5. Mage Maya (End)
5. Mage Maya (End)
The stars over Rouge were exceptionally clear tonight, for some reason.
A subdued stillness had settled over the entire district.
The Rose Windmill Cabaret, responsible for a generous share of Rouge's light and noise pollution, was closed for the day.
The official word was internal repairs, but most of the city found that explanation dubious.
The manager Bwallet's relentless tenacity was legendary.
When an actor died in a daytime stage accident not long ago, he was the one who kept the nighttime show running without interruption.
Over the past ten years, the days the Rose Windmill had taken off could be counted on one hand.
Considering that every one of those closures had been due to a city-wide disaster—a natural catastrophe, a monster incursion—today's shutdown simply didn't add up.
Reporters prowled around the Rose Windmill, dogging the staff for information, but came away with little to show for it.
Every employee they questioned walked past with a stiff expression, mouth firmly shut.
In the end, the press concluded that the Rose Windmill truly was undergoing internal repairs ahead of the Circus Grand Prix's opening ceremony, and withdrew.
They had no shortage of other stories to chase anyway.
Brawls between acrobats, interviews with Grand Prix contenders, an unidentified corpse that had washed up through the sewers—any of those would do.
Contrary to public speculation, the internal repairs were not a lie.
Several of the cabaret's hidden mechanisms and the secret passages leading underground had been sealed off and filled in.
While the work crews labored, a funeral was being held in the cabaret's Hall No. 1.
It was meant to soothe the spirits of the victims who had fallen prey to the Ghost of the Cabaret.
The service proceeded as quietly as possible.
Nobody wanted to stir up a grim atmosphere just before the festival.
Sergeant Sabo of the Rouge Mounted Police attended as well.
He had overseen the entire investigation at Bwallet's request.
It was Sabo who had compiled Yvonne's testimony after she was attacked directly by the Ghost, discovered the hidden chamber beneath the cabaret, and recovered the victims' remains.
Once the report was filed, the case would be closed.
Yet too many loose ends nagged at him to let it end there.
Chief among them: the identity of the so-called Ghost who had supposedly healed Yvonne's supposedly incurable wounds, and the whereabouts of the true culprit who had murdered those girls.
The perpetrator was absolutely not a supernatural entity.
The underground chamber showed unmistakable signs that a living person had dwelled there for years.
So where had he vanished to?
The testimony of the individual who called himself the Ghost—the one who had treated Yvonne—felt suspect.
Could he be the real killer?
Had he invented a phantom culprit, claimed to have eliminated it, and then lied about the whole affair?
But if so, why bother healing Miss Yvonne and confessing all those details in the first place?
Sabo's chain of reasoning was cut short.
His subordinates from the station had found him.
Nothing major. The department head had been discovered hanging upside-down in midair. Again.
Someone, it seemed, had made it a personal project to torment him.
Stepping out of the Rose Windmill, Sabo looked up at the sky.
The stars in the night sky seemed brighter than usual.
He had never seen this street so quiet in all his time in the city.
Sabo offered a silent prayer for the girls who had finally found their rest.
"Hm?"
From the rooftop of some inn, something pale and wispy shot up into the sky.
Sabo rubbed his eyes and looked again.
Nothing.
He'd been hearing the word "ghost" so often, he supposed he was seeing things now.
Sabo mounted his horse and set off for the scene where the department head was reportedly dangling.
The inn rooftop he had just glanced at.
Maya stood there.
She had returned to the inn and collapsed into an exhausted sleep, only to wake a short while ago. She'd stepped out onto the rooftop for some air and, without thinking, conjured an illusion. Then she remembered the city's regulations and hurriedly dispersed it.
Mana scattered into the empty air like sand.
An illusion so fleeting she couldn't even recall what she had been trying to make.
Illusion mages often produced phantasms unconsciously. It was a well-known story in academia: dormitory rumors of nightly ghost sightings had turned out to be nothing more than an illusion mage having nightmares.
But that applied to conventional illusion mages, the ones who painted images straight from the mind. Maya's illusions were constructed with deliberate calculation, their outward forms meticulously rendered.
What had she been thinking of?
Maya looked down at the brushes in her hands.
They were smeared with paint she had subconsciously mixed.
She tilted her head for a moment, then lifted her gaze to the sky.
Golden stars studding the pitch-black heavens.
The color matched the paint exactly.
She must have glanced up and tried to render it without realizing.
Maya settled onto a bench on the rooftop.
She drew a letter from her coat and held it up to the lamplight.
It was the invitation Arno, leader of the Silver Screen Circus, had given her.
He had asked her to come to the troupe by tomorrow morning.
The rapeseed-field illusion she had created today, he said, was that impressive.
He had added words of praise for the talent that had developed such an Illusion Magic technique.
She had received the offer she'd wanted so badly.
Acknowledged by a master illusionist, her pride had been restored.
Yet she couldn't bring herself to rejoice.
She had developed it?
No.
I didn't create it.
The polyhedron illusion was not her own conception.
Constructing the framework and then painting the surfaces onto it—that entire approach had been Frank Wonderstein's idea. The man's idea.
She ought to confess honestly.
