The morning light filtered through the mana-charged glass panels of my dorm room. They flickered weakly, like even the sun couldn't afford to shine properly in this part of ManaTech University.
The hum of mana circuits was buzzing faintly above the ceiling, as they struggled to keep the room alive on what I could only call "poverty mode."
It felt less like a dorm and more like an overpriced prison cell powered by a dying hamster on a wheel.
Classic.
Then came the inevitable ping.
[ ⚠ Warning: Your Mana Utility Bill exceeds your monthly limit. Remaining Balance: 2 Points.]
"Ah, good morning, poverty," I muttered, as I rubbed my face and glared at the glowing blue System screen that floated lazily in front of me. "Still alive, huh? You persistent motherfucker. Shame."
The screen blinked twice — probably offended that I talked to it like it was a worn-out prostitute — before fading away. Yeah, that's right.
Now even my System gave me attitude these days. The bitch.
I swung my legs off the bed, as the mattress creaked like an old man who had knee problems. Or maybe just like a cheap piece of shit dorm furniture that had seen too many lonely nights and not enough actual action.
It was the same depressing sound every morning, same depressing energy. Same aching dick from another night of blue balls and pixelated pleasures. The mana lamp in the corner flickered weakly, like it was also reconsidering its life choices.
Two points.
Two.
I could barely afford to breathe right now, let alone moan.
While brushing my teeth, I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror.
It was messy hair, dull eyes, and that faint purple glow in my iris that screamed "mage bloodline." More like "mage bloodline, and too poor to even afford proper p*rn."
C-rankers could afford breakfast.
A-rankers could afford girlfriends to actually do things with.
S-rankers? Both — and still complain about taxes. Probably for their yacht filled with mana-fueled sexbots.
Me? Level 2 Apprentice Mage. My best spell could probably light a candle — if the candle felt generous that day and didn't expect me to pay it back. I'd rather light up a joint and forget about this shit.
ManaTech University prided itself on its "fair" point-based economy — which, when translated, meant the rich got richer and the rest of us learned how to survive on two-digit balances.
Or how to suck a corporate d*ck for a few extra credits.
In this world, points were everything. Think food, clothes, rent, even grades — all of it were traded in shiny digital credits blessed by the almighty "System." That almighty System could go fuck itself.
Every citizen got a monthly allocation based on rank. The higher your rank, the more zeros on your balance... and the fatter your ego. Or your wallet for all those special services.
The System loved its hierarchy chart: C → B → A → S → SS → SSS → Legendary.
Legendaries were myths — the kind of people you blamed for everything.
From inflation, to bad grades, the weather, and even your ex leaving you for a Knight with a bigger mana pool and probably a bigger buddy — didn't matter. Those bastards probably had personal mana wells and Systems that came with a built-in harem.
I pulled on my jacket, muttering, "C-rankers can afford breakfast. A-rankers can afford to get their d*cks wet. S-rankers can afford both — and still file for tax returns on their mana-fueled orgies."
Yeah. Welcome to ManaTech. Where your worth was measured in points, not inches, but the outcome was pretty much the same: if you were broke, you were fucked.
The cafeteria smelled like synthetic bread and broken dreams. And the faint stink of desperation and unfulfilled horny teenagers. This place was a damn incubator for future mass murderers, I swear.
Holographic menus flickered overhead, taunting me with glowing prices:
[Instant Mana Noodles — 10 Points]
[Basic Breakfast Platter — 25 Points]
[Luxury Mana-Burst Coffee — 40 Points]
I sighed, scrolling through my System's shop like some depressed window shopper. "Ten points for noodles? Yeah, fuck that.
I could buy a cheap picture pack of some busty elf-girl hentai for less.
Might as well starve in style and get a little visual stimulation while I'm at it."
Across the room, other students summoned their Systems with flashy, custom commands — the teenage equivalent of naming your pet dragon, only with more sexual undertones these days.
"Luxia!" "Astra!" "Hey, Sexy!"
Their interfaces shimmered into view — sleek, bright, responsive. One girl's System even purred at her, probably offering to find her a date or some designer spell tome.
Meanwhile, I muttered under my breath, "C'mon, Babe. Please just show me the damn prices."
Silence. Nothing.
The air stayed empty, and my old interface refused to respond. It was like my System had ghosted me. My fucking software was acting like a cold bitch.
