Demund opened his eyes. He looked at the alarm clock and yawned.

He was back in reality again, and the posters he had created hung above the desk to the corner of his bed. ‘Work hard, you’ve got dreams’ and ‘Stress now—seven days are waiting for you’ were some of the few titles.

He sat up on his bed and stretched his arms high up. It felt good to be able to move freely again. His new body had grown, but it still had its limitations. Demund sat up and jumped a few times. Yep. That felt good.

He switched into some comfortable clothes and rolled his socks up his foot. The time was six in the morning. Another day, another me, he thought.

He went down to the kitchen and poured a glass of milk for himself from the fridge. Breakfast would have to wait. He greeted his father who was on the couch and stepped outside his house. The morning greeted him with a fresh breeze. The sun was already up but the cool air from the night before remained. A perfect day to run, Demund thought.

He tied the laces on his shoes and stretched his legs. After feeling comfortable with his wear, he headed off for a morning jog.

This was the daily routine for him now. After Jothan had left, Demund made up his mind to train his mind and body to catch up with his friend. He had practically stopped playing games and other sources of entertainment; his dreams provided all the fun he needed.

It hadn’t been easy to resolve himself. The first few days he had been desperate to continue to collect his daily rewards from his games. But after the first week, his other body had grown enough to move around and explore. His dreams grew more exciting every day and the time he spent there was realer than any game. The more he learned about the other world, the better it became. His power was really something. Reality felt short now too—it was only one day here and a whole week in his dreams. Which means he only had to train himself once every eight days and his body would still become fit. An excellent deal, Shaden thought to himself.

He was currently running along the riverbanks that partly circled around the neighborhood. It had been a month since his break started and he still had a few weeks before school would start. He would spend that time training his body as best as he could. It hurt a lot to run at the beginning and was hard to breathe, but three weeks of constant running made him feel much better. Plus, he had seven days to rest.

Demund stopped by an electric pole to catch his breath. He had been sprinting for non-stop for about a kilometer and half, and every day he tried to increase the length he sprinted without stopping. Yesterday it was around a hundred meters back. Today it was in front of an intersection. Tomorrow it would be three quarters to the shop. He would jog the rest of the way around the neighborhood until he reached his house.

Since he started sprinting, he had noticed different things about the area he was in. A lot of faces had appeared that he hadn’t seen before. New people were moving into town, and with them, their children came. It made sense considering that the second biggest high school in the territory was located near his house. In fact, he was going there too. His grades were above average, so he had no trouble getting in.

The name of the school was Tartis Institute for Secondary Education, or TISE High (as the students called it). It was one of the few schools that had connections with the education system of the Islands, making it prestigious as well as well-sought after. It was an alternative for students who didn’t qualify for the Islands.

Demund regained his breath and stretched his back. His endurance training would start now, the worst part about the exercise. He took a deep breath and started to jog. His legs already felt weaker from the previous sprint, but he had to do this. He could feel himself improve with every day.

He jogged and jogged some more. He forced himself not to stop and swallowed his spit every few seconds. I hate this, Demund thought internally. It hurts. I hate this. One step, two steps, three steps……now I’m reaching the corner. I passed it. Now I need to reach all the way over there. Should I sing? No, hurts. Bear it Demund, bear it. You really want the muscles, don’t you?

Demund continued to push himself and pressed down the urge to slow down. His breathing became heavier, and he rhythmically huffed and inhaled in a robotic motion. Keeping a constant rhythm helped you concentrate on running, said an article online. And currently, the only way to ignore the pain was to focus on the rhythm. It had little effect, sadly.

Sweat poured down his face and back, and his legs strained for blood. This was nothing compared to the training Garthan and Rother did, he thought. It was still a dream, but their dedication motivated Demund.

He glanced to the side of the road and spotted a large truck parked in front of a house three times bigger than his. Workers were moving boxes out of the truck and into the house, and a man with a neat haircut and cleanly trimmed beard was supervising over them. They must be rich, Demund thought. After all, this was the wealthier part of town. It was closer to TISE High and the houses were more spread out and spacious. He passed the house while keeping his head low.

