Hello, World
So, in truth, it was Ibin who had essentially raised Seoya.
Ibin had always been treated as the greatest Pioneer. A brain that could memorize anything after seeing it once, insight that let her understand a hundred things from one explanation, perceptiveness that could read minds from facial expressions alone. Mana reserves that never depleted, control that maximized efficiency to produce the greatest results with the least mana, multitasking ability to cast over ten spells simultaneously, and brilliant original magic she created by applying basic principles. Ibin was a Pioneer who specialized in flashy, complex spells, and she could wipe out over ten Mutants at once with intricate magic circles. Thus, Ibin had always been an exceptional Pioneer, and she took immense pride in that fact.
Then came the accident. A mana explosion.
During a battle with Mutants, Ibin's partner Pioneer—facing certain death—instinctively detonated their mana. Caught in the blast, Ibin passed out. When she awoke, she knew something was wrong. The explosion had altered the nature of her mana. Her body no longer regenerated at its former speed, her stamina and strength had weakened, and her movements had dulled. Mana could never outpace the body. Though Ibin fought primarily with mana, that was only possible because she had the physical prowess to dodge sudden Mutant attacks. Relying solely on mana was impossible—if a Mutant charged while she was calculating formulas, it would be over. Having lost her superior physical abilities, Ibin could no longer fight them.
Ibin, who had been the top Pioneer at headquarters for five years, was forced to step down in an instant. Instead, hoping to stay as support, she took a role researching Magic Stones and directing other Pioneers. In truth, the Ibin of that time was no different from half-dead, having lost all hope. She could no longer fight with her former brilliance, and that fact eroded every value that had given her reason to live. The headquarters chief, who viewed Pioneers as beneath him, mocked her to her face, saying she was now useless.
A few weeks later, a Pioneer was born with unprecedented regenerative power, transcendent physical abilities, and overwhelming mana reserves: eight-year-old Seoya.
Due to Mutants appearing in her village, Seoya lost her parents, friends, and neighbors, and Awakening stripped her of her memories. In fact, calling her eight years old was a stretch. She retained basic language, but emotionally, she was a blank slate. Yet Seoya reawakened the half-dead spirit of Ibin.
—It's okay. It'll be okay soon. I'll give you everything. All memories, experiences, emotions—I'll pick only the good ones and give them to you.
Ibin saw hope in Seoya. Through her, she rediscovered everything she'd given up on. Ibin vowed to give Seoya everything.
—I'll give this child the world.
She decided to place their world, Toda, in Seoya's hands.
After that, Ibin voluntarily became Seoya's teacher. As the greatest Pioneer of the previous generation, she was the perfect mentor for Seoya. How to handle mana, applying it through basics, calculating and drawing magic circles, swordsmanship, firearms, radio use, situational judgment and optimal tactics, ancient languages—everything a Pioneer needed to learn, plus basic socialization. Ibin handled it all.
Some might speculate that Ibin envied Seoya for possessing the regeneration and physical prowess she lacked, but Ibin's feelings toward Seoya were pure affection. At twenty-two, Ibin wasn't childish enough to envy an eight-year-old. Instead, she only wanted to combine everything she had to make Seoya the best.
Seoya had Awakened as the world's strongest from the start and had to remain so forever. The Ibin of that time poured all her pre-injury dreams and passion into raising Seoya alone. She wanted to give the child only the world's good things. Ibin couldn't provide hearty meals, pretty clothes, or proper toys, but she gave her best: magical abilities, vast knowledge, and more. A proper sense of values.
Though destined to fight Mutants, Seoya grew up seeing and hearing only the world's goodness—never witnessing the bad behaviors that arise between humans. Promises must be kept without fail, no lying, help those in need, take responsibility for your actions, don't steal others' things, don't hurt people, don't abuse animals, don't litter, be especially considerate to the sick, don't waste things, don't use bad language...
The other Pioneers worked just as hard to raise Seoya right.
—Hey, do you even think before acting? What if you'd used your sword back there~?
—Everyone messes up sometimes. What's the big deal?
—Ah, seriously, you're so damn useless? Hey, watch your language even when I'm being nice...!
—Uncle, have you seen Taesa oppa?
—It's our Seoya~ Hmm... Uncle hasn't seen him? Anyway, he's my colleague. Of course people make mistakes. I understand you. I'll forgive you.
—Haha, thanks. My best friend. I won't do it again.
—See? When you mess up, you apologize sincerely!
It was something like that. That's how Seoya was raised. She grew up knowing only goodness. And that 'goodness' made her even stronger. Ordinary Pioneers felt despair and fear upon encountering Mutants, but Seoya—having only known positive emotions—didn't know such feelings. She could face Mutants head-on without flinching. Seoya was Ibin's life itself.
So when headquarters—displeased with Seoya's desire to share world-defense duties with civilians—took advantage of most Pioneers being away and tried to kill her, Ibin regretted not raising Seoya a bit more selfishly. Then, when ambushed, Seoya would have slaughtered the soldiers without a second thought, lives be damned.
"Ibin, what do we do? There's no way out."
One dawn, Taesa—who'd been spying as the headquarters chief's lackey—secretly knocked on Ibin's door and said that. Ibin thought long and hard. Seoya had just been captured. With or without pretext, the chief would try to kill her. With a gun to Seoya's heart, she couldn't escape on her own. Even if the few remaining Pioneers rushed in to rescue her, their far weaker numbers made success unlikely—and it could escalate into all-out war between headquarters and Pioneers, killing countless people.
"That won't work."
Okay, think. First, Seoya's death can be prevented. Mention the prior mana explosion incident, and even the chief—who knows her mana reserves—won't dare kill her. The planet might blow up. But that doesn't mean she can be imprisoned forever.
"Taesa, go and argue why they can't kill Seoya—make your case."
Think, Ibin. There has to be a way. A way to get Seoya out of that prison.
But no matter how she racked her brain, no method emerged...
Ibin looked up at her monitor. The research she'd conducted for nine years since the accident suddenly came to mind. Then she recalled herself: flashy, complex, time-consuming spells as her specialty—far less efficient than fists in real combat. Finally, the headquarters chief's mocking attitude.
So Ibin decided to try something utterly absurd.
Worlds. Dozens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of millions of worlds. Countless worlds anyway. After Seoya arrived at headquarters, Ibin became a researcher and studied worlds for nine years. Using a Magic Amplifier to stretch space revealed glimpses of other worlds through tiny gaps. Worlds branched off and spawned new ones. One world births a hundred, each of those a thousand, and so on.
This world she lived in had thousands of derivative lower worlds. Interfering from a higher world into lower ones was relatively free. Ibin found lower worlds with humans resembling theirs, with similar civilization progress.
So, though untested and mere hypothesis: linking her mana to one such world via Magic Amplifier and computer, subordinating it...
Creating a world she could control...
First attempt.
> ▶print(“Hello, World!”)
And it succeeded.