"So, the question you asked are there types of magic?" Lysira flicked her wrist as she walked, like she was shooing a fly. "Yes ofcourse there are and maybe it's about time someone explained this mess properly Tho debatable but ill tell you the basics."
Max walked alongside her, slightly breathless, still trying to recover from the earlier embarrassment of being a, quote, 'mana virgin.'
"Let's start," she said, voice casual, yet her eyes scanned him sharply. "Magic is categorized into three primary types. Common, Racial, and Unique. Three neat little drawers to fit the all nonsencuacal chaos in."
She held up three fingers dramatically, turning to see if Max was following. He nodded quickly. He was trying.
"Common magic is what most people know. The bread and butter. The spells that don't care about your race, bloodline, or whether your grandmother bathed in moonlight or not. Anyone can learn it, assuming they've got the patience or talent. This includes elemental magic fireballs, ice spears that flashy stuff. Illusions, summoning, enchantments, divinations. All that jazz. If a textbook can teach it, it's probably common."
Max tried not to look too lost, though the list was already spinning in his head like a roulette wheel of overwhelming and her way of teaching was little.
"Then there's Racial magic," she said voice dropping half an octave as if it carried weight. "This kind is tied directly to the race you were born into. You cannot learn it if it's not in your blood. No amount of begging, studying, or fancy tuition fees will change that. Elves with their nature magic, Sea-folk and their command of tides, Dwarves with their craftsmanship sorcery stone and steel bending to their will. It's more than tradition. It's identity."
Max furrowed his brows, mentally trying to recall what race his neiboring village had mostly consisted of. Were they human? Mostly? Probably? What is magic for human race? he wondered
"And then," she paused, as if the next words required reverence, "we get to the weird ones. The Unique magic."
"Yes?" Max echoed, blinking.
Lysira grinned like she was revealing a delicious secret. "Oh yes. These are extremely rare, borderline mythical. This kind of magic is usually born with someone. Inherited, or sparked in them like a freak accident of fate. You don't learn Unique magic. You are it."
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, as if weighing something unspoken. Tho a smile on her face.
"It's deeply personal. Only one person may have it or sometimes it passes through a bloodline. But even family members won't always get it. It's that picky. And its forms?" She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Absolutely absurd sometimes. Money magic. Dream magic. Fate weaving. Luck manipulation. Even things like memory stealing or Fat magic."
"Wait… money magic?" Max blinked, already dreading the idea of someone weaponizing taxes.
Lysira cackled. "Yes. It exists. Sadly and it is costly."
"But… does being Unique mean it's always powerful?" Max asked very curious.
She shook her head. "Nope. Not at all. Some Unique magics are honestly pathetic. One guy had the ability to make any bread he touched turn slightly burnt. That's it. But it was his."
"...Slightly burnt?" Max muttered in disbelief.
"Perfect for ruining toast and expectations," she shrugged.
Max let the information soak into his brain like a sponge half-drowning in magical soup. Common, racial, unique. Got it. Maybe.
He glanced at Lysira. "So which one do you think I'll have?"
Lysira's smile didn't falter. "Oh, Mr. Stormhart… if I knew that, I wouldn't be wasting my breath explaining this. But something tells me… you won't be boring."
She winked and turned ahead again. "Come on. We've got a robe to pick out. And if we're lucky, maybe the tailor won't try to strangle you."
Max just sighed and kept walking.
"Wait… so, do you have a Unique magic too, Professor?" Max asked looking up curiosity blooming across his face like a spark catching dry parchment.
Lysira didn't answer immediately. She simply turned to look at him with a slow wild grin coming across her lips.
"Me? Of course I do," she said, her voice brimming with pride though not vanity. "And it's a beautiful one, if I do say so myself."
Max's eyes lit up, genuinely intrigued now. His gaze studied her face, which seemed unusually open and expressive almost too much so.
"Emotion Magic. That's my Unique," she declared with a dramatic wave of her hand, as though revealing her trump card. "The first ever of my kind. The one and only."
There was no arrogance in her tone just unfiltered, vibrant honesty. Emotion, raw and exposed. Her face was a direct reflection of her heart as if she can't control or hide it every flicker of joy, irritation, or curiosity passed through her expression like light through glass.
"Emotion magic?" Max echoed, brows knitting. "I didn't even know that existed never heard about it. But wait." His face brightened with a sudden realization. "Didn't Headmaster Fledrock say you're the professor of Spellweaving and Emotioncraft? But if that's true, doesn't it contradict what you said earlier? You mentioned Unique magic can't be taught unless it's inherited, naturally awakened or born with it right?."
Lysira blinked clearly not expecting him to catch on so quickly. Her eyebrows lifted, and then, with a smile that was equal parts impressed and amused, she nodded.
"Well look at you catching up contradictions like a little bloodhound. You're not all wrong I did skip a detail."
Max stared waiting for the explanation.
"Remember There are always exceptions no matter what magic," she said with a shrug. "Yes No one can copy my magic fully, but… some can learn the foundation. Strip away the personal nuances and you can extract the essence. The emotional tuning. The core discipline. It's like… someone trying to mimic a painting by copying the brush strokes, not the feeling."
"Which ofcourse wouldn't even be speck close to what magic i do but good enough."
"So… you're teaching Emotioncraft, not your emotion magic Tho i have no idea whats the difference" Max muttered, connecting the dots.
"Exactly for the past five years statistically I've been researching and teaching it officially. Turns out, if you break something down enough, you can turn even your soul's chaos into a curriculum."
