Is It Weird for a Guy to Apply to a Witch School?

I didn’t push Senior Tang for more details. Keep bugging her, and if she didn’t have answers, I’d just make things weird, you know?

It was like trying an extreme sport. Someone couldn’t stop asking how the board was built—how did you even break that down?

You’d have probably said it was a complex process, with a bunch of engineering and physics involved.

That was a rabbit hole way too deep to jump into.

So, to avoid any pointless drama, I let it go. Instead, I switched topics and asked more about Spell Slots, trying to see if they really worked like something out of a video game.

Turned out, they totally did. A Spell Book was basically a shortcut for learning and casting spells. It wasn’t even a study guide—you didn’t actually learn how the magic worked.

Worse, you had to read the instructions or mess around with trial and error to cast anything. Spellbooks even had a usage limit. Pushed it too far, and the book fell apart.

Making one was no easy task either. Apparently, you needed to be at Transcendence-level skill just to start.

Talk about a wake-up call.

Didn’t that make the Transcendence world feel like a game? Almost too simple?

Nah, it was probably brutally tough in reality. No main storyline, no clear missions, no fancy rewards for finishing tasks.

Though, the Academy’s task system did pay some cash, at least. That was a plus, right?

Everyone felt the same—things only looked easy for the people with all the power. And that definitely wasn’t me.

I told myself to relax and keep things in perspective. Those big, world-shaking problems weren’t for a lowlife like me to worry about back then.

At least Spell Slots were a game-changer for someone like me. Without them, learning a spell would’ve meant breaking down its structure, studying spell theory, understanding the mechanics, and having the mental strength to control mana.

That sounded like a total slog.

I was kinda ready for some of it, though. Before starting at a School of Transcendence, our classes had covered spell theory and elemental theory. Those were even on the entrance exams.

Still, I always thought those lessons were too basic. They felt easier than some math problems from my past life that had me stumped.

I figured once I got into the Witch School, I’d be diving deep into Transcendence knowledge. But then they said magic had been simplified to one-button, foolproof spellcasting.

That was kind of a bummer.

On the bright side, it saved me from grinding through the details of casting spells.

The world didn’t spin around me, after all. Maybe I’d been influenced by all the fantasy books and stories from my past life, where I pictured the Transcendence world as something… deeper.

To me, it shouldn’t have just been about picking up skills and throwing punches in battles. It should’ve been about exploring the world’s core through a Transcendent perspective.

Guess I was naive. In the Transcendence world, fighting strength was probably what mattered most.

If you could make spells that easy to cast, it was a quick way to build serious power.

Strength meant influence. That was how it worked in my past life, and it was even more true there.

At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

I snapped out of my daydreams and faced reality: a huge stack of dishes and baking tools. Seriously, who needed that many gadgets to make bread and pastries? Did they even sell all that stuff?

It wasn’t my problem, though. Senior Tang had mentioned earlier that the display case out front had a preservation spell built in, so nothing spoiled too fast.

That made me think about spells—my badge had a built-in spell on it too.

A Fireball, of all things. Just a basic one.

But if I couldn’t even access my mana, how was I supposed to use that Fireball?

It wasn’t like it was a spellbook.

I vaguely remembered Bai Yu saying the badge was meant to help newbies like me get by in the early days when we were basically powerless. But Senior Tang had also said it took years for freshmen to cast spells using just mental focus.

Wasn’t that a contradiction? Or was I missing something?

“Hey, Senior Tang, could I ask one more thing?” I glanced over at her.

“Go ahead,” she said, leaning against the counter.

Since I’d taken over dish duty, she was off the hook for now, looking relaxed and happy to answer my questions.

“So, the school gave us that uniform starter pack, right? This badge has a built-in spell too. How did I even use it?” I pointed at the badge pinned to my chest.

“That badge was an alchemical item. It worked kind of like a spellbook in terms of effect, but it was a physical object, and it wore out. You activated it with mental focus…”

“Whoa, hold on!” I froze, my hand halfway to the badge, ready to give it a try.

“What’s wrong?” Senior Tang blinked, her voice sharp with concern.

“No experimenting!” she snapped. “You were brand-new to magic. You had no idea how powerful spells could be. I wasn’t about to let you blow this place to bits. Listen, don’t try anything. You didn’t want to end up in debt over a stunt like that, did you?”

“No, definitely not,” I said quickly, nodding like my life depended on it. The thought of testing it disappeared.

“Anyway,” she continued, “you guided the spell on your badge with mental focus. Later, when you could manipulate mana, you’d inject it directly. For now, you just activated it, and it pulled mana from your core to cast a spell with fixed power.”

“But it wasn’t exactly precise,” she warned. “You didn’t have the skill to control what happened after it went off. Every year, some curious freshman set off an explosion somewhere on campus and ended up in debt before they’d even settled in. So, you had to be careful.”

Then Senior Tang launched into a full-on lecture about not messing with the spell, even if I was itching to try it. She said I should only experiment in designated areas and not rely on the badge’s power. Apparently, those attack-spell items wore out fast, especially with heavy use.

Bottom line: don’t try it. Especially not in the shop.

I nodded hard, promising to behave. Her explanation cleared things up—I had some firepower, but it was like a nuke I couldn’t just throw around.

Still, my dishwashing efforts got sent back by Senior Tang. They weren’t clean enough. My workload doubled, and I couldn’t help but think magic would’ve made it so much easier.

She was cool about it, though. She said she’d talk to the manager when he got back and recommend I learn the spell ASAP.

It was just a cleaning spell, but I was excited. That kind of magic was a game-changer—not just for dishes.

With time running short, Senior Tang jumped in to help with the dishes. Watching her zap them clean with a flick of magic made me super jealous.