Applied Mathemagics

The diner is just as Pinkie promised—cozy and bustling with energy. Ponies fill the booths and tables, laughing and chatting as plates of food are carried out by cheerful servers. The smell of sizzling hay patties, fries, and baked desserts fills the air, making my stomach growl again.

We settle into a large corner booth, the girls chatting animatedly as menus are passed around. I scan the options, the words blurring together as exhaustion catches up to me. Pinkie leans over, pointing enthusiastically at an item on the menu.

“You have to try the hayburger!” she exclaims. “It’s sooooo good!”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say dryly, but when the server comes by, I order one anyway. When in Ponyville, I guess.

It doesn’t take long for the food to arrive. The others dig in eagerly, their enthusiasm infectious as they bite into their hayburgers, munch on fries, and sip milkshakes. My hayburger sits in front of me, looking innocent enough—a perfectly grilled patty nestled between a fluffy bun, with all the fixings.

I pick it up, taking a cautious bite.

It tastes like… hay.

Just hay. Dry, grassy, and unmistakably hay.

I chew slowly, doing my best to keep a neutral expression as the others watch me expectantly. Pinkie beams, leaning forward. “Well? Isn’t it amazing?”

“Uh… sure,” I say, swallowing with difficulty. “It’s… something.”

Rainbow Dash snorts, clearly seeing through my act. “Don’t tell me you’re not a hayburger fan. This stuff’s the best.”

“Totally,” Applejack agrees, taking another big bite. “Ain’t nothin’ like a good hayburger after a hard day’s work.”

I glance around the table, baffled by how genuinely delighted they all seem. “It’s… definitely unique,” I say carefully, setting the burger down.

Rarity dabs her mouth with a napkin, her expression amused. “Darling, you look as though you’ve just eaten something dreadful. Perhaps hayburgers aren’t quite to your taste?”

Fluttershy tilts her head, her voice soft. “Do… do you not eat hay?”

“Oh, I do,” I say quickly, not wanting to explain that my palate doesn’t exactly align with theirs. “I just, uh, prefer it… plain.”

Pinkie gasps, looking horrified. “No ketchup? No mustard? No pickles? That’s a hayburger crime!”

I chuckle weakly, pushing the burger to the side. “Guess I’m a hayburger criminal, then.”

Twilight narrows her eyes at me, her analytical brain clearly latching onto something. “Wait a minute,” she says, her tone suspicious. “You’re not just being picky, are you? How long has it been since you last ate hay?”

“Uh…” I hesitate, trying to think of a reasonable answer. “Not that long.”

Her expression sharpens. “Define ‘not that long.’”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t know. A couple of weeks?”

The table goes silent, all eyes on me. Twilight looks genuinely alarmed, while Rainbow Dash bursts out laughing.

“A couple of weeks?” Twilight exclaims, her voice tinged with horror. “Kinetic, do you have any idea what happens to ponies who don’t eat enough hay?”

I shrug, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. It’s not like I’m starving.”

Twilight leans forward, her brow furrowed in concern. “You might feel fine now, but skipping hay for that long can cause serious problems. You need the fiber, the nutrients—it’s essential for our digestive systems! Without it, you could experience lethargy, stomach cramps, or even nutrient deficiencies. Have you been feeling… off?”

I open my mouth to deny it but hesitate. I have been more tired than usual, and my stomach hasn’t exactly been thrilled with me lately. But there’s no way I’m admitting that in front of this group.

“I’m fine,” I insist, waving her off. “Really.”

Twilight doesn’t look convinced. “You don’t look fine. Actually…” She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me like a specimen under a microscope. “You’re paler than usual, and you were wheezing pretty hard after the race.”

“That’s because I’m out of shape,” I counter, crossing my forelegs. “Not because of hay.”

“That’s part of it,” she agrees, “but two weeks without hay? That’s… Kinetic, you’re going to make yourself sick!”

Applejack nods, her expression more sympathetic. “She’s got a point, sugarcube. Hay ain’t just a snack—it’s somethin’ our bodies need. Ain’t good ta go skippin’ it fer that long.”

Rarity tilts her head, her gaze appraising. “You do look a bit… peaked, darling. Perhaps Twilight’s right. A proper diet is crucial, even for an Archmage.”

“Especially for an Archmage,” Twilight adds pointedly, her tone firm. “You have responsibilities! You can’t neglect your health!”

I groan, slumping in my seat. “Alright, fine. You win. I’ll eat hay later. Happy?”

Twilight gives me a skeptical look. “Promise?”

“Sure,” I mutter, hoping she’ll drop the subject.

Pinkie grins, sliding my hayburger back toward me. “How about now? There’s plenty of hay right here!”

I glance at the burger and sigh, realizing there’s no escaping this. Reluctantly, I pick it up again and take another bite. The taste is exactly as I remember—dry, grassy, and entirely unappealing. I chew slowly, my face scrunching up in distaste.

My expression must give me away because Rainbow Dash immediately starts snickering.

“Wow,” she says, smirking. “You look like you’re eating a pile of dirt. What’s your deal?”

I swallow with some difficulty, grimacing slightly. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll admit it. I… don’t like the taste of hay.”

The reaction is immediate and dramatic. Everypony at the table gasps in unison, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief, as if I’d just confessed to a heinous crime.

“You… don’t like hay?” Twilight repeats, her voice laced with incredulity.

Rainbow Dash slams the table in disbelief. “Whoa, hold on. Did I hear that right? The Archmage of Ponyville doesn’t like hay? That’s like saying you don’t like happiness!”

Pinkie’s jaw drops so far, I’m half-worried it might unhinge. “But hay is amazing! It’s, like, the most versatile food ever! You can have hay fries, hay smoothies, haycakes… How can you not like hay?!”

Rarity clutches her chest dramatically, looking as though she might faint. “Darling, surely you’re joking. Everypony loves hay! It’s practically a cultural staple!”