Demund continued to run. He eventually reached his house and took a quick bath before grabbing some breakfast. Runs in the morning did feel great. He felt more refreshed than ever. He grabbed one of the books he had bought at the local bookstore and read it while munching on an apple.

He didn’t know what he would study in high school, so he decided to read some higher-level books. They hurt his head, and he dozed off sometimes, but he was becoming used to their language. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Minus the confusing vocabulary, most of their ideas were understandable. He only had to do this once every eight days, so it wasn’t that bothersome.

The book he was currently reading was S Class: The Story of One Flick. It was a biography of the infamous hero who was known for his inhuman finger strength and balding hair, making him look like a homeless person with a grumpy attitude. Despite the title, the story contained serious undertones, like the eradication of underground crime and the loss of loved ones and family. This was one of the more interesting reads. Books like Hero Philosophy and Psychology were hellish.

Demund spent most of his time reading books when he wasn’t exercising. After eating lunch, he read, took a nap if his head hurt too much, then read some more. He did push-ups and sit-ups before dinner, and after dinner, he jogged the same route he took in the morning. It was a bland life, but it felt more meaningful than games.

After he came back, he took a shower, read books until his hair dried, then got himself ready for bed. He rubbed his hands together. He loved sleeping now and sleeping earlier was even better. He quickly pulled the blankets over himself and closed his eyes.

〄 〄 〄

Shaden chewed on some broth slowly. The tasteless, watery meal slid down his throat as he swallowed it. Yuck. When would he have some real food? Maybe this was the reason babies spat out their food so much. The stuff was bland like flour mixed with water. That was probably what it was.

His mother, oblivious to his concern, happily positioned another spoonful of broth in front of Shaden’s mouth. Shaden was a good baby; he ate well and slept well and didn’t cry despite all the dislike he felt towards his food. Shaden quietly turned his head towards the window. His mother persistently repositioned the spoon in from of his mouth. Why can’t she realize I don’t like this stuff by now? Shaden complained as he swallowed another spoonful. Even milk tasted better than this.

He turned his head towards his brother and father. They were eating meat, steaming hot and dripping with juice and oil. The brown sauce let out a delicious smell as it intertwined with the aroma of seared meat. His brother tore off a piece of bread and let it suck up the juices on his plate. He munched on it with some meat and let out a satisfied expression.

This wasn’t fair. Shaden reached towards the meat on the table and clenched his fist. He opened it and closed it and even let out an embarrassing grunt until his father noticed.

“Shaden, you want to try some meat?” asked Garthan. “You’re half a year old now, aren’t you?” He cut out a tiny piece of flesh and hung it over Shaden’s glistening eyes. Shaden let out a laugh and beckoned for the meat—

—as his mother stuffed another spoonful of broth into his mouth. “He’s still too young,” she said, “he’ll have to be at least a year old to digest meat.”

“But he seems to want it—”

“No buts. The doctor said he might get diarrhea if he eats food besides this broth.”

Garthan gave up and swallowed the piece of meat whole. Shaden wanted to cry.

Just another few months, just a little more and I’ll escape this disgusting food, swore Shaden to himself. But there were more important matters at hand than eating. Now that the privilege of crawling freely around the house was given to him, he could explore. And exploring meant books.

Books meant magic.

Melsei carefully placed Shaden down on the ground. Without wasting a second, Shaden crawled away from the table into one of the rooms nearby. It was scary how fast babies grew, she thought. Just a few months ago he couldn’t even lift his head. Now he was dashing around like a madman.

Shaden was now inside his brother’s room. Books and clothes lay neatly stacked to the sides, and a small mattress was beside the window of the room. He crawled to the stack of books. Before his family could come and interfere, he pushed over the stack and hurriedly searched for A Guide To Basic Magic he had often spotted. He could already hear footsteps approaching.

Hurry, he thought furiously. Hurry! His tiny hands pushed away the heavy books as he desperately clawed for the book on magic. The footsteps were right behind him. He finally spotted the title and grabbed the corner of the cover in triumph.

