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We were scolded for about ten minutes—then I was released once my written claim, “Dame Oppai provoked me, so it was necessary to lick her all over,” was finally accepted.

Meanwhile, the bust-baring girl next to me, sitting seiza with teary eyes, had her plea—“I wanted to get back at that rocky meathead who tricked me”—denied.

“Both of you are at fault. Please, don’t make this Dame Op— I mean, Ashiru, any more hopeless than she already is.”

There must have been some truth that hit home.

Number Six almost said “Dame Oppai,” then hastily corrected herself; I grinned and nodded.

Officially recognizing the “Dame Oppai” nickname was close at hand.

Since we were at it, I proposed, “Why not train this girl’s magic as well?”

Number Six pretended to think, then nodded.

“That’s a good idea.”

“Uh… even I have to start from this level?”

Dame Oppai looked devastated, and I pointed and laughed at her.

“Please don’t stoop to Ashiru’s level yourself,”

Number Six scolded me—whereupon Dame Oppai pointed and laughed at me.

Then water whooshed down from above; her torn jacket got soaked and washed aside, and both of her proud fruits were on full display.

“Good. Now there’s no need to wash. Go change and come right back.”

Under that irresistible pressure, Dame Oppai gave a tiny “Yes,” adjusted her clothes as best she could, and padded back into the manor leaving little puddles.

Watching her retreating back, I reaffirmed my earlier assessment:

“As expected, apart from the ‘main body,’ she was hopeless.”

Even if there was no value beyond her chest, the rest had at least clawed back from the negatives to something less awful lately—though seeing her drift back to her usual self actually calmed me.

“I must say, today’s pair was splendid,”

I nodded, satisfied—but there was no sweet time with Number Six waiting; instead she lamented,

“Do you know how hard I’ve worked to make her even a little normal again?”

Apparently she’d been even more hopeless here than I had imagined.

Be that as it may, it was magic time.

Now that I had finally recognized mana and could interfere with it, I could say I’d met the prerequisites to use magic.

All that remained was to shape that mana into a spell, but the next step, according to Number Six, was “a very strong image,” which she said very simply.

“First, try to imagine gathering the mana circulating inside you into your fingertip, then releasing it.”

She raised one finger and concentrated mana there.

Now that I could sense mana, I could tell what was pooling at her fingertip.

That invisible yet palpable pressure, condensed and thickened to the limit, was the same oppressive force I’d felt from the Spirit Sword.

(It wasn’t exactly the same, but getting closer to its nature was big. Even when I couldn’t sense mana, I felt that pressure. Maybe something else was mixed in, but this was valuable intel. I had to collect and analyze carefully for the worst-case scenario.)

I lifted a finger and tried to gather mana there—but it moved painfully slowly.

I had learned how to interfere.

Yet, even as I tried to gather it in my fingertip, nothing seemed to collect, and I tilted my head until Number Six supplied the answer.

“That’s normal at first. How well you can move your internal mana as you intend largely depends on your skill. Training that is what gets you past the beginner stage.”

I nodded—“Makes sense”—and refocused on the mana.

While thinking, “What’s the most efficient way to move it?” I kept channeling it toward my fingertip, and noticed a moment where the flow suddenly became smoother.

Switching images, I tried to recreate that sensation.

I pictured blood—like a heart pumping it through the body—as I started moving the mana inside me.

“If you’ve found an image that matches you, repeat the process until you can do it quickly and precisely.”

With those textbook words in my ear, the mana gradually massed at my fingertip—next came releasing it. The book’s method began with imagining “opening a small hole” and letting it seep out slowly.

There were other methods, but I tried that one first—and it worked easily.

I could tell mana was leaking from my fingertip.

Good—except… it wouldn’t stop.

That trickling leak looked exactly like wetting myself.

Since the hard-won mana was about to run out, I hurried to “cap” the hole.

“You’re more dexterous than I expected. At this rate, you’ll be shaping proper spells soon,” Number Six said, pleased, and I nodded back.

She could clearly read how my mana was moving.

Was that because she was an elf?

Or could I reach that level with enough training?

I couldn’t put the question to paper right then, so I decided to ask once we were done.

Having shown unexpected talent, I moved on to the next stage sooner than planned.

“Now then, let’s finally try using magic.”

She clapped lightly; I nodded and layered an image onto the gathered mana as per the manual.

“Magic is the reproduction of phenomena through mana. Humans manifest it by standardizing the process through ‘chanting.’ It’s useful for repeating the same spell, but for today—just shaping anything—you won’t need it.”

I’d remembered that humans usually chanted when using magic; I couldn’t help but listen to the explanation with interest.

Apparently, with enough training, even humans could cast like elves without chant—but given their lifespans, few ever reached that level.

If they tried, most mages could “just spill” fire or water, but they’d burn out quickly that way.

So humans made chanting the basic method and stopped training for chantless casting—so the elves said.

I found myself going “Huh,” and lost focus for a moment—but it was now smooth to regather mana at my fingertip.

The standard first spell was “light a small flame on the fingertip.”

So I tried to image the scientific process of producing fire via mana… but whether my image was lacking or my method was off, nothing happened.

I kept my gaze fixed on my fingertip and concentrated.

Dame Oppai, now changed, came over saying something; I ignored her.

Ignoring her, I kept refining the image to kindle fire at my fingertip—then suddenly the gathered mana began to vanish.

For a heartbeat I panicked—then a tiny flame flickered at my fingertip.

“…No way.”

Eyes wide, Dame Oppai whispered—and blew out my flame.

“…”

“…Heh.”

We stared at each other for a moment; then she smirked, and I set my hands on her shoulders.

“Wait! Wait! You’re going to rip it again, aren’t you! You’re going to bare my boobs again, aren’t you!?”

“If you know that, this will be quick,” I nodded and tightened my grip—when Number Six stopped me.

“Clothes aren’t free. Leave Ashiru’s punishment to me; stop right there.”

Reluctantly, I took my hands off her shoulders.

But the triumph in her face and that snort—my ears didn’t miss them.

My tail snapped out and snared Dame Oppai’s legs.

She yelped as she was hoisted, but I ignored that; as she tried to hide her now-exposed underwear with her hands, thereby squeezing the main body together, I reached out… and had an excellent idea.

(With her hanging like this, there’s no escape. And she just handed me the pretext.)

Lumbering along with Dame Oppai dangling from my tail, I headed for my belongings.

Waiting there was the parcel she had refused the other day— You understand your punishment now, don’t you?