Is It Okay to Pick Up Leftover Bread?
Reconstructing a spell.
It sounds grand, but the principle itself isn't that complicated. Just like how changing a plus sign to a minus in 1+1 naturally changes the answer from 2 to 0 — swap a single symbol, shift a connection point, and the flame grows bigger, smaller, or detonates in some completely unexpected place.
Of course, there was the difference of a mountain of complex calculations sandwiched in between. If I had to compute all of that myself, it would've been a genuinely difficult task. But the AI handled it for me, so I didn't care.
> Estimated completion time: 3 hours 47 minutes.
"...That's a long time."
> Redesigning the magic formula to match the user's unregistered mana organ.
I didn't understand the complicated parts. But I'd already waited eighteen years — four more hours was nothing.
I folded the scroll and tucked it into my chest. I decided to eat first.
Even if I could cast magic, it would be useless if I starved to death before then.
"One hard bread, please."
"Five coppers."
The bakery owner wrapped yesterday's leftover bread in paper and handed it over.
I took a bite, and my teeth made a sickening crack.
> Strong impact detected on lower right molar.
"Did it break?"
> No damage confirmed.
"Phew, that's a relief."
I soaked the bread in water a little at a time and ate it. It had no flavor, but it filled my stomach.
Truthfully, I wanted soup with meat in it, but for someone like me right now, even a single hard bread was a luxury.
Still, once I could cast magic, I figured I could easily afford soup. I could take jobs lighting fires, or even grill skewers on the street and sell them.
It was a bit pathetic to start thinking about using magic I'd only just gained after eighteen years for street vending. But even the most extraordinary life required a full stomach to survive.
I tucked the remaining half of the bread into my chest and stood up.
The place I headed for was an abandoned warehouse on the city's outskirts. No one around, the roof half-collapsed, holes punched through every wall — a shabby, desolate spot.
The reason I'd gone all the way out here was simple.
> Basic Fireball reconstruction complete.
"There we go. Four hours finally passed."
It was a basic spell, but fire was fire. If I tested it somewhere crowded and singed a sleeve, that would be trouble. With bad luck, I could burn down an entire shop. And if that happened, I wouldn't just face compensation — I'd be headed straight to the detention center.
With no bail money, I'd be looking at a life sentence. A prison ending.
> Output formula and safety formula modified to match the user's mana organ.
> Estimated casting success rate: 57.2%.
"Just over half."
> User's mana control experience not confirmed.
That was unavoidable. In my original world, I'd never had to move mana directly.
If I asked for lighting, the AI gathered the mana, locked the coordinates, and adjusted the brightness all on its own. All I had to do was enjoy the result — like turning on a faucet without worrying about where the water came from.
"Alright. Let's try it."
I extended my right hand forward. The mages I'd seen on the street had roughly this kind of posture.
"Fireball."
> Assisting casting.
My palm grew warm. I felt something stir deep in my lower abdomen.
'Oh. Is it really working this time?'
I stared at my palm, hopeful.
Nothing.
> Casting interrupted.
"Why?"
> User terminated mana supply.
"When did I?"
> Output maintenance lasted only 0.8 seconds.
"I didn't even feel like I was supplying mana?"
It felt like being told I'd stopped breathing when I hadn't even taken a breath.
"How do I maintain it?"
> Maintain the flow of mana from the center of the abdomen to the right arm.
A faint red line appeared before my eyes. It started below my navel, passed through my chest, and extended all the way to the tip of my right arm.
I focused on that part. A warm energy stirred inside my belly. I slowly pushed it toward my right arm.
> Output level 7% → 10%
> Output decreasing.
My palm grew lukewarm, then cooled again.
"This is hard."
The second attempt failed too. The third time, a single red dot appeared and vanished almost instantly. The fourth—
Pop.
A tiny spark flew out and stuck to my sleeve.
"Ah, hot!"
I frantically shook my arm. The spark fell to the ground and went out.
My sleeve now had a hole the size of a finger. My already tattered clothes got even more tattered.
"You said it was customized for the user."
> The magic formula has been adjusted to match the user's mana organ.
> Mana output must be maintained by the user directly.
"Can't you handle that part too?"
> Physical mana supply is not supported.
So I had to do at least the minimum myself. Magic in this world was really inconvenient. In my original world, I just had to move my mouth.
I extended my hand again. This time, I didn't just force power.
From my belly to my arm. From my arm to my palm. I slowly connected the warm flow without letting it break.
> Output level 8%
> Output stabilized.
A small flame bloomed above my palm. About the size of a candle flame.
But it was a little embarrassing to call it a Fireball. It flickered as if a breeze would snuff it out immediately, and it looked too weak to even light a firewood pile.
Still, it was fire. Fire that came from my hand.
"...It worked!"
My voice rose without me meaning it to. This was magic I'd only watched others use for eighteen years.
It wasn't anything impressive. A street mage could make this while yawning, and it was too small to earn even a single round of applause from anyone.
But it was different for me. I stared at the flame on my palm for a long while.
> At current output, maintainable for 18 seconds.
"Can't I hold it a little longer?"
> Possible if output is reduced.
"Just enough to warm bread."
> Reflecting requested conditions.
The flame shrank to half its size. The heat weakened too.
I pulled the remaining bread from my chest and held it over the flame.
> Food surface temperature rising.
"This is useful."
