Now came the real problem: revenge. Yeah, easier said than done. To pull it off, you need a plan, some abilities, maybe a few cheats, and preferably not the physical stats of a half-dead snail. Max, unfortunately, had none of the above. He even tried the classic isekai protagonist blood-on-a-magic-item trick—except he didn’t have a damn locket, ring, or cursed family heirloom lying around. Just his shredded hospital clothes, one sad-looking pen, and a phone so cracked it looked like it had been through a war.

Weirdly enough, the phone still worked. Not bad for a relic that somehow looked more modern than anything back on Earth.

First thing he did? He searched for the one word that mattered in every half-decent webnovel world: mana.

Turns out, yep, it was real. The world ran on the stuff. Same old shtick, different name. Back on Earth’s webnovels, they called it qi, aura, ether—take your pick. Here it was mana. The only real difference was that internal qi thing, but screw the technicalities. The important bit? People here could sling fireballs and blow holes in mountains.

And Max? He fully intended to join the mana club. Not because he wanted to be a good citizen or help humanity or any of that noble crap—nah, he just wanted to play the role he was born for: the MC.

"According to his memories, there were quite a few professions that used mana," Max muttered to himself.

Yeah, Max—just Max. Our MC had ditched his old last name like yesterday’s trash. Why? Because what good was it in this shiny new world? Back on Earth it only came bundled with depressing souvenirs: his dusty room, awkward loneliness, and way too much, uh... self-training. No thanks. Fresh start, fresh name.

Anyway, flipping through the backlog of memories like he was speed-scrolling a wiki, Max realized all those so-called "mana professions" were already neatly shoved into categories. Luckily, the people of this world had already done most of the organizing for him. Now all he had to do was figure out which path he wanted to follow—and which one would get him the power he needed.

The world’s mana professions could basically be divided into two main types.

First were the outward users, the flashy ones. These were the ones who projected mana into the world—throwing fireballs, shaping water, or creating spectacular effects. Their abilities were visible, flashy, and often impressive in battle. People noticed them, and sometimes it felt like their magic was as much about style as power.

Then there were the inward users. They focused on channeling mana into themselves, strengthening their bodies, enhancing speed, endurance, and resilience. Not very showy, but extremely practical. They were the kind of fighters who could take a hit that would knock others out and keep going.

And, of course, there were hybrids. Magic warriors, battle mages, and other "I can hit you in the face and burn your house down" types. The best of both worlds—at least if you like being both scary and competent.

Max’s memory scroll highlighted them because, apparently, this was also the career path his stepsister, Karina, had been quietly grinding toward. That meant his annoyingly perfect stepmother had been bragging about it constantly.

And Max? Well... he had no idea if he wanted to be flashy, strong, or both. But considering the universe just gave him a second life, some broken phone, and a family that could double as villains in a tragicomedy, he figured learning a bit of everything wouldn’t hurt. After all, a proper MC always keeps options open—and by options, he meant ways to mess with people who annoyed him.

Now here’s the thing: did he really get nothing? No shiny golden finger, no mysterious cheat, no cosmic gift from whoever decided to transmigrate him into this mess of a world? Did he have to go through some torturous trial or dramatic awakening sequence just to unlock it? Yeah, no thanks. Max wasn’t exactly in the mood for suffering theatrics just to get a leg up.

He pulled out his broken phone and started researching mana. At the most basic level, control came down to runes—simple symbols used to construct spells and techniques. They were the foundation not just for magical attacks, but also for strengthening the body itself. So even without a miraculous gift, Max could still start learning, building up the kind of power that would let him play the role he was clearly meant for.

"What the—fuck?" Max muttered aloud, eyes wide as he stared at what the locals called a rune. Basically, it was some combination of written symbols and vocal magic mumbo-jumbo, supposedly impossible to master unless you were willing to spend a lifetime chasing epiphanies. Each rune only worked if you actually knew the meaning of the word behind it. Problem was... nobody really did. You had to feel it, understand it, or whatever—and who had time for that kind of mystical crap?

Max, naturally, was about to skip all that suffering. For reasons he couldn’t explain—and definitely not from the old Max’s memories—he just knew the meanings. Like, boom, straight into his head. Not Earth knowledge, not borrowed magic memory—just... there. Convenient? Absolutely. Plot-friendly? You bet.

As Max released the first rune, a manic grin spread across his face. He threw his head back and cackled like a villain in a cheap anime.

"Hahahah... yes... world, you are mine! Everything is mine! Hahahaha... I am your protagonist, this world is mine! Hahaha!"

Naturally, that got him some attention. A nurse in the corner froze mid-step, holding a tray of IV bags, her eyebrows shooting toward the ceiling. An old lady in the next bed peeked over her blanket like she’d just seen a ghost—or maybe the reincarnation of one. Even a kid down the hall, clutching a coloring book, tilted his head in confusion, silently wondering if he’d accidentally wandered into a cartoon.

Max didn’t care. Their weird expressions were just fuel. Fuel for the grand, world-conquering, plot-approved chaos he was about to unleash.

But... how? Runes were basically a choose-your-own-adventure menu for magic, and the possibilities were endless. Thousands of directions, thousands of powers—so where the hell did he even start?

Then, inevitably, an old desire from his previous life wormed its way to the front of his brain: sex. Not "romantic" stuff, not "save the world" drama—just good old-fashioned want-it-all-at-once sex. He wanted so much sex it would probably get boring... though he doubted that would ever actually happen. Still, with these runes? Maybe he could... I dunno... bend reality to his whims.

As Max was busy scheming how to actually use the runes without blowing himself up, a heavy voice cut through his thoughts.

"You seem fine now, Student Max..."

He looked up and—oh, great—an old man in professional attire was staring down at him like some kind of disappointed deity. Gray pants, a neatly pressed light-colored shirt, a pen dangling from the pocket, and hair so perfectly combed it could’ve been a wig from a luxury catalog. Classic teacher vibe.

Not just any teacher, though. Max’s internal eye immediately screamed principal energy. Yep, this was the top guy, the head of the school he’d apparently enrolled in.

The man didn’t just look like a teacher; he was the teacher everyone in the school would whisper about. Just standing there, he gave off that quiet, all-seeing vibe that made you want to either salute or run for your life. Max chose to do neither—for now.