A Day Feels Like Three Years
[That's right. It was the unique magic spell I developed on commission for Wearsoft. I remember giving it that fantastical, alluring name, 'Ashtail's Ring'. But why are you showing this to me...?]
[Look closely, Professor Volkov. This isn't an NPC—it's a player. Did you perhaps release a 5th Circle unique magic spell under a GPL open-source license?]
[No, that's not it... So you're saying Wearsoft leaked my unique magic to this person?]
[We don't know yet if it was some deal with the company or a unilateral castojacking on their part. But one thing's clear: we need to hold someone accountable. Would you just sign here? We'll handle it from there.]
Unique magic spells at mid-circle level and above were practically a mage's identity. The more complex the incantation, the more the caster's habits reflected in the circuit arrays or rune letters within the magic circle. Especially for a former military mage—they were a nation's precious strategic asset. In this modern era of frequent wars, it was common knowledge, obvious even to a stray dog, that publicizing one's unique magic brought no benefits.
Ophelia, the ASI manufacturer headquartered in the UK, had their contract unilaterally terminated by Wearsoft, and now their flagship product was on the verge of technology leakage as a copy went to some individual. If it turned into a corporate battle, it'd drag on to a Supreme Court ruling—easily ten years. Bankruptcy would hit them first, no question.
So Ophelia's legal team shifted their target to NoName, pulling out all stops to reclaim Adella. While combing through her play videos for any pretext, they caught wind that she'd stolen someone else's unique magic and used it.
They immediately handed the case to a Korean law firm, and preparations for the lawsuit proceeded smoothly. How long had they waited, chain-smoking in frustration at the executives, only to come home to the sight of their sleeping family night after night?
Dare to openly ignore our company? Fine—the results will show whether you're the weak ones or we are.
Whether Wearsoft or NoName, bring it on. Ophelia's legal team smirked confidently.
Until the sudden call from the Korean firm demanding ten times the already-paid retainer fee.
"What do you mean? Ten times now, out of nowhere?!"
"Exactly—since criminal charges aren't viable, pursuing civil damages means targeting the minor's guardian instead. This is nothing like what you first described."
"Why can't we press criminal charges? Our tech was clearly leaked!"
Their reasoning was absurdly simple.
Republic of Korea Criminal Act Article 9 (Criminal Nonage): Acts by those under 12 years of age shall not be punished.
It was pressure to drop the unrealistic tenfold fee demand.
"Didn't you see yesterday's news...? We don't take cases with high loss risk, even for publicity. Decide by today, or we'll refund your retainer in full."
They added that neither a 7-year-old committing castojacking nor Cheon Byeong-ho the mage abetting or abetting the crime made any sense. Given Korean firms' focus on win records, they'd already pegged the odds at zero.
"Seven years old? What the hell does that mean? Who's seven?!"
The legal team was left dumbfounded, still not grasping the situation.
Noises bustled over the line, then the voice changed—from a green youth to a husky middle-aged woman.
"Put me on now. You really wanna go after this poor 7-year-old kid? Ten times, a hundred times the retainer—we won't touch this case. Don't contact us again! Shameless, just like those hate-mongers."
Click. The line cut ruthlessly.
Poor? Who? NoName? Why?
Their eyes shifted to the news screen.
Fresh news from yesterday, piping hot. That day, Ophelia's legal team's world crumbled.
The opening of the video Nami had sent was utterly ordinary.
└ Wow, I found one thing in common with NoName!
└ lmao
└ Who's Ham Pil-gyu lol
└ 14 and no pp? rofl
But as the video progressed, even they couldn't help but send out near-shocked praise.
Words that struck deep chords, hard to believe came from a 14-year-old's mouth without hearing them firsthand. It was the moment even those who'd dismissed Nami's genius truly got it. This kid is different. Once that clicked, the childish voice no longer grated. Focus on the profound, thoughtful message within, and the voice became secondary.
But some viewers sensed something off—starting with Nami's room.
Vlogging cars and trucks zipping by early on. Green signs common in central Seoul. Fresh leaves fluttering in the breeze. No matter how refined VR, it couldn't match reality.
The scenery seamlessly shifted to NoName's room. Then came the black-haired girl, hair whipping indifferently—and the stadium audience froze in silence.
Why? Why did the avatar that belonged in VR exist in reality too? No hologram, no composite. Every gesture too lifelike for excuses.
Viewers' synapses jammed. Honking horns echoed in their heads. And Nami's next words shattered it all.
"Hello. I'm NoNami, second-year in the elementary division of Seferon Academy. Nice to meet you."
A beat of silence. As if she'd foreseen the reaction, her greeting was the bomb—and the chat exploded into shrapnel.
8... not 14...?
Emotions flipped instantly. Viewers scrambling to deny now drowned in confusion. Voices demanding truth from Nami surged.
└ whoa whoa whoa
└ insane
-Caster why you just standing there!!
Nami's voice filled the stadium again, quashing the uproar.
"Haha... how to wait till tomorrow? Days already feel like three years. Anyway, I want to share my story—not some grand epic, so please lend an ear just a bit, I beg you. And once it's done, if I win finals tomorrow, grant my small wish."
While Nami's video played on the main jumbotron, the side screen showed the child standing demurely center-stage. Her mic clutched tight, lowered below her waist. Her expression wasn't joy, sorrow, or blank—brows furrowed in an 八, lips pressed thin, a mix of loneliness and pathos.
"My mother, No Seola, was kidnapped by the terrorist group Walpurgis seven years ago and gave birth to me. Soon after, we mother and daughter got caught in their extermination op. Sounds absurd, right? What am I even saying?"
No reply. Not even a sound.
"In short... I filmed this to reveal I'm a survivor of the Walpurgis incident."
In the vast stadium, where even breaths were hushed, the crowd held silent vigil.
"My mother passed six years ago," To dredge up the past of eerie cohabitation with her corpse in separate capsules ten centimeters apart, "and I was sealed in a capsule from birth for seven years straight."
It took real courage. Her clasped hands trembled faintly. Closing her eyes for the memory, nightmares likely flooded her vision.