“Not this pony,” I mutter, pushing the hayburger away. “It’s just… not my thing, okay?”

Applejack looks at me like I’ve just sprouted a second head. “But sugarcube, hay’s about as natural as breathin’. What do ya even eat if ya don’t like hay?”

“Literally anything else,” I reply, deadpan. “Fruits, vegetables, bread… You know, normal food.”

Fluttershy peeks out from behind her mane, looking like she wants to protest, but is unwilling to speak.

Twilight, ever the problem solver, suddenly perks up. “This is serious! If you’re not eating hay, you could be missing out on key nutrients! No wonder you’re so tired all the time. We need to fix this.”

I groan, leaning back in my seat. “It’s not a big deal, Twilight. I’m fine.”

“Clearly, you’re not,” she insists, pulling out a notebook from seemingly nowhere. “Don’t worry, Kinetic. I’ll make a meal plan that incorporates hay in ways you’ll actually enjoy. We’ll fix this.”

I stare at her, horrified. “Twilight, no.”

“Twilight, yes,” she counters, her quill already scribbling furiously.

I watch, completely helpless, as Twilight furiously jots down notes like she’s planning an international summit instead of figuring out how to force-feed me grass.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “I don’t need a meal plan.”

Twilight doesn’t even look up. “Yes, you do.”

“I’m not some malnourished foal.”

“You might be,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. “Two weeks without hay? You’re lucky you haven’t collapsed.”

I throw my hooves up in exasperation. “I just ran an entire race!”

“And you nearly died doing it,” Rainbow Dash quips, smirking. “Like, seriously, I thought we were gonna have to drag you across the finish line.”

Applejack chuckles, tipping her hat back. “Sugarcube, ya looked like ya were ‘bout to keel over. If that ain't a sign you need to start eatin' proper, I don't know what is.”

Rarity gives me a sympathetic but firm look. “Kinetic, darling, I understand having preferences, but refusing to eat hay is simply uncivilized.”

I scoff. “Uncivilized? Rarity, I have taste. That’s not the same thing.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh, yes, because I’m sure a hayburger is simply beyond your delicate palate.”

Pinkie suddenly gasps, her hooves slamming down on the table. “Oh! What if we just… hide the hay in stuff? Like how you sneak veggies into foals food when they don’t wanna eat them?”

“I’m not a foal,” I groan. “You’re not gonna trick me into eating hay.”

“Oh, we so will,” Twilight says, her quill still scratching across the page.

I glare at her. “Twilight, I swear to Celestia—”

Twilight snaps her notebook shut with a loud thwap, her determined expression making my stomach sink. “You know what? This is pointless if I don’t even know what you’re eating in the first place. We’re going to your house.”

I freeze, staring at her in disbelief. “What?”

“You heard me,” she says, her horn lighting up as she tucks her notebook into her saddlebags. “We’re going to your house so I can see for myself what you’re eating—or not eating.”

Rainbow Dash snorts, leaning back in her chair. “Wait, hold up. He lives in that little shed by the edge of town, right? What’s there to check? Pretty sure all he’s got in there is dust and a bed.”

I groan inwardly, rubbing my temples. “It’s not a shed.”

Rainbow raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, it is. I’ve seen it.”

I sigh, knowing this conversation is about to get a lot more complicated. “It looks like a shed,” I admit reluctantly, “but it’s not.”

Rainbow blinks, clearly not following. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s enchanted,” Twilight says matter-of-factly, her tone suggesting this is old news. “The inside is bigger than the outside. Much bigger.”

Rainbow’s eyes widen, her wings twitching with interest. “Wait, seriously? Like… how big?”

I hesitate, not wanting to open this particular can of worms. “Big enough.”

“That’s not an answer,” Rainbow presses, grinning now. “Come on, Kinetic, how big are we talking? Like, mansion big? Castle big?”

“It’s… complicated,” I mutter, avoiding her gaze.

Twilight narrows her eyes at me. “How complicated?”

I glance between the two of them, then at Rarity, who’s watching with thinly veiled curiosity. “Look, it doesn’t matter how big it is. It’s my house, and that’s all you need to know.”

Rainbow leans forward, her grin turning mischievous. “You’re hiding something. I can tell.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” I say, though the defensive edge in my voice probably isn’t helping my case.

Twilight sighs, clearly exasperated. “Let’s just go. You’re wasting time arguing when we could already be there.”

The other ponies glance at each other, clearly debating whether to join in on this impromptu house visit.

Applejack adjusts her hat, a hint of regret in her voice. “Much as Ah’d love ta see what kinda magic tricks you’ve got goin’ on, Ah gotta head back to Sweet Apple Acres. Got a heap of chores waitin’ on me.”

Pinkie Pie bounces in place, her usual energy on full display. “Oh, oh! I’d totally come, but I’ve got cupcakes in the oven! And cookies! And a cake! If I don’t watch them, they might try to escape!”

Fluttershy takes a small step back, her eyes darting nervously to me. “I, um… I need to check on my animals. Make sure they’re okay after… everything.” Her voice trails off, and she glances away.

Rarity tilts her head, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Well, I don’t have any pressing engagements, and I must admit I’m intrigued. I simply have to see this so-called ‘enchanted house.’”

Rainbow Dash flaps her wings, hovering slightly above the ground with a smirk. “Yeah, no way I’m missing this. I’ve gotta see how a guy like you pulls off something this cool.”

Twilight, ever the pragmatist, adjusts her saddlebags. “I was going there anyway, so let’s not waste any more time.”

With that, the group splits up. Fluttershy, Pinkie, and Applejack head off in different directions, each calling out their goodbyes.

“See y’all later!” Applejack says with a wave.

“Bye! Save me some snacks if you find any!” Pinkie chirps.

Fluttershy gives a small, nervous nod. “Um… bye…”

I sigh, turning toward the path that leads to the H.A.R.D.I.S. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

The walk is relatively quiet, save for Rainbow Dash asking increasingly ridiculous questions about the size of my house.

