Nuclear Development (Not)
October. The heat had finally broken, and the roadside trees were just beginning to flush red.
After my meeting with the President, I spent the days meeting people from every corner of the world and handing over a few more forbidden books on foreign affairs. News reports kept popping up about heads of state and working-level officials shuttling in and out of Korea, as if they were seriously preparing to build a Magic Tower.
Whenever a news segment like that painted my face gold, the corners of my mouth twitched upward of their own accord.
Beep. Beep.
The bald double-agent uncle who always hogged the TV was nowhere in sight, so I flipped channels to my heart’s content—until another news station put my face on screen and I locked it in place.
Ah.
Right. There was that one thing.
Nothing earth-shattering. The Blue House had asked me to publicly reveal one of the results from the magic–modern-science fusion research, and I had said OK. While we were at it, we decided to hold a session answering the question I got asked the most: “Hey, how strong are you, actually?”
“Guess I should get some work done.”
What research topic, though?
Something useful, economically viable, and not the sort of thing that would make people look at me funny…
My eyes landed on the franchise donuts. After lunch outside I had brought back plain and chocolate ones as dessert; two of each were still left.
“Donuts, huh.”
A brilliant idea struck.
I told the agent standing by the vending machine that I wouldn’t leave the room for a single day, then sat on the bed.
Any future engineering student who looks at a donut will immediately think of one thing.
“Tokamak.”
The dream energy source. The artificial sun. Infinite fuel.
Nuclear fusion—theoretically the strongest energy of all—had been crawling along because of materials and electrical-conductivity problems. Unless a high-temperature superconductor dropped out of the sky, Earth’s current tech base was still a good thirty years away.
But here was the fun part.
In that other world, a technology with the same fundamental principle as nuclear fusion already existed and was actually in use. All thanks to mana. Granted, the devices were built to produce heat rather than electricity, but still.
Anyway.
I had sat on the advisory board when those devices were designed, so the theory of how to build one was already sitting in my head. I scribbled the necessary notes in the air with a mana pen and started pulling the pieces together.
How do you calculate fusion power density?
Plasma particle density, reaction-rate coefficient, 17.6 MeV for the deuterium–tritium reaction. Multiply by the appropriate factors and you know how hard the fusion output will hit.
Two big problems remained.
“First: the input energy needed for startup and sustainment is ridiculously high.”
Electricity is inefficient unless you have superconductors. So let’s just replace the electricity with mana.
From subspace I pulled out a special alloy I had brought from the other world—Mana-forged Steel. Inject mana and it multiplies and grows. Treat the metal with a few magical processes the way you cultivate mushrooms, keep feeding it mana, and the metal just keeps expanding. Infinite resource, basically.
“Shape. Transform.”
A hollow donut of Mana-forged Steel tokamak took form, about the size of an adult swim ring. Not tiny, but absurdly small compared to a real tokamak. Volume maybe fifty liters?
With mana pen and etching tools I carved stabilization formulas and circuits across its surface—mostly focused on heating, stabilization, and homogenization.
Then the second problem.
“Second is the waste heat leaking out…”
Easy fix.
From subspace I took a fist-sized mana stone.
“Thermal Insulation Engraving.”
Twenty-micrometer-class high-density engravings packed themselves densely across the stone. At the same time a wave of exhaustion hit me. Casting precision etching with a single word is convenient, but damn does it drain you.
I linked the insulated mana stone to the tokamak’s stabilization circuits and double-coated the inner surface with Mirror Crystal. Mirror Crystal reflects every form of light and particle radiation; it would keep the neutrons from the fusion reaction nicely contained.
“That should do it?”
I made an inlet and even fabricated a filter that could separate deuterium and tritium. Alchemy wasn’t my major, so I just dumped every expensive new material and rare reagent I had into the filter until it worked.
I poured water created from thin air into the inlet and gave the exterior one last check.
“I can do this!”
I breathed the startup spell into the tokamak, tentatively named Sun No. 1.
Wiiiiirrr… pfft.
“…That sound was something.”
Failed like a dog!
I hadn’t even expected it to start on the first try.
“Never thought it would work in one go.”
It would still be finished within the day, though.
…
..
.
Third attempt.
It started for the first time. Internal temperature barely scraped past a million degrees before dying. I confirmed the heat leakage and electric-field instability, then reinforced the inner coating.
…
..
.
Seventh attempt.
I finished a startup device that ran on a mana power source. It worked beautifully. Watching the ultra-high-temperature plasma flash spinning near light-speed inside, I reached a careful conclusion: swap the startup device over to an electric power source and we should be good.
…
..
.
Eighth attempt.
A faint vibration ran through the fusion reactor as plasma at 140 million degrees Celsius was observed. Input energy: the same amount of electricity a 60-watt monitor draws. Output: 1.6 megawatts. It jumped around a lot, but even at the low end it never dropped below 800 kilowatts.
“I think we can call this a success.”
Who am I? Nuclear-fusion-reactor developer and mage.
…Ow, my head.
Time for a nap. Rubbing my temple that throbbed from mana depletion, I collapsed onto the bed.
Show this to the bigwigs and they’ll be over the moon. But I’m exhausted, so I’ll think about it after I sleep.
One week after building the fusion tokamak.
