A Modern Compendium of Imaginary Magic Woven with Love, Chapter 1 Section 3: Revisit

Note:
This story was originally written in Japanese and has been translated into English using OpenAI's ChatGPT.

The lecture had ended.

　Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Although it was already late afternoon, the summer sun remained high in the sky, leaving plenty of time to accomplish something before nightfall. There was still a long stretch of daylight left. Leaning against one of the gate’s pillars, a young warlock repeatedly glanced toward the nursing department building, waiting for someone. Would the promise made earlier today be fulfilled? With a slight tinge of unease, she stood there in anticipation.

　Her thoughts wandered back to yesterday’s events. It had only been last month that she noticed what was called the Coiled Cipher Maze. By spreading out a map of the magical city and observing it from above, she realized that certain streets formed a pattern resembling electromagnetic coils. The excitement of that discovery was unparalleled. The coil-like chains of streets had several patterns, but she couldn’t fully grasp their structure at first. If she couldn’t understand it, she’d just have to test it. Driven by her natural curiosity and determination, the young warlock decided to systematically try every pattern.

　At first, she didn’t even know whether the route should follow a clockwise or counterclockwise direction. But one day, while tracing a sequence of streets clockwise, she noticed that the path didn’t quite loop back smoothly at Creeper Bridge. That was when she realized that the correct direction must be counterclockwise. Determined, she began wandering the city every day, methodically tracing potential routes in a counterclockwise direction.

　Thinking back, the Coiled Cipher Maze was based on rather dubious information. She had stumbled upon an article about Arkham in a weekly magic magazine. The article was written in a humorous tone, playfully describing the secrets of how to reach the infamous shop. Among the various details, there was a passing mention of the term "Coiled Cipher Maze." The idea that following coil-shaped routes might lead to Arkham was entirely her own deduction. In fact, the magazine article itself wasn’t a serious exposé on Arkham but rather a lighthearted, entertaining piece.

　Yet yesterday, she finally discovered the correct path! Her wild idea had been right. To reach Arkham, one had to traverse specific streets in a particular order. The key streets were five in total: starting from the western break in Creeper Bridge, then passing through Martin Street, Academy Avenue, Rick Street, under the Creeper Bridge viaduct, and finally heading south along South Avenue. Upon reaching the intersection of Academy Avenue and South Avenue—where another shop was supposed to be—Arkham would appear!

　The crucial detail was not crossing the bridge itself but traveling under the viaduct. Following this route, mist began to envelop her surroundings as she passed beneath the Creeper Bridge viaduct. The further south she went along South Avenue, the thicker the mist became. By the time she approached the intersection with Academy Avenue, visibility was reduced to just a few meters. And there, within the dense mist, stood Arkham.

　Arkham was infamous—a magical artifact shop that was not only illegal but also classified as a top-level target by both the government and the academy. The fact that it was located at the intersection of Academy Avenue and South Avenue was shockingly ironic. Perhaps it was a case of hiding a tree within a forest. Whatever the reason, the moment she spotted the sign for "Arkham" in the mist was a moment she would never forget.

　The path she had deciphered formed a cipher of its own. Taking the initials of the streets—Martin Street, Academy Avenue, Rick Street, under the Creeper Bridge, and South Avenue—spelled out M.A.R.C.S. This happened to coincide with an old term familiar to anyone in the magical community, an ancient word meaning "the magical mark." Whether by coincidence or design, Arkham was indeed located at the position of that "mark." While there were several other coil-like patterns of streets throughout the city, none of their initials formed a meaningful word like this one.

＊　＊　＊

　As she reminisced, she noticed a figure jogging toward her from the direction of the nursing department building. It was her! The dark-haired necromancer hadn’t broken their midday promise. And with that, the adventure was about to begin. The young warlock’s heart swelled with excitement and curiosity.

　"Sorry I’m late."

　"It’s fine. The nursing department building is far from here, after all. I haven’t been waiting that long. But it looks like you ran quite a bit. Are you alright?"

　"Yes, I’m fine. The practicum on recovery spells ran longer than expected. And then we had another lecture after class about the resale of uniforms…"

　"Is that so? Still, those uniforms must really sell well. I wonder if this black one from the warlock department would sell too. Well, I guess it’s all about the charm, isn’t it?"

