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As Imeng strolled leisurely through the bustling streets, a tune escaped his lips, carried by a gentle hum. His demeanor was relaxed, his steps light and carefree. Yet, beneath that nonchalant facade, his thoughts ran deep, his mind reflecting on the days he had spent teaching Fein the intricate art of magic.

Imeng's face bore a contemplative expression, his brows slightly furrowed as he retraced their journey in his mind. He remembered the first time he had glimpsed Fein's magical talent, the raw potential that sparked his curiosity. It was as if he had discovered a hidden gem, waiting to be polished and shaped.

A smile tugged at the corners of Imeng's lips as he recalled the moments of levity they had shared. Fein's humble nature, his self-deprecating humor, and his insatiable curiosity had endeared him to Imeng. There was a genuine warmth in their interactions, a camaraderie that had blossomed during their time together.

Imeng's pace slowed as he reached a quiet corner, leaning against a lamppost. His gaze wandered into the distance, lost in thought. He marveled at Fein's progress, his rapid grasp of complex spells and concepts. The potential he saw within Fein was immense, transcending the boundaries of ordinary magic.

A spark of excitement flickered in Imeng's eyes as he envisioned Fein's future. He could almost see him soaring through the ranks, surpassing even the legendary figures of the magical world. There was an unmistakable fire within Fein, a hunger for knowledge and a thirst for growth that resonated with Imeng on a profound level.

Imeng's mind replayed the moments when Fein had showcased his magical abilities, each instance a testament to his talent. Whether it was the control and precision of his spellcasting or the inventive applications of his magic, Fein had continually surprised and impressed Imeng.

With a fond chuckle, Imeng shook his head in disbelief. "Fein, my lad, you have the potential to reach heights that surpass realm beyond Satan," he muttered to himself, his voice laced with belief and confidence.

meng's heart swelled with pride as he reminisced about Fein's character. It was a rare combination of humility, humor, and curiosity that set him apart. Fein's humility kept his ego in check, his humor brought levity to even the most intense moments, and his insatiable curiosity fueled his hunger for knowledge.

Imeng straightened up, a light of determination shining in his eyes. He knew that he had a responsibility to nurture Fein's talent, to guide him on the path towards greatness. The journey ahead would be filled with challenges and trials, but Imeng was confident in Fein's ability to overcome them.

Imeng pushed himself off the lamppost and resumed his leisurely stroll through the streets. The hum on his lips grew louder, a melody that mirrored the excitement bubbling within his chest. He couldn't wait to see what the future held for Fein, his prodigious apprentice, and the remarkable potential that lay within him.

After Imeng left, Fein was fired up with determination. He knew mastering the Wispy Tail Flame wouldn't be a walk in the park, but he was eager as hell to give it his all. For six straight days, he dived headfirst into hardcore practice, ready to wrangle that destructive spell like a boss.

In his makeshift training spot, Fein stood firm, his face scrunched up in concentration. He extended his hand, palm out, and muttered the incantation under his breath. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he strained to conjure those damn purple flames. But no matter how hard he tried, they just wouldn't show up.

Frustration gnawed at Fein's gut, but he didn't let it get to him. He wiped the sweat off his brow and scanned the room, searching for any clues or tricks he might've missed. He replayed every damn thing Imeng had taught him, desperate to catch any tiny detail that could make all the difference.

But damn, it was tough. Fein's attempts left a mess behind—scorched walls, charred objects, and the lingering smell of burnt crap. It was clear he hadn't cracked the code yet, but he refused to let it bring him down. Failure after failure only fueled his fire.

Fein's hands shook with exhaustion, his muscles screaming for a break. But he soldiered on, refusing to back down. He knew this was part of the damn process. No great mage ever became a badass overnight. It was all about perseverance, and Fein had it in spades.

With each failure, Fein's determination grew stronger. His face was a mix of grit and excitement, not a trace of defeat in sight. He understood that this was just a bump in the road, a necessary step on the path to becoming a true magic badass.

Fein's training turned into a relentless grind. He tried different moves, adjusted his focus, and honed his control over his magical mojo. The room echoed with his curses and the crackle of energy as he gave it everything he had.

Day after day, Fein pushed himself. Failure didn't scare him—it fueled his hunger for success. Bruised and battered, he kept at it, refusing to let fatigue or doubt get the better of him. He was like a damn phoenix rising from the ashes, his determination unshakeable.

And then, on the sixth damn day, it happened. Fein stood in the middle of the room, his eyes fierce, his stance unyielding. He summoned all his knowledge and unleashed his magic with a vengeance. A flicker of purple flames danced at his fingertips, and Fein's grin stretched from ear to ear.

Hell yeah, he did it! The Wispy Tail Flame materialized before him, radiating raw power and destruction. Fein couldn't believe his own damn eyes. He had conquered that beast of a spell, tamed it like a boss.

Fein's victory was sweet, but he knew this was just the beginning. There was a whole damn world of magic waiting for him. 'My SS-rank talent didn't disappoint me!'

In a good mood and an insatiable hunger for more, Fein decided that he would show off his results to his mentor.