I hadn’t exactly hidden it… I just grabbed a random agent walking by and told him. Broadcast schedules materialized instantly. There had already been a few interview slots lined up; they simply bundled everything into one.
Which is how I, who had been killing time watching variety shows, was suddenly stuffed into my mage outfit and hauled outside.
Rumor had it the usually dignified high-ups were licking their lips and rubbing their hands together in glee.
A Seoul drive with a swim-ring-sized nuclear fusion reactor was genuinely delightful. Pure white metal, mirror-smooth in places—the very essence of magitech engineering.
“My pretty baby.”
Your name is Sweety now.
Because the idea came while I was eating donuts. Hence Sweety. If I named it Duncan or Krispy I’d probably get sued for trademark infringement, and that would be annoying.
“Arriving in five minutes.”
“Got it.”
I sat in the passenger seat, gently patting Sweety No. 1—what the non-mage agents called “the cargo”—and enjoyed the view outside.
Barely two months ago, before I met the President, the vehicle had been a blacked-out box with no windows at all. Now I was sipping coffee in a convenience-focused armored SUV, free to drink in the scenery to my heart’s content.
“Heh-heh.”
A smile rose unbidden. It meant people were gradually accepting my existence.
“Looking forward to it?”
“Of course.”
“I was a little worried you might feel pressured.”
Pressure?
“I don’t have stage fright.”
Think about the situations in which I used to demonstrate magic in the other world. Showing magic and inventions to people on Earth? Not even slightly stressful.
“There’s no weight of responsibility here, so what’s there to feel heavy about?”
Hundreds of serfs thrown in as meat shields while I drew magic circles. Guerrilla units on the front line radioing for artillery support on their own heads so the rest of us wouldn’t have to worry about them. Line commanders who charged solely because they trusted my magical support. The pressure of living up to their expectations while I trained my magic had only made me harder.
“Weight?”
“There’s that sort of thing. Anyway, I’ll show everything I’ve prepared without holding back.”
A firm core.
Or a fear that had been worn smooth.
“The title of Hero they gave me in the other world wasn’t something I won in a card game, you know.”
“…Right.”
The driving agent nodded with a vaguely unsettled look, clearly having no idea what context that remark had come from.
“Honestly, as long as you thoroughly impress upon people the necessity of magic, our entire objective is already achieved.”
In other words, a modest success would be enough. Whether that was encouragement meant to ease the pressure or a subtle hint that expectations weren’t high, I couldn’t tell.
Vrooom…
“We’ve arrived.”
KBC Seoul Headquarters.
Several people wearing radios and STAFF vests approached and guided me inside. The tokamak fusion reactor was carefully taken by a couple of agent uncles who had slipped up beside us.
“You’ll bring it out during the broadcast, right?”
“Yes. Then I’ll leave it in your care.”
The agent who had been driving had vanished without a trace; in his place a tall female agent appeared as if by magic and stuck to my side. I was idly wondering when I would ever learn her name when we suddenly found ourselves in a room labeled Waiting Room.
Inside were several women with flashy hair colors and makeup. The moment they saw me their eyes lit up.
The instant our gazes met, a chill ran down my spine.
What the hell?
It felt exactly like the second before an incubus assassin with a shit-eating grin ambushed you…
“We’ll check your outfit.”
“The outfit’s fine.”
The cloak that swayed behind my jacket was made of material that never wrinkled, and everything from the shirt to the tights came with built-in contamination resistance and self-repair. I silently offered thanks to the original witch who had created this ensemble.
Thank you, you absolute fashion-obsessed witch lady.
“The clothes… are fine, yes. Then just a little makeup—”
“No. Makeup is really not happening.”
Ah, that was a hard pass.
Outwardly I was a woman, and I had accepted that to a certain degree. I could even wear a skirt with empty space between my legs and stay calm now! Sometimes girly speech patterns even slipped out!
“Come on, just a little—”
Aaaah.
That bone-chilling gaze.
The eyes of a predator eyeing my precious something.
Gulp.
Don’t you dare swallow your spit, you crazy women.
“I am really, truly not doing it.”
An instinctive rejection, as if something deep inside me would collapse if I gave in.
“Then just a little hair styling.”
“…Fine.”
Hair I could live with.
“Sit here.”
“Wow, your hair texture is amazing.”
“Doesn’t even need nutrients, does it?”
Swish, swish.
They ran a round brush through my hair. Experts, clearly. They flipped it with bold strokes yet never once pulled.
“Side braid…”
“A little volume here?”
I surrendered my head to three people trading incomprehensible magic-spell-like words back and forth.
…
After that I endured a thorough hair-manhandling.
They braided the side hair and swept it back—something called a side braid, apparently…
“Pretty.”
It really was pretty.
To someone whose entire hair-styling repertoire consisted of “brush straight hair nicely” and “brush straight hair nicely and tie it up,” this was a whole new world.
“You look lovely.”
The tall female agent even flashed a subtle thumbs-up.
“Hehe.”
Who doesn’t like compliments?
“Thank you.”
I expressed my gratitude to the people who had given my poor hair a new lease on life. They each pulled a cosmetic product from their pouches and—
“Then now for the makeup—”
“Ah, that’s still a no.”
I headed for the studio with the tall female agent.