　The warlock chuckled wryly before continuing.

　"Alright, let’s go! Though we’ll end up right back here in the end."

　"What do you mean?"

　"Arkham is actually very close to here. If the same path works as yesterday, that is. But we’ll have to take quite a detour to get there. It’ll take some time, so let’s head out right away! First, we need to get to the west end of Creeper Bridge."

　"All the way out there? Even though our destination is nearby?"

　"Exactly. That’s where the cipher maze begins. You head west to the end of Creeper Bridge, and from there, it starts on Martin Street. Then you follow a specific path to make your way back here. It’s fun, really," the warlock said with a carefree laugh.

　"Alright, let’s go!"

　"Yes."

　The two began walking. Along the way, they talked about many things: their names, their major fields of study, why they chose those paths, their dreams for the future. The conversation wandered to their favorite brands of magical artifacts and even the traits they found appealing in potential romantic partners. The warlock found it amusing how the necromancer, who had initially seemed reserved and distant, turned out to have an unexpectedly girlish side. She adored plush toys, mascots, and anything with a cute appearance.

　What was particularly fascinating was her love for the rear ends of the ghosts she summoned. She described how she poured her passion into making them even more adorable, dedicating herself to her research at the academy. For the warlock, who had found the study of magic and sorcery dull and uninspiring, the necromancer’s enthusiasm was refreshingly new. During this part of their conversation, the necromancer spoke with such fluidity and fervor that it was a stark contrast to her hesitant demeanor earlier in the morning.

　The necromancer, too, seemed to have grown more accustomed to the warlock’s casual and unguarded way of speaking. Although they considered taking a break, their shared curiosity prevailed, and they continued straight along the M.A.R.C.S. path.

　As before, the mist began to thicken around them as they passed under the viaduct of Creeper Bridge and approached South Avenue. By the time they looped back to Academy Avenue, the area was completely enveloped in white. The sun, which had been beating down relentlessly, was now a faint, lazy blur behind the mist’s veil. The mist only seemed to amplify the oppressive summer heat, and both of them were drenched in sweat.

　The intersection at Academy Avenue, typically a well-maintained and pristine space with cobblestone paving, now carried an unusual mixture of earthy and grassy scents in the air. This unexpected aroma lent a peculiar sense of timelessness to the location.

　At last, the sign for "Arkham" emerged from the mist before them.

＊　＊　＊

　"This is it."

　The warlock spoke to the necromancer, her voice brimming with excitement.

　"Wow, I’m amazed. Arkham really exists in a place like this."

　The necromancer’s beautiful black eyes also sparkled with curiosity.

　"Come on, let’s go in. There’s more to surprise you."

　With a mischievous smile, the warlock grabbed the doorknob made of the same unfamiliar alchemical metal as yesterday. The same unexpected coldness met her palm.

　"Huh?"

　"What’s wrong?"

　"It won’t open."

　"But the sign says ‘Open for Business.’"

　"That’s right. But it’s not opening. Yesterday, it opened so easily..."

　The warlock tugged at the door with all her might, frustration evident in her effort.

　"Maybe you’re supposed to push it?" the necromancer suggested.

　"What? But yesterday, I pulled it to open."

　"Let me try."

　The necromancer reached for the doorknob and gave the door a push. Slowly, it creaked open.

　"There you go."

　The warlock stared blankly, her eyes wide in disbelief, as if she had just been tricked by a fox.

　"Let’s go," the necromancer urged.

　Prompted by her companion, they stepped inside. At first glance, the store looked the same as it had yesterday. Narrow aisles lined with every imaginable magical artifact and tool, most of them covered in dust. But something was different. The warlock could feel it.

　It was the scent!

　Yesterday, the shop had reeked of a mix of dust and mold, a sharp smell that made one want to cough. Today, however, the air was filled with a rich, herbal aroma that gave the shop an entirely different atmosphere.

　"What a lovely smell," the necromancer remarked.

　"It is. But it wasn’t like this yesterday..." The warlock trailed off as they ventured further inside.

　As they passed through the narrow aisle, the familiar counter came into view. Yet it, too, had changed. Yesterday, it had been dimly lit, with only a faint glow revealing its details. Now, it was brightly illuminated, almost like the entrance to a sophisticated café.

