Akira woke up, eyelids heavy, and found himself lying on the same bed he couldn't sleep in because he had to maintain mana.
For a moment, he was certain he had already died.
The ceiling above him didn't feel real.
Neither did the bed beneath him.
"Is… is this hell?" he croaked, his voice hoarse.
"Ouch," came a calm voice. "My tower isn't hell."
Akira's head snapped toward the sound. There, by the doorway, stood Damian — arms crossed, leaning casually against the frame like he hadn't just nearly killed him the day before.
"...Oh. It's worse," Akira muttered under his breath, squinting at the mage.
Damian tilted his head, an eyebrow rising. "Worse? Really? Care to elaborate, or are we skipping straight to whining?"
"You… why are you haunting me even when I am dead?" Akira asked while sitting up slowly, his body screaming in protest.
"You aren't dead, stupid," Damian said, walking toward him. "Though I have to admit, you did barely survive. You were unconscious for forty hours straight."
"Forty hours…?" Akira's eyes widened. "Wait a sec— why did you not kill me?"
Damian stopped beside the bed. "I could have. But that would have ruined the fun, wouldn't it?"
"I… I hate you!" Akira yelled weakly.
"Good," Damian replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Hate me, fear me, respect me… it's all fuel for you. Every ounce of discomfort, every sleepless second— it's shaping you."
Akira groaned and flopped back against the mattress. "Shaping me into what? A zombie?"
"I don't know what a zombie is," Damian said dryly, "but I can assure you I'm shaping you into something better. A great hero."
Akira wanted to punch him but, when he pulled his arms from beneath the blanket, his breath caught.
Red and darkened scars traced jagged paths across his forearms. Burn marks layered over deeper veins of damage, like something had tried to tear its way out of his skin.
"T-These…" Akira whispered. "What happened to my arms?"
He snapped his gaze up at Damian. "Fix them."
Damian's eyes flicked to the scars, then back to Akira's face.
"I can heal your arms," he said. "But mana scars? Those are permanent."
Akira stared at him. "Permanent? You're the Archmage. Surely you can fix this."
"No," Damian replied simply. "Your body was torn apart by unstable power. That leaves a mark. On flesh. On nerves. On your core. Call it the law of this world."
Akira clenched his fists, eyes burning. "So… this is my punishment for being weak."
"No," Damian said quietly. "This is the proof that you survived something that should have erased you."
His mockery returned in a lighter tone. "Be proud. Most heroes don't earn their first permanent scars this early."
"You how can you say that…you're insane," Akira murmured, still staring at his arms.
Damian smiled faintly. "And you're still alive. Now rest while you can and start maintaining mana again. I better not catch you slacking."
He turned toward the doorway, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder.
"You can go back to the castle when you are well rested," he said casually.
Akira blinked. "...Huh?"
"I've done what I needed to do here," Damian continued.
"What do you mean? I haven't even learned spells yet!" Akira shot back.
"You don't need spells right now," Damian said, turning fully toward him. "You need control. Raw. Boring. Repetitive control."
He lifted a finger, tapping the air.
"Walk through halls while maintaining mana. Sit through meals while maintaining mana. Lie in bed while maintaining mana. Train while maintaining mana. Make it so natural that you forget you're even doing it."
Akira swallowed. "And when I mess up?"
"Then you start again". Damian replied.
Silence stretched between them.
"When you can keep your mana stable without thinking," Damian said at last, "then you come back to me."
Akira clenched the blanket in his fists. "And then you'll finally teach me real magic?"
"Yes," Damian replied.
One word.
Enough to ignite a fire in Akira's chest.
He stepped into the hall.
"And Akira?"
Damian's voice drifted back one last time.
"Don't disappoint me."
The door shut.
"Leaving Akira alone with his thoughts, his gaze still fixed on his arms, he couldn't begin to imagine what the future held; just thinking about it made him afraid."