Mana was easiest to misuse when it felt limitless.
Alex learned that lesson sitting cross-legged on the floor of his rented room, eyes closed, breathing slow and shallow. Dawn light crept in through the window, painting the cracked wall in pale gold.
He did not draw mana outward.
He did not expand.
He circulated.
A single thread of mana moved through his body—slow, deliberate, tracing paths he had memorized long before this life. Up the spine. Across the shoulders. Down the arms. Through the core. Back again.
No pressure.
No amplification.
Just flow.
His mana pool felt like a sealed reservoir behind reinforced gates. He could feel it there—dense, patient, dangerous. He ignored it.
"Control," he murmured. "Not power."
{Mana circulation detected.}
Alex did not respond.
He adjusted the thread, thinning it until it was barely perceptible. The challenge wasn't sustaining it. It was not letting it spill.
Precision drills followed.
He segmented the flow—splitting the thread into three, then five, then nine strands—each moving at a different speed, each following a different route. He redirected them mid-cycle, merging and separating without friction.
Sweat beaded on his brow.
His breathing never changed.
{Circulation efficiency: High.}
"Meaningless metric," Alex said quietly. "Track variance."
A pause.
{Variance tracking enabled.}
Good.
He began again, this time introducing interruptions—micro-stops where the mana halted completely before resuming. Not bursts. Not surges. Clean pauses.
His heart rate ticked up.
His focus sharpened.
This was the dangerous part.
One mistake and his true capacity would push through the throttle like a flood breaking a dam.
He didn't let it.
Minutes stretched.
Then an hour.
When he finally opened his eyes, his muscles trembled—not from exertion, but restraint.
He exhaled slowly.
"No expansion," he said. "No growth."
{Mana capacity increase available.}
"No."
{Refusal noted.}
Alex stood and rolled his shoulders, feeling the faint ache of discipline rather than strain.
"This world confuses size with control," he said. "I won't."
He practiced again that night in the scrublands beyond the city—this time moving while circulating mana. Walking patterns. Footwork drills. Knife forms.
Mana flowed with him, never ahead of him.
(A blade guided by excess cuts wildly,) Chaos said, low and approving. (You are learning to aim your existence.)
Alex didn't reply.
He didn't need to.
Days passed like this.
Work. Weapons. Control.
He refused every internal prompt to expand, deepen, or reinforce. The system flagged it each time.
{Capacity growth potential increasing.}
Ignored.
{Optimization opportunity detected.}
Ignored.
{Abnormal restraint logged.}
Alex paused at that one.
"Define abnormal."
{Statistical deviation from ascension norms exceeds 94%.}
He smiled faintly.
"Good."
That night, the air shifted.
It wasn't dramatic. No pressure wave. No flare of light. Just a subtle click—like a lock turning somewhere far above his awareness.
The system spoke again.
{Administrative channel accessed.}
Alex froze mid-circulation.
"Explain," he said calmly.
{Explanation unavailable.}
Figures.
The thread of mana continued its route, steady and thin.
Then—
{Quest Assigned.}
Alex opened his eyes.
"I don't accept quests," he said.
{Assignment is passive. Acceptance not required.}
He exhaled through his nose. "Of course it isn't."
{Quest: SURVIVE UNTIL SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY.}
The room felt colder.
Alex said nothing.
{Conditions: Remain alive.}
"That's it?"
{Yes.}
He waited.
{Failure condition: Death.}
"Very specific," Alex muttered.
{Reward: ???}
He laughed—short and humorless.
"Let me guess," he said. "You won't explain the reward."
{Correct.}
"Or why now."
{Correct.}
Alex leaned back against the wall, considering.
A survival quest.
Passive.
No objectives beyond existence.
That alone told him more than any explanation would have.
(You have drawn attention,) Chaos said quietly.
"From who?"
(From what), the dragon replied.
Alex nodded slowly.
"They've noticed I'm not playing along."
{Clarification: You are not complying with growth directives.}
"That's one way to phrase it."
{Risk assessment updated.}
Alex didn't ask how.
He returned to circulation, deliberately pushing his focus even tighter—compressing control until the thread was a hair's breadth from vanishing.
His heart beat steadily.
His mind stayed clear.
"No power," he whispered. "Just permission."
The system observed.
Chaos watched.
Something else—far away, and far above—marked the date.
Alex didn't feel fear.
He felt confirmation.
Whatever this system was, whatever administered it—
It expected him to break before sixteen.
And Alex had already decided:
He wouldn't.
Not loudly.
Not impressively.
Just… precisely enough to live.
Which, in a world obsessed with rank, might be the most dangerous choice of all.