“Is it, like, ten rooms big? Twenty? Do you have a pool? Oh, what about a secret treasure room?”

I don’t answer, my frustration building as we approach the unassuming structure. Finally, we arrive, and Rainbow stares at it in disbelief.

“This is it?” she asks, hovering closer to inspect it. “It looks even smaller up close.”

I unlock the door, pushing it open with a sigh. “Just go in.”

Rarity steps in first, her hoofsteps echoing faintly as she enters the vast interior. Her jaw drops as she takes in the sight: floating orbs of light casting a warm glow over a massive living room, complete with plush furniture and elegant decor. A staircase leads to the second floor, where a master bedroom and four guest rooms await.

Rainbow Dash steps in next, her eyes going wide. “Whoa! This is insane! It’s, like, ten sheds big! No, twenty!”

Twilight follows, her expression shifting from mild interest to outright shock. “Wait… I thought it was just a modest expansion spell. This is… how far does it go?”

I lean against the doorframe, crossing my forelegs. “Depends on how curious you are.”

Rarity finally finds her voice, her tone a mix of amazement and disbelief. “Darling, this isn’t a house. This is a palace!”

Rainbow zips toward one of the endless hallways, her wings buzzing with excitement. “What’s behind all these doors? Do you even know?”

Twilight glares at me, her notebook already floating beside her. “This is highly advanced spatial manipulation. How is this not documented anywhere? Where did you even learn to do this?”

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I close the door behind them. “I already told you, it was like this when I got it.”

Twilight’s gaze sharpens. “How can you not be curious about how it works?”

“I’m a little curious,” I admit with a shrug, “but not enough to risk messing with it. Probably some ancient enchantment from a mage way more powerful than me.”

Rainbow Dash peeks into one of the endless hallways, her voice echoing slightly. “So you’re just, like, squatting in some ancient wizard’s house?”

“Not squatting,” I say, crossing my forelegs defensively. “The mayor gave it to me. It’s mine. Legally.”

Semi-legally.

Twilight narrows her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “How does that even happen?”

“Remember when Nightmare Moon showed up?” I reply, giving her a pointed look. “The mayor needed someone to go investigate, and I said I’d do it. In exchange, she gave me this place, since the last town mage mysteriously disappeared.”

Rarity raises an eyebrow, glancing around the expansive living room. “And you didn’t think to mention this before?”

“You were there for the deal!” I shoot back. “I didn’t think it was worth bringing up again.”

Twilight huffs, clearly unsatisfied. “And you never wondered what happened to the previous mage? Or why this house exists in the first place?”

“Not really,” I say, ignoring her incredulous stare. “I figured it was better not to ask questions.”

Rainbow Dash snickers. “Classic Kinetic. Just rolling with whatever’s in front of him.”

As they continue to snoop around, Twilight’s attention zeroes in on the kitchen. She opens the cabinets one by one, her frown deepening with each empty shelf. Finally, she turns to me, her eyes blazing.

“Kinetic,” she says, her voice dangerously calm. “Why is your kitchen completely empty?”

I wince, scratching the back of my neck. “Uh… I don’t really use it.”

“What do you mean, you don’t use it?” she demands, throwing open another empty cabinet for emphasis.

“I mean I always eat out,” I admit sheepishly. “It’s just easier.”

Twilight stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You live in an endless house with a fully functional kitchen, and you don’t even use it?”

Rarity gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Darling, that’s practically criminal! All this space, and you don’t even entertain guests with a proper meal?”

Rainbow Dash bursts out laughing. “This guy lives in a magical mansion and still eats at the café like the rest of us. That’s hilarious.”

Twilight, meanwhile, looks like she’s about to explode. “Do you even cook? Ever?”

I shrug, not bothering to hide my indifference. “Nope.”

Twilight lets out an exasperated groan, pacing in circles as she tries to process this. “You’re unbelievable! How can you call yourself a functioning adult if you don’t even cook?”

“Who said I called myself that?” I mutter under my breath, earning a snort of laughter from Rainbow Dash.

Twilight stops pacing, her horn glowing faintly as she points it at me. “Grab your bits. We’re going shopping. You’re stocking this kitchen if it’s the last thing I do.”

“What? Why?” I ask, groaning as I push off the counter.

“Because you can’t live like this!” Twilight snaps. “You’re practically feral! No food, no meal plan—what even are you doing with your life?”

“Having a great time, obviously,” I deadpan, but I comply, heading to one of the side rooms where I keep my bit bag.

When I come back, the bag is overflowing with bits, the drawstring barely holding it together. Rainbow Dash’s jaw drops as she stares at the sheer amount of gold.

“Whoa! That’s a lot of bits!” she exclaims, zipping closer to inspect the bag. “Why are you carrying that much around?”

I shrug, slightly defensive. “It’s just… all I have.”

Twilight blinks, looking at me like I’ve just admitted to something scandalous. “Wait. All you have? Why don’t you keep it in a bank?”

I hesitate, shifting awkwardly. “I don’t have a bank account.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Twilight stares at me, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to form words. Rainbow Dash bursts out laughing, falling onto the floor and clutching her sides.

“You don’t have a bank account?” Twilight finally sputters, her voice high-pitched with disbelief. “How are you even functioning? What do you do, just carry your entire fortune around in that bag like some kind of… of—”

“...pirate?” I offer with a shrug, adjusting the bit bag on my shoulder. “Because that sounds kind of cool.”

Twilight’s face contorts, somewhere between frustration and disbelief. “No! It’s not cool, Kinetic! It’s irresponsible! What happens if you lose that bag? Or if somepony steals it?”

“I’d notice,” I reply dryly. “It’s not exactly light, Twilight.”

She groans again, clearly not done lecturing me, but Rainbow Dash interrupts, still laughing as she hovers above us. “This is too good. First, no food, then no bank account. What’s next? You don’t pay your taxes either?”

The grin on my face freezes.