Then he was abruptly lifted up and his weak fingers tore away from the book.

“NOOOOOOOOO!!!” Shaden cried. For the first time in his new life, the baby let out a dissatisfied cry that reminded Garthan of a cat being held incorrectly. Garthan was so surprised that he almost dropped Shaden, but his firm grip saved both his son and himself from the wrath of his wife. He gently put back Shaden back on the ground. The baby, oblivious to his worries, darted straight off towards the pile of books.

Well, I guess that’s enough babysitting for today, Garthan thought as he returned to finish his meal.

〄 〄 〄

Shaden flipped through the pages of the book. The first pages talked about the influence of magic in the world and various historical figures who pioneered the advancement of magic, like Saiton the Sage or Kirisegar. He wasn’t interested in that. He skipped the introduction and headed straight to the section with actual magic.

According to the book, magic came in three steps. First, understanding the law of the world. Second, picturing an outcome. Third, fueling your imagination with mana to actually produce that outcome. The book stated that the first step was the most difficult to master as understanding the law could only happen through years of observation and trial and error. If one misunderstood the world’s law and tried to produce an outcome, their magic would fail miserably, and they would have used their mana for nothing.

Mana was a familiar concept to Demund. Almost all fantasy stories were based on it. His dream realm was probably influenced by all the stories he read, and he was glad for it.

In this world, mana existed everywhere. Everyone’s body was a container that held mana. Mana was linked to one’s longevity, so if one had more mana, the longer they would live. The only way to increase mana was to constantly expend it by using magic, similar to working one's muscles. However, unlike muscles, once a container grew, it would never become smaller. But if one forced their mana pool to increase suddenly at a short time, they could break, like a clay pot that was forcibly stretched open. They wouldn’t die but would never be able to use mana again as their bodies would not be able to store mana.

Similarly, there were those who were born without mana in the world. They had the shortest lifespans and the weakest bodies and were known as the Empty. People who broke their mana pools became Empty.

Contrarily, the opposite could happen. If one used too much mana on a spell, they could break their containers from the inside, like a clay pot that had its insides sucked out too hard and broke from the vacuum. Simple spells weren’t dangerous. Even when your mana was depleted, casting a simple spell was like sucking on a glass cup with your mouth. You wouldn’t get anything, but the cup wouldn’t break either. Medium ranking spells were similar too. There would be some pain due to your mana pool being sucked on too much, but it wouldn’t break it.

The problem was the higher-ranking spells. They used huge amounts of mana, so if one’s mana pool wasn’t large enough, they would break from the recoil. They wouldn’t just become Empty, however.

Because their containers were broken inwardly rather than out, the pieces of their container would press against and poke their soul, potentially resulting in death. That was the explanation, anyway.

All of this could happen only if you understood the spell. But the same rule applied for failed spells. The closer you were to the law of the world with your spell, the more mana would be used. A failed spell could potentially kill you too.

The majority never used higher-ranking spells anyway, so they were safe.

Shaden flipped to the next page of the book.

About the Author: Saiton

………………….?

What?

That was it?

Where were the actual spells? Where were the magic circles and incantations?! Where was the actual magic?!?!

Shaden frustratedly slapped the book shut with his tiny hands. He looked around the room for some more texts on magic, but there were none. He really didn’t want to spend his remaining time on reading Edible Plants and Animals. Learning magic was much more important. It was the very substance he had put his hopes in.

Should he ask his parents? No, a baby talking at six months was beyond weird. Going outside himself was out of the question. He already knew that the younger you were, the more potential you had to grow your mana pool than when you became an adult. All the novels and manga had shown that.

But if he didn’t know any spells to use, he couldn’t expend his mana. His prime time to develop his container would pass and he would be normal like the rest. He would be bland again.

Shaden grabbed the little hair he had on his head and screamed a small, baby scream. Upon hearing the weird noise, his mother came in and picked Shaden up. She too was confused—the baby was acting weird again—so she decided to let the baby have some quiet time in his crib. All the while, Shaden held his hair and continued to stare blankly into the air, his mouth agape and depicting a silent, unending scream.