My Talent for Service
I woke up feeling refreshingly clear-headed, unlike ever before. Stretching as I rose from my spot, I thought back to the incredibly vivid dream I'd had. Yeah, it couldn't have been real. My own tree betraying me and signing a contract on my behalf? No mage would believe that, no matter who you asked. If it were a story, it'd get flak for lacking plausibility. See? If it had been real, there'd be a contract mark on my wrist... "In the case of passing the university entrance exam under Irian's tutelage, I promise to serve Irian until graduation." It was there.
I rubbed my face with both hands. Exhaustion crashed over me like a tidal wave. I wasn't refreshed at all—I'd just been escaping reality. I still couldn't make sense of it. Looking around, I saw the familiar workshop. Right, I'd moved the bedroom from the second floor down here. Yesterday, I'd spent the whole day demolishing the second and third floors to turn them into one massive room. All the stuff got brought down to the workshop, so I'd crashed here too. I'd definitely slept, but I felt even more drained than before bed.
I had to go upstairs, but I didn't want to. Classes started today, she'd said. I couldn't imagine what was coming. I slapped my cheeks hard enough to sting. No room for weakness. It had happened, so I'd give it my all. I didn't know what intentions she had in binding me with this contract. But one thing was clear: she'd get me into the university. I shifted my mindset. From now on, I'd be a thorough servant. I'd revere Professor Irian, obey her, submit to her. In a good light, she was my master now. I'd learn as much as I could, hone my skills, and grow. That was my only path forward.
I dusted myself off and headed to the first floor, starting the cleaning with my puppets. At the same time, I whipped up breakfast quick. Low-level mages like me need to eat to fill our stomachs, but higher-ups supposedly don't. Thinking of that, I prepared some sweet honey tea and matching biscuits—just a little. Yesterday's pastries were all gone. She'd devoured them while I was remodeling the building.
The tea boiled, filling the first floor with a subtle fragrance. Right on cue, Professor Irian came down yawning. The puppet I'd finished setting up overnight—all functions maxed out, my ultimate professor-assistant weapon—approached her silently. It pulled something from its chest and swiftly offered it: a damp towel. She took it naturally and wiped her face. That smoothness—yep, I'd made it right. Your name is Butler from now on. Suffer in my stead for the professor. Every one of its functions was for assisting her.
She tossed the towel back to Butler, sniffed the tea aroma, and smiled faintly. Butler smoothly absorbed the towel into its body. Washing and drying would happen inside simultaneously. She followed the scent to the table, picked up a biscuit, and popped it in her mouth. Butler naturally poured honey tea into a cup and handed it over.
"Mm, good. That's why I like your puppets."
She smiled in satisfaction, and I felt a bit relieved. Butler kept serving her seamlessly. When her cup emptied, it cautiously offered the teapot, pouring only once she held her cup ready. I stood nearby, tweaking its functions on the fly—pouring motion, arm angle, gaze processing. I fine-tuned every detail for optimal flow.
After sipping for a while, she opened a gap and pulled out a scroll.
"I noted the crude parts of your puppet. Improvements. Learn them all by evening when I get back."
I took it carefully. She stood up. Butler and I escorted her to the door and shut it behind her. Phew, she's gone. I let out a sigh of relief—then the door burst open again. She poked her head in.
"I'm taking that puppet, so hand it over."
She pointed at Butler. I pulled out a few mana stones and hung them near its mana heart. If power ran low, it'd consume them to recharge automatically. I roughly adjusted it for outdoor use and handed it over. Her mana enveloped it, swallowing it into the gap in an instant.
"Fail the homework, and it's punishment."
She grinned, and the door closed. I swallowed hard. Punishment? What kind? Her mana flashed in my mind. One hit from that, and I'd be dust. I had to memorize it or die. I hurriedly unrolled the scroll.
It held blueprints for every puppet she'd bought from me. Dozens, easy. Had I sold that many? But they weren't like the ones I knew. The bodies were the same, but the internal circuits were dozens of times more complex.
What... is this?
I stared blankly. Unfathomable flows, alien circuits. It clearly built on my basics—my traces lingered in the complexity. But the rest? No clue. Take the wheeled cylinder upfront, meant just to suck up floor dust. Mine was simple: circulation wind magic and wheel motion. Now it was unrecognizable. My single straight line twisted like a tree trunk, branching into multiple paths. How did this even work? It'd run out of mana, right?
I'd kept mine linear for efficiency. Complexity like this would drain power. Or so I'd thought. I mentally traced it once. Against expectations, the flow was purer, stronger than my original. At branches, the split mana surged fiercer downward. Why? I puzzled over it endlessly. No answers.
One thing to do: head to the workshop. I gathered wood for bodies, stacked it by the bench, infused my carving knife with mana, and sliced. Make first, think later. If I don't get it, hammer it into my body. Only way. I carved relentlessly, puppets piling up, filling the space. Understanding dawned bit by bit.
It's a tree. Circuits are just like trees.
I savored the insight—then the workshop's defense magic shattered. I jolted, staring at the stairs. Professor Irian hurried down. Time check: past 9 a.m. Already? She scanned the workshop, eyes on the puppet pile. She picked one up, examined it.
"How's it going? Making progress?"
I glanced at the scroll. Hundreds of blueprints crammed in. Progress? Hell no. I hadn't grasped a single one properly—just a vague sense of the structure.
"I've only understood a little."
I confessed honestly. Then a massive impact hit me. I realized I'd been struck only after slamming into the wall. No idea what hit me. Agony followed late. On the floor, looking up: Butler shadowboxing jabs. Her command, no doubt. Enhanced by her magic, each punch whistled heavily. I'd made it too good at assisting.
