(How the hell did I forget Jupiter has like 95 moons? So yeah… maybe two moons don't have to smash into each other. They're still not colliding, so… I'm not a genius. Just slightly above average intelligence. Barely.)
Shit. I'm overthinking again. Whatever. That's my guess. And my guesses are almost never right anyway.
The night predators pull back. Their sharp, needle-like mana signatures fade as they retreat into territories ruled by even bigger bastards. In their place comes softer chaos — small things waking up, insects crawling out, mana rising like warm mist off cooling asphalt.
(What the hell is happening?)
Mana brushes my surface.
My body reacts before I even register it.
The outer layer of green jelly warms. Tightens. A faint, insistent pull forms — subtle, automatic, like static electricity in reverse. Thin streams of ambient mana slip inside me. Not forced. Not asked for. Just… happening.
I freeze.
That wasn't me deciding to do it.
I try to stop the flow.
The pull weakens — but it doesn't vanish. It's not an action I'm taking. It's something I *am*.
Nearby mana — leftover scraps from crushed plants, faint trails left by fleeing insects — drifts toward me. Slowly. Inevitably. Like iron filings to a weak magnet.
Absorption without movement.
Consumption without intent.
The realization lands heavy and dull.
I turn my focus inward — the only way I can "look" at myself — through sensation, resistance, flow.
My body isn't uniform anymore.
Core: dense, stable, almost solid-feeling.
Outer layer: thin, reactive, constantly shifting to match the environment.
That outer layer is the source of the pull.
I test it.
I don't shut everything down like before. Instead I push my will against the absorption — not stopping it completely, just… redirecting. The flow wavers, becomes uneven, like flexing a muscle I didn't know existed.
Mana hesitates at my surface.
Strain hits immediately. Not body-pain. Mind-pain. Like holding a single sharp thought for too long. Still — the pull changes. Slows. Focuses into a smaller patch.
Then I let go.
Absorption returns to its lazy default rhythm.
My thoughts suddenly feel clearer than at any point since I woke up in this body.
(What the fuck just happened? I don't even understand what just happened.)
This is a skill.
Not something the system handed me on a silver platter.
Something baked into being a slime.
Every species has baseline shit like this. Humans breathe without thinking. Wolves stalk without manuals. Slimes… absorb mana passively.
(Huh. How do I just *know* that? Did the system just dump info into my head? Like Tensura? Holy shit… so this woman — this Grand Design voice — she's basically the Voice of the World here? Or it's just a straight-up game system. Which means… bugs are possible. *evil internal cackle*)
I'm still absorbing mana passively.
But now I try to direct it.
A few minutes later…
It's no longer mindless.
I can steer the flow — weak, clumsy, like learning to wiggle ears, but it's there.
> [Grand Design acknowledged.]
The voice arrives. Same flat calm. Same uncaring woman-tone.
> Skill recognized.
No name.
No tooltip.
No explanation.
(… … …)
(*sigh* At least she said *something* this time. But if this woman won't even tell me what skill I just unlocked, what the hell is her purpose? Does she just like watching me struggle? Whatever. I need to relax. I'm tired — not body-tired. Mind-tired.)
I feel it clearly now: automatic surface absorption running in the background like a screensaver.
I release the stored mana slowly. Let it circulate properly instead of pooling. Size stabilizes — a little bigger than yesterday, structure firmer, surface less twitchy and erratic.
---
I "wake" without moving.
Rest for me isn't real sleep. It's just… thinning thought. Loosening focus. When my will dials down enough, the body settles into balance on its own. Absorption ticks along at a low idle.
Today that balance feels wrong.
Mana circulation is lopsided. Core too dense — heavy, almost aching with pressure. Edges too thin — sluggish, underfed. It's not pain exactly. More like the feeling of holding your breath until your vision spots.
I overdid it yesterday.
Compressing everything into the core stabilized me… but it also created backlog. Excess energy hasn't fully merged yet.
(I'm trying to force all my mana back into the core. Ah — you don't even know what I mean by core. There's this small, stone-like thing inside me. At least that's my guess. I think that's where my soul is anchored or something.)
The forest is quieter than usual. Late-morning light cuts down in fat golden beams. Mana motes drift like holy dust inside an abandoned cathedral. Small creatures skitter at the edges of perception, but nothing close enough to be a threat.
I focus inward.
The instant I do, strain spikes again.
Core pulses — dense, stubborn.
Outer layer barely responds.
Absorption keeps feeding straight into the core anyway.
If I push mana outward I'll swell up, get bigger… but I don't want size right now. Size = visibility = death.
So I let go of control for a second.
Not suppression. Not force.
Just… observation.
I let mana do what it wants. Trace its path through me.
Surface → uneven dispersal → slow pooling toward core.
That pooling is normal.
I watch longer.
Core lightens a fraction.
Surface thickens slightly.
Green evens out — less patchy, more like healthy algae than stagnant pond scum.
I need to become better than this.
The forest doesn't bother me. No predators wander close. Almost like it's… giving me space. (Is the forest actually helping me survive? Nah. That's crazy. Right?)
I repeat.
Absorb.
Circulate.
Settle into core.
> [Grand Design acknowledged.]
The voice returns. Same indifferent calm.
> Species skill refined.
> Slime Biology — Sub-function recognized.
(Shit! At least say what it *does*!)
No further words arrive.
But I feel the difference instantly.
The core doesn't feel like a clogged pipe anymore.
Mana moves smoother — not forced, not wasted.
The outer layer responds faster when I nudge it.
Absorption efficiency ticks up — tiny, but measurable.
It's still just the basics.
But the basics are starting to feel… intentional.
Like maybe, just maybe, this pathetic green puddle is learning how to not be quite so pathetic.
(Grand Design lady… if you're listening?
Next time bring a damn manual.
Or at least a progress bar.
I'm trying not to die here. The least you can do is not be so cryptic about it.)