Chapter 9. Is My Mana Sweet?
What kind of nonsense is this?
Birkin touched her forehead for a moment, wondering if this guy only ever spewed nonsense because he was truly a mad dog.
Then, with a slight twitch of her brow, she spoke.
“…By the way, why do you keep speaking informally?”
“It’s just more comfortable.”
Birkin glanced over Liam’s face. Sure, he was handsome—but he also clearly looked younger than her. Like a seasoned vice-head, she responded smoothly and professionally.
“Mr. Liam Moore, where did you learn to speak so rudely to someone you’re meeting for the first time?”
“Then you can just speak informally too.”
“I have no desire to be rude like you.”
She decided to stand her ground more firmly. After all, Ed Chief referred to him simply as “Mr. Liam Moore,” so he probably didn’t have an official position. At least on paper, Birkin was a Vice-head and Liam was just a regular tower mage—meaning she outranked him.
“If you don’t like it… I won’t.”
“You’re still doing it—talking informally.”
“I won’t… do it, sir.”
He added the “sir” awkwardly at the end, and while she noticed, she let it slide. Instead, she guided him toward the break room.
As they walked through the hallway, Birkin felt all eyes from the Service Division mages sneaking glances at them. She hated being the center of attention—especially inside the Magic Tower.
“…Let’s move somewhere more private.”
“Got it… sir.”
“I swear—”
She wanted to tell him to stop adding “sir” too late, but she didn’t get the chance.
It was because she felt the growing tension of the mages who were hiding and holding their breath in the office. Somewhere, someone even whispered, “The mad dog is using honorifics!”
Birkin came to a stop and looked back at the man following her like a puppy. Liam halted too, his innocent eyes blinking as if he had no idea why she’d stopped.
That clueless look… Birkin almost choked on the words rising in her throat and quickly resumed walking toward the break room.
“Let’s keep this short. Why did you come to see me?”
“…But I don’t want to keep it short.”
Can’t we talk longer?
Birkin’s head started hurting again. She was starting to think a proper conversation might be impossible. Her stomach, already prone to stress, felt like it was about to develop an ulcer.
“Fine. Short or long, just answer me. Why?”
“Birkin.”
“Please address me as Vice-head, Mr. Liam Moore.”
In the act of correcting his speech again, Birkin missed a crucial point—how did he know her name in the first place?
“I want to call you by name.”
At this rate, they’d be talking all day. Birkin sighed internally and continued the conversation.
“Do what you want. Back to the point—this is the third time I’m asking: why did you come to see me?”
“Birkin, one day I had a meal I really loved.”
“…”
“It was something I hadn’t had in a long time. It was very sweet.”
Liam’s voice was low and deep, drawing the listener in. But as Birkin frowned, about to ask what the hell he was talking about—
“And someone ran off with it.”
“…The food?”
“Yeah.”
Liam said this with a perfectly calm expression.
“So of course, I had to chase after it.”
He gulped, his throat bobbing like a predator savoring a scent. Birkin felt a chill run down her spine.
What unsettled her more was that he never took his eyes off her—not for a second.
“And what does that have to do with my question?”
“Because you ran. So I had no choice but to chase.”
“…Are you saying I’m the food?”
“You’re delicious.”
What is this conversation?
It sounded like a joke—but his face was dead serious, making it hard to dismiss. Birkin closed her eyes tightly and asked,
“Then what did you mean earlier when you said I gave you power?”
“I’m a 9-circle Archmage.”
“That much, I know better than anyone.”
“But I don’t have mana.”
…What?
His words didn’t make sense. A 9-circle Archmage with no mana?
Birkin knew better than anyone that having a lot of mana didn’t automatically make one a high-level mage. Mana and magic were related but not directly proportional.
She herself had overwhelming mana but had never become a proper mage.
Still, what Liam said didn’t add up. No matter how nonlinear the relationship between mana and magic, a 9-circle mage with no mana was unheard of.
A 9-circle Archmage implied the presence of nine mana circles. Casting high-level spells required multiple circles per cast.
For example, a 2nd-circle Fireball required two mana circles. So a 4-circle mage could cast it more easily than a 2-circle one.
…And all his mana circles were empty?
“What are you talking about?”
She barely resisted adding, “Are you insane?”—because this was still the Magic Tower, and technically, he was a colleague.
Maybe realizing her skeptical gaze, Liam’s expression dimmed slightly. He spoke in a strangely pitiful tone.
“I’m a 9-circle mage, but my mana circles are always empty.”
“Then how do you use magic?”