Twilight catches it immediately. Her eyes narrow, and she slowly turns to face me, her voice dangerously low. “Kinetic… you do pay taxes, don’t you?”

I cough, suddenly very interested in a spot on the floor. “Uh… define ‘pay.’”

Her jaw drops, and she stares at me like I’ve just sprouted three extra heads. “You don’t pay taxes?”

“It’s not like I don’t want to,” I say quickly, holding up a hoof. “I just… haven’t figured out how to, uh… start.”

“No…” Twilight says, her voice trembling with a mix of horror and outrage. “No, no, no. You’re the Archmage of Ponyville. You have a legal title, you make money, and you’re telling me you don’t pay taxes?!”

I wince, taking a small step back, the weight of my bit bag suddenly feeling heavier. “Uh… technically, I’ve only been in Equestria for two weeks, so it's fine right?”

I realize what I've said too late, and the room falls silent. Twilight stares at me, her jaw dropping slightly, while Rainbow Dash blinks in confusion.

“What?” Twilight says, her voice quiet and dangerously calm. “What did you just say?”

I raise a hoof as if to wave the comment away. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“No,” she snaps, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve only been in Equestria for two weeks? How is that even possible? How did you become the Town Mage?”

I groan inwardly, knowing there’s no way out of this now. “Look, the test was really easy, okay? All I had to do was heat some water, freeze it, and levitate a thing. Boom, instant mage.”

Twilight’s left eye twitches, and she looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm. “That’s it? That’s all you had to do to get this job?”

“It’s not my fault the standards are so low!” I protest, holding up my hooves defensively. “I didn’t make the rules! The mayor just asked for a quick demonstration, and apparently, that was enough.”

Rainbow Dash bursts out laughing, doubling over in midair. “Oh, this is priceless. The ‘Archmage of Ponyville’ got his job by doing party tricks!”

Twilight, meanwhile, looks like her entire worldview is crumbling. “How—why—this doesn’t make any sense! You’re supposed to have advanced magical knowledge, not just… boiling water!”

I throw up my hooves defensively, sensing Twilight’s rising frustration. “Hey, I can do way more than heat and freeze water now. The Archmage thing? That’s a whole different test—crown-regulated. I went to Canterlot for that exam, remember? That was no walk in the park.”

Twilight rolls her eyes but doesn’t contradict me. After all, she’s seen me pull off some truly impressive feats since I became Town Mage. Rainbow Dash grins, still clearly amused by the whole situation.

“Yeah, well,” Dash says, snickering, “the bar for Town Mage might’ve been set pretty low. But you sure make up for it with your spells. Not to mention your ability to dodge taxes and ignore basic adult responsibilities.”

“Which is exactly why,” Twilight interjects, her tone resolute, “I’m taking you into town to make you into a real stallion.”

I blink, startled by the sudden shift in her demeanor. “A real stallion, huh? Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing, Twi.” I let a mischievous smirk cross my face. “And here I was under the impression you were an innocent little filly.”

Her cheeks flush pink, and she shoots me a withering glare. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! Now come on.” She prods me in the flank with her hoof, pushing me toward the door. “We’re getting you a bank account, some groceries, and learning how to be a functioning member of society.”

“Easy there, Sparkle,” I joke, waggling my eyebrows. “Didn’t think you were into pushing me around in public. Not that I mind—”

“Ugh!” Twilight cuts me off, her face now fully red. “Out! Now!”

Rainbow Dash howls with laughter, hovering overhead as she watches Twilight march me out the door by force. “Oh man, this is better than any Daring Do book.”

Rarity trails behind us, shaking her head with a half-amused, half-disapproving smile. “Honestly, Kinetic, must you make every situation… awkward?”

“Only when it’s entertaining,” I throw back, stumbling slightly as Twilight practically shoves me towards Ponyville.

“Move it, Archmage,” she grumbles, ears flattened. “We’ve got a long day of ‘real pony’ activities ahead of us.”

Rainbow stretches her wings with a yawn. "Alright, I'm out. Banking and grocery shopping? Yeah, no thanks." She smirks, giving Twilight a teasing nudge. "Have fun making Kinetic into a real stallion, Twi."

Twilight groans, covering her face with a hoof. "Can you not phrase it like that?"

Rarity giggles behind her hoof, already turning to leave. "I must agree with Rainbow, darling. While I would love to see you whip him into shape, I have far more pressing matters to attend to. There’s fabric to sort, designs to finalize—perhaps next time."

I sigh dramatically. "Oh no, left alone with Twilight Sparkle. Whatever shall I do?"

Rarity waves over her shoulder, barely suppressing a chuckle. "Try not to make her combust, dear."

Rainbow gives me a final salute before zipping off into the sky, leaving me alone with Twilight. She watches them go, takes a deep breath, then turns to me with narrowed eyes.

"Bank. Now."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

The bank is… exactly as I expected. Quiet, dull, and filled with paperwork. Rows of wooden counters, teller windows, and an old-looking vault door at the back. A few ponies wait in line, discussing interest rates or deposit slips in hushed voices.

I glance around, unimpressed. "Well, this is exciting."

Twilight shoots me a look. "Yes, because financial responsibility is such a thrill ride."

Before I can retort, a bank teller—a prim-looking stallion with round glasses—greets us from behind the counter. "Good afternoon! How may I assist you today?"

Twilight nudges me forward. "He needs to open a bank account."

The teller blinks, his friendly smile never wavering. "Ah, excellent! Do you have a prior financial history with us, sir?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Any other banks?"

"Nope."

The teller's smile twitches slightly. "Alright, well, do you have a financial record we can transfer?"

"Nada."

Twilight lets out a long, suffering sigh. "He keeps all his bits in a bag."

The teller's smile finally falters. "...I see."

I shrug, placing my overflowing bit pouch onto the counter with a thud. "Yeah, so I'd like to, uh, put these in an account or whatever."

The teller adjusts his glasses, eyeing the bulging bag. "Well… we certainly can do that. May I have your full name?"

