"I swear," Maximus muttered to himself, clutching the nearest stone wall like it might keep his soul from escaping, "I will never get used to whatever kind of twisted magic this is"
He looked one breath away from throwing up.
Lysira just sighed and shook her head, utterly unbothered by the disoriented mess beside her.
"Alright, don't be this weak," she said, voice dipped in that usual cocktail of sarcasm and teasing. "How're you going to work at Eros Hall if you can't even handle a baby-level teleport spell?"
> [DING! Detected: Playfulness]
[DING! Detected: Cute]
[+3 MP]
[+7 MP]
Max groaned, dragging himself upright and trying to fix his shirt collar with some shred of dignity. "I was just… ahh whatever," he muttered, brushing off the dizziness and internal system pings.
The notifications could wait.
Yeah, he was excited kind of but MP? He didn't even know what MP stood for.
If it was one of those reward chests hell, even the lowest-tier bronze ones then he'd be fired up. But this? This was just some mysterious counter ticking up and mocking him.
He glanced around to reset his mind and froze.
"Where… are we?" Max asked, eyes wide.
The world around him looked like the inside of someone's dream or maybe a magical shopping mall exploded across space and time. He stood on a cobbled street, but it was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people. Wizards, witches, enchanted creatures, magical vendors in enchanted booths, all blending together into a chaotic symphony of shouting, spell-flaring, item-trading madness.
It wasn't just a market. It was a kingdom of commerce.
Robes of every color, some glowing, some breathing. A dwarf yelling about soul-bonded hammers. A centaur eating flaming kebabs from a floating tray. Even what looked like a snake-headed man selling glowing scrolls out of a chest.
Max had no idea where to look first.
"It's Professor, not ma'am," Lysira corrected calmly, not even turning her head. "Professor Vinehall. Professor Lysira Vinehall."
He nodded like a scolded schoolboy.
She gestured dramatically to the chaos around them. "Welcome to Runebrick Market, Mr. Stormhart. The most famous human market in all realms and probably one of the most dangerous for kid if you try anything dumb."
Her voice dipped like she was used to saying that warning a lot but also like trying to scare kids.
"You can find almost anything here. Everything legal" she said, walking forward.
Then added under her breath, "and things which one can't apraise to be illegal."
Max barely had time to process that before she yanked him by the collar and shoved him closer to her side, avoiding a speeding cart pulled by a floating eyeball beast.
He stumbled, walking now shoulder-to-robe with her.
"So," she said, eyes scanning the shops like a veteran on patrol, "first year essentials. Wand, uniform, books, writing gear, maybe an owl if you're into that cliché."
Max blinked, still stunned. "This place is insane…"
"You should see Eros Hall," she said with a wicked smirk.
Max wasn't sure if he was terrified or intrigued.
After some seconds
"So, first things first we get you your magic books," Lysira said, casual like they were picking up milk and not preparing to corrupt his soul with eldritch knowledge.
Without further ado, she led him down the cobbled street. Same path for both of them, technically. But for her, it was just Tuesday. For Max? It was a full-blown sensory overload.
She walked like it was nothing, because of course it was this had been her world for years. She barely blinked as screaming signs hollered nonsense and strange creatures floated by. Meanwhile, Max trailed behind, eyes wide, heart pounding at every flicker of weirdness that zipped past him.
He didn't even know where to look first.
An old, borderline haunted-looking shop had hundreds of ancient, dusty magical arts stacked in displays that definitely defied fire codes. Next door, a florist's shop displayed nothing but carnivorous plants with bloodstained teeth and judgmental leaves.
A pink panda with floating wings hovered by like a helium balloon on acid.
Check.
Literal screaming signboards lined the alley, blurting out deals every seven seconds in voices that sounded like cursed chipmunks.
"BUY ONE CURSE, GET A DEMON FREE!"
Check.
Another one bellowed:
"FREE HEXES WITH EVERY POTION! CURSE YOUR EX TODAY!"
And just when Max thought it couldn't get any weirder
"SARAH MCBROOMSTICK, YOU NEED SOCKS!"
A magical megaphone turret mounted on a roof screamed down someone's full legal name like it was a public execution. Max physically recoiled.
His heart lurched with every new twist and turn, every glowing bottle, every howling poster, every floating toad that made prolonged eye contact.
And yet, the most shocking part?
It wasn't the panda. Or the screaming deals. Or the fact that a man just bought a smoothie from a gelatinous cube and thanked it by bowing.
It was the damn carpet.
