[19] Learning Magic (2)
'Ah—how is this possible? Why is that kid here?'
Shirone turned his head as Amy walked by with her friend. If they remembered him, it would be a disaster—because they'd know he wasn't a noble.
'Please just pass by. Just walk past.'
The two girls slid by without showing any reaction.
Shirone exhaled in relief, but it was a hasty assumption born of not knowing girls.
"Did you see that one who just passed? The new girl, Anka? She's way too old for a freshman—maybe a transfer? Totally my type, though."
Amy didn't answer, even as her chatty friend jabbered on. Like Shirone, she felt something off.
It wasn't trauma, though. Even someone who'd run wild in back alleys as much as she once had wouldn't necessarily remember Shirone.
"Hmm, weird. She looks familiar. Where have I seen her?"
"What, are you into her? You never even glance at boys."
"No, I'm serious—where have I seen her?"
"Don't lie! You're not being honest. You've fallen for her, haven't you?"
"Ugh, I'm not, really."
Pressed, Amy quickened her pace. When her friend sped up, Amy started running—and the boys around them watched with pleased looks.
Only Shirone knew that the girl worshipped as a goddess at the Alpheas School of Magic had once been a back‑alley troublemaker.
* * *
Magic School. Third Exam Hall.
The vast auditorium's floor gleamed like a mirror. Strange characters were densely inscribed across it, and not a single ordinary chair had been set out.
The only furnishings were at the north end: a long table with five teachers seated side by side.
Six children were taking turns for the test; most of them looked under ten.
"The tests aren't finished yet. Perfect timing. Watch how those kids do."
Shirone walked over to where the testing was taking place. The children, focused on their turns, looked at him in puzzlement.
By tradition, the Third Exam Hall—where they test Spirit Zones—only handles entrance exams except in special circumstances. Shirone's age was rather old for a new student.
Alpheas had told him that when you enter the Zone, the characters carved into the floor transmit specific information; what you perceived lets the teachers gauge a Spirit Zone's size, strength, flexibility, and tendency.
"All right, Kemi. Can you use magic?"
"I can make things float."
The examiners didn't bother to verify every claim. Bragging in front of the school you've come to learn at only hurts yourself.
"I see. Then step into the Spirit Zone."
Kemi entered the Zone under the examiners' watchful eyes. The teacher seated to the right rested his chin on the back of his hand and watched intently—a neat‑looking man with his hair slicked back and pronounced double eyelids.
"What's the furthest number you see?"
"Six."
"Oh! Six, is it."
The man noted the number with admiration. It meant a six‑meter diameter for the Spirit Zone. For an entrant, a Zone that size put them at roughly Class Nine.
The elderly teacher beside him took his turn questioning. Bald with fine wrinkles on his brow, he had a habit of widening his eyes in a way that made him look like an owl.
"What color do you feel most vividly?"
"Um… it feels like I'm in a red world."
"Red, huh. Emissive type. That explains why the Zone is large for his age."
The other teachers nodded. The third and fourth examiners then asked questions in their respective specialties.
Whether a huge tower stood on the right or left checked which hemisphere of the brain was dominant; how many floating balls there were measured the Zone's density.
"What's the temperature like? Warmer or colder?"
The final questioner was a young woman. Her eyebrows were thin and severe, and her slanted eyes gave her a cold air, though she was undeniably attractive.
"Um… it feels a little warm. I'm sweating."
Feeling heat meant the Spirit Zone's shape was variable. But the more variable it was, the lower its durability tended to be—so it wasn't strictly good or bad.
One by one, the remaining students completed their tests. The teachers looked satisfied—these seemed like high‑level kids.
When one child called out "twelve," even Headmaster Alpheas couldn't hide his surprise.
All the students finished, and it was Shirone's turn. Alpheas gave his back a gentle push and guided him toward the teachers.
"All right, don't be nervous. Show us what you can do."
"Yes, I'll try."
Shirone didn't feel pressured; he'd resolved from the moment he arrived to study from the basics.
When the tall boy stepped forward, the examiners scrutinized him. He was a special applicant for whom the headmaster had sent prior notice.
His application listed him as a guest of the Ozent family, and the special notes claimed high developmental potential.
Occasionally such cases appeared—older children who unexpectedly unlocked their abilities.
But this school was famed as a cradle of prodigies. No matter how bright a child was outside, coming here often made them feel inferior. The teachers therefore had little reason to expect miracles.
The man with the slicked‑back hair on the right asked in a bored tone. Fire mage Sade—his interest was, notoriously, only in women.