"Kinetic Flux."

He writes it down, then pauses. "Occupation?"

"Archmage and Town Mage of Ponyville."

The teller's quill hovers mid-air. He slowly looks up at me, then at Twilight. "Is he serious?"

Twilight pinches the bridge of her nose. "Unfortunately."

The teller clears his throat and continues writing. "Very well. Do you have an official form of identification?"

I blink. "...No?"

Twilight’s eye twitches. "You don’t have an ID either?"

"Didn't need one," I say. "Mayor Mare just gave me the Town Mage job. And, y'know, Princess Celestia didn't give me anything to prove the Archmage title, so..."

Twilight looks two seconds away from slamming her head into the counter.

The teller sighs. "We’ll… figure something out."

I smirk at Twilight, leaning in slightly. "See? It's all working out."

Her glare could set things on fire.

After checking some papers behind the desk, the teller coughs awkwardly. “Right. Well, in order to open an account, we’ll still need some form of official documentation. Do you have a birth certificate?”

I blink. “No.”

Twilight’s head snaps toward me so fast I hear her neck crack. “What do you mean, no?”

I shrug, shifting slightly as Twilight stares at me in utter disbelief. “I don’t have one.”

The teller clears his throat. “Sir, every pony has a birth certificate.”

“Well, I don’t,” I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Never needed one.”

Twilight presses a hoof against her temple. “That’s not how this works, Kinetic.”

The teller hesitates before continuing. “Right… in that case, before we can open an account for you, we’ll have to verify your status through official channels. As you claim to be an Archmage, we will need to send a request to the Crown to confirm your credentials and establish your legal identity.”

I narrow my eyes. “So, you’re saying I need Celestia to personally vouch for me to open a bank account?”

“Yes,” the teller says without hesitation.

I groan. “That’s bureaucratic nonsense.”

Twilight jabs me in the ribs with her hoof. “That’s how bureaucracy works, Kinetic! You need legal documents! You need a paper trail! This is what happens when you go through life just... existing with no structure!”

I cross my forelegs. “Sounds like a ‘them’ problem.”

“It’s your problem,” she hisses. “You’re basically a walking anomaly.”

“I told you, I’m just built different.”

Twilight glares daggers at me, then turns back to the teller. “Fine. Send the request. I’ll make sure Princess Celestia gets it.”

The teller nods. “It may take a few days, but once we receive confirmation, you’ll be able to open an account.”

I sigh, waving a hoof lazily. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anything else you need? My soul perhaps?”

The teller adjusts his glasses, not looking amused. “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

Twilight lets out a long breath and drags me away from the counter before I can make another comment. “Alright, step one is in progress,” she mutters. “Now onto step two.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Which is?”

She glares at me. “Groceries.”

I groan dramatically. “Twilight, do we have to?”

“Yes,” she says firmly, pushing me toward the door with an almost manic determination. “You are going to become a real, functioning pony if it kills me.”

I smirk as she practically shoves me out of the bank. “Y’know, Twilight, if you wanted to domesticate me so badly, you could’ve just said so.”

She lets out an exasperated groan. “I am not trying to domesticate you! I’m trying to keep you from withering away into a hay-deprived husk of a pony!”

I chuckle. “Sure, sure. But just saying, if you keep taking me out to do all these responsible activities, ponies are gonna start thinking we’re courting.”

Twilight’s entire face goes red. “W-We are not—! UGH!” She stomps her hoof, ears flattening in frustration. “Will you just take this seriously?”

“Oh, I am,” I lie, grinning. “You, me, a shopping trip—it’s practically a date.”

She makes a noise somewhere between a whimper and a scream, dragging a hoof down her face. “You are impossible!”

Before she can start ranting again, we reach the market, the bustling stalls packed with ponies buying and selling goods. The air smells of fresh fruit, hay, and warm bread. Twilight takes a deep breath, regaining some of her composure before slipping into lecture mode.

“Alright,” she starts, her voice shifting to that ‘teacher’ tone she loves so much. “A balanced pony diet consists of three main food groups: grains, fruits and vegetables, and hay. You need all of them to be healthy.”

I nod along, half-listening. “Right. So, how much of that do I actually need to eat before you stop harassing me?”

Twilight shoots me a look, her horn already glowing as she levitates the shopping list in front of her. “I’ll stop harassing you when I’m sure you won’t drop dead from malnutrition.”

“I feel like that’s a pretty low bar.”

“And yet you’re barely clearing it,” she mutters before striding toward the first stall.

We approach a vendor selling fresh oats and grains. A burly earth pony stands behind the counter, eyeing us with the bored patience of someone who’s been selling the same thing all day. Twilight clears her throat and smiles politely.

“Hello! We’ll take a half sack of oats, please.”

The vendor raises an eyebrow. “That’ll be twelve bits.”

I move to pull out my bit pouch, but before I can, Twilight’s eyes narrow slightly. “Twelve? For a half sack? The stall down the road is selling full sacks for fifteen.”

The vendor barely blinks. “Their oats ain’t as fresh.”

Twilight tilts her head, unconvinced. “Really? Because I just saw somepony buy from them, and their stock looked identical to yours.”

I blink, mildly impressed. She came prepared.

The vendor shifts slightly, his confidence flickering. “Alright, fine. Ten bits.”

Twilight doesn’t move. “Nine.”

“Ten.”

“Nine and a quarter.”

I squint at her. Can they do that with bits?

The vendor sighs, clearly not wanting to argue with a unicorn who looks like she has a whole thesis paper on oat pricing stored in her head. “Fine. Nine bits.”

Twilight nods, satisfied, and I hand over the coins while she levitates the sack to me and I hold them with my telekinesis. As we walk away, I give her a side glance.

"So you even haggle over oats?"

She looks at me like I just admitted to eating dirt for breakfast. "Obviously. Do you have any idea how much ponies overpay if they don’t question prices? If you just accept whatever number a vendor throws at you, you’re basically throwing bits away!”

