Chapter 164

Low-hanging sunlight slanted through the magic tool shop.

Haeron looked puzzled. He blinked a few times, glanced down at the newspaper beneath his hand, and asked Mikhail.

"Textbooks? Judging by the campaign, you're not a first-year. What do you need those for?"

"I figured I'd go back and review the fundamentals while I have the chance."

"Hmm. Shoring up the basics, eh? Not a bad idea."

Haeron nodded, rose from his seat, and headed for the shop's back wall. He stepped onto the footstool in front of the bookshelf and called down.

"Which subjects do you need? Give me the titles."

"Ancient Civilizations and Founding History. And Origins of Magic."

"And you want clean copies…. Hmm, these should do the trick."

Haeron plucked two books from the shelf, climbed back down, and held them out to Mikhail.

Apart from slightly worn corners, the textbooks looked nearly brand-new.

Mikhail tucked the books under his arm and was rummaging through his inner pocket when Haeron dusted off his hands and asked.

"Why not take the ones with good notes in them? Wouldn't those be more useful come exam time?"

"Ah."

Mikhail answered with a light hum instead of words, set a few coins on the counter, and continued.

"Our exam's going to be a bit different."

"Huh?"

Haeron cocked his head with a baffled look, but Mikhail smiled and changed the subject rather than explain.

"That aside, I have a favor to ask."

"What's that?"

"Remember the item I bought at the start of the semester? The mask I used to hide my identity."

Haeron's face brightened as he nodded.

"Of course I remember. Did it serve you well?"

"It did. Aside from the part where it broke."

"Good grief…. I had a feeling something like that might happen. Maybe I should've dialed down the features and reinforced the durability instead."

While Haeron scratched his cheek and muttered to himself, Mikhail placed another handful of coins on the counter.

"That's actually why I'm here. I was hoping you could make the version you just described."

"Huh?"

"I need it again. Something to conceal my identity."

"Oho."

Haeron let out an intrigued hum and gave a light jerk of his chin, as if to say go on.

Mikhail nodded and continued, his eyes drifting across the shop's interior as he spoke.

"This time it doesn't need to be as precise as the mask you made before. But I'd like it sturdy enough to withstand a decent impact. And…"

His gaze stopped short. Mikhail pointed to a pair of frames resting on a shelf.

"I'd like it in a form that doesn't attract attention. Something like those."

Haeron followed the direction of Mikhail's fingertip. After confirming the item, he narrowed his eyes and asked.

"How many hours a day will you be wearing it?"

"All day."

"For how long?"

"Five or six days."

Haeron let out a contemplative hum, as though running calculations in his head, but soon nodded.

"Got it. Come back in a week. I'll have it made the way you want. Though the shape might end up a little different from those frames."

"That's fine."

Mikhail agreed without hesitation, bid Haeron farewell, and turned toward the door.

He'd taken four or five steps when he suddenly stopped, turned back, and asked.

"Come to think of it—has Julien been by?"

"Julien?"

Haeron repeated the name with a rising tone, then shook his head.

"Now that you mention it, he's overdue for a visit and I still haven't seen him. …Well, he goes quiet like that sometimes. Once he gets bored enough on his own, he'll wander back in."

---

Two days passed after that. The lectures Mikhail had registered for began in the early afternoon.

More precisely, right after lunch—the hour when post-meal drowsiness crept in at its most relentless.

[Ancient Civilizations and Founding History]

[Chapter 1: The Fall and Succession of Ancient Civilization]

Class was well underway. Behind the lecturer, students bobbed their heads like chicks dozing in spring sunlight.

Mikhail sat in a back row near the window, chin propped on one hand, watching the content fill the blackboard.

[…The magical kingdom, which had achieved a brilliant era of advancement, crumbled the instant the pillars sustaining the world were destroyed. Death swept across the continent like a vast, fathomless sea, burying that dazzling civilization beneath eternal silence. All that remained under the shattered sky were the remnants of things that had ceased to move, and the grief of the living.]

[…Yet flowers bloom even among ruins. Survivors began gathering around the old glory etched into their history and bloodlines. Beneath the imperfect protection of the divine, they found ground to stand on, and following the voice of pioneers, they established a system to restore the ancient civilization. That was the origin of the present kingdom.]

Mikhail scanned the passages, tapping his fingers idly, then rolled his eyes across the room.

Everyone in the lecture hall was a first-year. Everyone except the golden-haired boy sitting beside him.

"……"

Lloyd stared straight ahead with a blank expression. Mikhail studied his motionless profile, then whispered.

"Stop sleeping and wake up."

Lloyd's shoulders twitched. He blinked his eyelids open and shut a few times, then mouthed his words groggily.

"…Ah, how'd you know."

"You looked way too serious."

While Lloyd let a hollow laugh leak out, Mikhail dropped his gaze to Lloyd's desk.

Two books, neatly stacked.

If you need them—that had been the offer, tossed out like a test. But it seemed his intention to lend them had been genuine all along.

"……"

Mikhail lowered his eyes to his own hand gripping the pen and tightened his fingers.

Lloyd's curiosity and goodwill had grown sharper than before.

He could tell it was, at its core, because of his abilities.

And for that reason, he could also predict that their relationship would remain stable—at least until some notable shift disrupted the balance.

No sculptor handled a useful chisel carelessly, after all…

"—Pay attention. Mikhail."

