She stared at the “Mastered Magic” section, confirming that no new description would pop up, then began rummaging through the original owner’s memories.
Because her mind wasn’t focused on studying, the original owner only knew how to use two spells.
The first was the common fire-element magic called “Fireworks,” the spell Ye An used during the day.
The second was “Water Bullet,” the first spell that the original owner’s water-element class was required to learn.
As for the skills listed as “Fireball” and “Purification,” those were spells the original owner wanted to learn but never mastered.
Both were more difficult than the previous two spells.
Lulumia took a deep breath, repeatedly calming the storm of emotions within her.
The meaning of this panel was obvious.
The level of “Fireworks” was Beginner, and since the original owner could indeed use “Fireworks,” logically, she herself should be able to use it as well.
She sprang out of bed, grabbed Amy’s Magic Staff leaning against the wall, and tried to replay the original owner’s process of casting “Fireworks” in her mind, constantly imagining the flow of mana within her body.
Finally, she gripped the staff with her right hand and aimed it at the windowsill.
“Little fire spirit, gather a tiny flame in my hand—’Fireworks.'”
Very distinctly, Lulumia felt something flowing inside her body.
This unknown force was drawn out from her chest, rushing along her right arm with great momentum.
A warm sensation surged into her palm and finally infused into the staff.
Puff.
The pitch-black dorm suddenly lit up with bright light, and a flickering candle flame appeared atop Lulumia’s Magic Staff.
She had succeeded.
As long as the mana was sufficient and the chant was applied at the correct rhythm, the magic could be cast—in theory at least—but Lulumia felt it was easier than when the original owner had used it.
Though no longer a child, Lulumia couldn’t help but stare blankly at the candle flame.
This was her first time using magic, and this magic was definitely not some physical phenomenon or childish fantasy.
She shook the staff lightly, and the candle flame wavered along with the movement.
Then she extinguished the flame and chanted again, lighting the dorm with the glow of “Fireworks.”
“I can use magic too…”
Excitement rose in her voice, her breathing becoming rapid as her small hands involuntarily clenched the staff, the ripples of emotion within her heart refusing to subside.
No one could resist the allure of magic; neither could she.
She had done something impossible on Earth.
At this moment, she finally felt the reality of her transmigration.
This was a world of swords and magic, and even as a transmigrator, she could wield this miracle.
She wanted to shout it out loud, even record and share her joy with her online friends—but when she came to her senses, she realized she was already severed from her old world.
Nonetheless, she was thrilled. She waved the staff, imagining herself casting more spells.
Tiny flames trailed a series of afterimages in the air, evoking the image of a sky full of fire rain.
Only after more than ten seconds did Lulumia’s childlike excitement gradually fade.
She panted heavily, forcing herself to restrain the joy of having magic at her fingertips.
“No, calm down. Now’s not the time to be excited.”
What she needed to test now was proficiency.
Clearing her throat, Lulumia put away the staff and summoned the panel in her mind.
The pale-white panel unfolded before her eyes once more.
“‘Fireworks’: 132/500, Beginner, 368 proficiency points needed for next level.”
It seemed that every time she used “Fireworks,” her proficiency increased a little.
If she used it 368 more times, her magic proficiency would level up.
This was practically a divine skill.
Lulumia wanted nothing more than to hug her pillow and scream while rolling around in bed.
What is the greatest obstacle in learning?
It’s the tedious and dull process.
Because there’s no immediate positive feedback, no sense of progress from learning, people grow slack and even consider it pointless.
But with a clear progress bar, seeing the tangible results of one’s efforts so close at hand, the outcome changes completely.
It’s like turning reality into a game; as long as you work hard, you will see growth.
As long as you grind enough, you can become invincible.
It allows you to start from a height that other students can only envy.
Furthermore, it even shows progress for spells the original owner never learned.
The original owner never successfully used “Fireball,” yet its progress shows 2.
In other words, Lulumia doesn’t have to blindly explore whether she can use “Fireball.”
She only needs to use it 98 more times to make the previously unusable skill usable.
She could even benefit from the boosts granted by titles.
For example, after connecting with Riege and the Four Princesses, the corresponding magic proficiency would accelerate.
Who designed this game?
