Surviving at the Magic Academy

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The old man carefully tucked the coins under the stall, glancing around nervously. Letting out a sigh of relief, he grasped his dagger. The blade, rusted in places, still gleamed with a sharpness that promised potential danger.

“Is there something you wish for?”

“You can carve anything!”

The old man pulled out some wood chunks from his bundle and arranged them in one corner of his stall. The pieces were gnawed by insects and soaked with water, truly the yawn of a forgotten wooden artifact. He picked one up, examining it closely, then began to slice away with fervor.

“What are you carving?”

I asked as I watched the wood chip away.

“Oh, this is a rabbit!”

The old man replied, his hands never pausing. The knife flew, and the wooden chunk quickly took on the form of a rabbit. Like the other dolls laid out on the stall, this rabbit radiated life.

“For a piece like this, the back legs are crucial. They need to hop like a real rabbit!”

As he said this, the old man meticulously whittled the rabbit’s back legs. In less than five minutes, a charming rabbit lay completed, poised as if ready to leap at any moment.

I was astonished at how, in this piece, there was no trace of magic. Yet it vibrated with such vitality.

“How is this even possible?” I asked, amazed.

“Ah, that’s my trade secret…”

The old man began to hesitate, licking his lips a few times. Then, checking the gold coins beneath the stall again, he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I can tell you, but you mustn’t tell anyone else.”

Nodding, the old man picked up a new wood chunk. He poked here and there with his knife.

“This is where its vital points are.”

I examined the wood closely after his statement. Places where the wood was dense, or rotting, or had bug holes. He was deliberately marking those spots.

“If the wood’s fibers clump together, it means it hasn’t grown properly, and if it’s rotting or bug-eaten, it signifies vulnerability.”

He was right.

“Checking the spots where these fibers clump creates a sort of grain.”

The old man connected those points with bizarre curves. As he joined them all, the distinct characteristics of the wood began to emerge. I stared hard, trying to understand how such a flow was created.

“If the previous one’s grain was twisted, this one is straightened out.”

This wood absolutely stood as straight and robust as the rabbit’s back legs. I was taken aback. There was no magic energy to be felt in this carving. But such liveliness!

“Could there be something special about this grain?” I pressed on.

“Oh, it’s not something you’d expect, really…”

He started to get stuck again. After moistening his lips again, he clenched his eyes and continued, “The essence of the wood is its characteristic, and I draw that out.”

“You can’t force that essence out without knowing the flow.”

Every shred of doubt in my mind began unraveling as I listened further. After a long talk filled with questions and answers, I took the knife to try carving myself. But, alas, it didn’t have any vigor.

Still, I slowly tried to grasp what the old man was saying. This journey of learning was a delightful experience. Our endless dialogue finally concluded after sunset.

The old man, fatigued, could not carve anymore. A wave of disappointment washed over me. But I couldn’t drag the old man longer. I had learned all I could, the rest was up to me to master.

“Hehe, thank you! Thank you!”

The old man bent his head repeatedly while collecting the coins beneath his stall. I nodded in gratitude as well. Though to him, a few gold coins might be a fortune, for me, the knowledge he imparted felt like a much greater treasure. I floated the carved dolls in the air, heading back to my workshop.

This was it. A breakthrough had opened up.

Rushing into my workshop, just like the old man had shown me, I grabbed a carving knife and picked out the simplest piece of wood available. Hours passed as I finally managed to complete one piece.

It looked hardly impressive, even worse than the first doll I ever made. The grain he spoke of was lost on me.

But I didn’t let that defeat me. I picked up another chunk of wood. The old man said that weaknesses reveal the grain. Why would the grain show up when a weakness is recognized? What even is grain?

I persisted, carving on. I just couldn’t uncover the grain or understand it. This time, I attempted a rabbit once more. No spark of life in this piece either.

Right, liveliness… I needed to examine the old man’s carvings closely. Following the grain led to vibrancy. The rabbit seemed ready to hop, and the bird looked like it could take to the skies. The snake slithered, and the human brimmed with energy. I understood then; I had to frame my understanding around that liveliness.

Months slipped by.

Still, I didn’t fully grasp the grain or liveliness.

The mastery the old man had achieved over a lifetime was beyond my fleeting moment of time; it made perfect sense. Yet, I did achieve a minuscule result.

I took out the light blue wood and began carving once more.

Initially, I carved things like birds and rabbits. I had become so accustomed to carving without magic that I quickly finished a piece. The magic embedded in the blue wood did not resist my blade.

As I cut away, I felt I had a good grasp of the light blue wood’s nature, and I began to create human forms.

As I captured the essence of a human figure, I subtly imbued power from the heart into my blade. This was my small triumph. The essence of life was something I couldn’t comprehend or touch. Yet, the flow of magic, I could see that.

