The brutal morning sparring was finally over. The harsh glare of noon had softened into the warm gold of late afternoon, casting long shadows across the clearing.

  Yukio lay sprawled on his back in the damp grass, his body aching in places he didn’t even know existed. Above him stretched a sky so vividly blue it almost mocked him. When will this end? he wondered, the thought heavy with exhaustion. He tried to recall how many times he’d been thrown, kicked, or flattened—but the hours had long since blurred together into one endless blur of pain.

  A silver-haired face suddenly filled his vision, hovering just inches above his own. Michibiki’s sharp eyes sparkled with playful energy, and a grin tugged at her lips.

  “Get up, Mister,”

  She said brightly.

  “The next round starts now.”

  Yukio groaned, despair washing over him like a second wave of fatigue. He sighed—long, dramatic, and entirely defeated.

  RUMBLE.

  His sigh was immediately drowned out by the loud protest of his stomach.

  Michibiki blinked, then laughed—a soft, melodic sound that seemed to ease the sting of the day’s bruises.

  “Well, well,”

  She teased,

  “looks like someone’s hungry.”

  She straightened, reaching into her pocket inventory—a shimmer of faint magic trailing her motion—and pulled out two neat, square containers. With an almost maternal calm, she handed one toward him.

  “Alright, you get a quick lunch break,”

  She said, a gentle smile flickering across her face.

  “After that, we start on the basics of magic.”

  Her tone softened slightly.

  “You’ve probably had enough bruises for one morning.”

  At the word magic, Yukio’s exhaustion vanished like smoke. His eyes lit up instantly, hope replacing pain.

  “Yahoo,”

  He sighed, half-grinning,

  “I’m finally gonna learn magic.”

  Michibiki rolled her eyes but offered her hand, pulling him upright.

  “Go wash your hands in the stream. No training dirt in my food.”

  They settled beneath the spreading branches of a sturdy oak. The shade was cool, the soft rustle of leaves a lullaby after hours of struggle. For the first time that day, Yukio felt peace creep back into his bones.

  “Hmm, this is nice,”

  He murmured, letting himself relax as he opened the container. He expected dry rations or some flavorless stew—fantasy worlds weren’t known for good cuisine.

  Instead, a rich aroma hit him first. Steam rose from a gleaming mound of curry and rice, the scent instantly triggering nostalgia.

  His eyes widened.

  “W-wait, curry and rice?!”

  He exclaimed, holding the box like treasure.

  “How does a fantasy world even have this?!”

  Michibiki was already eating, a smug smirk tugging at her lips.

  “Oh, come on, Yukio. Gaelora isn’t that primitive. Some of the food here puts your world to shame.”

  He didn’t need more convincing. He took a massive bite—and his whole face lit up.

  “Yum! This is amazing!”

  He said between mouthfuls.

  “Who made this?”

  Michibiki froze mid-bite. Her gaze shifted sideways, and a deep blush crept up her neck.

  “I… did,”

  She admitted quietly.

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  Yukio blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth.

  “Eh?”

  “I borrowed Miyato’s kitchen this morning,”

  She said quickly, still avoiding his eyes.

  “I’m not a great cook, but it turned out fine. Hope you like it.”

  “Like it? I love it!”

  Yukio said, grinning so wide it almost hurt. His usual sarcasm vanished, replaced by genuine warmth. He looked down at the meal, then back up at her.

  “It kinda reminds me of home.”

  He paused.

  “Can you make it again?”

  Michibiki’s blush deepened until her silver hair seemed to shimmer pink.

  “Just—just finish it before it gets cold!”

  She snapped, hiding her face behind her spoon.

  Lunch ended too soon. Michibiki rose, dusting off her robes with practiced precision.

  “Alright,”

  She said briskly, tone shifting back to teacher mode.

  “Up. We’ve got daylight to use.”

  Yukio groaned, dragging himself upright.

  “Time for more torture,”

  He muttered—but there was curiosity in his eyes now, not dread.

  Michibiki tilted her head with a smirk.

  “What happened to that confidence of yours, huh?”

  Standing opposite her again, Yukio squared his stance. The afternoon breeze carried the faint scent of river water and curry spice, grounding the moment in quiet anticipation.

  Michibiki’s tone turned calm and precise—the instructor returning.

  “We’ll start with the fundamentals of mana. Every living being carries mana within their body—that’s internal mana. But the world itself is saturated with it. That’s external mana, and it can be shaped, drawn, and woven.”

  As she spoke, the air seemed to stir around her. Water gathered in her open palm, swirling into a perfect sphere that caught the light like glass.

  She raised her hand, focus narrowing. The orb shot forward, slicing through a young tree’s trunk with surgical precision. The halves slid apart soundlessly. Not a drop spilled.

  “That,”

  She said, turning to him with calm authority,

  “is the power of external mana.”

  Her silver eyes gleamed.

