The fifth month dawned gray and drizzly, the kind of morning that made Leo want to pull his thin blanket over his head and pretend the world didn't exist. But he couldn't afford that luxury. Not today.
He sat up in bed, the familiar straw rustling beneath him, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The blue‑tinted window materialised before him, its glow soft in the dim morning light.
> **[SYSTEM: SKILL SELECTION AVAILABLE]**
> **[UNIQUE SKILL: ANALYTICAL MIMICRY – ONE SELECTION REMAINING THIS MONTH]**
> **[PLEASE SELECT YOUR SKILL]**
Leo stared at the screen, his mind churning. He'd been planning to choose *Mana Channeling* this month—the next logical step in his magical education. But something had been nagging at him for weeks, a thought that had grown louder with each passing day.
*What if I could give others the skills I've learned?*
The idea had first occurred to him during a conversation with Garrick, the four‑armed tree‑barked humanoid who'd become something of a friend. Garrick had been complaining about his chronic back pain, the result of decades of heavy lifting at the docks. Leo had casually mentioned that he could sense the mana in Garrick's body, that it felt “congested” around his lower back.
“You can *sense* that?” Garrick had asked, his bark‑like face creased with curiosity. “I thought that was just something mages did. The fancy ones, with their robes and their towers.”
“It's not that complicated,” Leo had said, then stopped. He'd been about to explain the basics of mana sensing—how to feel the energy in the body, how to identify areas of imbalance. But he'd realised, with a jolt, that he could *do* it, but he couldn't explain *how* well enough for others to replicate it without months of trial and error.
But what if the system could help?
The idea had taken root, growing in the fertile soil of his imagination. What if he could use his unique skill to *impart* the abilities he'd acquired directly to others? What would that mean for this world? For the people who lived in it?
He could give them the power to read, to write, to speak languages they'd never known. He could give them magic—the first step, at least. The foundation upon which they could build their own understanding.
*That's my choice,* he decided. *Not Mana Channeling for myself. Impartation.*
He cleared his throat and spoke to the system. “I want to impart a skill.”
> **[ANALYSIS: “IMPART A SKILL” IS TOO BROAD. PLEASE SPECIFY THE SKILL TO BE IMPARTED.]**
Leo nodded. He'd expected that. “I want to impart the skill of Mana Sensing.”
> **[ANALYSIS: “MANA SENSING” CONFIRMED. YOU ALREADY POSSESS THIS SKILL. IMPARTING IT WILL ALLOW YOU TO BESTOW THE FULL PROFICIENCY OF THIS SKILL UPON ANOTHER INDIVIDUAL. YOUR OWN PROFICIENCY WILL REMAIN UNAFFECTED. DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED?]**
Leo's heart leaped. No penalty. He could share what he'd learned without losing anything himself. It was almost too good to be true.
“Yes,” he said, his voice steady. “I want to impart Mana Sensing.”
> **[SKILL IMPARTATION (MANA SENSING) GRANTED.]**
> **[YOU MAY NOW BESTOW THE SKILL ‘MANA SENSING’ UPON ANY WILLING TARGET THROUGH PHYSICAL CONTACT. THE TARGET WILL GAIN FULL PROFICIENCY INSTANTLY. THIS ABILITY MAY BE USED AN UNLIMITED NUMBER OF TIMES.]**
A warmth spread through Leo's chest, different from the hum of mana—it felt like a key turning in a lock, unlocking a new function within him. He raised his hand and flexed his fingers, sensing that he could now *give* something away without losing it himself.
A grin spread across his face. He had a plan.
The workday at the docks was a blur of familiar activity. Leo hauled crates, loaded ships, and navigated the chaos of the waterfront with practiced ease. But his mind was elsewhere, racing with plans and possibilities.
“What's got you so distracted today?” Borin the dwarf foreman grunted, clapping Leo on the shoulder during a rare moment of respite. “You've been staring off into space like a lovesick puppy.”
“Just thinking about a new project,” Leo said, forcing a smile. “Nothing important.”
“Nothing important, he says,” Borin snorted, shaking his head. “You're the most important dock worker we've got, Leo the Reader. The books, the stories, the help with the paperwork—you've made this place better. Don't sell yourself short.”
Leo nodded, genuinely touched by the dwarf's words. “Thank you, Borin. That means a lot.”
“Save the gratitude for when you're not daydreaming,” Borin grumbled, but there was warmth in his gruff voice. “Now get back to work. Those crates won't load themselves.”
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The evening market was in full swing—a chaotic jumble of merchants, customers, and street performers. Leo spotted an empty stall near the fountain and approached the market warden, a plump woman with a no‑nonsense expression.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Is this stall available for rent?”
The warden looked him up and down. “It's five coppers for the evening. You selling something?”
“Knowledge,” Leo said simply. “Magic knowledge. Specifically, I'm offering to give people the ability to sense mana.”
Within an hour, Leo had set up his stall. A small table, a wooden sign he'd painted the night before, and a handful of curious onlookers. The sign read, in clear Aroza script:
> **“GAIN THE ABILITY TO SENSE MANA!**
> **Instant bestowal – ten silver.**
> **Money back if it doesn't work.”**
The first hour was slow. People passed, read the sign, and hurried away. A few lingered, but none approached. Leo was beginning to worry when a young woman stepped forward. She was perhaps twenty, with a sharp, intelligent face and a modest woolen dress.