The trick was to follow the wood’s magic without clashing against it. That’s how to handle this wood. The blade, powered with magic, naturally skated over the wood. So this was it. Did such a grain exist only within wood? I doubted it. Any entity with magic must have their own grain.

I thought, “I must have such a grain too.” That tiny epiphany watered the seedling blooming in my heart. I could feel that seedling’s grain vividly. That flow gradually expanding. Feeling the surging magic, I lost myself in carving.

There, the shape of a doll naturally took form. I encapsulated the time held in the portrait of the woman and expressed it in the doll. That would become the woman’s natural grain.

Thus, I crafted the skeleton of the doll piece by piece. Not merely replicating the exterior, but imagining the grain the woman possessed as I carved.

There would be a total of three dolls, depicting a girl, a middle-aged woman, and an old woman.

Simply one wouldn’t be enough to express this woman fully. I allowed the rough grains of the wood to showcase the traces of time for the old woman. While for the young girl, I delicately formed a smooth grain, accentuating her fragility.

It took nearly a year just to perfect the art of carving. Yet, throughout that time, my heart brimmed with fulfillment. With each completion of a part of the doll, I had significant realizations that filled my heart. The sensation of growth from that seedling brought me more satisfaction than any pleasure I had ever known.

Finally, once I had completed all the dolls, I crumpled down, weeping joyfully for a while. Each doll, containing unique tales of time. But still, I felt unsatisfied. I felt I could enhance the dolls’ essence even further.

So, what could complement them? I searched high and low for answers: ancient trees, stones imbued with earth’s power, waters teeming with lifeforce, and bones of monsters. Reflecting on these materials, endowed with magical characteristics, I meticulously selected pieces for the doll’s additions.

First came the eyes. The most crucial part for a human. I sourced amber jewels formed in molten lava and crackled them into place. This amber, for enduring the fiery depths, absorbed magic and infused a sharpness into the dolls’ eyes.

Then to naturally portray their joints, I carved monster bones to gently cover them.

To depict the fur over their bodies, I melted various ores with magic, drawing them out like threads for decoration, and to give the dolls vibrancy, I created a powder from the rare white stone mined from deep within the islands and applied it to their skin.

I strove tirelessly to gather as many items as I could to enhance each doll’s essence. The result was a doll that seemed ready to spring to life at any moment. I poured all my amassed gold coins into these creations, yet I felt no regret.

During this process, thoughts of airships, boarding passes, universities, and everything else slipped away. I simply reveled in the joy of creating the dolls.

These dolls would soon reach my father.

I didn’t know why he wanted this doll made. I didn’t recognize the woman in the portrait. Yet I knew he missed her. Otherwise, he wouldn’t carry such a precious portrait.

When I commenced crafting the doll, I held no thoughts. But now, it felt like this doll had become a child to me. Perhaps that’s why I wanted to enhance its perfection.

I pictured my father’s home— a cave-like structure. Given my father’s power, it wouldn’t be strange for him to build a grand castle. Yet he remained there. Everything, from chairs to tables, was worn out, yet he never replaced them.

Perhaps he lingered there because of the memories it held. I dared to speculate. If so, I would encase that in the doll. I began to draw magic onto the doll, recalling the scenery of that cave.

This magic wasn’t the same as what Ojo taught me. As I crafted the doll, the magic blossomed from the seedling I had nurtured. Ojo once said that as mages grow, they discover their own unique spells. Because such spells are meant solely for the mage, they are called proprietary magic.

I named this magic “Magical Deep Breath.” Its sole purpose? To give the doll liveliness reflecting the rhythm of its magical heart’s pulsing. Using this magic would allow the doll to feel alive.

Previously, I only utilized this magic embedded into the magical heart. But realizing the flow of magic unveiled its broader applications.

Not just for the heart but inscribing that magic into the bonds created through gathering or impacting points would cause the doll to come to life more dynamically.

The girl would have frolicked joyfully with the boy. In her middle age, she would manage the household. In her old age, she would fight her ailments. They would have spent all those years together in the cave with my father. I wanted to encapsulate the ebb and flow of those experiences within the dolls.

They might have exchanged bouquets too. Sat at the table sharing meals. As they aged, every step would pain their knees. Getting frailer, moving even a single object would become a struggle. Surely, the mage father would assist beside her.

With every portrait depicted in books, I pondered various scenarios. Of course, these were mere figments of my imagination. But by continuing those thoughts, I could unriddle what kind of magic I needed to instill in the doll.

I infused robust vigor into the girl’s pulse. Each time her magical heart throbbed, a burst of energy emanated from her miniature form.