This time it was Lloyd who whispered. Mikhail let the tension drain from his face and looked over at him.

Lloyd wore a playful smile. Bright and easy, like the sky on a cloudless day.

"Yeah."

Mikhail smiled back with a neutral expression, then turned his head toward the textbook spread open before him.

He had no intention of leaving his peace of mind in Lloyd Cloelle's hands forever.

But acting on that now would be premature. The priority was dealing with what lay closest at hand.

Extracting clues from those who wielded the dark purple force, preparing for the next main storyline—things like that.

"—You there, the second-year daydreaming in the back. Read aloud from the page we're covering."

The professor's call made Mikhail's torso flinch.

Scrrrch.

That was when Lloyd shot to his feet a beat ahead, book in hand, and began reading. Mikhail watched the boy raising his voice in his place.

"The magical formulas and magic tool technologies of the present kingdom originate from the magic of the ancient civilization. However, in practice, only the ancient formulas that have been successfully interpreted are available for use, and it would be fair to say that current magical technology falls short of even half of what the ancient civilization achieved…"

"No. Not you—the one sitting next to—"

"—In this way, the ancient civilization continues to exert a profound influence on our present-day lives. It would not be an exaggeration to say that our current way of life owes a great debt to the manifestation of ancient formulas and relics!"

The background lore that underpinned the unusual magic tools and formulas existing in this world.

Meanwhile, Lloyd read the passage with his face buried in the textbook like a pheasant hiding during a game of hide-and-seek, his voice ringing loud and clear through the hall.

The professor started to intervene again, then shook his head as if it wasn't worth the trouble and let Lloyd be.

"……"

Mikhail pulled his gaze from Lloyd and looked down at the textbook in front of him.

The page he had open on his desk.

It was about two pages ahead of where the lecture currently stood.

---

Four more days passed. The western light of late afternoon poured down over the lecture hall after class had ended.

Scratch. Scratch.

The air was as still as a napping child. The only sound was pen tips grazing paper.

[Origins of Magic]

[…Magical formulas are composed of clear symbols—points, lines, and planes—and take shape through precise arrangement, thickness, angle, and other parameters. For this reason, some regard magical formulas as nothing more than rigid, difficult blueprints.]

[However, the essence of magic lies in the will and desire imbued within it.]

[The effective construction and manifestation of a magical formula depends on how clearly the prayer and desire at its center can be translated into symbols. Therefore, to effectively realize one's own magic in the future, the most important task is to fully understand the caster's own desires and aspirations.]

Mikhail kept glancing at Lloyd's notes placed in the center of the desk as his hand moved steadily across the page.

He wasn't simply copying what was written. The assignment demanded a bit more effort than that.

Before long, Lloyd muttered from the seat beside him, his voice thick with complaint.

"No. Even for second-years, how is this reasonable? Compare last year's lessons with what we covered this time, write down what we learned that's new, and submit it in the textbook? For both subjects?"

"……"

"God. I never saw this curveball coming. I thought these would be easy classes, but they're actually a pain."

Mikhail flipped through the pages of his textbook and replied.

"The professors have a point. It wouldn't be fair to give us the same exam as the first-years."

"Then just weight the scores differently."

The whining could've come from any kid his age.

Mikhail answered Lloyd's grumbling with a deflating laugh and continued writing in his textbook.

Only five or six pages remained.

The volume had felt overwhelming at first, but now he could see the bottom with just a few pages left to go.

Flutter.

The last page turned. Mikhail set his pen down and closed the cover.

Lloyd followed suit shortly after. He shut his textbook, groaned, and stretched.

"Well, somehow we got through it all. I'm never taking these professors' classes again."

"We won't have any more theory classes to take anyway."

"Hey, you never know."

The words were still complaints, but the tone had returned to its usual playful lilt.

Thud.

Lloyd's arms, which had been stretched high toward the ceiling, dropped onto the desk.

He went quiet for a moment, as though mulling something over, then let out a soft laugh and continued.

"Still, it wasn't all boring. Got to see you sitting through first-year lectures like a good little student."

Mikhail matched Lloyd's laugh with one of his own.

"Treasure the memory. Nobody else is ever going to see that."

"Oh, absolutely."

Lloyd snickered. Then the amusement faded from his face like thin mist dissolving, and after a brief pause he spoke in a lighter tone.

"Come to think of it, semester grades come out the day after tomorrow. Then it's break. An absurdly short one."

"Two weeks isn't bad, though. Plenty of time to unwind and shake off the fatigue."

"…I'm surprised you're not bothered by how short it is. Didn't expect that."

Lloyd's eyebrows twitched up and down. He folded his arms and tapped his fingertips.

"Anyway, two weeks…. For people whose homes are far away, it's an awkward stretch. Just the travel alone can eat up several days. So most people end up spending break doing club activities, or planning a training schedule with their advisor, or something to pass the time…"

Lloyd trailed off with a furrowed brow. He pushed his share of the textbooks to one side, leaned toward Mikhail, and asked.

"Speaking of which—what are you doing over break, Mikhail? I'm guessing heading back to the North isn't in the cards."

"I'll be a little busy. There's a place I need to stop by."

"Oh, yeah?"

Lloyd replied as though it were nothing. Then he tilted his head and followed up.

"Where are you going?"