“Ten silver?” she asked, her voice hesitant. “That's a lot of money.”
“It's a lot of power,” Leo countered. “And you'll get it back if it doesn't work.”
The woman chewed her lower lip. “How do I know you're not a charlatan?”
Leo smiled. “You don't. But there's only one way to find out. I'll touch your hand, and you'll instantly know how to sense mana. If you don't feel anything within a minute, I'll refund you on the spot.”
The woman studied him for a long moment, then reached into her purse and pulled out ten silver coins. “Fine. I'll try it. But if you're lying, I'll have the city guard on you so fast your head will spin.”
Leo laughed. “Fair enough. What's your name?”
“Elara,” she said. “And you're Leo the Reader, aren't you? I've seen you at The Blind Scholar. You tell stories.”
“The same,” Leo admitted. “And now I'm giving away magic. Hold out your hand.”
Elara extended her hand, and Leo took it gently. He concentrated, feeling the new ability within him—the power to bestow Mana Sensing. He *pushed* gently, and a warm pulse flowed from him into her.
Elara gasped. Her eyes flew wide, and she stared at her own hands as if seeing them for the first time. “I… I can feel it,” she whispered. “It's everywhere. In the air, in the ground, in the people around me. How did I never notice it before?”
“Because you weren't looking,” Leo said simply. “Now you are.”
Elara paid him the ten silver without complaint, promising to spread the word among her friends. Leo watched her go, a sense of profound satisfaction washing over him.
*It worked. It actually worked.*
The word spread quickly.
Within a week, Leo's stall had become a fixture in the evening market. People came from all over the city—dock workers, merchants' apprentices, even a few minor nobles—all of them curious about the man who could bestow magic with a touch.
Leo developed a simple routine. Each customer paid ten silver, extended a hand, and received the skill in an instant. The look of wonder on their faces never got old. Some wept with joy; others laughed in disbelief. A few immediately began testing their new sense, pointing out the auras of passers‑by.
“This is remarkable,” one of his customers, a young merchant named Rohan, told him after his bestowal. “I've never felt anything like this. It's like a whole new world has opened up.”
“That's the point,” Leo said. “Magic isn't just about throwing fireballs—it's about understanding the world on a deeper level.”
Rohan nodded thoughtfully. “Can you give me more? Other skills?”
Leo shook his head. “Not yet. One step at a time. Mastering the foundation is the most important part.”
But Leo's life was a careful balancing act. The days were still consumed by his work at the docks, the gruelling physical labour that paid for his room and his food. The evenings were split between his writing—the Harry Potter adaptation was now in its second volume, with demand growing every day—and his stall.
He barely slept. He was always tired, his body aching from the day's labour, his mind racing with ideas and plans. But he was also happier than he'd ever been. He was building something. He was making a difference.
“You look exhausted,” Mira, the merchant guild representative, observed during a meeting about his next publication. “Are you getting enough rest?”
“I'm fine,” Leo said, stifling a yawn. “Just busy.”
“Too busy,” Mira said, her sharp eyes studying him. “You're the most popular author in the city, and now I hear you're handing out magical senses in the market. That's a lot of irons in the fire.”
Leo shrugged. “I'm making the most of my opportunities.”
Mira nodded slowly. “Just be careful you don't burn out. A candle that burns at both ends doesn't last long.”
The weeks passed, and Leo's routine became a well‑oiled machine. Each morning, he woke before dawn and walked to the docks. He worked his shift, hauling cargo and loading ships, using his own mana sensing to anticipate accidents and avoid dangerous situations. He'd become invaluable to the dock operation, his ability to sense mana making him an early warning system for everything from overloaded crates to worker exhaustion.
After his shift, he'd go to the market and set up his stall. The crowds had grown, and he was now bestowing the skill on a dozen people a night. His reputation was solid, the demand exceeding his ability to keep up. He'd even started charging fifteen silver, and no one complained.
The writing came last, in the quiet hours of the night. He'd sit at his desk, the candle guttering low, and write until his hand cramped and his eyes burned. The stories flowed through him like water, the adaptations becoming more natural with each passing volume. The second Harry Potter book was nearly complete, and he was already planning his next project—a collection of Shakespearean plays, adapted to fit this world's cultural context.
The month was drawing to a close, and Leo was exhausted. His body ached from the constant labour, his mind was frayed from the endless bestowals and writing. But he was also rich—richer than he'd ever been in either world.
He'd saved nearly sixty gold coins from his writing and his stall combined. It was a fortune, enough to live comfortably for years. But Leo had no intention of slowing down. He'd found his purpose, his path, and he was determined to follow it to the end.
He sat at his desk, the candle sputtering low, and looked out the window at the sleeping city. The stars were out, scattered across the sky like diamonds on black velvet. Somewhere, a night bird sang.
*One more day,* he thought. *Tomorrow, the system will unlock a new skill. And I'll take the next step on this journey.*
He flexed his ink‑stained fingers and picked up his quill. The second Harry Potter book was so close to completion, just a few more pages, a few more scenes to adapt and refine. He'd finish it tonight, come what may.
The scratch of his quill filled the quiet room, the only sound in the darkness. Leo wrote on, his mana humming contentedly in his chest, his future unfolding before him one word at a time.