back down and waited.
One minute passed.
Then five.
The pain didn't disappear, but it eventually subsided enough for me to breathe normally again.
I stared at the ceiling.
How much longer could I keep this up?
I'd been asking myself the same question for days, yet I still hadn't found an answer.
The money I had saved was barely a fraction of what I needed for treatment. My academic plans were still nothing more than ideas, and I hadn't even begun investigating the research rewards offered by the academy.
Meanwhile, my condition was deteriorating.
At this rate, I might not have three months.
I closed my eyes and tried to push the thought away.
There was no point in worrying about a future I couldn't predict.
For now, I needed to sleep.
Tomorrow would bring its own problems.
When I woke up, the basement was quiet.
For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar, and the air smelled faintly of dust and old wood.
Then I remembered.
Mr. Belt's building.
I slowly sat up and checked my phone.
Six thirty in the morning.
I'd slept for barely four hours.
Wonderful.
I rubbed my face and immediately regretted it when a dull ache spread across my forehead.
At least the worst of the pain was gone.
I looked around the basement.
Mr. Belt was nowhere to be seen, but his puzzle remained on the table. He had made considerable progress before I went to sleep, and only a few dozen pieces remained scattered beside the portrait.
I stared at the woman's face.
There was something strangely familiar about her expression.
Not because I'd seen her before, but because she looked like someone who had spent a lifetime carrying burdens she couldn't share with anyone else.
I wondered whether Mr. Belt felt the same way.
He rarely talked about himself. Most of the time, he occupied himself with his puzzles, occasionally making an observation that sounded meaningless until I thought about it later.
I'd never asked him why he lived in an abandoned building.
He'd never asked me why I did.
Perhaps that was why I felt comfortable around him.
We both understood that some questions were better left unanswered.
I stood up, folded the thin blanket, and placed it beside the mattress.
Then I noticed something on the table.
A small paper bag.
I approached it cautiously and looked inside.
Two pieces of bread and a bottle of water.
There was also a handwritten note.
Eat something before you leave. You look like you're about to fall apart.
I stared at the message.
For some reason, I found myself smiling.
It was a rather blunt way of showing concern.
Still, I appreciated it.
I ate the bread slowly, trying not to think about how hungry I had been the previous evening.
When I finished, I folded the note and slipped it into my pocket.
I would have to thank him later.
Assuming I could find the right words.