A faint error tone flashed across my actual screen, the one on my wrist. Ever since last month's configuration test, my System had been bugging out.
That test was supposed to be my chance at breakthrough — my shot at reclassification. Instead, it crushed mid-exam and labeled me "Low-tier Apprentice Mage."
Even my software was broke.
Just like my wallet. And my spirit. And my chances of getting laid.
Every kid remembers the day their System awakened. It's like a rite of passage — puberty, but with mana and judgment. And a lot more, well... disappointment.
I still remember standing in that classroom, my palms were sweaty, my heart pounding, just hoping for something cool.
My buddy Kyle got Knight.
Sarah got Healer, by now she was probably practicing her "healing touch" on all the jocks.
And me? Apprentice Mage.
The System even had the audacity to name my first spell "Sparkle." I wanted to punch something right there and then.
"Congratulations, Leon," my classmates had laughed. "You're officially qualified to light birthday candles. Or maybe tiny fireworks for a stripper's grand entrance."
My dad said mages were scholars of power. But years later, at ManaTech, all I'd learned was how expensive "power" really was.
Turns out, raw mana power and d*ck size had a lot in common – the bigger it was, the more points it cost to maintain, and the more attention it got.
My mana pool was probably smaller than a fairy's ballsack.
By evening, the sky outside bled orange through my mana-coated window. The dorm's circuits were humming like dying bees again, as I struggled to keep the lights alive.
Or maybe they were just struggling to prevent a total blackout on my sad, pathetic existence.
My point counter blinked faintly at the corner of my vision. [Balance: 2.13 Points]
"Wow," I muttered. "Not even enough to buy a cheap hooker's smile, let alone hope. Guess another night of solo hentai is on the menu."
I checked my balance once more. [Balance: 2.10 Points]
"Guess even breathing costs me more now, huh?"
Silence answered back.
Pathetic.
I scrolled through my contacts until my thumb hovered over one name.
[Dad — Almost S-Rank]
I hesitated. Calling him meant obviously meant swallowing pride I barely had left.
It meant admitting I was a broke-ass failure. But the flickering mana lamp reminded me — pride didn't pay the bills.
And it certainly didn't afford me the premium subscription for "Mana-Mistress Academy."
With a sigh of defeat, I tapped the call.
The connection shimmered.
A holographic projection formed above my desk — my father's tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. His presence made even the mana in the air straighten up.
The guy was a mana tank. A walking, talking, almost S-rank bank account.
"Leon," he said, his voice was deep, calm — too calm. The kind of calm that preceded an ass-kicking. "You sound tired."
"Yeah," I forced a laugh, trying to make it sound casual, not like I'd just spent half the day mentally budgeting whether to eat or stay connected to the network. "Uni life. Mana bread's gone up again. And the hentai subscriptions are bleeding me dry, haha."
There was a long pause.
He could probably hear the broke in my voice through the forced joke. He knew I was full of shit.
"Still no job?"
I smirked. "Define job. If 'maintaining optimal survival parameters while exploring the intricacies of digital media consumption' counts, then yeah, I'm practically an executive."
He didn't smile. He never did. "You could always transfer. Join the family's Division. We take care of our own."
That line hit harder than it should've. It was his polite way of saying, "Stop floundering and come let me fix your damn life; you failure broke-ass of a son." I shook my head, even though he probably couldn't see it clearly. "I'll manage."
Even I didn't believe it. I was managing to barely stay alive and maintain my hentai habit. That was about it.
He exhaled softly — that disappointed sigh he never tried to hide. It was worse than yelling. "Your mother would've—"
"Yeah," I interrupted quietly. "I know." She would've told me to pull my head out of my ass and actually do something.
Or maybe she would have just given me some points and told me to buy some decent mana bread.
Silence. Then the line cut off.
The room felt colder, emptier.
The mana light flickered once… twice… then died completely.
Darkness swallowed the room, leaving me with only the faint glow of my wrist screen and a rapidly dying phone battery.
"Guess that's that," I said softly, the words hanging heavy in the blackness. "Even the fucking universe is done with me."
And for a brief second — just a second — I thought I heard a faint, familiar voice whisper through the static of my dead System, its digital tone almost mocking, almost… suggestive.
"C'mon, Babe… still alive, huh? Maybe you should just learn to suck it up already."