0 – The Boy Under the Bridge
December 7th. Rain.
The sky is gloomy.
Shoo-ah-ah―
It wasn’t just me feeling that way. December. Several weeks have passed with the biting cold and drizzly rain coexisting.
That’s why people don’t venture outside much. Especially on days like today, with rain pouring down, there’s nothing to do outside. The river flowing through the heart of the city only adds moisture to the already gloomy sky.
But I had no way to escape the dampness.
Under the collapsed bridge is my home. To avoid the rain, I must quietly stay tucked under the bridge, but then the river rises, and the dampness becomes unbearable.
Today was particularly bad. The water in the river had risen.
At times like this, under the bridge isn’t even a safe zone.
“Damn it.”
I had to leave the space under the bridge. It was clear whether I preferred getting my shoulders wet in the drizzle or being swept away by the water.
I rummaged through the metal container where I kept my odds and ends.
No fancy umbrella. There was only one spare piece of clothing to begin with; there couldn’t be an umbrella. It was a smaller, heavier item.
My treasure found on an escape route. A small, thick book.
On the cover, these words were written:
《Type 1 Magic Primer – Basic / Benjamin Oslo》
It was a spellbook.
Clutching it, easy to get wet and easy to dry, I hopped over the rocks of the slope and stepped out from under the bridge.
The rain is coming.
Now, coming to think of it, I may not like a dark sky, but I don’t dislike the rain that much.
The cover of the spellbook is shining.
It was the merit of absorbing magic from rain and humidity. Ironical, isn’t it? Days when someone else might be idly lazing around were for me an invaluable opportunity to freely use magic. Sunlight doesn’t come close to this efficiency.
Before raindrops could moisten the book, I quickly recited the incantation.
“[Disc].”
As I utter the spell, I imagine the magical outcome in my mind.
Rise into the air.
Shield me from all raindrops.
A blue disc.
Woooooo―
The image solidified. Transmitting that vivid determination, the spellbook responded.
Zzzzt, a blue droplet emerged on the outstretched palm. The moment it was lifted above my head, it slowly began to rotate.
The water-made bead flattened gradually. In other words, a disc.
Initially, it was just the size of a palm, but absorbing raindrops, it expanded its size. Continuously, continuously.
Eventually, the [Disc] grew large enough to rival an umbrella. No more wet shoulders.
“Perfect.”
An umbrella made of water. It was something I was most confident in, having used it extensively. Without worrying about losing control over magic, I ran along the riverside, tilting the disc according to the wind.
Leaving behind the reality of having to go begging the next day, I fully embraced the imitation of a magician I had only heard about through rumors.
*
There is no one on the street where the rain is falling.
Puddles and debris from the building’s outer walls were scattered disorderly. The soaked flag of the Federal Union occasionally fluttered in the gusts of wind.
Normally, that would be the case. Today was different.
In a narrow alleyway, an old man, who had briefly folded his umbrella and was shaking water droplets from his coat under the eaves, raised his head at the bustling sound of footsteps.
A boy with tousled gray hair, clutching a spellbook, sprinted through the rain.
And magic.
The old man’s eyes widened.
As the gazes of the boy and the old man met, the boy made a surprised expression and rushed away. Meanwhile, the old man stood still, marveling quietly.
It wasn’t because he was using magic in a country where magic was forbidden or because he held a spellbook engraved with his name. The old man’s confusion had a much clearer reason.
The boy’s skill in handling Type 1 magic, [Disc], surpassed his own.
By far.
“…Oh.”
A challenge arose.
Tyson.
The top theoretical mage.
A tenured professor at the Federal Magic University.
And a hermit, demoted to a foreign country just two months after being appointed as a professor due to the uproar caused by shattering the statue of the current dean next to the father of magic in a fit of rage.
Commonly dubbed a ‘genius collector’ by the public. Benjamin Oslo quietly lit up his eyes.