　From somewhere behind the counter came a voice—vaguely familiar, yet not quite the same.

　"Welcome."

　Naturally, the warlock had expected to see the familiar young girl from yesterday. That was what she had assumed, and it hadn’t crossed her mind that anything different might happen.

　But instead, standing there was a boy with blond bobbed hair and emerald green eyes.

　His overall appearance wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the girl from yesterday. The same beautiful blond hair. The same translucent emerald eyes. The same pale complexion. But everything else was different. He was taller—either the same height as the two of them or even taller—and gone was the image of the girl dangling her legs while munching on crackers atop a barrel. Even his voice sounded deeper. There was no mistaking it—this was a boy.

　"Oh, it’s you again. It’s been since yesterday, hasn’t it? Welcome back," he greeted them.

　The warlock, her face a picture of shock and confusion, drew a whisper from the necromancer standing beside her.

　"Is something the matter? Is this the shopkeeper?"

　"Uh, well… I guess so… maybe…"

　She couldn’t find the words to explain her bewilderment. The necromancer stared at her intently.

　"What a strange thing to ask. We just met yesterday, didn’t we? Have you forgotten already? It’s me—Akina. Akina Sprinkle."

　The boy’s words only deepened the warlock’s confusion.

　"Akina?! But yesterday, you were—"

　"Haha! You’re funny. Yesterday and today, I’m still me. Welcome once again to the mystical artifact shop, Arkham. We’re delighted to have you back. Will it be Berandrium again today?"

　"Uh… yes. Please. But…"

　The boy, who had just identified himself as Akina, cheerfully disappeared into what seemed to be a kitchen behind the counter.

　"What’s wrong? You look unsettled. Are you okay?"

　The necromancer peered at the warlock’s face with concern.

　"Akina… could he be the one who’s a top-level fugitive wanted by both the Academy and the government? His appearance seems so different from the magical portrait on the wanted notice, though..."

　He? Him!? Indeed, the person who had just introduced himself as Akina was a boy about the same age as the two of them.

　"Y-Yes, that’s right. But… maybe I’ve lost my mind. He… yes, he. He isn’t the Akina I know."

　The necromancer furrowed her brow, clearly not understanding.

　"Yesterday, I definitely met Akina. But it was a young girl. Yes, without a doubt, it was a girl."

　The necromancer’s expression grew even more confused.

　"But the person just now said he was Akina, didn’t he? He even mentioned meeting you yesterday. Couldn’t it have been someone else you met yesterday?"

　"No, it wasn’t someone else. I’m certain I came here yesterday and met Akina. That much, I can say for sure. But… the Akina I met yesterday was Akina Sprinkle."

　"And yet the person from earlier was a boy," the necromancer clarified.

　"Exactly. Am I dreaming? Yesterday, Akina was sitting on that barrel, munching on crackers. Look, you can still see the cracker crumbs scattered there, can’t you?"

　The warlock pointed to the floor beneath the barrel, where there were indeed crumbs. Someone had clearly eaten crackers there recently. Seeing the warlock, who had been so confident and assertive earlier in the day, now visibly flustered was so surprising that the necromancer couldn’t help but laugh.

　"Hey! It’s not funny!"

　"I’m sorry, but it’s hard not to laugh. You were so determined to storm the black market and catch a thief to retrieve the magical stone. And now, here you are, completely outmaneuvered by a single boy. Are you really going to be okay?"

　The necromancer stifled her laughter as best she could.

　"What?! Of course, I’m surprised when someone I don’t even know insists they met me yesterday! It’s only natural to be shocked…"

　At that moment, the boy returned, carrying the same tray he had held yesterday. This time, however, he balanced it effortlessly in one hand as he brought it to the counter. On it was the same Berandrium tea, with its distinct color and aroma, neatly arranged.

　"Here you go."

　He served the tea to the two of them and gestured for them to sit, taking a seat himself behind the counter. Today, instead of perching on a barrel, he sat on a proper chair.

　"What’s the matter? Please, drink it before it gets cold."

　"Um, is she not here today?" the warlock asked hesitantly, still struggling with her confusion.

