They Called Me Trash? Now I'll Hack Their World-Chapter 69: Hollow Syndrome

Chapter 69: Hollow Syndrome
We walked together across the plaza, the three of us, while around us the Academy continued its normal rhythm. Students laughed and argued and rushed to their next classes.
Near the far archway, Kyle stopped abruptly, snapping his fingers. "Shit, I almost forgot. I promised Tobias I’d meet him at the training halls."
He squeezed my shoulder once more before pulling away. "You good?"
"Yeah."
"Alright. Don’t do anything stupid without me." He grinned and jogged off, weaving between clusters of students, nearly bowling over a first-year carrying a stack of books.
Emma and I continued walking. The afternoon had grown cooler, the shadows lengthening across the stone paths. She adjusted her bag strap, and I noticed she kept glancing at me sideways, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.
"Actually," she said after a moment, her voice careful, "I was heading to the library. Would you... want to come? There’s something I wanted to show you."
I looked at her. "What kind of something?"
"Research." She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "About your condition. Why you can’t hold an affinity."
I stopped walking.
She stopped too, turning to face me fully.
"I’ve been looking into it," she continued, her words coming faster now. "In my free time. Between classes. I think I might have found something that explains it."
For a moment, I just stared at her. "You’ve been researching? For me?"
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Well, I... yes. I thought it might help. If we understood what was happening, maybe we could figure out a way to work with it." She bit her lip. "Was that... okay? I should have asked first, probably—"
"No, it’s—" I cut myself off, not sure what I was trying to say. Something warm and uncomfortable twisted in my chest. When was the last time someone had done something like this for me?
"Thank you."
Her expression brightened. "So... library?"
"Yeah. Lead the way."
----
Inside, the air smelled of old paper, leather bindings, and the faint trace of dust motes floating in afternoon sunbeams.
It was quieter than usual for a weekday afternoon. Most students were either still in classes or taking advantage of the decent weather outside.
Our footsteps were muffled by thick carpets as Emma led me past the main reading area, past the reference section with its massive tomes chained to pedestals, toward the back corner of the second floor.
The place she chose was the same one we’d used before, tucked away behind the Advanced Elemental Theory section, private and quiet.
Two armchairs sat angled toward each other near a tall window that overlooked the eastern gardens.
Emma set her bag down on the small table between the chairs with a soft thump. And began pulling out books.
One. Two. Three books, each one looking like it had survived several centuries.
I watched her work, noting the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way she bit her lower lip when she was thinking hard. She’d really spent time on this. Days, probably.
"Here," she said suddenly, stopping on a particular page. She turned the book toward me, pointing to a section near the top. "This is what I found."
I leaned forward, scanning the text.
"Hollow Resonance Syndrome," I said slowly, tasting the words.
Emma pulled the book back toward her, flipping to another marked page. "It’s incredibly rare. Like, one in ten thousand. Most people develop affinities naturally during childhood, usually between ages five and eight, as their mana pathways stabilize and attune to their environment or innate disposition."
She traced a diagram showing normal pathway development versus the hollow variant. "But in some cases, the pathways never attune. They remain open. Neutral.’"
"Hollow," I repeated.
"Exactly." She looked up at me, her blue eyes serious. "It’s not that you don’t have mana, Jin. But your pathways won’t hold anything except pure mana. Every time you try to shape it into an element, the pathway rejects the transformation and reverts to its natural state."
I sat back, processing.
"Is there a cure?" I asked. "Some way to fix it?"
Emma’s expression faltered. She looked down at the book, then back at me. "The text doesn’t say. Most of the historical cases just... worked around it. They focused on things that don’t require elemental transformation, pure mana manipulation, enchanting, support magic, barrier work."
"So I’m stuck with it."
"I don’t know." She closed the book gently, her hands resting on the cover. "The accounts are old. Centuries old. Maybe someone’s found a treatment since then. Or maybe..." She hesitated. "Maybe understanding what it is means you can find your own way to work with it."
Work with it. Not fix it.
I looked out the window, watching the gardens below. Students were scattered across the lawns, some studying, some just talking. Normal people with normal magic.
"Hey." Emma’s voice pulled me back. "I know it’s not the answer you wanted. But at least now you know you’re not broken. You’re just... different."
"Different... that’s one word for it."
Not that I’m really sad. I have my debug vision. But... having some other cool affinity stuff would have been...
"A better word than ’defective,’" she said quietly.
