Amukelo tilted his head slightly, curiosity tugging at his voice. "Awaken your mana? What do you mean?"
Pao leaned forward a bit, eyes bright as if she'd been waiting for that exact question. She placed both hands around her wine glass, spinning it gently between her palms. "So," she began, "mana is within everyone. But for most people, it's like it's behind closed doors. You can't reach it, can't feel it. It's there, but it doesn't do much."
She looked up at him, her expression serious for a moment. "When you awaken your mana, it's like opening those doors. And once you open them… you can never truly close them again."
Amukelo's brow furrowed. "Never?"
"Well… maybe. But not entirely. Some really advanced mages can suppress their mana so deeply that it feels like the doors were never opened at all. But even that isn't perfect. It takes a ton of control, constant effort. Most people can't do it, and it's not even that practical in the long run."
He nodded slowly, trying to piece it all together. "Why? It seems like something perfect for an ambush or something?"
Pao pointed a finger at him. "Good question. It's actually better to suppress your mana, but only a little. Just enough that it feels like you're weak. Like a low-tier mage."
Amukelo frowned. "Wouldn't it be smarter to hide the fact that you're a mage entirely?"
Pao tilted her head, impressed. "That would be ideal, yeah. But…" She leaned back and gave a short laugh. "Let's say you're holding a staff, right? But you're not emitting any mana. You don't even feel like a mage to anyone watching. To a skilled opponent, that looks suspicious. Like… really suspicious."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because the only people who can suppress their mana completely and carry a staff with confidence are… well, the big dogs. Supreme-level mages. And once they figure that out, you've lost the element of surprise anyway."
Amukelo glanced at her for a moment, then smirked. "Can you suppress your mana like that?"
Pao grinned sheepishly and shook her head. "Only a little. I've been working on it. But it fluctuates a lot. One minute I might look like a beginner mage, next minute like a drunk torch." She laughed and took a sip of her wine. "It's not really a big deal though. At our guild level, nobody's reading mana with that much precision anyway."
He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "That makes sense. Still sounds like something you'd want to master eventually."
"Oh, for sure," she said quickly, nodding. "It's on the list."
Their food sat mostly untouched now, as the conversation rolled naturally from one topic to another. Amukelo asked more questions than he ever expected himself to. About mana, magic, how mages practiced, how they evolved.
Pao explained everything with a relaxed excitement. Like it wasn't just knowledge—it was something she loved. Something she lived and breathed.
She reached for the wine again, this time pouring from a fresh bottle without hesitation. The waiter, who had grown used to their pace by now, had silently placed another on the table with the grace of someone who understood love—or perhaps just large tips.
Pao's cheeks were starting to take on a subtle red tint. Her words came just a little looser now. "Then you have… oh! Illusion mages. They're the worst."
"The worst?"
"They'll talk to you while you're hallucinating. Like they're your best friend. And then you look down, and you're missing a leg." She made a little slicing motion with her fingers, then burst out laughing. "Terrible people. But very cool. Like… very stylish."
Amukelo laughed too, more at her than the story itself. She was leaning forward on her elbows now, fingers gesturing wildly every time she tried to emphasize something. Her wine glass swayed in one hand dangerously as she waved it around to prove a point about spell layering—though the words were starting to tangle together a bit more.
"Okay, okay—listen," she said, eyes wide and serious for a brief moment. "Mana… mana doesn't care what you look like. But you have to understand it. If you don't respect it, it will make your fireball explode in your face."
She reached across the table with a finger pointed toward him like she was bestowing some ancient wisdom. "Always layer your defensive spells. Always."
"Got it," Amukelo said, nodding solemnly. "Maybe... not, you're losing me."
"Exactly!" she beamed.
As she poured another half-glass, her words started to slow down. Still passionate, but now fuzzy around the edges.
"Some people think it's just… numbers. More mana equals stronger mage. But nooo… nope… no. It's… finesse. Like cooking. Or painting. You gotta feel it. Shape it. Guide it like a… like a river made of lightning and tears."
Amukelo tilted his head, chuckling. "Okay, you lost me there."
"River… lightning… tears," she repeated, blinking slowly, then laughed at herself. "Okay, okay, maybe not that exactly."
He didn't bother stopping her. She was so far into her rhythm now—half teacher, half tipsy philosopher.
Eventually, she just started talking about everything. Magic types. Mana wells. How she once spent three hours trying to make a flame in the rain and ended up shocking herself instead. Amukelo barely followed the thread of what she was saying anymore. But it didn't matter.
He leaned his cheek into his hand, elbow resting on the table, and just watched her. Her hair had fallen slightly out of place. Her sleeves were rolled up. Her eyes flicked between wild excitement and drowsy warmth. And her hands never stopped moving.
She was beautiful in a way that felt more real now. Not because of what she wore, or how smart she was—but because she was just herself. Fully, unapologetically herself.
He smiled quietly, watching her go on about how mana crystals were basically magical batteries but also not, because "they have feelings, kind of," and he had no idea what that meant.
And yet, it was the most fun he'd had in weeks.
Pao paused mid-sentence, her hand frozen in the air halfway through drawing a messy diagram about something Amukelo had already forgotten. Her words tapered off as her expression shifted. She looked at him—not angry, not really—but something between squinting suspicion and exaggerated disbelief.
She puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms. "Are you even listening?" she asked, her voice soft but full of mock betrayal.
Amukelo blinked. He was leaning on his arm, still halfway smiling at how adorable she looked when she got carried away. But when she asked that, he hesitated. He looked at her, caught red-handed in his distraction, and didn't answer right away.
Pao narrowed her eyes further and waved her hand dramatically in front of his face. "Hello? Amu…" she called, dragging out his name as if trying to snap him out of a spell.
That did the trick. Amukelo blinked rapidly, straightened up a little and said quickly, "Ahh, right. Yeah, yeah. I was listening."
Her brows drew in tighter, her cheeks puffing even more as she stared him down like a disappointed teacher catching a student daydreaming in class.
"Really?" she asked flatly. "Then what was I talking about?"
Amukelo scratched the back of his head, trying not to look too guilty. "You were talking about… magic. Weren't you?"
Pao gave him a long, slow blink. Then, without another word, she pointed at him with the most unimpressed expression he'd ever seen on her. "Traitor…" she muttered darkly. "Mana doesn't like traitors."
Amukelo couldn't help it—he laughed. But she wasn't done.
"I'm going to sleep," she declared as if making a royal announcement.
Then, in one slow, wobbly motion, she leaned forward and let her head drop onto the table with a soft thump. Her arms folded under her like a pillow, and just like that, she went quiet.
Amukelo blinked, unsure if she was joking at first. But when she didn't move for a full ten seconds, he leaned forward and whispered, "Pao?"
No response.
He reached out and gently nudged her shoulder. "Pao."
Still nothing. Her breathing was soft, steady, and unmistakably sleepy.
He let out a small sigh, but it turned into a chuckle. He shook his head slowly and leaned closer to her. "Okay, Pao. I know. I learned my lesson. I'll listen next time. Just… wake up."
But she didn't. She stayed completely still, lips slightly parted, one hand dangling off the edge of the table. He waited a few seconds more, just to be sure, but she was fully asleep.
Panic began to creep in around the edges of his amusement.
He sat up straight and looked around the restaurant. A few tables away, a couple of older folks were deep in their own quiet conversation, a family in the corner was finishing dessert, and the waiter was standing politely near the kitchen, not watching them—but definitely aware.
Amukelo glanced back down at Pao. She was breathing softly, curled up like she had absolutely no care in the world. He ran a hand down his face and exhaled. "How can she just sleep… anywhere?" he muttered.
He sat there for another moment, not quite sure what the proper protocol was for when your friend—or not-quite-girlfriend—fell asleep at a restaurant table. Do you wake her up? Wait it out? Ask the staff to help? He had no idea.
Eventually, the waiter passed by and Amukelo lifted his hand awkwardly. "Haha… excuse me, sir."
The waiter stopped immediately, smiling as if this wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this.
"She must've had a bit too much wine," Amukelo said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can I pay for everything now? I'll, uh… take her back."
The waiter leaned over and glanced at Pao, who didn't even stir. Then he smiled kindly. "Don't worry. That's not a problem at all. I'll bring the receipt in a moment."
Amukelo gave a small, grateful nod. As the waiter walked away, he looked back at Pao and sighed again. He slouched in his seat, shaking his head with a helpless little grin. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "You really can sleep anywhere, huh?"
The waiter returned shortly after. Amukelo paid, adding a generous tip out of embarrassment, and stood up from his seat. He was just about to lean over and lift her up when Pao groaned softly.
She sluggishly raised her head, hair a little disheveled, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Her cheek was slightly red from pressing against the wood, and she blinked slowly as if she wasn't entirely sure where she was.
Amukelo froze mid-motion, then let out a tired sigh. "You can't just fall asleep everywhere," he said, his voice equal parts scolding and amused.
Pao looked at him, blinking a few more times before tilting her head slightly. "Why?" she asked, her voice still slurred and sleepy.
He sighed again, brushing a hand through his hair. "I don't know. It's awkward. It's annoying. And what if something happened? You wouldn't be able to react."
She gave him a slow, lazy smile, her eyes barely open. "But you're with me… so I don't have to worry."
Amukelo stared at her for a second, caught off guard. There was no teasing in her voice. No sass. She just said it—softly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, then exhaled and shook his head.
"Whatever," he muttered, turning to grab his jacket off the chair. "Let's just go."
Pao gave a sleepy little giggle and pushed herself up from the table slowly. She stumbled for a second, but Amukelo caught her by the arm before she could fall back into the chair.
She looked up at him, eyes still half-closed. "You're mad…"
"I'm not mad."
"You sound mad."
"I'm not mad," he repeated, helping her steady herself.
"Hmm," she hummed, unconvinced, but leaned against his side anyway. Her balance was questionable, but she was standing—barely.
As they began walking toward the exit, Amukelo kept a firm grip on her arm, muttering to himself, "This is the last time I let us drink more than two bottles."
Behind them, the waiter gave a polite nod. "Have a good evening."
Pao, still clinging to Amukelo's arm, raised her free hand in a vague wave. "Mana bless youuuu…"
And Amukelo, shaking his head again but unable to hide the grin forming on his lips, led her gently back out into the night.