　"Oh, you mean Madam? She’s rarely here. You were lucky to meet her yesterday. It’s not often someone gets the chance. By the way, have you found any leads on the magical stone?"

　Hearing this, the warlock snapped back to the matter at hand.

　"Yes, of course. That’s why we’re here. But, forgive me if this sounds strange, I don’t think you’re the Akina I met yesterday. And Madam isn’t here today either. I can’t share something as important as what Madam entrusted to me with someone I’m not certain about. So, let me ask you plainly—who are you?"

　The boy’s expression shifted slightly, as though he had come to a realization. After a moment, he spoke.

　"I understand your surprise. The Akina you met yesterday isn’t the same as the one standing before you now. But I assure you, the Akina you met yesterday and the Akina standing before you today are one and the same—Akina Sprinkle. For reasons I can’t explain, my appearance has changed. I can’t transform into yesterday’s form right now, but I promise, I’m still Akina. If it helps, I can contact Madam for you. Would that put you at ease?"

　The warlock hesitated for a moment before replying.

　"No, that’s not necessary. If you’re the only one here, and you know about the stone, about Madam, and about what happened yesterday, then I don’t think you’re lying. So let me ask just one thing. Yesterday, you helped me with something. Do you know what it was?"

　"The invisible robe made of Spell-Bind thread, wasn’t it? That gave me quite the scare! You were about to put it on without even hearing my explanation. If you’d worn it, you’d have disappeared from this world entirely!"

　The boy’s voice and expression conveyed the seriousness of the situation as he spoke.

　"That’s right. Exactly. I believe you. I can’t explain what I’m seeing, but I’ll trust you and your words."

　"Thank you for understanding. I’d love to explain everything, but it’s a bit complicated. Actually… I told a small lie earlier. I could turn into yesterday’s form right here and now. But if I did, it’d probably shock you so much you’d faint. So, for today, let’s leave it at this."

　The boy flashed a mix of an apologetic and mischievous smile before continuing.

　"Now, about the stone—what’s the status?"

　"I made contact with someone who knows the time and location of the black market. But there’s a condition. She wants something called a ‘Drop of Love’ from this shop in exchange for the information."

　"I see…"

　The boy’s expression darkened.

　"Do you know what that is?"

　"It’s a love potion, isn’t it? It’s pretty well-known among young people."

　"That’s the commercial version, isn’t it? The one here is... well, it’s complicated. And Madam isn’t here today either..."

　"What do you mean? If it can lead us to the magical stone, shouldn’t this be an easy decision?"

　"Well…"

　The boy’s response was heavy with hesitation.

　"The one here isn’t just some love potion. The ‘Drop of Love’ circulating out there is just an imitation—nothing more than a cheap knockoff. But the real one? It’s far more troublesome. Once someone drinks it, they’ll become utterly infatuated with whoever they see, completely enslaved to them."

　"So it is a love potion!"

　The warlock’s irritation was evident.

　Beside her, the necromancer quietly sipped her Berandrium tea, tilting the cup slightly.

　"The problem," the boy continued, "is the extent of that infatuation. It’s not just figurative—it’s literal. Once the potion is consumed, the drinker will only recognize themselves and the object of their affection. Nothing else. For the rest of their lives."

　"What do you mean?"

　"Exactly what I said. In their world, only the two of them will exist. No matter how many people are around them, they’ll never perceive anyone else ever again."

　"That’s…"

　Hearing this, even the necromancer couldn’t hide her shock. She froze mid-sip, her dark eyes turning toward the boy.

　"There’s no way we can give someone something so dangerous!"

　The warlock’s anger flared.

　"That’s why it’s such a difficult situation. You need her cooperation to find the magical stone, don’t you? But that would mean sacrificing her poor lover in the process. It’s a terrible dilemma…"

　"That’s true…"

　Silence fell between them.

　"Um…"

　It was the necromancer who finally broke it.

　"What if you gave her the imitation instead? She probably wouldn’t know the difference, and if it means no one gets hurt, wouldn’t that be the best option?"

　"But wouldn’t that mean deceiving her?"

　The warlock’s sense of justice flickered in her voice.

　"True, but after hearing what Akina told us, we can’t possibly give her the real thing. In this case, maybe a little white lie is the best solution?"

