Becoming A Magical Parasitic Leech

When Christopher finally achieved consciousness, he found himself back in his dorm room.

His clothes had been changed, and he was tucked into bed — surprisingly warm and comfortable.

"Ugh…"

He groaned as the dull, throbbing pain in his skull reminded him he was very much alive.

He sat up slowly, eyes scanning the room.

Everything… was clean.

Immaculately clean.

Which was strange — no, alarming.

Christopher stared around, confused.

"What's with this? Why is everything clean?"

He blinked a few times, his brain still catching up.

It had been so long since he'd seen his room like this that for a second, he almost didn't recognize it.

Now that he did…

He kind of liked it.

It felt less suffocating. Less like the room of a failed heir.

Less like a prison of disappointment.

"It was me."

A calm voice rang out beside him, seated at the edge of his bed.

"Holy—!"

Christopher jolted, nearly leaping out of the sheets. His heart thudded against his ribs like a war drum.

He clutched his chest, eyes wide in alarm. "I need a minute. Holy crap."

The figure next to him came into focus.

Yurei Morwyn.

His childhood friend.

Someone he hadn't spoken to in years — not since the Magical Awakening.

Not since she was granted power and he didn't.

Back then, they used to study together — laugh, tease, help each other with homework. She had always been sharp, focused… kind.

But when her talent awakened, she was moved away — assigned to advanced programs, kept away from the "mana-less."

She was beautiful now.

Jet-black hair with a faint wave, paired with deep blue eyes that almost mirrored his.

She wore a simple pleated skirt, a black-and-white cardigan layered over a casual blouse — nothing fancy, but on her, it looked like fashion from a high-class magazine.

"You're as jumpy as the day we last talked," she said, a quiet smile ghosting her lips.

Christopher exhaled sharply, chuckling despite himself. "It doesn't help that you're naturally talented at hiding your presence."

She stood up gracefully, smoothing her skirt. "Well, I hope you recover well."

He blinked. "Wait, how did you even find me?"

"That wouldn't be any of your concern."

Her smirk widened slightly, eyes twinkling with mischief. Then she glanced at him — not long, just enough to make it feel intentional.

"And I wish you luck in the mana assessment."

She took a few steps toward the door and paused.

"Wind is a nice element," she added quietly, then disappeared out the door before he could respond.

Christopher sat in stunned silence.

"Wind? And wishing me luck on the mana assessment?"

He scratched the back of his head, brows furrowed.

"I don't even have a chance."

He dropped into thought, placing a hand under his chin.

'Wait… how did I survive the Razor Wolf?'

Suddenly—

[It was me.]

A translucent blue panel flickered into view before his eyes. The text hovered mid-air, bright and sharp.

"What—?"

Before he could even blink—

[Memory Sync]

[Complete]

His eyes glazed over.

Everything came rushing back — the forest, the blood, the pain… the spell… the devour… the sword.

Then clarity returned.

GASP

He clutched his head, breathing hard.

But he understood. It all made sense now.

In a world where dragons razed cities and the dead could walk if necromancers willed it, a system message appearing in your vision was… inconvenient, not unthinkable.

A strange surprise — but still oddly convenient.

"…Does this mean?"

[Yes, it means—]

"I can use magic?!"

[…]

[No.]

He froze.

"…What the hell do you mean no?! I literally used wind magic!"

[Well…]

[Let me make it brief.]

[Installing Information Package 1.0…]

His eye twitched. "1.0?! How many packages are there!?"

Then it hit.

His eyes glazed over again — his brain flooded with raw information. Diagrams, symbols, restrictions, mechanics — all of it downloaded in less than two seconds.

When it ended, he groaned and grabbed at his forehead.

"At least warn me next time…"

[Noted.]

'Cheeky asshole.'

He flopped back into bed, one arm stretched outward, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.

"So let me make this clear… I can devour magic and use it when needed, and combine if the conditions are right?"

[Yes.]

"But I can't actually use magic on my own?"

[Correct.]

"That seems dumb."

[It's better than nothing.]

"…Touché."

He paused, recalling something from the data burst.

His eyes narrowed. "Let's try this…"

"Spell Storage."

[Storage 2/3]

1. Wind Slash

2. Wind Severance

He whistled. "Wind Severance… an A-Rank spell. That's something only elite C-Rank Arcanists or middle B-Ranks even touch."

He wasn't even officially ranked.

"If I don't have mana, then how can I use the spells in my storage?"

[Either sacrifice another stored spell, or devour a new one to refill the casting cost.]

"So basically I'm a parasitic leech that relies on other people's magic to use my own?"

[Yes.]

"…Sounds perfect."

[?]

"Can I absorb an SSS-Rank spell directly?"

[If you think you can survive it and your body can handle its pressure, then sure. Just make sure you don't turn into ash in the process.]

"What's with your terrible personality?"

[My speech patterns are directly absorbed from the user eg. You.]

Christopher paused.

"…So this is how insufferable I am to talk to, huh?"

The panel didn't reply. Not that it needed to.

He sat quietly, letting the information sink in. Then, slowly, he looked down at his hand.

He opened and closed his fingers.

It didn't feel like much had changed.

But it had.

This was real.

This was his chance.

To finally stand tall again.

To become the prodigy the world thought he could never be.

"…I guess this is fate paying me back for what it owes me."

He rose from his bed and walked toward the window, pulling the curtain aside.

From the second floor, he could see the vast circular courtyard of the Academy — filled with students, all preparing for the assessment that was exactly one week away.

His eyes narrowed.

Down in the field, he spotted them.

His seven brothers — gathered together, laughing, talking like they owned the world.

He bit his lip, his blood simmering. But this time, not with despair.

With fire.

Determination.

"I'll make sure to make your lives a living hell."