73 - Competitive Spirit
Mana is never a static substance.
Some call it a tool that materializes ideals. Others say it's like a wheel that carves out destiny. But my way of defining mana was a bit different. It might sound more dry and plain than their poetic expressions, but I wanted to call it a tangle of probabilities.
Another word for probability is possibility. We pull a single thread from that tangle to determine the future. For example, when clouds gather, it could rain, snow, or even hail lightning. A farmer whose crops are on the verge of withering from drought would desperately wish for a gentle shower. To draw out such possibilities, we study mathematics, observe natural phenomena, and weave the fabric of the future using mana as the thread and transmutation circles as the loom.
But mana is a tangle that moves on its own. Fixing the engine of a stationary car is easier than repairing the pulsing heart of a living person—and mana is the same. My master once taught me a metaphor for this: the "bead on the bed." A bead placed on a bed won't move without external force, but the moment you sit on it, a slope forms toward the center, and the bead rolls and spins toward you. We can tell it's rolling because of the slope, but the bead itself has no idea why it's moving.
Mana isn't sentient, but in this chaotic world, it wriggles ceaselessly like a tadpole. That's why injecting the right amount into a transmutation circle is so tricky.
Beep— [5.4]
"Oh, that's pretty good this time."
"Honestly, I don't even know why it's coming out high. I'm so tired..."
After a dozen or so injections, Yuna slumped forward, banging her head on the desk in exhaustion. We'd tried injecting mana evenly across the whole thing, then just in the center. As she followed my advice and ramped up the intensity, the overall efficiency of the transmutation circle improved—but every now and then, we'd get a 2 or 3, so it wasn't consistent.
"Nami, why don't you try it?"
Yuna handed me the model transmutation circle.
"What efficiency should I aim for?"
"You can control that?"
"Yeah."
"I see..."
Yuna's face darkened. She'd been straining every muscle to boost the numbers, and now she looked defeated. It felt like crushing a kid's dream, which didn't sit right with me. Her lips pursed in a pout—anyone could see Seo Yuna was sulking.
Sigh. As the adult here, I had to cheer her up.
"Listen, Yuna. It's not that I'm better than you at magic. It's just that right now, I know more about it than you do, so it looks that way."
"What's the difference...?"
"Big difference. You've only been learning magic for a year, right? I've been at it way longer."
"How long?"
"About twenty years?"
"No way, liar!"
"Fine, five years then. So if you study hard and learn everything I know, you'll definitely become a better mage than me."
It was natural for a reincarnator to seem like a genius as a kid. But that didn't guarantee they'd stay one into adulthood. Like how I could overwhelm Third Prince Hiasen or Hero Klaus in swordsmanship when we were young, only for them to catch up later. I built Yuna's confidence by telling her her magical aptitude wouldn't lose to any kid her age.
"That's why I'll give you a rough idea of what this spell does. Check it out."
The number of circles doesn't always mean a spell's power. But higher circles make high-output magic easier because the efficiency drop from longer, more complex mana circuits is offset. Spells are what you name them, but I'd call this one the "Heat Transfer—Coil" spell.
The heat transfer spell I used earlier to warm Yuna's head could be cast via conduction, convection, or radiation. But this 2nd Circle version used electromagnets and coils for a more unique heat transfer. Explaining it fully would require Ohm's law, resistance loss, skin effect, eddy currents—but that might make her cry, so I kept quiet.
As a basic heat spell, not vector-based, more mana meant more power. Scale effects made high-output spells relatively more efficient, so readings trended higher. But varying efficiency by injection point came from differing resistances in the transmutation circle. North side might optimize at 150kE, south at 200kE. For low-level spells, 150 or 200 was six of one, half a dozen of the other—you could ignore efficiency. But at 100k or 1M units, injection precision mattered.
I sent about 170kE straight into the center.
Beep— [9.9]
The analysis showed it neared the theoretical max efficiency threshold. Probably rounded to one decimal—actual calc would be around 99.17%.
"How... how did you get that on the first try...?"
Yuna's voice was full of shock.
"See? You can do it too. Try injecting 171.4kE."
"I can't be that precise."
"I'll help. Give it a shot."
Like interlocking fingers in the bathroom stall before, I overlapped my palm on the back of her hand. Human skin has various receptors—Merkel cells for touch and Meissner corpuscles for vibration cluster in the palms. Interlocking let me gauge her mana injections by tremors or tingles, precise enough to intervene in someone else's casting. The human hand was that sensitive.
"Your hand's so soft. Like baby skin."
"Not something you should say."
"Time's almost up. Hurry."
"Don't blame me if I pass out."
Yuna mustered her last dregs of mana. The red-tinged mana she unconsciously infused flowed slowly from her hand.
"Over 150 now."
"A bit more...?"
"Don't overflow—slow it down."
I felt her blood flow through capillaries, even her pulse. Mana injection was irreversible—no take-backs. Normally overfill, but here for pure efficiency, I asked for fine control.
"170 exactly. Now, just one drop at a time."
"One drop? How? I can't do that!"
"You can. Trust the feeling."
"I really can't...!"
Finally, Yuna squeezed her eyes shut and folded four fingers. She touched the circle with just her pinky—cleverly reducing contact area to cut injection volume on instinct.
"Perfect."
Beep— [10.0]
* * *
Jacqueline Carol watched the kids tackle the performance assessment with enthusiasm, a pleased smile on her face. The goal—to familiarize them with the "injection" phase using models identical to real transmutation circles—seemed achieved early.
It was simple: try various injection methods, record on paper. But the box's 0-10 quantitative readout ignited their competitive spirits. Who'd score highest? In Seferon Academy's 2nd Year Class A, an unspoken consensus formed: the kid with peak efficiency was the best. A quiet competition ensued.
It started with Hangeol's shout.
"Look! I beat the teacher—8.7!"
Hangeol shrugged, basking in envious stares. Random numbers from brute mana dumps. But a lucky high score drew the whole class's attention—instant sweet fruit for 2nd graders.
"I broke 9!"
Haru stuck out her tongue, showing her box. Everyone forgot it was an assessment. Five minutes left. Yoon Si-hu's run shattered the "unbeatable" record.
"Guys, check it! Yoon Si-hu—9.4!"
Si-hu seemed indifferent, but kids rushed over, class in chaos. Some gave up; others clung to slim hopes.
Just before the bell, Yuna kicked back her chair, thrusting her box skyward.
"10."
She bellowed the digit with force. But in that moment, it wasn't just a number.
"I win."
Yuna flashed Si-hu a faint smile—the victor's smug grin.