Max nodded slowly, falling into thought.
Before he could ask more, Lysira glanced around and gestured dramatically. "Ah! We're here."
Without realizing it, they'd arrived at the robe shop an old, cobbled building with glittering windows and velvet curtains. Lysira didn't waste time. She strode inside and spoke with the store owner a man with tiny square glasses and the bearing of a retired duke who immediately became overly respectful upon noticing her.
Meanwhile, Max stood still, still caught in his own whirlwind of thoughts.
As they waited for the tailor to bring out suitable robes, Lysira leaned to the side and studied Max from head to toe with an appraising look.
"…Are you still hiding that beautiful hair of yours?" she asked suddenly, curiosity blooming like a child spotting a candy jar. "I really wonder what you look like with that ash silver hair out. Must be quite the sight."
Max flinched, hand flying to his head out of reflex. He'd nearly forgotten about that. Of course, someone like her would be able to see through the dye and concealment spells.
"Ah, that…" he muttered. "My grandmother insists. She says she can't do anything about my eyes, but at least I can hide my hair. Claims it draws too much attention, stirs too much… hatred."
He shrugged, eyes drifting. "I don't like it either, but if I disobey her, I risk either being skinned alive or shaved bald."
Lysira burst into laughter, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Well, maybe now you can be yourself," she said, smirking. "I highly doubt anyone at Soladors is dumb enough to judge someone just for hair and eye color. That'd be ridiculously petty."
And without asking for permission, she snapped her fingers.
A breeze surged around Max, lifting the strands of his hair like silk dancing in the wind. The dye was gone. His true hair revealed itself ash silver gleaming like moonlight on a still lake.
"Hmmm… Not bad," Lysira said, examining him like a chef critiquing a fine dish. "The girls in Soladors are gonna eat well this year."
Max blinked, stunned. His two-tone eyes one red, one piercing blue glinted under the store lights, and now with that silver hair?
He looked like someone torn straight from a royal portrait. Sharp. Regal. A little too striking.
The atmosphere in the shop changed instantly.
The handful of customers who'd been eyeing him from a distance began whispering. Some furrowed their brows. Others looked horrified. Then came the words.
"Bad omen…"
"Disgusting…"
"Cursed"
A few stepped back. Others left the shop entirely, murmuring repulsive things as if his very presence was a blight.
[Ding! Fear detected. Disgust detected. Repulsion detected.]
+1 MP
+4 MP
+7 MP
+9 MP
Ding!
ding!
...
The notifications continued
The notifications blinked in Max's vision like cold lights on a control panel.
He sighed, but then… smiled.
He opened his system window for the first time in hours.
MP: 4078 / 4078
Max smirked faintly. Back in the village, he'd get nothing no reactions, no feedback, no progress. Now? At least something was changing. He was gaining.
He had skills that cost 100 MP per activation. With over four thousand points?
Forty activations.
Max was thoroughly lost in his own head, thoughts swirling like a lazy storm. He was starting to enjoy it too that rare quiet where his worries turned into daydreams. But Lysira suddenly clapped her hands, her voice slicing through the air like a lightning strike.
"Ahhh! I almost forgot something important!"
She looked at Max, eyes wide in realization, then sighed as if scolding herself.
"Wait here, I'll be back," she said, snapping her fingers mid-turn. Her form shimmered slightly and with a flick of her green Robe as she vanished into thin air.
The only thing she left behind was her fading voice echoing through the store "Mr Maximus stay put don't move from here!"
Max just stood there blinking, letting out a slow sigh as he glanced around the shop. The energy had changed again. Customers still kept their distance, eyes full of judgmental discomfort… and something colder.
Like just looking at him would ruin their whole day.
They didn't even try to hide it anymore. Now that the woman with strong magical pressure was gone, the raw disdain in the room crackled like static in the air.
Sigh.
He ran a hand through his silver-ash hair.
"Better step outside," he muttered to himself. "Wouldn't wanna tank the store's reputation because of… whatever the hell I am."
The words were too casual. Too routine. Like someone who'd grown numb to bruises after falling too many times.
With his hands behind his head, Max wandered out the shop door, quietly slipping to the side of the entrance not too far into the road, not fully hidden. Just enough.
He watched people pass by, heads turning, whispers blooming like weeds behind him. Some gasped. Some scowled. Some recoiled like he was a walking corpse.
And then came the pings.
[Ding! Repulsion detected.]
[Ding! Hatred detected.]
[Ding! Disgust detected.]
[Ding! Disgust detected.]
[Ding! Fear detected.]
+1 MP
+1 MP
+1 MP
+1 MP
…and it just kept going.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The notifications buzzed in his mind like an irritating ringtone on loop.
Max slowly facepalmed.
"I'm not even doing anything," he mumbled to himself, one brow twitching. "Just standing here and collecting MP like a cursed vending machine."
He exhaled a half-laugh, half-sigh.
"Should I be happy or sad about this?" he asked the wind. It didn't answer. Of course it didn't.
And then suddenly like a thunderclap through fog:
"BLUE EYES? AND SILVER HAIR?!"
A voice rang out, loud, full of fury and self-righteous venom.
Max flinched. His eyes darted toward the sound.
From across the market square, a middle aged man in bronze robes stormed through the crowd, parting civilians like waves. His face was twisted with fury and heroice expressions.
"DISGUSTING! OMINOUS DEMON BLOOD!" he howled. "LET ME GOUGE THOSE WRETCHED EYES OUT!"
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