I spat blood clotting in my throat and stood.
"Punishment for bad homework."
She said. "Just a taste. Next time, I'll yank your soul out and punch that."
"I'm sorry. Give me a bit more time, and I'll master it."
I snapped back to position pre-hit, bowing at ninety degrees. One more, and I'd die. No idea what soul-punching meant, but avoid at all costs. She tossed the puppet she'd been holding behind her.
"Close, but totally different. You get nothing. Hm, dumber than I thought."
No excuses. This was her textbook, tailored to my level. And I couldn't comprehend it. Reminder: I'm a nobody, fumbling rare chances.
"No helping it. Gotta teach simpler."
She approached the bench, where my latest puppet lay.
"Oh, this one's different, at least."
Her face lit up. My final insight applied there—not blind copying, but infused with what I'd grasped. Tweaked circuits revealed how to pack more magic in. Not scroll-perfect, but leagues beyond my old designs. I smiled proudly. My best in this short time. Worth placing it front and center.
"Yes, I modified the parts I could understand."
"Yeah? Lemme see."
She mana-sliced it in half. My jaw dropped. A silent scream from its guts—my effort's fruit, my bloody research. She rummaged through the halves.
"Still crude. Dirty."
Grumbling, she pulled a scroll and started engraving. Peeking: circuits breathtaking, beyond anything I'd drawn. Simpler than her prior scroll, but vibrant like a living tree.
She pulverized the puppet to dust, took tea from Butler, crossed her arms. Her mana pressed down, irritated and heavy.
"Lame. Super lame. Gotta teach circuit drawing too?"
I shut up, knees buckling under the pressure. Look at those circuits. If she calls mine copper, they are.
"Magic's fun, though. Unique flair."
She tossed another scroll. "List all your known spells."
I spread it on the floor, grabbed a pen, mana-infused it. Basics, 20 years of cheap spells, combos into my originals. Spells are knowledge bombs—mages hoard or sell dear. Bottom-feeder me? Only trash.
Done, she snatched it. Frowning from line one, face twisting worse by end.
"Spells are the real problem."
She tsked. "These last ones—you made 'em?"
"Yes, tailored for puppets."
"Hm, okay."
Did she like mine? Slim chance, but hopeful.
"Kinda lacking. No, very lacking. Tons to improve."
Yup. Hope deflated. But one thing clear: she wanted to teach me. I widened my eyes, straightened up. Every word gold—etch it deep.
"Roughly get your direction, though."
She slashed lines on my scroll, handed it back. Most of my 20-year collection crossed out. Pricey attacks? All gone.
"Kept the decent ones. Focus on these."
Left: water-cleaning spell (mop-inspired from water whip—whip crossed). Air-purifying (wind blade spin for circulation—blade crossed). All like that. My creations survived, but base attacks axed. Any offense? Gone. Wait—one left: explosion spell. My self-destruct staple, refined for max boom minimal loss. Half-crossed.
Filtering: cheap buffs, my originals. Her intent crystalized.
"Attack spells... no potential at all?"
"Attack? You?"
She stared, baffled, head tilt. "You wanna enter uni. But talent-poor. Confident beating others?"
No. Test sword nut flashed—my tricks shredded.
"Your spells show direction, talent. Yours? All lifestyle. Not hurting others—for your own ease."
True. Blind spot. I'd just thought no attack aptitude. Insight beyond drifter mages.
Knowledge gap stung already.
"Uni isn't just brawlers. Well... brawlers enter easy."
She paused. Butler offered warm tea; sip.
"Anyway, no potential there. Develop what you're good at."
Good at? 20 years, never pondered. Just survived, weed-like.
Answer quick: what I excelled in was...
"Yeah, just support from behind."
Right—support. Servant talent.
Wait, misheard?
"Stuff your puppets with lifestyle spells. That's your gift."
Eh? Wasn't it time for "great talent" speech? Stunned stare.
"Why pick you? Not expecting genius. Puppets useful, so bringing you in."
"Play to your strengths." She handed cup to Butler, who stowed it politely. I sat dazed.
"Homework till tomorrow. Fail, punishment."
She left the engraved scroll on the bench, exited. More work. I rose carefully, unrolled it. Beautiful pattern. Despair gripped—zero clue. And that talk. Talent for support? Gut burned. But suppressed. She said it—true or not, believe it. Make it truth.
Mind flipped; words hit heavier. All spot-on. 20 years—from puppet start. Escaped island not by strong magic, but good puppets. Decor buffs, lifestyle—those sold, got me here. Shop too: no attacks. Only comfort puppets. Hard, sure, but easiest, best sellers. Why this shop? Safest, comfiest gig. Wandering too risky; rewards not worth it.
Reviewed 10 fails. Mess. Assumed competition, blew cash on attacks. Result: 11th-timer. Competing mismatched me. Huge misjudgment.
"I was the fool."
Sigh swallowed. Beat geniuses with combat? Laughable. Sword nuts slice my attacks like paper. My prized explosion? Shredded by 20-years-younger punk. Competing proved stupidity.
Professor right x100. Spotted from spells alone. Chills at insight. She's different.
Perfect servant time. No combat thoughts—pure safety, comfort. Ultimate attendant puppets for any mage's satisfaction. No rival needed. Follow strong, dodge fights.
Retested last exam: thrashed for "win." But respect + draw via service? They'd accept. Just another spar to them. Secure safety with explosion, offer rest/comfort, demand draw—they'd take it.
Epiphany rained on seedling. Ultimate service—no enemies. My path.
Wood on bench. No break time. Seconds precious. Studied scroll, carved. 20 years wasted post-island. Her priceless time—no waste. Next 10 months: grind per her words. Hone magic fully.