A Lazy Morning Routine
“El... Ras... Mnya... Mumble...”
“Nami, time to get up.”
“Snoooore... Just five more minutes... I wanna sleep.”
“If you keep sleeping in this late, how do you plan to make it to the academy next week?”
Nami rolled herself up in the blanket like a burrito, tumbling half a turn across the bed. Cheon Professor couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sight of her transformed into a giant kimbap roll. Before long, Nami's eyes cracked open halfway.
“Is it today? For the uniform fitting.”
“That's right. Hurry and get ready.”
“Ugh, I don't wanna go...”
“Heavens...”
Not even the blaring alarms could rouse Nami in the mornings. But leaving her be would mean she'd sleep the whole day away, so Cheon Professor had no choice but to haul her out of bed and nudge her all the way to the sink as usual.
As Nami emerged after washing up, Cheon Professor asked, “Breakfast?”
“This'll fill me up just fine.”
“Got it. Let's head out.”
The potion bottle in Nami's hand sloshed gently. Watching her, Cheon Professor felt a fresh surge of admiration for how she downed the notoriously foul-tasting medicine every day without so much as a grimace. How does she manage it without even flinching after one sip?
She polished off her morning dose in no time and scampered to the entryway to slip on her shoes. Of course, she didn't forget her scarf.
“It's pretty chilly out there.”
“It's still winter, after all.”
“You sure you don't want to take the car?”
“I wanna walk for once. Otherwise, I'll forget how to use my legs.”
As Nami said, aside from visiting Laura, she hardly stirred from her room. Her limbs were so frail, it was a wonder she'd manage the walk to the academy. Still, times like these called for getting some movement in.
March air was still too crisp to gulp down. Nami buried her face in her scarf, trying to warm her chilled cheeks with her breath.
“Hoo. Hoo.”
Her breath puffed out in a white cloud. Suddenly, Cheon Professor stopped short, struck by an idea.
“Want to see a fun spell?”
He pulled a wand from his pocket, slipped it onto his finger, and began etching runes.
"[Casting: Localized Crystallization]"
⟨ Concentric magic circle forms around the hand ⟩
A series of concentric magic circles materialized around his hand. Carefully, he held it in front of Nami.
“Try blowing your breath through it again.”
No reason to refuse, so Nami puffed out her cheeks.
“Fooo.”
Her breath passed through the spinning magic circle, emerging on the other side as a cascade of ice shards that tinkled down. Cheon Professor caught the crystal fragments mid-fall with perfect timing.
“Ice flowers. Pretty, right?”
Nami's perpetually stoic face softened bit by bit.
“Ooh...!”
“My mother used to make these every winter when I was little. I'd beg her to go outside just to see them.”
Cheon Professor closed his eyes, lost in memory.
“They're beautiful.”
“Right?”
“It partially blocks other physical forces interfering with the quasi-liquid layer to maximize the freeze concentration effect observed at the microscopic level.”
“Huh?”
“The two runes meshed at opposite poles of the magic circle, crossing without clashing—pure genius.”
“Oh, that's what you meant by pretty.”
Cheon Professor sighed. Who knew she'd geek out over the magic circle instead of the hexagonal ice crystals? He might lack flair himself, but this kid took it to another level. Still, her eyes sparkled just as brightly at the spinning circle.
Well, if she likes it, that's what matters.
The little mishap wrapped up, and soon they arrived at the uniform shop. Not a digital chime, but an old-school bell tinkled warmly as they entered.
“Welcome!”
“Hello. We're here for a child's uniform.”
“Reservation, or just measuring today?”
“First time here.”
The clerk kindly explained to Cheon Professor, who was clueless about kids' uniforms. These days, parents measured at home, sent the data, tried on at the shop, and picked up right away.
“Kills the fun of fitting kids anymore. Back in the day, we'd at least check the sizes. Now it's so precise, they grab and go without trying.”
“I see.”
The petite clerk sighed, then knelt slightly to meet Nami's eyes.
“Hi! Here for your uniform? First grader, huh!”
“No, she's second grade,” Cheon Professor corrected.
“Second grade needing a new uniform?”
“She transferred schools, so new uniform required.”
“Local elementary uniforms are mostly standard. Long-distance move?”
“Something like that. She's starting at Seferon Academy.”
“Whoa, Seferon? As a transfer? You're one smart cookie, kiddo!”
The clerk's voice rose. No wonder—Seferon students were the envy of the neighborhood. Ask if elementary mattered? Most parents would blow a fuse. Backed by the magic foundation, not public schools, those six years built massive gaps. Easier to climb from elementary than crack into middle or high via brutal exams. And the connections with other parents? Priceless.
A transfer after years without any? Proved she was exceptional.
“She's brilliant. Nami will turn that academy upside down.”
Cheon Professor beamed. Who was Nami, after all? She held her own against his Korea University students.
Nami tugged his sleeve—time for measurements. He relayed it.
“Please take good care of her. She's shy and quiet, so bear with her.”
“Haha, sure! Come here, Nami? Hang your outerwear here for now.”
While Nami sorted her clothes, the clerk fetched a tape measure.
“Arms out like this. Hold for a sec.”
Her smile widened at the cooperative child.
“Sorry I mistook you for first grade, sweetie.”
“No big deal.”
“You'll grow up gorgeous! Twenty years altering, I know at a glance.”
True—short for her age, but long limbs, small head. Model material. But what caught her eye was Nami's hair.
“Such long hair. You don't cut it?”
Normally, hair split at the ends from poor nutrition. But Nami's shone from scalp to tips.
“Scissors near my head scare me. I cut it myself.”
“Ah.”
Nami answered flatly. Some kids feared salons—ticklish or blade-phobic.
Measuring sleeve length, Nami's hand drifted to her head. She stroked her crown; the clerk looked puzzled.
“Something wrong?”
“Nope...”
Just hair texture. She calmly spread her arms for the rest.
“Feeling off?”
“It's nothing. Let's head home.”
I stroked my head again, a pang in my chest. Right—no horns on this body. Memories flooded back of the hell that one horn caused in my past life.
Rising at dawn to grind it down with a metal file, desperate not to get caught. After leaving the academy, laziness won; I let it grow. Holed up in the magic tower lab mostly, veiled it with spells for meetings. In war, no one cared if you were human or demon on the streets.
I'd hated that horn once, but now its absence felt oddly empty. Demon horns had myriad uses: aiding magic calculations, detecting aberrant mana. No major hassle without it—long periods sans horn—but like taking a test without a calculator?
Still, blades near my head? No thanks. Barbers weren't just cutters. The gown pinned your arms defenseless; awkward chair facing forward. Stylist looms close behind, scissors flashing. One whim, and snip—throat slit. I saw it as gambling your life.
Hair? Aura-sharpened fingers made self-trimming easy.
The short but exhausting outing ended; home felt welcoming. Warmth seeped through the floor even before entering.
“Pick up the uniform Friday.”
“Professor Cheon, one favor?”
“Sure, what?”
“Laura's birthday tomorrow. Can I invite her over?”
“Of course! Always welcome. But we don't have much for playing. What'll you do?”
“That thing there.”
Nami pointed at the capsule.
“She loves magic so much.”