In the middle-aged woman’s pulse, I captured her waning vigor. Certain aspects slightly misaligned, echoing the wear of years.

The elderly woman’s pulse bore faint traces. The flow fading away amidst sickness was that old woman’s grain.

It took another entire year to accomplish all of this. After wrapping everything up, I was utterly exhausted, calling for my caregiver. She had aged quite a bit, hair white and skin wrinkled.

“…Tell father that I have completed the dolls.”

Then I collapsed, succumbing to sleep. When I awakened, I found myself nestled in bed. The caregiver must have moved me. With her serving hot water, I reflected on the realizations I had gathered. The caregiver informed me that my father’s attendants had taken all the dolls, and she looked at me with concern.

I didn’t know whether my creations would appeal to my father. However, I was certain they were my best effort. No, I could confidently proclaim I had crafted a more perfect work.

I had no idea of my father’s reaction to the dolls.

A week later, when my father sent me a boarding pass, I knew he was pleased.

Following that, news circulated that my dolls had even satisfied my father, causing them to sell like hotcakes. By the time airships arrived, I had enough to purchase another boarding pass. Before departing, I handed half that fortune to my caregiver.

Leaving her with this much wealth felt like no loss at all. She had aged significantly. Living life as mere weeds, she would likely perish quickly after my departure.

I had no notion of who my real parents were. The clan merely births children but doesn’t raise them. For someone like me, the caregiver felt like family.

I mused about buying her a boarding pass, but I couldn’t burden her with the arduous journey across the continent at her old age. Our connection here concluded.

Soothing the weeping caretaker, I boarded the airship.

“Let’s head to the continent and go to university. We’ll become true mages!”

The airship began to rise.

Below, the land where I was born started to shrink beneath us. The airship soared high above the clouds, twisting towards the continent. The island beneath seemed smaller than I had envisioned. Off we went, heading toward the continent.

I had become a mage, following Ojo’s teachings, escaping from the island.

Indeed, I moved just as the mage intended.

Ojo had instilled in me alluring fantasies of the continent and university. I acted as he guided, ultimately leaving the island.

I wondered what his true intentions were for sending me away. Perhaps it was a way to keep me far from the clan, as contracts shouldn’t harm them. My father must have known yet silently accepted it.

Ojo’s designs included more than merely that. After struggling on the continent for years, I realized his trap. That mage didn’t help me flourish. He only raised us to be mages in accordance with a contract.

The knowledge he imparted, including regarding dolls, was mere basics afield. When I finally caught a hint of this, I felt greatly deceived.

He acted as though bestowing something tremendous, while it was actually mere fundamentals. Ojo had been a cunning serpent, not a trustworthy guide. I was the fool who followed him blindly.

He adorned rustic notions as grand jewels. Fabricating dangers through edited narratives to direct me. All of which never posed a threat to me, nor clashed with our contract. Thus, I roamed the continent as a novice mage, feeling out of place.

Ten years later, I arrived at the university city. I had spent every last coin and barely made it after escaping death’s clutches.

At that moment, instead of frustration or anger, I found myself filled with admiration for Ojo, respect blooming genuinely within me.

Stuck in a disadvantageous situation where I couldn’t act freely due to a contract, Ojo had crafted the best possible strategy for himself. Protecting himself while constantly strategizing was the fundamental attitude of any true mage!

This became Ojo’s final lesson imparted to me.

Nonetheless, now the past was behind me. The future lay ahead. University awaited!

The young man who had yelled of dreams as he left the island had persevered through countless trials over the past decade, arriving here. The walls of the university would not impede me.

I will become a great mage and astonish the world!

At that moment,

everything around me started to blur like droplets scattering.

My fervent promises dispelling like bubbles.

Hope extinguished, leaving only a damp melancholy that consumed my being.

Ah, right. This was a dream.

“Dammit.”

Grabbing my head, I forced the alcohol-laden haze from my brain using my magic. Thrown from a hopeful dream into grim reality, the contrast felt suffocating.

This beer contained high-purity magic? Bullshit. They must’ve mixed it with nightmares to bulk up its quantity. It couldn’t be anything other than that for me to endure such a horrible dream.

I’ll smash it all up when I get the chance tomorrow. How dare they sell such a low-quality product! I threw my mug in frustration.

Ten years passed since that moment.

Twenty years since I’d left the island, and ten since I first set foot in this massive city.

Throughout those long years, I hadn’t advanced a single step.

Not a single glance at the entrance of the university, let alone attending it.

In the meantime, I had failed a staggering nine entrance exams.

Ah, today marks my tenth.

“Damn it…”

Something dampened my face.

It seemed like it was raining somewhere. Definitely not tears, gosh.

At 63 years old, I still find myself as an eleven-time retaker, chasing the elusive university acceptance.

 

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