　"No, I can’t do that. Deceiving others doesn’t sit well with me. There must be a solution that doesn’t involve lying."

　Hearing her response, the boy clapped his hands as if struck by an idea.

　"Then how about this!"

　Both pairs of eyes turned toward him as the soft aroma of Berandrium tea filled the air.

　"This tea—Berandrium—was once nicknamed ‘Lovers’ Tea.’ It’s just an old tale, really. The story goes that if two people drank this tea on their first date, their love would be destined to succeed. Conveniently, this tea no longer exists outside this shop. So, we’ll embellish its reputation a bit and offer it to her instead. That way, it’s not a lie, and no harm is done."

　"That’s a good idea."

　"Yes, I agree."

　The warlock and the necromancer exchanged glances.

　"Alright, it’s settled. I’ll package the tea to make it look the part," the boy said, hurrying off to the back of the shop once more. Watching him go, the warlock thought she could catch a faint resemblance to the young girl Akina had appeared as yesterday.

　"I’m glad we found a solution. These old traditions sometimes carry surprising weight. Who knows, maybe it really will help her reconcile with her lover."

　"True. At least we’re not handing over something dangerous or resorting to lies."

　As they spoke, the boy returned, holding a small vial and chewing on a cracker.

　"Here you go. I considered leaving it as loose leaves, but since it doesn’t spoil, I bottled it in this vial to make it look more convincing. Just tell her to add a few drops of this Berandrium tea to any drink she shares with her lover. I’ve also written instructions on a signed note for added authenticity. This should do the trick. Let’s just hope the old tale isn’t entirely a myth."

　With that, the boy placed the vial, along with the note, into a small box and handed it to the warlock.

　"I’m counting on you to find the magical stone."

　"Of course. Leave it to me."

　"You remember how to get back, right?"

　"Trace the coil in reverse, correct?"

　"That’s right."

＊　＊　＊

　With that, the warlock and the necromancer left Arkham behind. It took them about an hour to retrace M.A.R.C.S. in reverse. By the time they reached the entrance gate of the Academy again, the western sky was ablaze with red, casting a beautiful glow over the campus.

　"Here, I’ll leave this with you. I’m counting on you," the warlock said, handing over the package.

　"Yes, I’ll give this to her tomorrow and find out what she knows about the black market."

　"I have to admit, I didn’t think someone as serious and studious as you would go along with my little adventure. Honestly, while I was waiting at the gate earlier, I felt like I might get stood up."

　"My apologies for that. Speaking of which, didn’t we agree earlier that you and I are, shall we say, partners in destiny? So, I suppose I should share this with you—I’ve found something I want as well."

　"Something you want?"

　"Yes. Apparently, the black market will feature a man-made rhodochrosite stone this time. I want to get my hands on it."

　"My, how pragmatic of you!"

　"Let’s call it realistic, shall we?"

　The necromancer chuckled and continued, "Remember earlier, on our way to Arkham, when I told you about ghosts? If I had that man-made rhodochrosite, I’d be able to design the appearance of summoned ghosts however I wanted. It would still just be a ghost, of course, but I could even turn a girl into a boy or vice versa..."

　"Like Akina, you mean."

　"Yes. Do you think he can be trusted?"

　"To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. But the invisible robe—that’s not something anyone could know about unless they’d been there. The way he talked about it—well, him—I didn’t sense any lies. So I’ve decided to believe him."

　"I see. Well, if I do manage to get my hands on the man-made rhodochrosite, perhaps I could use it to turn Akina back into a girl myself!"

　"What? That would mean turning Akina into a ghost, wouldn’t it?"

　"Hehe, I suppose it would. But of course, I was only joking. That said, I’ve found my own purpose now. That’s why I’ve decided to help you."

　"I see. Thank you. That’s reassuring."

　"Likewise."

　"Alright then, tomorrow it is."

　"Understood. Let’s meet at the same place as today, around noon."

　"Alright."

　And so, the two parted ways, each heading toward their respective dormitories.

　The sun wavered on the western horizon, casting long shadows across the campus. A warm summer breeze swept through the streets, as if brushing away the monotony of everyday life. The first stars began to twinkle in the sky, as the quiet veil of night slowly descended.