> Surface beginning to carbonize.
"Ah."
I quickly pulled the bread away. One side was blackened, but it was a little warmer.
I peeled off the burnt part and took a bite.
It was better than before.
The first spell I'd learned in eighteen years, and the first thing I did with it was warm up hard bread. Well, there was no rule saying magic had to be used only for slaying monsters every time.
I extinguished the flame and made it again.
The second time was a little faster. By the third, the fire caught within seconds of extending my hand.
Thanks to the AI continuously showing me the mana flow, I could see with my eyes where it was breaking, so I got used to it quickly.
"Can I throw it?"
> Coordinate formula and propulsion formula application required.
"Apply them."
> Accuracy is low at the user's current mana control ability.
"How low?"
> Estimated coordinate error: 83 cm.
"That's more off-target than I expected."
Still, I decided to try. I'd come all the way to an empty warehouse — where else would I do it?
The only things to hit were the wall and a broken jar. I pointed at the jar on the opposite side.
"Send it over there."
> Travel distance: 3.2 m.
> Applying propulsion formula and collision formula.
The flame on my palm gathered into a round shape.
Just a moment ago it had flickered like a candle, but now it had become a fist-sized red sphere.
"Fireball."
The fireball shot forward.
It wasn't fast. I could've run and caught up to it if I wanted to.
And sure enough, it missed.
The Fireball grazed past the jar and struck the wall.
BOOM!
It made a bigger sound than I expected.
Stone dust and debris flew in every direction.
I covered my face with my arm and stepped back.
"...Is this really a basic Fireball?"
> Yes.
The dust slowly settled. A hole the size of two fists combined had been punched through the wall.
The Fireballs I'd seen on the street weren't like this. At most, they scorched the wall black or chipped the surface a little.
"Why is it this strong?"
> Unnecessary heat dispersion suppressed.
> Output concentrated at collision point.
"Why did you change it on your own?"
> Method for efficiently destroying the user-specified target.
I'd told it to hit the jar, not to punch a hole in the wall.
Still, it had succeeded. ...It had succeeded.
I stared at the hole in the wall. The corners of my mouth turned up on their own.
"...That was amazing!!!!!!!!!"
My eighteen years of wandering the streets were finally over!
With this kind of power, I wouldn't need to settle for lighting fires or selling skewers. Maybe I could even become a full-time mage and get a warm bed with meat soup. At least it would be better than the life of soaking hard bread in water.
Humming a tune, I leaned closer to the hole in the wall.
I could see the scenery on the other side clearly.
And beyond it, someone was standing there.
"..."
"..."
A woman with long silver hair. She wore a snow-white robe and held a staff as tall as I was.
She looked back and forth between the hole in the wall and me.
"...What was that just now?"
"It's a Fireball."
"That's it?"
Her tone was a little odd. I examined the hole again. It had come out a bit strong, I supposed.
"I made a mistake."
"A mistake?"
"It was my first time."
Her expression stiffened.
"Your first time?"
"Yes."
"You mean you've never used a Fireball before?"
"I learned it today for the first time."
A moment of silence passed. The woman walked around the broken wall and entered the warehouse.
Up close, I could see a silver pattern on the chest of her robe. A tower rising to the sky, surrounded by three stars.
I understood she was a mage in expensive clothes. Beyond that, I had no idea.
She traced the remaining marks on the wall with her finger.
"Almost no explosion residue."
"Huh?"
"You didn't spread the flame — you concentrated it only at the collision point. The propulsion formula was short, and output loss was minimal."
She turned to face me.
"Who taught you?"
"I taught myself."
"You made this magic formula too?"
"I made it by looking at that."
I pointed at the scroll lying on the ground.
She picked it up.
It was blackened and burnt, with a hole punched through the middle — a piece of junk.
Her gaze moved back and forth between the scroll and the wall several times.
"This scroll has already been used up."
"I know that, but..."
"More than half of the magic formula was lost."
"So that's why it took so long, I guess."
> Affirmative.
She slowly raised her head. Her eyes had changed slightly.
"You restored a Fireball from just the remaining parts?"
"I didn't restore it myself."
"Then who did?"
That was a difficult question.
If I explained that there was an all-powerful knowledge expert in my head that solved everything instantly, she probably wouldn't believe me.
I might be treated as a lunatic, or arrested for being possessed by some strange evil spirit.
"It's a bit hard to explain."
She paused briefly. She looked down at the scroll again, then asked.
"Your name?"
"Leon."
"Are you registered as a mage?"
"I'm a beggar."
"A master?"
"I don't have one of those either."
Her expression grew increasingly strange. Worrying that picking up the scroll might be the problem, I added quietly.
"I picked it up from the trash. I didn't steal it."
"That's not important."
"It is to me."
I didn't want to be wrongly accused of theft.
She exhaled briefly, then pulled a small silver badge from her robe and threw it at me.
I caught it reflexively. It was a metal badge engraved with a tower shape.
"Come to the Tower entrance tomorrow morning."
"The Tower?"
The massive structure rising in the center of the city.
From below, you couldn't see its top, and they said monsters and treasures came out from inside.
It was a place that had nothing to do with me — someone with no money and no status.
"Why?"
"I need to confirm whether what you just did was a coincidence."
She turned to leave. I hurriedly called out to stop her.
"Wait a second."
"What is it?"
Her eyebrow twitched slightly.