The Library and the Fallen Prodigy
The library and Gail—Gail Le Sorden Ksharanthelis, to be precise. He hailed from the Ksharanthelis family, which had produced exactly one Archmage 821 years ago. Just looking at the year they produced an Archmage made it clear how insignificant and rural a family the Ksharanthelises were. There were never more than seven Archmages in any given era. Only those who left a profound mark on the annals of imperial magic could ascend to that rank. But even for such a rare Archmage, 800 years was an incredibly long time—an age recorded not in history books, but in legends. It was a span long enough for countless peripheral nations of the empire to fall and rise again.
Gail, whose bloodline was somewhat diluted, had entered the academy with Blue Badge scores. Undeterred, he climbed the ranks quarter by quarter through sheer bloody effort and diligence: Green, Yellow, Red, and finally White. By his second year, he'd skipped grades to claim the top spot almost by default. He held onto that position all the way through fourth year, excelling as a student council officer, co-authoring papers with professors, and making his mark. Now a fifth-year top student at the Imperial Academy, Gail had always carried the responsibility and demeanor befitting his rank—until an incident 30 days ago shattered those expectations in an instant.
“Mother…”
“Oh, yes. Gail, my boy. How’s the academy treating you?”
“It’s… fine.”
“We all believe in you, Gail. Oh, and your father’s off fixing a burst dam in the village. Next time, I’ll make sure he gets a telegram too.”
Gail sent every scholarship he received straight back home and kept in touch via telegram magic. This time, he’d forced a smile while sending it off, but his family probably hadn’t missed the central newspapers. Their family’s sole hope had been defeated by some freshman no less… and this time, the scholarships…
—Click. As the telegram magic cut off, Gail forcibly gathered his layered emotions, holding back everything but a single tear.
Why had he of all people touched that bomb?
Gail, who’d always lived impeccably, had one singular complex. Paradoxically, it was the very reason his fan club ‘Egaila’ had formed: his excessively delicate, pretty-boy looks.
The New Moon Festival, held at the end of the third quarter when the year was divided into four, was the grand celebration for mages. Back as a freshman, Gail had been dragged by student council seniors—thanks to his dainty features—into cross-dressing for the event. He hadn’t thought much of it at first, but then his parents from the countryside saw him like that. He considered it his most humiliating memory.
From second year onward, as the top student, no one at the academy brought up that incident or even mentioned his looks in front of him—not even the student council seniors who’d pushed him into it. Not until… that little brat opened her mouth.
Setting aside the shock of it all… losing a duel to a seven-year-old had hit Gail hard enough to kill his appetite entirely. His face was pale, his eyes hollow from sleepless nights.
A seven-year-old… casting Void Magic without even a wooden wand. What was that?
Void Magic was the pinnacle of modern magic, hard for even professors to grasp. “Why… why!”
He’d been flustered by the Void Magic, sure, but what about the Arctan spell that followed? It looked like basic ice magic from the four elements on the surface, but its true nature was trigonometric magic. Gail had pored over newspaper photos from dozens of angles and academy-provided crystal orb recordings, analyzing the scene endlessly. He’d even studied the foundational formulas of the Arctan magic Kesera had used.
Reviewing every magical formula’s trajectory… In that brief moment, wandless, what was that kid’s deal? Did good bloodlines come with freakishly sharp minds too? The world was so damn unfair.
But if it was unfair, he just had to work harder and study more. That was his resolve. Yet what plagued him was…
“We regret to inform you that due to this defeat, our shrine will no longer provide scholarships to Gail.”
“We’ve reconsidered your scholarship, Gail.”
“Our association can no longer support you after your loss…”
The steady flow of scholarships into his account had dried up. When he sent telegrams or visited sponsors directly, they all delivered the same news: cut off. One group had offered to keep paying—the ‘Chaos’ faction plotting to overthrow the empire, via some shady shrine rumored to be connected to them. Gail refused their creepy overtures.
Now, aside from basic tuition and living expenses from the academy, everything was gone. He wouldn’t be sending money home this semester. It was fine. His top spot as a fifth-year was secure. This was the first time in a thousand years of imperial history—people shocked by that outlier genius kid would forget and reinstate his scholarships soon enough. Last semester, he’d beaten second place by 80 points. He always scored just shy of enough for another grade skip.
“Hey, aren’t you the loser who got beat by a freshman? Wanna spar with me?”
“Quiet.”
“Wait, dodging doesn’t count as a loss, right? It was a legit ranking duel.”
“…I accept.”
From the first class of fifth year, classmates challenged him to spars. Even half-broken as he was, Gail was still top dog. Bearing the White Badge, he unleashed a furious barrage of icicle spears on the reckless Blue Badge challenger, piercing through in seconds. Victory was decided in under a minute.
“…Gail wins.”
His retreating footsteps echoed lonely as he walked away. Those who knew him whispered: was this really the friendly Gail?
Even his usual playful, clingy friends from opening day couldn’t approach him now.
“Gail, was that really necessary?”
“…I need to get stronger.”
The sparring professor tried to encourage him sympathetically, but it fell on deaf ears.
After class, Gail headed to the library. The deep levels, stocked with tomes aged a millennium, were dungeon-like, but regular students stuck to the upper or middle floors. The quiet, studious vibe of the upper library filled the void in his heart like sustenance for the soul.
Gail had always come daily, but since the defeat, he’d practically holed up there. Outside, reporters ambushed him, but inside, he could avoid them naturally.
He spread out every book on Void Magic Fundamentals and Trigonometric Magic Studies. But Void Magic felt like grasping at clouds in every text—beyond his current reach. Trigonometric magic, tied to trajectory and ballistics, had plenty of references and commentaries.
Today, too, he’d come hunting for related books.
“Welcome, Gail.”
“Yes, hello, Librarian.”
Yura, the upper-floor librarian with oversized glasses and a wizard hat crammed on her pink-haired head, looked up from her book, bumbling a greeting. Gail replied politely.
“Upper floor again today?”
“Yes.”
This world’s libraries had no indexes, so librarians always guided searches. But Gail knew the upper floor layout cold—no index needed. Yura gave her daily regular free rein. Even a shut-in like her recognized loyal patrons.
She noticed Gail’s expression was a bit off today—exactly 30 days after the incident.
“Something bothering you lately?”
“No.”
Librarians stayed far from issue-obsessed newspapers. Yura, oblivious to current events, just figured he was in a mood and let it go. New freshmen season already? A spring breeze wafted gently…
Ding— Yura looked up again. A little kid was stomping in from the entrance.
“Oh my, hello little one. What brings you to the library?”
“Looking for books on mage growth and development.”
“Ah, follow me then.”
“Okay, thanks.”
The girl with long red hair in twin braids answered plainly. Her White Badge read Kesera. To Yura, Kesera seemed antisocial, not one for chit-chat. Best not to pry, but she had the look of a regular.
“By the way, what’s your name? New freshmen need to register full names on the reading card.”
“Kesera Le Armo Ascentrius.”
Short as a veil. “Let’s see, Le Armo… Le Armo? Wait, wait, Le Armo?”
“Yeah, first time seeing one?”
“Whoa… wow! Yeah, first time. Here’s your reading card. Shall we go find those books?”
Kesera nodded instead of answering. She didn’t sneer or mock those she didn’t need to. Sure, she still thought pathetic☆ about outsiders, but here in the index-less upper library, the librarian was indispensable.