I hum thoughtfully. “That’s actually kinda impressive. I usually forget to haggle.”

Twilight stops dead in her tracks, her head snapping toward me so fast I hear her neck crack.

"You—you forget to haggle?" Her voice rises in pitch with every word.

I blink. “Uh. Yeah?”

She gasps dramatically like I just confessed to being a timberwolf in disguise. "Kinetic, do you know how much money you've probably wasted?!"

I shrug. “Nope.”

She groans, pressing a hoof to her forehead. "This is worse than the hay thing. This is worse. You have so many bits, but you’re just letting ponies rob you blind because you forget?"

“Look,” I say, trying to contain my amusement as she spirals. “I just don’t think about it, okay? When I want something, I buy it. It’s not like I’m broke.”

Twilight stares at me like I just said gravity is optional. "It’s not about being broke! It’s about principle! It’s about being a smart consumer!"

I chuckle. “Twilight, you sound like a financial self-help book.”

She points an accusatory hoof at me. "And you sound like some bit-rich disaster stallion who’s been wandering through life with no financial literacy!"

I smirk. “I am a bit-rich disaster stallion with no financial literacy.”

Twilight lets out a strangled groan, rubbing her temples like she’s fighting off the urge to scream. "If you weren’t so—!" She cuts herself off, gritting her teeth.

I raise an eyebrow. “If I wasn’t so what?”

She huffs, looking away. "So… ugh! So infuriatingly capable despite being an absolute mess! If you weren’t—" She waves a hoof at me like she’s trying to physically pluck the right words from thin air. “If you weren’t so clever and powerful and—" Her voice stutters, her face heating up. “And annoyingly mysterious!"

I blink, caught slightly off guard. "Annoyingly mysterious?"

She groans again, refusing to meet my gaze. "You know what I mean!"

I grin. "No, actually, I don’t. Please, do go on."

Twilight grumbles under her breath, her ears twitching furiously. "It’s like something out of a book," she mutters, mostly to herself. "A powerful rogue mage with questionable morals but undeniable skill, swooping in and making everything look easy while frustrating the competent, bookish mare trying to keep everything in order…”

I tilt my head, my grin widening. “Twilight, that sounds suspiciously like one of those cheesy romance novels you read.”

Her entire face erupts in red, her eyes going wide with panic. "It is not!"

I chuckle. “Oh, it absolutely is. What was that, ‘mysterious rogue mage’? ‘Undeniable skill’? Twilight Sparkle, do you have a type?”

“I—No!” she sputters, stepping back. "I was just making an example! It’s not like I—ugh!" She covers her face with her hooves. "You’re impossible!"

I lean in slightly, my smirk never fading. “You sure you’re not falling for my mysterious rogue charm, Twilight?”

Twilight lets out an exasperated groan and lights her horn, grabbing hold of my coin pouch and chalk bag in her magic. “You know what? Forget it! We’re moving on! I swear, if I let you keep talking, I’m going to have an aneurysm.”

She yanks them both, attempting to physically drag me forward by them.

And then they pop right off.

Twilight stumbles slightly as the bags come free with almost no resistance. She blinks, staring down at them now floating uselessly in her magic. Then she slowly looks up at me, her expression shifting from confusion to dawning horror.

I grin. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”

Her eye twitches. “Explain.”

I shrug. “They’re not actually attached to me. I just keep them there with telekinesis.”

Her mouth falls open slightly. “You—you don’t even tie them to yourself?”

“Nope.”

“You’re just… holding them in place? All the time?”

“Pretty much.”

Twilight stares at me, her left eye twitching. “So you’re telling me… you don’t own saddlebags?”

“Nope.”

“Or even a rope to tie your coin pouch to you?”

I shake my head. “Haven’t needed to.”

She inhales sharply, her face twitching as she struggles to process this new addition to my ever-growing list of horrible life choices. Then, suddenly, something clicks in her mind, and her eyes narrow further.

“I’ve seen you cast spells while wearing those.”

I nod, completely unbothered. “Yeah.”

Her voice rises in pitch. “While fighting! While running! While doing literally everything else!”

“Yep.”

Her hoof slams into her forehead. “You—you’re multi-casting just to hold onto your own stuff?!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at multitasking,” I admit nonchalantly.

She just stares at me, her mouth opening and closing as she processes just how stupid this is. Then, finally, she lets out a deep breath and mutters, “You are going to give me a heart attack.”

I smirk. “Hey, look on the bright side. At least I’m consistent.”

“Consistently infuriating!” she snaps, shoving my bags back at me. “We’re buying you saddlebags. Right now. No arguments.”

I catch them in my magic, casually reattaching them to my sides with a bit of extra flourish. “Fine, fine. If it’ll keep you from blowing up.”

Twilight groans and rubs her temples as she leads me deeper into the market, her frustration levels reaching critical mass.

“Okay,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. “If you don’t have saddlebags, then what else don’t you have?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Define ‘don’t have.’”

She stops walking and slowly turns to look at me, her face eerily calm. “Do you own a broom?”

“Yes.”

She blinks, clearly not expecting that. “Okay. Good.” She hesitates. “Do you own… a dustpan?”

I think about it for a moment. “No.”

Her eye twitches, but she pushes forward. “Fine. What about a mop?”

“Yes.”

“Bucket?”

“Aside from the one for my drinking water? …No.”

Twilight groans. “How do you even—?! You know what? Never mind.” She breathes deeply, composing herself. “Do you have a hammer?”

“No.”

“Nails?”

“No.”

“A sewing kit?”

I stare at her. “Why would I own a sewing kit?”

She looks personally offended. “Because everypony should own a sewing kit! What do you do when your cloak rips?”

I give her a blank look. “I don’t wear cloaks.”

Twilight gasps like I just admitted to practicing dark magic in front of Celestia. “But you’re a mage! Mages wear cloaks! It’s practically tradition!”

