Max looked half-dead from exhaustion. Zerena had dragged him out of sleep earlier than usual—an act he was beginning to classify as a minor war crime—and had spent the last who-knows-how-long explaining mana cores, refined mana, and mana rings with the relentless energy of a retired magical professor who had finally found a captive audience.

"So..." Max said, rubbing his eyes, looking like his soul was still loading in. "You’re saying I could make a mana ring right now?"

"You could," Zerena replied, crossing her arms. "And you could also jump off a roof. Doesn’t mean I’d recommend either."

Max blinked.

She continued before he could argue, "First, make your mana core absorb more refined mana. Spend a month or so building it up—as much as you can—then think about making a ring."

"A month?" Max repeated with visible disappointment. ’That’s, like... several decades in protagonist time.’

Zerena ignored him.

"I did the same thing when I was younger," she said, a faint note of pride slipping into her voice. "My mana core was larger than most of my peers’. It could store more mana."

Max really wanted to ask what happened after that—how someone with a giant mana core and superior storage capacity ended up living... like this.

Unfortunately, experience had taught him that Zerena treated personal questions the way angry teachers treated chalkboard throwables.

A few well-placed smacks to the back of his head had educated him on the matter.

Painfully.

So Max kept his mouth shut.

For now.

But he had counted every single one of those head slaps. Logged them. Archived them. Filed them away under Future Revenge Plans — Petty Edition.

He was absolutely getting even.

Not on the back of her head, obviously.

He wasn’t suicidal.

But still somewhere on her back?

Max nodded.

"I’ll wait..." he said before asking, sounding genuinely confused, "But I’m still a bit lost on one thing... why weren’t mana cores and rings mentioned in the other rune and magic books?"

"Because it’s dangerous for a newly awakened novice to know," Zerena replied immediately.

She leaned back slightly, slipping into explanation mode again.

"Every mage writing beginner rune books—or books meant for normal unawakened people—isn’t allowed to include information about cores or rings."

She tapped the thin book in her hand.

"The Magic Association forbids mages from letting ordinary people know about them."

Max frowned slightly.

"Why?"

"Because curiosity plus mana equals stupidity," Zerena answered flatly.

Then she lifted the book a little.

"It’s not like the information would help most unawakened people anyway. The restriction exists to reduce accidents."

A brief pause.

"Though accidents still happen."

The way she said it made it sound less like a rare event and more like an inevitable consequence of humans discovering magic and immediately deciding to do something catastrophically dumb with it.

Which, to be fair, sounded believable.

Max thought about it for a second.

...Yeah.

Give normal people instructions involving invisible energy, metaphysical organs, and "fill until it feels like it might explode"— and somebody was absolutely going to skip directly to the exploding part.

Max listened carefully. He was still painfully underqualified when it came to understanding this world. Most of what he knew came from the memories of an average teenage nobody whose greatest life ambition had been not attracting attention from literally anyone.

Not exactly premium worldbuilding material.

"But young mages are taught this stuff," Zerena continued. "When they register, they’re given the knowledge and told not to share it with the general public."

Then she paused mid-thought before adding casually, "Oh, you should register too. You’ll need it if you want to work as a potion maker."

Max looked at her with carefully manufactured confusion, keeping up his innocent act.

"...Wait," he said slowly. "Didn’t you tell me the government it was hassel to get me registered?"

"It is but it is must," she said carelessly, waving the problem away like inconvenient paperwork.

Then she added, "We’ll go at noon. I need to stop by the registration office anyway—got a few forms to submit for the potion shop."

Right then, Annalisa walked in, fresh from washing up, drying her hair with a towel draped over her shoulders.

Max’s eyes betrayed him for half a second.

She wore an oversized shirt, the kind that hung loosely and looked dangerously close to violating the laws of structural engineering. Paired with it were loose shorts that left most of her legs uncovered.

Unfortunately for Max—and very much in line with his deeply cursed protagonist brain—his attention immediately locked onto that detail.

From Max’s highly unbiased and completely professional observation—

they were shapelier than Zerena’s.

About the same size too.

Which, naturally, did absolutely nothing to help his already problematic concentration.

"You’re doing all this for him... but is he really worth spending that much money on?" Analisa asked bluntly, looking at Max like he was a particularly persistent financial parasite. "Couldn’t we just invest it in Karina instead? She’s far more likely to succeed."

Max’s expression twitched slightly at the look she gave him.

Meanwhile, Zerena looked mildly annoyed by the comment.

Because yes—Karina was talented.

Very talented.

Good with runes. Quick learner. The kind of person who would probably make an excellent mage.

Zerena knew that.

But she had also seen Max do things that shouldn’t have been possible.

Things mages spent decades trying to master.

Things she herself couldn’t casually replicate despite a lifetime around magic.

So hearing Analisa dismiss him that easily?

Yeah.

That irritated her more than she expected.

But there was no point trying to explain that to a normie.

How exactly were you supposed to make someone understand that spending money on Max wasn’t merely a good investment—it was practically mandatory?

Not that Zerena could just come out and say that.

Rule number one of dealing with talent: never tell the gem it’s precious.

The last thing she needed was for the boy to develop an even bigger ego than the one he was already secretly manufacturing in that overactive brain of his.

Besides... the money was, technically speaking, earned by him in the first place.

And even if it vanished?

He could probably make it back.

That much, at least, she was confident about.

"We’re already sending Karina more than enough," Zerena said flatly.

Then, shifting topics with the smoothness of a woman who had long mastered the art of ending arguments by simply refusing to continue them, she pulled out a few payment slips and units and handed them to Annalisa.