"Master, do you want to learn Tai Chi? I'll teach you," Leon said.
Im looked surprised. "You'd share this? Most mages hoard unique methods like this. Even if body mana is useless now, a skilled mage could find a way to harness it—extra mana, just for you."
Leon thought for a moment. "Magic needs communication—that's why there are mage academies. I can't learn alone. And if we all practice, we can help each other avoid mistakes." He wasn't greedy—Tai Chi was just a head start. True power came from the person, not the technique. Plus, he wanted others to test it—better safe than sorry after his mana backlash.
Dahlia jumped up, excited. "Really? You're the best!" She kissed his cheek.
Leon pushed her away—he wasn't interested in a ten-year-old girl. Im smiled. "Sharing is wise. But don't teach everyone. Later, you can submit Tai Chi to an academy or the Tower of Wisdom. Trade it for a better meditation technique or spell model. You'll get paid every time someone learns it."
"Like royalties for a novel?" Leon thought, amazed. Back on Earth, authors dreamed of that kind of passive income.
Over the next few days, Leon taught them Tai Chi. They mastered the movements, but not the core—balance, softness, harmony. Leon couldn't explain it well; he'd learned from a PE teacher, not a master. They mimicked him, hoping muscle memory would kick in.
Meanwhile, Leon began learning real magic. His first spell: Mage Hand. Spells like Light or Spark were just mana tricks, but Mage Hand was a foundational spell—useful for everything from fetching tools to moving objects without touching them. It grew with the mage; some legends said a great mage had created an entire combat style from it.
Most apprentices used a hand shape—it was familiar, easy to control. But Leon chose tentacles, inspired by the angel wings in Diablo II. He added small suction cups to help grip objects, a detail Im helped him refine with a minor enchantment. Thanks to his strong mental strength, he could conjure four tentacles at once—more than most apprentices, who struggled with two.
"Tentacles are just for show," Im said, watching Leon lift a clay jar with them. "Two hands would carry more. But if you like them, keep them."
Leon didn't care. Tentacles were cool—and they could slap or bind enemies if needed.
Dahlia pouted, jealous of his progress. "Why does he get to be creative? My Mage Hand is just a boring hand."
"Because he thought of it first," Im said. "Magic rewards ingenuity. Now practice—you'll need precise control for potion-making."
As Leon refined his tentacles, he thought about Im's words. Tai Chi could be his legacy—something that outlasted his apprenticeship. He'd teach his family, his friends, and maybe someday, mages across Etho would practice it, knowing it came from a boy who'd remembered his past life.
For now, though, he was just happy to have magic, mushrooms, and a chance to grow. The future stretched out ahead, full of possibility—one spell, one mushroom, one Tai Chi form at a time.
As he practiced his tentacles, lifting and stacking logs for the herb garden, Leon smiled. He was no longer just surviving—he was thriving. And in this world of magic and mystery, that was the greatest victory of all.