I shrug. “Guess I’m a trendsetter.”

Her eyes twitch. “Okay, fine. But you own some clothes, right?”

I hesitate.

Twilight’s eyes narrow. “Kinetic.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Technically, no.”

She stares at me, waiting for me to correct myself. When I don’t, her ears flick in agitation. “You don’t own any clothes?”

I shrug. “Ponies don’t need clothes.”

Twilight’s mouth opens, then closes. She takes a deep breath. “But you are a unicorn with a prestigious title! You should at least own a formal suit or a robe or—something! What do you wear to important events?”

“Uh… nothing?” I offer, trying not to laugh.

Twilight looks personally offended. “Nothing? Nothing?! What do you wear when Princess Celestia invites you to Canterlot?!”

I smirk. “Confidence.”

Twilight’s left eye twitches so violently I’m concerned she might need medical attention. “You—you absolute disaster of a pony!” she shouts, throwing up her hooves. “How have you survived this long?!”

“I like to think it’s my roguish charm.”

She groans, grabbing her own face. “You are going to be the death of me!”

I grin. “Then I guess you should start planning the funeral.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she mutters darkly. “I already am.”

With a sharp huff, she turns back toward the market stalls. “We’re adding clothes to the list now. Celestia help me, I refuse to let you live like some feral spellcaster scraping by on raw talent and dumb luck.”

I smirk, trotting after her. “Twilight, you love my dumb luck.”

She glares at me over her shoulder. “I loathe your dumb luck.”

I chuckle, catching up to her. “You loathe how much you love it.”

She groans again, stomping toward the saddlebags stall. “You are insufferable!”

“And yet, here we are,” I say cheerfully.

She grits her teeth, grabs a pair of saddlebags, and shoves them into my hooves. “Buy them. Right now.”

I grin and hand the vendor my bits. “Yes, dear.”

Twilight makes a strangled sound and refuses to look at me for the rest of the transaction.

Twilight marches through the market like a mare on a mission, dragging me from stall to stall with an intensity that’s honestly kind of impressive. By the time we’re done, I’ve acquired an array of things I’m fairly certain I don’t need, but Twilight insists are “basic necessities.”

Here’s what we end up buying:

Items Purchased

• Saddlebags (obviously, the first thing she made me get)
• Rope (Twilight muttered something about me “finally tying down my coin pouch”)
• A sewing kit (I still think this is unnecessary, but I wasn’t winning that argument)
• A hammer and nails (Twilight called this “basic home maintenance 101”)
• A small toolkit (includes a wrench, pliers, and a screwdriver because “what kind of adult doesn’t have tools?”)
• A dustpan (to replace my current method of “just sweeping dirt out the front door”)
• A mop bucket (apparently using the sink bucket is “barbaric”)
• Two cloaks (Twilight insisted I at least look like a proper mage sometimes)
• Formal attire (a simple suit she picked 'Don't tell Rarity we bought it premade.')
• Groceries (a mix of grains, fruits, vegetables, hay, and spices because “variety is important”)
• Basic cookware (pots, pans, utensils—because I “can’t live on café food forever”)

Final Cost

By the time we’re done, I’ve gone from nearly 800 bits to a meager 400.

We finally trudge back to my house, the H.A.R.D.I.S., and I unlock the door. She’s still in full-on “fix Kinetic Flux” mode, floating the bags of supplies ahead of her as she barges in.

“Alright,” she says, dumping everything onto the living room floor with a loud thud. “Let’s put all this where it belongs. And while we’re at it, I’m doing a full inventory of your house.”

I groan, collapsing onto the nearest couch. “Twilight, you’ve already turned my life into a checklist. Can’t I at least take a break?”

She shoots me a glare that could melt steel. “You can take a break after you prove to me that you’re capable of basic adulting.”

I sigh dramatically. “Fine. Lead the way, O Mighty Sparkle.”

She rolls her eyes, already heading for the kitchen to unpack the groceries. As I drag myself off the couch to follow her, I mutter under my breath, “I can’t believe I’m being reformed by a librarian.”

Twilight doesn’t even turn around. “And I can’t believe I’m reforming a mage who doesn’t even own saddlebags.”

Touché.

Twilight, still in full-on organization mode, levitates a notebook and quill from her saddlebags, flipping it open with a determined glare. “Alright. First, we’ll take stock of what you actually own, and then we’ll put everything we bought in its proper place.”

I sigh, rubbing my temple. “Twilight, this house is infinite. You’re not gonna be able to inventory it.”

She gives me a withering look. “Then I’ll stick to the important rooms.”

I hold up my hooves in surrender. “Fine, fine. Just don’t go too deep into the side hallways. Things… get weird in there.”

She narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t argue, instead marching toward the kitchen.

Kitchen Inventory

The kitchen, surprisingly, isn’t as bad as Twilight was expecting. Sure, it had been nearly empty when she first checked, but at least it wasn’t cluttered or destroyed.

• Running Water: ✅ (Still just a hose-spigot in the sink, but functional.)
• Counter Space: ✅ (Marble countertops—because at least I have taste.)
• Shelves and Cabinets: ✅ (Previously empty, now stocked with the food she made me buy.)
• Cooking Equipment: ❌ (Until today, one pot.)

Twilight hums in approval as she puts the new cookware in place. “Well, at least now you can cook. Whether or not you actually have the ability to is another issue entirely.”

I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “I can cook, Twilight. I just don’t.”

She scoffs. “Right. And I can teleport to the moon, but I just don’t.”

I roll my eyes.

Next, she moves to a random hallway door and it turns out to be an entire tool room that I had found about a week ago and promptly forgotten existed.

“Oh yeah.” I blink as Twilight flips on the light, revealing a surprisingly well-stocked space. “I have a tool room.”

Twilight slowly turns to look at me, her expression unreadable. “…You forgot that you have an entire room for tools?”

I scratch the back of my neck. “In my defense, this house is infinite.”