It was too awesome!
Transmigrating into a fantasy world as a beautiful girl was one thing, but also becoming a great mage?
This was an absolute jackpot!
Once she became a world-renowned mage, money would flow in, and she would no longer have to worry about debts.
She might even turn the tables on her debt collectors and crush them beneath her feet, making the wicked Four Princesses obey her every command.
Magic was truly wonderful.
Unconsciously, Lulumia curled a wicked smile.
She repeated casting and extinguishing “Fireworks,” over and over, until her mana drained from 10 to 0, and her head spun so much she couldn’t cast anymore.
Only then did she stop.
Now it seemed that mana was the only thing limiting her growth.
But why did the skill proficiency panel appear now when it hadn’t during the day?
Calming herself, Lulumia sat on the empty bed below, lost in thought.
Reviewing the day’s rollercoaster of events, she focused her suspicion on the “Positive Mind Value.”
As if sensing her gaze, the panel changed.
“Title obtained: ‘Little Diligent One'”
“Positive Mind Value: 50↑ (increased by 5)”
And then?
Then the skill proficiency section vanished into thin air.
The detailed display of “Mastered Magic” disappeared completely.
No matter how many times Lulumia summoned the panel, it only showed the Positive Mind Value and titles, just like during the day.
Lulumia blinked in confusion, then seemed to understand something. Her expression darkened.
Why did the panel disappear after the Positive Mind Value rose?
At that moment, she suddenly understood the function of the Positive Mind Value.
Only when it was below a certain number could she see the detailed “Mastered Magic” display.
Once the Positive Mind Value exceeded that threshold, she could only see the titles and the Positive Mind Value itself.
During the day, her Positive Mind Value had dropped to 45, so she could see the magic she had mastered.
But just now, because it had risen to 50 through effort, the proficiency panel vanished.
In other words, she had to act like an evil dragon to use the panel to assist her.
What kind of cheat is this, forcing dragons to be evil?
Does that mean every few days she worked hard, she’d have to go do some bad deeds?
Even good and evil have to balance out?
Lulumia briefly imagined her future.
Although she never claimed to be a good person and had done bad things like scamming money from children, those were different circumstances.
At that time, she had no other way; without that money, she couldn’t survive.
But if she scammed money from Riege when she was well-off, she might as well dig a hole and bury herself.
What a shame.
“Ugh.”
Without the proficiency display, Lulumia immediately felt deflated, losing the desire to keep improving her magic.
She still had countless debts—so many the original owner couldn’t even remember the exact number.
Although becoming strong would let her shake off these debts, the panel clearly couldn’t make her go from ugly duckling to swan overnight.
“Lulumia, my magic staff…”
Just as Lulumia was thinking of doing something like helping an old lady jaywalk to lower her Positive Mind Value, a second voice suddenly sounded in the dorm.
It was a gentle, tentative, and fearful female voice.
Lulumia, lying on her back on the wooden plank, sat up straight.
She recognized the voice—it belonged to Amy, a classmate the original owner bullied.
At the door stood a skinny, small thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girl with loose pale red hair.
Though she looked malnourished and frail, her facial features already held a hint of charm.
Like Lulumia, she belonged to the cute and endearing type.
Because Lulumia held Amy’s short staff, Amy didn’t dare enter and stood timidly at the door, shrinking like a little mouse, clearly afraid this was a new form of bullying from Lulumia.
Then Amy noticed her own coins lying on the bed.
Her face turned pale. Ignoring Lulumia still inside, she dashed to the bedside and quickly hid the coins and ledger behind her back, shrinking her neck and speaking timidly.
“Th-these coins can’t be lent to you, Lulumia… They’re for my mother’s treatment at home…”
I wasn’t thinking of taking your money anyway.
Lulumia muttered, seeing Amy’s fearful expression.
The original owner had clearly done quite a few bad things to Amy.
She jumped down from the bed, cleared her throat twice, and reached out to pat Amy’s shoulder.
But Amy, like a frightened rabbit, immediately stepped back a little, completely avoiding Lulumia’s gaze.
Lulumia could only helplessly withdraw her hand.
“I’m not here to borrow money. Starting today, I’m going to live here. Just wanted to say hello.”