They had reached the bookstore. Max was just about to step in when the seemingly normal welcome mat transformed. A wide mouth suddenly split open in the middle, lined with what might've been yellowing yarn teeth.
Max froze, mid-step.
"Oh look," the mat sneered, voice gravelly and smug, "another illiterate swamp troll trying to pass as a scholar. Nice boots, by the way. Did you steal those from a scarecrow?"
Max jerked his foot back like the floor was on fire.
His face twitched. One eyebrow launched halfway up his forehead. He glanced over at Professor Lysira, who was of course watching this whole thing with unconcealed amusement, like it was premium entertainment.
They stared at the mat. The mat stared back well, if two beady thread-eyes and a stitched mouth dripping with sarcasm counted as "staring."
"I can read," Max mumbled, mostly to himself. Adjusted his coat. Definitely fighting the urge to punt a rug.
He could read. He thinks. No—he can. Definitely. Probably?
"Oh, congratulations," the mat sniffed. "Do you want a sticker or should I summon a choir of pixies to applaud your basic literacy?"
[DING! Reaction detected: laughing at you]
[bruhh]
[poor boy]
+6 MP
+7 MP
+1 MP
+12 MP
The mental notifications rang through Max's head like some kind of cosmic slapstick. Even Lysira lost her composure laughing, loudly, like she'd just seen the best stand-up set of her life.
Passersby glanced, mildly entertained, but nobody stopped. This was clearly Tuesday-level nonsense for them.
Max stood still for a beat. Then, with all the composure of someone who'd just barely suppressed a murder attempt, he stepped firmly on the mat and shoved the door open.
No more words needed.
Yeah, he was scared. Yeah, he was curious. But no, he wasn't going to let himself get publicly roasted by some enchanted Ikea reject.
"Better watch your tone," he muttered, "or I'm wiping my boots on your face on the way out."
The mat chuckled darkly as the door creaked open.
"Can't wait."
Max nearly stumbled over the threshold. Regained balance. Barely.
Behind him, Lysira burst into laughter again. No restraint. No shame. Just vibes.
He shot her a glare, pitiful and betrayed. She waved it off like he'd just tripped over his own shoelaces. No sympathy here.
"This carpet," Max muttered under his breath, "is an asshole."
Why was it so human? So personally offensive?
He swore the thing was toxic.
And just as he took another step forward, something flew out of the bookshelf
Too fast to track. No time to react.
A book.
And not just moving. Not just flying.
A blur of motion.
A rustle of wind.
Then bam!
A book didn't just fly it launched itself from the nearest shelf like a magical bullet, screeching past Maximus's face with all the grace of a vengeful bird.
He barely had time to flinch before another one tore through the air, flapping its pages like wings.
Actual enchanted books were dive-bombing pedestrians like they'd been trained for war.
"Read me, coward!" one hissed, brushing past Max's hair like a whisper from the void.
He stumbled back, blinking. "What the holy hell"
A third book spiraled around his head like a hawk circling prey, pages fluttering like it was sniffing his fear. He swatted it like a mosquito. It dodged. Circled back. Smug.
Max ducked as a paperback shot past his ear, screeching at full volume:
"Historical romance isn't just for your grandma!"
He didn't even have words.
No, actually
he had questions.
Like: Why did that book sound personally offended?
And: Did it just throw shade at his family tree?
Before he could fully process the emotional damage, another book practically screamed in his face, pages trembling like it was trying to guilt-trip him into therapy.
"We have character development and unresolved traumaaa"
Max froze. Took two slow steps backward.
Was he actually getting bullied by a book?
His jaw twitched. "Am I getting intimidated by a book now? With paper-thin lips and bad attitude? Seriously?"
He cursed under his breath, clutching his coat like it would shield him from literary abuse.
No one in the store batted an eye. Everyone was too busy browsing chaos like it was Tuesday and nothing weird was happening. People were ducking, dodging, plucking aggressive books out of the air like they were apples off a tree.
There was no hushed silence in this bookstore just magical madness, open warfare between readers and literature, and the occasional scream from a text on necromancy.
Max looked around for help, and surprise not even Professor Lysira was doing anything.
In fact, she looked like she'd just been handed popcorn and front-row seats.
Finally, after watching him get emotionally battered by literature, she reached out and caught the trauma-screaming book midair with one hand.
She casually flipped through it like it hadn't just insulted Max's entire existence.
"Alright, he's too young for this one," she muttered. "Go back to your shelf. Wait around for someone older."
She glanced at the book's fluttering cover. "If a gray-haired gentleman in a tux walks in black pen in the breast pocket pitch yourself to him. He's got weird taste, but he'll appreciate you."