Twilight sighs heavily and starts rifling through the shelves. “Okay, you actually do have some supplies.”

• Hammer: ✅ (Which means I didn’t need to buy one. Fantastic.)
• Nails: ❌ (Unfortunately, most of them are rusty.)
• Saws, Wrenches, Screwdrivers: ✅ (At least I’m covered on general maintenance.)

I frown at the rusty nails. “So I didn’t need to buy a hammer, but the nails are useless. Fantastic.”

Twilight smirks, clearly enjoying my suffering. “See? This is why organization matters.”

Feeling victorious from her tool room discovery, Twilight moves on to cataloging the main rooms of the house:

• Living Room: ✅ (Large, well-lit by floating orbs, currently filled with bags of new supplies.)
• Master Bedroom: ✅ (Messy, but otherwise normal—Twilight wisely chooses not to go near my personal stuff.)
• Guest Rooms: ✅ (Four in total, surprisingly clean because I never use them.)
• Bathroom: ✅ (Basic, but functional. Twilight spent way too much time making sure I have proper hygiene supplies.)

Satisfied with the normal sections of the house, she finally moves toward one of the side hallways again… and that’s where things fall apart.

Twilight cracks open a door in one of the endless hallways… and immediately slams it shut apparently seeing something she didn't like.

“…What,” she says slowly, “was that?”

“No idea,” I admit, eyeing the door warily. “I told you things get weird in here.”

Curious but cautious, she opens another door… only to find a decayed alchemy lab.

Another door? A library—the same one I found before.

Another? A room full of nothing but chairs.

Twilight slowly turns to face me, her expression unreadable. “Kinetic.”

“…Yes?”

“What is your house?”

I sigh. “Big. Obviously.”

Twilight groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Nope. We’re done. I refuse to question this further.” She levitates her notebook up and crosses something out with way more force than necessary. “We are sticking to the main rooms.”

“Good call.”

I try not to smirk as she slams the hallway door shut, sealing away whatever strange horrors lurk within.

By the time she’s done with her “inventory,” she looks exhausted, but slightly more at peace knowing I now have at least the basics of adult responsibility.

“Okay,” she sighs, closing her notebook. “You technically have what you need to function.”

I smirk. “So does that mean I’m officially a real stallion now?”

Twilight flushes red, then promptly levitates a broom and smacks me in the side with it thrice.

“OW—okay, okay! Geez, Twilight, at least pretend I have dignity.”

She huffs. “I will when you start acting like a real adult.”

I roll my eyes. “Good luck with that.”

Twilight groans but doesn’t argue, instead collapsing onto the couch. “Sweet Celestia, I need tea after this.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You? I’m the one who just lost 400 bits.”

She shoots me a glare. “You deserved it.”

I snicker. “Yeah, yeah.”

Despite all her complaining, I can tell she’s actually relieved that I have some semblance of structure now.

Twilight gathers her things, standing in the center of my now significantly more organized living room, her notebook still floating in her magic. She looks around one last time, seemingly satisfied—though she quickly shifts to one of her signature stern lectures.

“Kinetic Flux,” she begins, her tone leaving no room for interruption, “this was just the first step in turning you into a functional member of society.”

I sigh, already regretting every decision that led to this moment. “Twilight, I—”

“No,” she cuts me off, pointing a hoof at me like an accusing teacher. “You listen. Today, we got you basic household supplies, a stocked kitchen, and—hopefully—started the process of you becoming financially responsible with that bank account.”

“I still don’t have a bank account,” I remind her with a smirk.

She glares. “Yet. But when Princess Celestia verifies your status, you will. And when that happens, you are going to use it properly. No more hauling your entire fortune around in a pouch like a—”

“Pirate?” I offer, earning a frustrated groan.

“You are not a pirate!” she snaps. “You’re the Archmage of Ponyville! You have a title! You have responsibilities! You need to act like it!”

I hold up a hoof, trying to placate her. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

“Do you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “Because so far, you’ve shown me that you’re disorganized, reckless, and completely unwilling to plan for the future. That’s not how an Archmage should behave!”

I sigh, leaning back against the couch. “Twilight, you’re acting like I’ve ruined the country or something.”

“You haven’t,” she admits, “but only because you’ve somehow managed to stumble through life with pure luck and raw talent. That’s not sustainable! You need structure! Routine! A plan!”

I rub my temples, feeling exhaustion creeping in. “Twilight, I appreciate the effort. Really. But you’re not my mom.”

She freezes, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I-I’m not trying to be your mom! I’m just… trying to help you not self-destruct!”

“Right,” I say, smirking. “Well, mission accomplished. I’m officially stocked and prepared for the future. Can I go now?”

Twilight groans, dragging a hoof down her face. “Fine. But if I find out you’re still skipping meals or ignoring basic hygiene, I’m coming back here, and I will bring checklists.”

I chuckle. “Noted.”

She lets out a long sigh, finally putting her notebook away. “Okay. I’m leaving. But remember, Kinetic—this isn’t just about you. As Archmage, ponies look up to you. They expect you to set an example.”

I nod, doing my best to look serious. “Got it.”

“Good. I'm bringing tax forms next time.” She turns toward the door, muttering under her breath, “Honestly, sometimes I don’t know how you’re still alive…”

I chuckle softly as she leaves, the door closing behind her with a faint click. The house falls silent again, and I let out a long sigh, collapsing onto the couch.

By the time I drag myself upstairs to my room, the day’s events have caught up to me. My legs feel like lead, my head is pounding, and my stomach still hasn’t quite forgiven me for the hayburger incident.

I flop onto the bed with zero grace, staring up at the ceiling as the floating orbs cast their warm glow across the room. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel… oddly grounded.

Sure, Twilight had basically dragged me kicking and screaming into adulting, but maybe having a stocked house and a bit of structure wouldn’t be so bad.

With a yawn, I pull the blanket over me and let my eyes drift shut, the events of the day fading into a haze as sleep takes over.