  “And you, All-Elementalist, are going to learn all of it.”

  Yukio swallowed hard, awe written plain across his face.

  “Yeah,”

  He muttered under his breath,

  “no pressure.”

  Yukio’s eyes lit up like twin stars.

  “Sounds complicated,”

  He said, grinning despite his aching body.

  “So… how do I get started?”

  Michibiki stepped closer, the soft grass muffling her footsteps. Her silver hair caught the breeze as she stopped just in front of him. Without a word, she placed her hand flat against his chest.

  Yukio froze. The warmth of her touch spread through the thin fabric of his shirt, steady and pulsing. A faint blush crept up his neck, betraying him.

  “You already have mana continuously flowing through your body,”

  Michibiki said softly, her eyes rising to meet his.

  “It’s always been there—waiting to be used.”

  Her hand drifted lightly across his chest, tracing the air above his heart.

  “Focus. Feel it moving inside you. The rhythm, the pulse—it’s not just blood. It’s energy. Listen to it.”

  Yukio swallowed hard, then cracked his neck as if shaking off nerves.

  “Alright,”

  He said, voice steadier than he felt.

  “Let’s give this a shot.”

  He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. The world around him faded—the whisper of wind, the rustling leaves, even Michibiki’s quiet presence—all blurred into silence.

  He focused inward.

  At first, there was nothing. Just his heartbeat, faint and irregular. Then, like a current beneath calm water, he felt it—a hum, soft and electric, thrumming beneath his skin.

  His chest tightened. His heart skipped once, then steadied.

  Suddenly, warmth flooded through his veins. His skin glowed faintly—radiant shades of blue-green threaded with hints of gold, swirling and pulsing like living light.

  Michibiki tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips.

  “Huh,”

  She murmured, almost to herself.

  “Your mana signature… it’s unusual. Almost inhuman.”

  Her grin widened with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

  “Lord Fukui really did spoil you rotten, didn’t he?”

  The glow faded as Yukio exhaled sharply, releasing the energy. The moment it left him, exhaustion rushed back. He gasped for air, his body trembling.

  “Whoa,”

  He panted,

  “I’m not so bad after all, huh? Guess I can finally do something with these hands.”

  He flexed his fingers with mock pride before flashing her a half-smile.

  “So when do I learn spells? Don’t tell me you tossed me around all morning for nothing.”

  Michibiki let out a soft chuckle, eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of amusement and approval.

  “Of course not,”

  She said.

  “You can’t stay defenseless forever.”

  With a playful flick, she tapped his forehead.

  “Consider that your graduation from ‘ragdoll class.’”

  Then, in one smooth motion, she lifted her right hand toward a nearby tree.

  “Now,”

  She said, her tone sharpening with focus,

  “let’s see what that mana of yours can really do.”

  The air around her shifted—subtle but undeniable—as if the world itself leaned in to listen.

  Wind gathered in front of Michibiki’s outstretched hand, the air swirling faster and faster until it condensed into a tight, pulsing sphere. Leaves rustled, grass bent, and her silver hair fluttered from the pressure.

  “Wind Spell: Wind Sphere.”

  The ball hovered above her palm, shimmering faintly as currents twisted within it. Michibiki glanced at Yukio, a teacher’s spark in her eye.

  “Alright,”

  She said.

  “We’ll start with wind magic. Draw from the mana inside you, shape it with focus, and then speak the incantation.”

  Yukio nodded, trying to mimic her stance. He pointed toward a nearby tree, closing his eyes for just a heartbeat. Come on… mana, mana… he thought, feeling the familiar hum return to his chest.

  “Wind Spell: Wind Sphere!”

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a faint ripple of air shimmered in front of his hand, growing into a small, trembling sphere.

  His eyes flew open.

  “It worked!”

  He shouted, unable to stop himself from grinning. He thrust his hand forward, releasing the spell.

  The tiny wind sphere zipped through the air and—thunk!—barely nudged the tree’s bark before dissipating with a soft puff. Not even a leaf fell.

  Michibiki sighed softly, already stepping forward to console him—but before she could speak, Yukio threw his hands in the air.

  “Yeah! I actually cast a spell!”

  He yelled, laughing breathlessly.

  “Did you see that? It moved!”

  He dashed toward her and, without thinking, scooped her into a brief, jubilant spin.

  “Best teacher ever!”

  He declared.

  “Y-Yukio—hey!”

  Michibiki stammered, half startled, half laughing. When he set her down, she smoothed her robe, trying—and failing—to hide her smile.

  “Well,”

  She said, pretending to sound strict,

  “your control is awful, and your aim is worse. But…”

  She crossed her arms, eyes softening.

  “For a first spell? Not bad.”

  Yukio grinned.

  “So… next I learn how to make it explode, right?”

  Michibiki groaned, but there was laughter in her voice.

  “Let’s just work on not blowing yourself up first, alright?”