He began to run the numbers in his head.
Subject A (Yuno) had a capacity of 25.0.
Subject B (Revchi) had a capacity of 3.2.
When Lencar siphoned Yuno, his "Vessel"—the blank grimoire—aligned its internal geometry to the 25.0 frequency. It became a "Class-A" tank.
When he siphoned Revchi later that day, the grimoire didn't add 3.2 to the 25.0. It looked at the two signatures, saw that Yuno's was the "Superior Frequency," and kept the 25.0 as the primary structure. The 0.4 increase he had seen wasn't an addition of capacity—it was likely just the "Raw Mana" from Revchi being stored as temporary charge, but the container hadn't actually grown.
"I've hit a bottleneck," Lencar realized, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Since Yuno is the strongest person in this entire region, no one else I siphon from will ever increase my capacity. Their mana is a 'Lesser Frequency.' It's like trying to fill a swimming pool by throwing in cups of water that have already evaporated."
He looked at his hands. "If I want to get stronger—if I want to increase my capacity beyond what Yuno has—I can't just siphon commoners. I have to find someone with a higher frequency than Yuno."
But Yuno was a four-leaf-clover prodigy. In the Forsaken Realm, he was the ceiling.
The Simulation of Growth
Lencar returned home that evening, the weight of the "Bottleneck" heavy on his mind. He didn't join his parents for dinner immediately. He went to his room, closed the door, and opened his grimoire to the very last page—the [ANTI-MAGIC: TOGGLE].
He looked at the black, bleeding script.
"The Anti-Magic doesn't have a frequency," he noted. "It's a void. A zero. When I toggle to Heretic Mode, the vessel doesn't align to a frequency; it collapses it."
He sat on the bed, his mind racing through the logic of his own magic. If the "Vessel" property of his grimoire only allowed for replacement, then siphoning the entire world wouldn't make him stronger—it would only make him more versatile. He would have a thousand spells, but he would always be limited by the "Gas Tank" of the strongest person he had ever touched.
Conclusion: I am currently capped at "Yuno-Level." To a commoner, that is a god. To a Magic Knight Captain... it is a child.
He began to think back to his time as Kenji Tanaka. In data science, when you hit a processing limit, you don't just keep adding more data. You change the architecture. You move from serial processing to parallel processing. You find a way to "Merge" datasets to create a new, higher-order model.
"Is it possible to merge frequencies?" Lencar wondered. "If I have Yuno's wind and Revchi's chains... can I force the grimoire to treat them not as separate files, but as a single, combined structure?"
He closed his eyes and reached into the blank book. He visualized the emerald mana of the wind and the iron-grey mana of the chains. In his mind, they were two distinct spheres of energy floating in the dark.
He tried to push them together.
The moment the two mana signatures touched, a sharp, electric jolt threw him backward against the wall. His grimoire snapped shut, a thin trail of smoke rising from the leather cover.
Data Point: Direct mana-merging results in immediate systemic rejection. Hazard Level: Terminal.
"Tch. Too simple," Lencar grunted, rubbing his chest where the mana-burn had scorched his tunic. "They are distinct 'identities.' The book won't let me mix them because it views them as separate users."
The Realization of the Soul
He spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, the moon casting long, silver bars across his bed. He thought about the Tower Master's words. The link between the book and the heart.
He remembered Asta. Asta had zero mana, yet he was the only one who could wield the five-leaf grimoire. Why? Because Asta's "frequency" was a perfect match for the void.
Then, he thought about Yuno. Yuno didn't just have high mana; he had a will that shaped it.
"The grimoire is a lens," Lencar whispered, sitting up. "And I am the one holding the lens. The reason the capacity isn't increasing isn't because the book is full. It's because I haven't changed. I am still treating the siphoned mana as a 'foreign resource' that I am borrowing. I am not integrating it. I am just... hosting it."
He realized the flaw in his "Method." He had been a data analyst for too long. He had been treating magic like a series of files he could copy and paste. But in this world, magic was an extension of the soul.
When Yuno used magic, the mana became Yuno. When Lencar used it, he was just "running a script."
"If I want the capacity to grow, I have to stop being a host," Lencar realized. "I have to find a way to make the siphoned mana truly mine. I have to break the 'Sovereign Signature' of the original user and rewrite it with my own."
But how do you rewrite a soul?
He looked at his hands, his eyes narrowing in the dark. He didn't have the answer yet. But he knew where to look. He didn't need more commoners. He didn't need more "Tiny Fireballs" or "Gentle Breezes."
He needed a true test of the "Vessel."
"One hundred days left," Lencar said, his voice cold and determined. "Phase Five is no longer just about 'Strategic Dismissal.' It's about 'Systemic Overhaul.' I am going to the Royal Capital not just to fail, but to find a frequency so high that it breaks the ceiling of this book."
He lay back down, but he didn't sleep. He spent the night running a new simulation.
If he couldn't stack the cups of water to fill the pool, he would find the ocean. And if the ocean wouldn't fit in his vessel, he would find a way to make the vessel as big as the world itself.
The "Prodigy of Method" had hit his first wall. And like any good analyst, he was already looking for the exploit in the code.