Even a Mastermind Has a Story (6)

The Republic's capital, Lettermine, was a place of splendor and grandeur. Towering skyscrapers stood in endless ranks, and the streets swarmed with cars of sleek, refined design.

Had I been nothing more than an ordinary eight-year-old brat, it would have been the perfect city in which to get lost. But I was no ordinary reincarnator. I was one of the foremost authorities in the field of spirit studies, and there was no chance I would lose my way in a mere city and wander about in confusion.

"I think this is the right direction."

"What say you to flying there?"

"That would draw far too much attention."

"And you believe that remaining as you are is acceptable?"

There was no reason a city should lack children running about at play. If anything, there were more of them here than anywhere else. I only needed to watch for kidnappers sidling up with suspicious intent.

"So long as no suspicious people show up."

"One is in sight even now."

No sooner had Arthes finished speaking than a suspicious-looking man caught the corner of my eye. They say one ought not judge a person by appearance alone, but this man truly looked suspicious. He drew close and made me a suspicious offer.

"Hey, kid. Your uncle here bakes as a hobby."

"Uh-huh."

"I made a cake. Think you could come with me for a minute and give it a taste?"

"One moment."

I caught a passing woman by the arm, pointed at the man who had stopped beside me, and said:

"This man says he made a cake."

"Huh...?"

"It's free, so go ahead and eat it."

It was the moment both their expressions grew equally strange. Having introduced the two of them, I quietly slipped out from between them and continued on my way.

"Was that the correct course?"

"Well. The two of them can sort it out between themselves."

For all I knew, the man really had been looking for someone to evaluate his cake. Besides, I had something more important to attend to.

"Look at that. I told you this was the right street."

The Ferris Spirit Museum. A skyscraper rising dead center in Lettermine came into view, and from every angle it matched the museum I had surveyed online.

"So you found it after all."

"Don't look at me like I'm hopeless with directions."

A large ticket booth stood in front of the museum. Judging by the prices posted there, admission was not free. I had brought more than enough money to cover it, so I stepped straight up to the clerk. Being so short, I couldn't meet their eyes at all.

"One adult ticket."

"...Uh, an adult?"

The clerk asked again, looking flustered. I had no choice but to tell them the truth.

"In my heart, I am an adult."

"Ahaha, we've got a special guest today. In that case, I'll give you a special discount at the children's price."

With those words, the clerk issued me a child's ticket for someone with an adult's heart. I had walked so long that I no longer had the energy to argue, so I accepted it meekly and went inside. Cheaper was surely better, even by a little. Perhaps it was wise to enjoy such privileges while I still could.

"Now, where would the spirit stone be?"

The moment I entered the museum, I began searching for the Primal Spirit Stone. I considered consulting the guidebook to find its location, thinking that might be faster, but fortunately that proved unnecessary.

"It lies directly before you."

"..."

The instant I stepped into the first-floor exhibition hall, I found a massive spirit stone enclosed behind walls of glass. Even from a distance, its overwhelming size and mana made it plain to anyone that this was no ordinary Spirit Stone. When I drew close and touched the glass, it felt considerably thicker than I had expected.

My original plan had been to bring the inspection device near it when no one was looking, but that no longer seemed feasible. To use the device, I would have to press it flush against the Spirit Stone.

"How do you mean to investigate it? The tool you brought will be of no use, I should think."

"Then I'll use another method."

I possessed an ability unlike anyone else's: Spirit Creation. The result of Spirit Creation varied according to the quantity and quality of the Spirit Stones consumed. I meant to use it on the Primal Spirit Stone and confirm the predicted result. Pressing myself as close as I could to the glass that barred the stone, I whispered in a small voice.

"...Spirit Creation."

The moment I saw the message that rose before me, I felt relief. The minimum quantity required, the predicted result — all of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it differed from the usual. A spirit created from a Primal Spirit Stone was different in nature from an ordinary spirit. It was the moment Fulton's research was proven not to have been wrong.

On the way home after seeing Lettermine, I walked with a cola packed full of ice. Having come out for the first time in ages, I had stuffed myself with all sorts of delicious things, and now I was quite full. Of course, "stuffed" in a child's stomach didn't amount to much.

"I left without a word. They must be worried."

"Most likely so."

"Still, I have good news."

Fulton's hypothesis — that the Primal Spirit Stones themselves were the remains of the Creation Spirit. I had not yet proven the whole of it, but I had confirmed that all seven Primal Spirit Stones were matter that had once composed a single spirit. That alone was already a considerable harvest.

The problem was how to convey this to Fulton. For now, even without sufficient evidence, I would have no choice but to ask him to believe me as best he could. I could hardly explain Spirit Creation, after all.

"Fish pastries! Get your fish pastries!"

Deep in the alley, pale smoke was rising. A merchant selling fish-shaped pastries stood alone at the corner. My stomach was full, and at first I meant to walk right past — but the sight of them somehow brought Fulton to mind. Having eaten my fill of good things alone, I felt rather guilty about returning empty-handed. I had no choice but to stop in front of the stall and ask the price.

"How much?"

"Red bean, three for one Squaris. Custard cream, two for one Squaris."

"Hmm..."

The two flavors were priced differently. To my present taste, custard cream seemed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the better of the two, but I didn't think Fulton would care for it. I was full now, yet once I got home I might find myself wanting one. After some deliberation, I pulled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out two one-Squaris bills and held them out to the merchant.

"Which flavor would you like?"

"One red bean. One custard."

"A bag ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of each, you mean?"

"Yes."

I had bought one bag of each, fairly, regardless of flavor. The merchant packed the pastries with a satisfied face and handed me the bags. A pleasant warmth rose from them.

"You're such a cute little miss, I'll throw in an extra custard one."

"Yes...?"

"Enjoy."

Ordinarily I didn't much care for compliments like that, but if it came with an extra pastry, that was a different story. I bowed my head to the merchant and turned the corner. I had made a great discovery at the museum, and on the way back I had been given a custard fish pastry free of charge. Today was a remarkably lucky day. If only Fulton recovered a little of his spirits after hearing my story, it would be perfect.

"Dad, I'm home."

When I opened the door and stepped inside, a living room without a trace of anyone met my eyes. The floor tiles, grown cold unlike any other day, seemed to speak for Fulton's heart. It had been the same when I slipped out of the house with the inspection device behind his back — he was probably drinking in the laboratory. Nothing had changed since I left, as if he had been drinking all day long.

"Downstairs again, I suppose."

I set my drink on the desk and took off my coat. The allowance I had saved so diligently was gone, but it hadn't been a bad expenditure — the pastries I had bought for Fulton, especially. Carrying the slightly cooled pastries, I headed for the stairs that led to the laboratory.

Clack, clack.

I descended carefully so the pastries in my hands wouldn't spill, and fortunately the laboratory lights were on. I opened the door, stepped inside, and meant to explain at once everything I had learned at the museum. The conversation would begin by facing Fulton, who was surely dead drunk.

"Dad, I saw—"

Thud.

The moment I opened my mouth, the pastries I had bought for Fulton fell to the floor. They lay spilled across it, no longer fit to eat, but that was not what mattered now. Certain I must have seen wrong, I rubbed my eyes and looked again. And I confirmed it.

"..."

"He is dead."

Fulton, hanging from the ceiling, swaying.