History's Miracles: Feats That Defy All Logic

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History holds in high regard a 17-year-old ordinary illiterate village girl who received a divine calling and suddenly became the commander-in-chief of the French kingdom. In just two years, she won the Battle of Patay and the Siege of Orléans, completely reversing the course of the Hundred Years' War. A boy born as the youngest son of a poor farmer lost his entire family at age 17 and became a wandering monk. He then unified the chaotic Chinese continent and ascended to the throne as emperor—an utterly unprecedented figure. What do they have in common? It's not just their achievements. Considering their circumstances, the historical context, and every element involved, these were events so logically impossible that they couldn't be dismissed as mere fabrications.

"Yes, they're events that couldn't happen under common sense. So, the maximum time a human can survive on mana alone without food or water is optimistically one year at best. Especially for infants and young children with high metabolic rates that exceed even those of growing teens... Even in optimal conditions, seven years is utterly absurd."

"But couldn't unique constitutions explain records like Joan of Arc surviving a full day after being burned at the stake, despite never learning magic or aura in her life?"

"From a medical standpoint, I have to express skepticism. Unique constitutions are a theory with no scientific backing whatsoever."

Yet the former is Joan of Arc, the latter the Hongwu Emperor. Only when their names are invoked do historians start fleshing out plausibility. They insist it wasn't impossible after all. Still, the bones—the core—remained an enigma to the people.

For those who retorted, "But how could that even be possible?", there was only one echoing reply: "It actually happened."

Recorded history doesn't lie. If you doubt verified records, history itself ceases to exist. Sure, we'd all love to hop in a time machine and check, but humanity has always had to rely on the records. Thus, Joan of Arc's first spell being a wide-area incantation was true, while the rumor of Yi Sun-sin, master of water magic, spewing lightning from his mouth was false.

And now, in the 21st century—where electronic media and the information age have made complete cross-verification possible, rendering historical fabrications virtually impossible—a ridiculous rumor was spreading like wildfire.

Some said the child's magical knowledge rivaled that of university professors or active combat mages. Others claimed her mathematical prowess stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the world's top scholars. And her origin story? It outdid even those great figures mentioned earlier. It was closer to a fabricated myth, like a king hatching from an egg or a hero strangling a snake at birth.

"Thank you so much, Professor Ju Kyung-ho, for taking time out of your busy schedule."

The interview with the visiting professor of循環器內科 at Ye-myung University wrapped up quickly in the broadcast newsroom, and the anchor turned back to the camera. The Blue House spokesperson's briefing was scheduled for 11:10 a.m.

In a world rife with rumors and fake news, it was no surprise that even major media outlets were covering it, prompting an unusually swift government response. But the first briefing disappointed many.

"Therefore, we will review the social safety net and provide firm, swift support to marginalized groups."

The Blue House spokesperson offered no verified facts or official stance—only repeated promises of aid for terror victims and their families. It even felt like they were deliberately avoiding any mention of Nami. And tacking on that this wasn't the president's official view regarding the terror incident sparked massive outrage.

Thursday morning was merely the opening skirmish. News of a Walpurgis survivor was a tired scam trope that had dragged on for seven years under Korea's long tradition of fraud. Commuters rushing to work and bleary-eyed students heading to school had no time to check the headlines.

Then, at noon as students and office workers broke for lunch, a video with an unremarkable title uploaded to a Vtube channel.

This time, every outlet raced to break the exclusive.

[Hold on, could everyone please forget I'm seven years old and just do what I ask?]

Nami's interview echoed through a company cafeteria.

"Is that kid for real?"

"Pfft, they'll milk this for days with headlines, then call it a hoax. Now they're even selling out kids."

The rise of one-person media and rampant fake news had tanked public trust in journalism. Paired with cutting-edge VR and AI tech, fact-checking was nearly impossible for the average person. To counter this, major outlets emphasized "credibility," swarming like hyenas on big stories with joint investigations.

The official opinion from a Supreme Court forensic expert and advisor to the Defense Ministry's Scientific Investigation Lab.

"Wh-what? It's real? All of it?"

"No way!"

The department head slammed down his chopsticks in shock. Articles spread instantly across outlets. As if shedding their "fake news" stigma forever, new info exploded at breakneck speed.

The pursuit continued. Nami had been transferred to another hospital immediately, making paramedic testimony insufficient, but relentless reporters uncovered leads.

Arabyeol Elementary confirmed her name. Tracing backward, reporters linked her to Merlin Orphanage, and before that, Asan OO Hospital—in under half a day.

"I just asked casually to pass the time, and bam—the juiciest deer's neck on a platter."

One reporter's quip. And the deer meat the public most loved to devour? Undoubtedly the government.

The online world buzzed with diverse opinions. Some cheered the world-shaking genius; others empathized with her tragic backstory.

It was natural that more sought Nami. They craved explanations for her unreal abilities and path. As if responding, the Blue House spokesperson spoke again late afternoon. Stripping away the flowery script, it boiled down to:

Again, no "why." But the inference was obvious enough.

"Nami!"

My vision spun. Colors assaulted my eyes like paper scraps glued to everything.

"Yoon-seul unnie... fridge door bottom... quick, the meds... labeled 'potion' in English..."

"H-hang on, got it right now!"

Mana has no color inherently. But our aura hearts sometimes trick us into seeing it as visible light. Seeing it now meant my shredded aura heart had resealed itself.

Why? The optic nerve area, obviously. The 3rd-circle illusion spell to repel the intruder at Yoon-seul's house. My unique magic Medusa, cast as a fake within it. Even I didn't know a dummy cast would trigger my aura heart.

The greedy organ, starving for mana, squeezed my heart tighter. The slowing heartbeat's pain differed from suffocation.

"Nami! Nami, waaah what do I do! Potion... potion! How many?"

"Guh... all... mouth all..."

Five large pills stuck to my tongue with Yoon-seul's fingers. Too big for my tiny throat. I gripped my jaw with one hand, shoving them deep with molars.

*Crunch*

"Hnnng...!"

Not bitter—just excruciatingly astringent. Tears welled as Yoon-seul dashed back with water.

"Tha...nks..."

Tongue numb like paralyzed, but beats heart pain by miles. Coming to, Yoon-seul sobbed pitifully.

She'd been terrified. I gently stroked her hair, reassuring her nonstop. She described my pale face, insisting she'd thought I was dying.

Soon, paramedics burst into our home.

"I really thought you were a goner...!"

Yoon-seul sniffled her explanation. I sighed, calling Professor Cheon at the mart.

"Yes, Professor Cheon. Thinking I might need a short hospital stay."

His voice alone conjured his expression; I smiled involuntarily. Maybe too soon, but heart aching, soul warm. Thanks for worrying.