But he didn't want her to.
While she was learning from him, Maya had asked:
—What do I have to do?
—Pardon?
—What do I have to do in return for this? Do I have to join your circus, Troupe Leader?
Maya had assumed there had to be a reason he was teaching her something so tremendous.
By any common-sense measure, what he wanted was her talent. This kind of magic—demanding such advanced calculation—couldn't be used by just anyone. He had probably come to the Illusion Demonstration Hall looking for someone with the aptitude to wield it.
And she was that suitable candidate.
But there was no way he'd hand over something this extraordinary for free.
Five years. No, ten years.
Expecting that much service was only natural. As a mage, she could see that the Illusion Magic itself carried that level of value.
He listened to her words, smiled, and shook his head.
—Walk the path you want, Miss Maya. Weren't you hoping to join the Silver Screen Circus?
—But... I can't just take this and leave. If you want money, or something else...
—I'm not asking for anything in return. Simply walk the path you want. That is my request.
Not asking for anything in return.
He had even refused to announce that he was the developer of this magic. He said nobody would believe a man who couldn't conjure a single cube had invented an illusion technique. She had offered to testify for him, and he had declined that, too.
To him, money and scholarly renown were both worthless. He didn't want her talent.
He told her to do whatever she wanted.
A strange person.
A truly strange person.
Even to Maya, who had spent her whole life being regarded as an odd child, he was bizarre.
Originally, Maya shouldn't have needed to work for an invitation like this at all.
She pulled another envelope from her coat.
Inside was a letter her father had sent to Eunmak Arno, asking him to look after his daughter.
She could have used this from the start and avoided all the trouble.
But she had wanted to test the limits of her own ability—to challenge the troupe openly and earn her place through skill. If that failed, only then, as a very last resort, would she have produced this letter and asked to join.
In the end, she had achieved her goal without using it.
Though not solely through her own strength.
Without that man's help, it would have been impossible.
Frank Wonderstein.
He was different from everyone else.
He had understood the way she saw the world. He had found the best path to match it. He had guided her from beside her, cheered her on. He had acknowledged the results she produced.
Hearing him say "well done" had made her happier than receiving recognition from Eunmak Arno.
Maya slipped both sheets of paper into the lamp.
Flame caught the edges. She watched in silence as the two letters, dropped to the ground, slowly turned to ash.
Her original reason for wanting to join the Silver Screen Circus.
Part of it was the desire to enter the troupe her parents had once belonged to, but more than that, she had believed there was no better place to master Illusion Magic.
She had been wrong.
Maya looked up at the sky.
Golden stars in a black sky.
Unless she was mistaken, she had finally found it.
The one person she could truly call her teacher.
***
What waited for me after I got back from helping Maya pass the Silver Screen exam yesterday was a scolding from Ella.
"Thanks so much! Really, thank you! Did you have fun? Sightseeing in Rouge? Auditions end tomorrow. Tomorrow! And you still haven't recruited a single acrobat—the very thing we're supposed to be looking for! What have you been doing wandering around? Some of us are running ourselves ragged coaching the troupe, prepping the program, making props, and gathering intelligence on rival circuses!"
Normally, she wouldn't have dared snap at Wonderstein like that.
But bloodshot eyes, dark circles underneath, and skin gone rough—the sheer exhaustion seemed to have burned away any petty fear.
I tried to look apologetic, but my face spread into a grin all on its own.
"Just bear with me a few more days."
For a moment, I genuinely thought sparks flew from Ella's eyes.
Sitting in my room, I sipped the tea Yurakne had brought and thought about the reward that would soon be mine.
A Memory Disk containing Wonderstein's past.
The moment I got it, I planned to hire a discreet illusion mage and replay it.
What secrets were stored inside?
Would the key to solving Tril Trillo Zero be hidden there?
I'd poured a full two weeks into this quest.
It was a quest tied to the future of the heroes.
The reward couldn't possibly be trivial.
My expectations buoyed me through the next day. The deadline for auditions was now almost here.
That was when Ella entered my room.
Her expression was considerably softer than the day before. She shot me a look of mild surprise.
"Well... I guess you did put in some effort."
"Pardon?"
What was this about?
I could tell she was fighting desperately to keep a smile from breaking out.
"I still prefer the old-fashioned approach, but if illusions are done well, they aren't bad. After trying it for two weeks, I've realized something... the way things are, with me handling all the backdrops, props, and special effects—it's impossible. My body can't take it. Not when I'm stuck working with a slacker of a leader like you. Anyway, thanks for bringing in the extra hands."
"Pardon?"
Extra hands?
Ella opened the door.
The white-haired mage stepped in behind her. She looked at me with an expressionless face, then gave a slight nod.
"Hello, Troupe Leader."
"Miss Maya, what brings you here?"
At my question, she allowed herself a faint smile—so subtle only I would have caught it.
"You told me to walk the path I wanted. So I came. To the place I want to be."
['Maya Rendelin' has been added to the troupe roster.]
[Sub Quest — 'Mage' has been failed.]
A wave of exhaustion crashed over me, draining the strength from my whole body.
--------
Mage Maya (End)