Max blinked.
Did… did she just recommend a traumatized book to a retired grandpa aesthetic?
The book hovered midair, fluttered respectfully, and then said dead serious:
"Thank you, miss. I'll await my true reader."
Then it saluted.
With a literal salute. Complete with trumpet noise and everything.
It zipped back to its shelf and stuck itself there like it had never moved, completely ignoring the fact that it just traumatized a child.
Max stood there, twitching.
"Thanks, Professor…" he muttered, lips pulling into a reluctant smirk. A very specific image popped into his head: gray tux, black pen, refined walk oh god. Now he couldn't unsee it.
He wasn't sure what was more cursed the book or the mental picture.
Just as Max was recovering from his near-death experience via emotionally unstable books, a sudden voice rang out bright, dramatic, and so oddly flattering it practically dripped honey.
"Ahhh! Professor Vinehall! You're here today?! What a shocking surprise! That explains it no wonder my shop's been feeling all full of chaotic emotions!"
Max turned, eyes squinting.
An old woman came bustling toward them at alarming speed, somehow balancing a precarious stack of teetering books in her arms. She wore huge, round black glasses that magnified her eyes to cartoonish proportions and gave her the general vibe of an over-caffeinated owl.
Her robe was a patchwork mess of colors and patterns, as if she'd rolled around in a fabric store and walked out proud of it. Trinkets jangled from every hem, and a small enchanted candle floated above her head like a personal reading light.
The books in her arms were whispering to each other. One of them snored.
"Oh, bless the moon I knew something intense was stirring the mana! The drama in the air was thick," she said, stopping right in front of them and pushing her glasses up her nose with the tip of her wand. "It was either you or someone was summoning a heartbreak elemental again."
Lysira offered a thin-lipped smile. "Still blaming me for the emotional turbulence of your entire store, Madam Bellwry?"
"Blaming?" The old witch gasped like she'd just been mortally wounded. "Blaming? My dear, I thank the stars for it! Your presence boosts my sales by 23% and inspires my books to start gossiping again."
Max blinked. "The books gossip?"
"Oh darling, they thrill at juicy details. Especially the romance section they haven't shut up since that one duel between the Alchemy professor and the Divination mistress. Scandalous."
The book at the top of her stack giggled.
Max suddenly wanted to get out of this store very fast and also maybe never leave.
Bellwry squinted at him now, leaning in until her oversized lenses reflected his soul.
"And this must be your newest little duckling? Ohhh, I see it now… mismatched eyes, cursed aura, deeply repressed magical lineage how darling! Not to say this late?"
Max took a subtle half-step behind Lysira.
"I'm not a duckling whatever that is."
"He's not," Lysira confirmed, clearly lying.
"Mmhm, and I'm not hoarding cursed romance novels under my bed," Bellwry muttered, then turned her head toward one of the books on the shelf and hissed, "Don't you judge me, Charles."
The book titled Moonlit Lust: A Forbidden Alchemy Affair snapped shut guiltily.
"Anyway!" Bellwry clapped her hands, making half the shelf sneeze glitter. "Come, come let's find this young storm cloud the right textbooks before one of the self-help grimoires tries to fix his abandonment issues!"
Max's soul quietly died inside.
What is this old woman bullshitting again? he thought, eyes twitching.
Just then, a familiar voice rang softly in his head, clear and cool like moonlight poured into his brain.
"Don't worry. She has no control over whatever nonsense she says. Her magic is... special. 'Purple Tongue' unique to her. Best to whisper stories around her. Everything that comes out of her mouth will be bullshit."
It was Professor Lysira's voice. Calm, dry, slightly amused.
Max turned his head side to side in visible panic Where? What? How? but Lysira didn't even look at him. She was examining a display of floating quills like she hadn't just telepathically insulted an entire personality type.
Still, he gave a tiny nod. Understanding. Accepting. Surrendering.
Madam Bellwry, meanwhile, had started arguing with a book that kept trying to crawl into her robes.
"No, I told you, not today! You are not an autobiography just because you have blank pages and delusions of grandeur! Get back to the shelf or I'll demagnetize your bookmarks!"
She turned back with the kind of smile that could launch a thousand therapy sessions.
"Right! Where were we? Ah yes, first-year textbooks professor you just asked. Let's get you suited up, my poor boy. Do you prefer exploding ink or soul-binding pens? Very important decision."
Max just gave a vacant nod.
At this point, whatever happened next... he knew it would be weird. And somehow, his life would keep getting weirder.
---