"Shirone Arian. Eighteen years old. Can you use magic?"
"No. I haven't learned magic yet."
"I see. Even without formal training you should be able to do a few things."
There was a sneer in Sade's voice. He had a point: the Spirit Zone is a conduit that draws the knowledge in one's head into reality.
Noble children exposed to broad knowledge from an early age often manage simple magic on their own.
Shirone had had no chance to study those things. That weakness was precisely why he'd prioritized building a backbone of knowledge, but up to now his usable magical knowledge was shallow.
"All right. Let's see. Stand in that circle and try to access the Spirit Zone. You can at least enter the Zone, right?"
If he'd been admitted as a special case without even being able to enter, the headmaster's judgment would've been questionable.
Fortunately, Shirone nodded and stepped into the circle.
He closed his eyes and concentrated. His sense of self thinned, and countless sensations stretched outward.
'Wow…'
Inside the Zone, Shirone was overwhelmed by a flood of information. It felt less like an exam hall and more like another dimension.
Most external input was blocked inside this topological space; what remained were only the interactions of the magical characters etched into the floor.
"What's the furthest number you see?"
Countless numbers orbited. Shirone focused on the most distant one. Because it was synesthetic perception rather than sight, eyesight didn't matter.
But Shirone couldn't answer.
"Shirone, what number do you see farthest?"
Even with Sade urging him, Shirone's mouth stayed shut. The teachers assumed he was embarrassed; after watching the children's levels, feeling intimidated would be natural.
Alpheas spoke kindly.
"Shirone, be honest. We aren't ranking you—we're trying to find the teaching method that suits you."
In a hesitant voice, Shirone said, "Well… I can see numbers, but they're too long to read."
"Too long to read? You mean you can't see them?"
"No. I can see them, but they're too long. And they keep getting longer."
Sade's annoyance showed. The inscriptions that measured Zone size conveyed only integers—he suspected Shirone was stalling out of embarrassment.
"Then at least tell us the number at the front."
"Um, 3.14."
The teachers' eyes widened. The number Shirone was seeing was pi—the irrational number that continues infinitely.
The woman on the left pushed up her glasses and snapped. Shiina, a frost mage. Her temperament matched her magical affinity: cold and precise, and a rival to Sade.
"Shirone, I'm sorry, but 3.14 isn't one of the numbers we use. Are you sure?"
Shirone frowned, troubled.
"Hmm. Is that so? But that's how it looks to me."
'So it's real…'
Shiina had lied. Of course pi wasn't inscribed on the floor. Pi appears only in one circumstance:
When a Zone's extent exceeds the measurable range.
That meant the diameter of the Zone Shirone had manifested was at least thirty meters.
The Third Exam Hall's measurement precision for new students was set fairly low—subjecting immature children to intense environments like scorching heat or polar cold could cause mental shock.
For that reason, the measurement range for Spirit Zone diameter was capped at thirty meters.
Still, even late entrants rarely exceeded that limit. A Zone with a diameter over thirty meters corresponded to at least Class Five.
The old man beside Sade asked his question.
"What color do you feel most clearly?"
"Um, blue. Everything's dyed blue."
The old man's lips pursed. A murmur spread among the teachers.
Blue indicated a convergent type—more focused on durability than size.
Yet if the Zone's diameter exceeded thirty meters, it couldn't be said his growth for his age had been slow.
Alpheas, too, was struck by a series of surprises. He was finally beginning to understand why Clump had boasted so loudly.
But as a mage by nature, he grew cautious.
Had the talent been merely adequate, he would have praised it. Shirone had already gone beyond that. And he was a half‑formed talent who hadn't yet touched the realm of magic.
This was dangerous. Overpraising him might ruin his future.
Shirone answered the remaining questions. His brain used both hemispheres simultaneously.
That was notable, but the truly remarkable result came with the next question.
"How many balls are floating around you?"
Because of his synesthetic perception, he didn't need to count individually; it was as if he felt them all at once, like something brushing his skin.
Shirone paused, then spoke.
"Eight hundred sixty‑seven."
"Eight hundred sixty‑seven…"
The questioning teacher muttered without realizing it.
Shiina, who'd kept a cold distance until then, actually pulled her chair in and sat up properly.
A Zone's density measures how evenly one's mental force fills the space.
Sensing 867 balls meant Shirone's mental energy filled the Zone to an 86.7 percent density.
An even density meant a stable mind—and that stability inevitably raises the chance of magic succeeding.