I glanced at her. She met my gaze, her expression gentle but firm.
"That’s what you think, isn’t it?" she continued. "That there’s something wrong with you. Something defective."
I didn’t answer. Can’t explain about what I have with me or not.
"You’re wrong," Emma said. "This is just a condition. Like being colorblind, or left-handed, or... or having a peanut allergy. It makes some things harder, but it doesn’t make you less."
The words sat between us.
"Remember that trick I showed you?" she asked, shifting gears. "The visualization technique?"
I nodded.
"Let’s try it again." She set the book aside and reached across the small table, holding out both hands palm-up. "Come on."
I placed my hands in hers. Her skin was warm, softer. Her fingers wrapped around mine with gentle pressure, steadying.
"Close your eyes," she said, her voice dropping to just above a whisper.
I did. The world went dark, narrowing down to the feeling of her hands and the sound of distant pages turning somewhere in the library.
"Breathe," Emma instructed. "Deep and slow. Find your center."
I breathed. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Again. The tension in my shoulders began to ease.
"Feel the mana inside you," she continued. "Don’t force it. Just acknowledge it’s there."
I focused, drawing my awareness inward.
"Good," Emma murmured. "Now try to shape it. Something simple. Fire. Just a small flame."
I pulled at the mana, carefully directing it toward my hands. I imagined heat, the way a candle flame felt against skin, warm and bright. The way fire danced and flickered. Red and orange and gold.
The mana responded, gathering at the point where our hands joined. I felt it concentrate, compress, taking on form and substance.
"Open your eyes," Emma whispered.
I did.
A small sphere of pure mana hovered between our palms, roughly the size of a marble. It was colorless, or maybe it contained all colors at once, shifting and shimmering like oil on water. It pulsed faintly with my heartbeat, casting pale light across Emma’s face.
She was watching it intently, her lips slightly parted, expression caught between fascination and hope.
"Try to give it form," she said softly.
I focused harder, pushing the intention into the mana.
Fire. Heat. Flame.
The sphere flickered.
For half a heartbeat it shifted. The colorless light took on a reddish tinge. The temperature between our hands spiked, just enough to feel.
Then it collapsed.
The mana scattered like smoke hit by wind, dissipating into nothing. The light vanished. The warmth disappeared.
Emma’s hands tightened around mine briefly. Then she slowly pulled back, letting my hands fall to my lap.
"It’s okay," she said, though her voice carried frustration. Not at me. At the situation. At the unfairness of it. "We’ll figure something out."
I flexed my fingers, still feeling the ghost of that failed spell tingling in my palms. "Maybe some things can’t be figured out."
"Don’t say that." Her tone sharpened. "You’re one of the smartest people I know, Jin. If anyone can find a way to work with this condition, it’s you."
She pushed the book toward me. The pages showed intricate magical circles, mathematical formulas for mana conversion, theories on crystallization and condensation.
"These all use pure mana," Emma continued, warming to the topic. "No elemental transformation required. You could specialize in something that plays to your strengths instead of constantly fighting against your limitations."
I studied the diagrams. Complex, technical, requiring precision and understanding rather than raw elemental power.
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "You’ve really thought about this."
"Of course I have." She said it like it was obvious. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to spend hours researching someone else’s magical disability. "You helped me in Combat Theory. This is just... returning the favor."
"This is more than a favor, Emma."
She ducked her head, that faint blush returning. "Well. Maybe I wanted to help. Is that so strange?"
I shook my head.
"Thank you." And said quietly. "For all of this."
Emma smiled. "That’s what friends do."
We sat there as the afternoon light gradually shifted, the golden glow deepening toward orange.
Emma showed me more passages from the books.
Eventually, the library’s bells chimed, signaling the dinner hour. Students would be heading to the dining hall soon.
Emma started packing away the books carefully. "I should return these to Professor before he thinks I’ve stolen them."
"Right." I stood.
We walked back through the library together, not saying much. The silence was comfortable, though. Natural.
At the main entrance, Emma paused. "Tomorrow evening. The mission hall briefing."
"Yeah."
"You’ll do fine," she said with more confidence than I felt. "Just... be careful. Whatever they throw at you."
"I will."
She hesitated, then reached out and squeezed my hand briefly. "Good luck, Jin."
Then she was gone, hurrying toward the faculty wing with her armful of ancient books.
I stood there for a moment, watching her go.
Tomorrow evening, I’d find out exactly what the Academy had planned for me.