“That’s why I rarely use it. Which is why a 9-circle mage like me ended up in the Item Development Department.”
That part made sense. Birkin herself had wondered why such a high-level mage was working in item development instead of research.
Still, not all her questions were answered. Could someone who couldn’t use magic when needed still be called a great mage?
“Then I met you.”
“…Me?”
“You filled me. With mana.”
Liam’s voice wasn’t loud, but the quiet, slow rhythm drew her in. Birkin didn’t even notice that he had slipped back into informal speech.
“Then what about before meeting me?”
“I asked just anyone. I coughed up blood a lot. It didn’t merge well with my mana circles.”
He said it so casually that Birkin found herself momentarily feeling sorry for him.
She knew very well how painful it was to force someone else’s mana into your own circles. It was basic magic theory.
“But why me…”
“Your mana feels good.”
Very.
Liam added softly with a small smile. It was a surprising expression for someone who had been blank-faced the whole time—like a flower blooming.
“So, Birkin.”
“…Yes?”
“Give me your mana. Just a little more…”
He reached out to grab her wrist, but Birkin quickly pulled it back and tucked it against her chest. Liam’s smile vanished.
He looked like a hunter whose trap had failed.
“Sorry, but I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why?”
“I’m with the Service Division. I’m in charge of charging items. I can’t give out mana recklessly.”
Birkin dipped her head slightly in apology. She knew she had nothing to apologize for, but after hearing Liam’s vulnerability, it felt appropriate.
She understood his situation—at least a little.
When she was in the academy, Birkin had been nicknamed the “mana tank.” She had huge reserves of mana but no ability to use magic, earning the nickname.
Birkin had no mana circles. If she had even one, she could’ve been a 1-circle mage and used basic magic freely.
It wasn’t a matter of effort—just a lack of talent.
She worked herself to the bone trying to learn how to create mana circles, only to receive useless advice like, “Study hard and it’ll happen eventually.”
Study magic? In her first year, before officially entering the magic department, Birkin had been top of her class. After that, not once.
Still, she studied until she had nosebleeds—just to become a mage.
“…I…”
While Birkin was lost in thought, Liam suddenly spoke again, eyes downcast.
“I was sent to Deepdale because I’m a 9-circle mage without mana.”
“…Ah, so that’s why.”
She recalled something Ed Chief said about being dispatched by the state. She had wondered why a genius like Liam was in a backwater like Deepdale.
“I didn’t want to keep coughing up blood to cast spells.”
“…I understand.”
“But your mana is different.”
The reason Birkin stayed in the magic world despite everything was just one:
She wanted to succeed here—even if she wasn’t a mage or a magitech engineer.
That’s why she applied to the Service Division. There, her mana—once seen as useless—was finally recognized and needed.
That had made her incredibly happy.
“Your mana is… sweet. Insanely sweet.”
Liam raised his head and looked her straight in the eyes. His golden irises met hers, then softened as he smiled.
It was warm—like sunshine.
“I need your mana.”
That man—Liam Moore—had just said the one thing Birkin had most longed to hear over the past ten years.
Without even knowing it.
After their conversation ended, Birkin swiftly turned on her heel and marched back to her office. Only Liam stood behind, watching the direction she’d gone with reluctant eyes.
Then, someone approached him.
It was none other than Chief Villem from the Item Development Department. He shuffled toward Liam awkwardly.
“Um… ahem. Liam. About that project we’re working on…”
“Did I not seem pitiful?”
“…W-what? Pitiful? What do you mean?”
“The way I looked. Did I not look pitiful?”
The moment Birkin left, all expression drained from Liam’s face. He stared down at Chief Villem with his usual deadpan gaze. Villem gulped.
He recalled how Liam had looked just after Birkin left.
Now that he thought about it… yeah. Liam had looked kind of… down. Like a puppy caught in the rain.
In the Item Development Department, saying “Liam Moore looked pitiful” could get you lynched, even if you were a chief.
But… he had looked that way.
“M-maybe… a little, I guess…”
“Weird.”
Liam stared at the door Birkin had disappeared into. A sign was neatly mounted: Service Division, Team 3.
“She had the look of someone about to fall for it.”
Liam tilted his beautiful head, genuinely puzzled.
Born a predator, Liam was a skilled hunter—adept at all methods of pursuit. He had quickly assessed that Birkin Redfield was weak to sympathy.
So he’d tried to exploit it.
But Birkin hadn’t stepped into his trap.
“I missed again.”
And that—Liam Moore burning with hunting instinct—was something Birkin Redfield had no way of knowing.
