Counseling!
Luke could not collect his thoughts, still reeling from sheer bewilderment.
He could not even understand why he had done such a thing in the first place.
It had felt as though he were becoming something else entirely.
That sensation of being unable to control his own body, even for an instant, was utterly alien to him.
Of course he knew perfectly well what a beastman’s tail was as an organ. In the past he had been forced to kill so many demons and beastmen that learning their weak points had been only natural. A tail, dense with nerves and therefore sensitive, yet free of any vital organs essential to survival, made an ideal target for torture—alongside the fingers.
As a “hero,” he had never personally administered torture, yet he was hardly so naïve as to be ignorant of the history that had actually taken place.
“I—I am truly sorry. I… I have done a truly unforgivable thing…!”
Luke’s voice trembled violently as he apologized.
There was some genuine remorse, but the dominant emotion was fear—fear that he had lost control of his own body. For a mage who had spent a lifetime keeping every part of himself under perfect command, the experience was essentially no different from a mana rampage.
He had not even been able to restrain so childish an impulse as “I want to grab that swaying thing.”
Why? The me of the past would never have been swept up by so childish an urge. The only thing that has changed is this body… If I cannot master such impulses with will alone from now on, there is a real possibility I will fail to control “mana reflux” even while handling my Circles. Just what has become of this body of mine?
That was the crucial point.
I am a mage, yet I could not control what was happening inside my own body.
Only now did he realize that the changes wrought upon him were far from simple.
Cold sweat soaked him; his body stiffened by reflex and his shoulders hunched. His heart clenched painfully tight. For Luke, who was feeling true terror of his own flesh for the first time, the reaction was only natural.
But the counselor watching that hypersensitive, terrified response—Lua—thought something rather different.
Oh no… Did I set something off by yelling like that? What do I do?
The pain in her tail had already faded. It had not been stomped on hard or cut; a child’s grip, however firm, produced more startlement than actual hurt. Her scream had simply been the instinctive product of shock and surprise.
She recalled the rough explanation Yerna had given her, based on educated guesses about Luke: that the child had endured a past no ordinary child could easily bear, yet the Circles engraved upon the heart had erased those memories; that the child seemed to believe herself to be the Luke Irushi of fairy tales and therefore longed to become a mage.
When I first met her she didn’t look like a child with that many problems…
She had misjudged. An ordinary child would never react with such raw terror. Perhaps there was trauma connected to loud voices.
And here I am, aspiring child counselor, doing this…
Unable to hold back a scream and thereby triggering an unstable child’s trauma—Lua hastily soothed Luke.
“Hey, I’m really fine, okay? That was something you couldn’t help.”
“Couldn’t help? What on earth do you mean by that?”
“Those ears of yours are cat ears, right? So maybe some of that instinct is still left over.”
Yerna had deliberately not revealed that Luke had originally been human and had undergone beastman transformation surgery. The moment one mentioned “beastmanization,” most people immediately assumed, “Then the child must have serious mental issues.” Even though Siena had recommended the counselor, Yerna had no desire to create unnecessary trouble. In her judgment there was simply no need to volunteer that information. She had only mentioned that there might have been an unfortunate past; that, she felt, was enough.
Thus, to Lua, Luke’s peculiar appearance registered merely as “a mixed-blood beastman whose genes expressed themselves rather strangely.”
“Instinct, you say…”
“Don’t worry. Those instincts fade as you grow up. When I was little I used to run around the house with a ball in my mouth! So it’s completely natural!”
Young beastmen were generally far more hyperactive than human children. That was why Lua had found Luke so odd at first glance—yet apparently it was not entirely the case.
Instinct. Beastmen closer to their animal side all lived with their instincts in childhood. That was simply how they grew.
“Is that so…?”
Hearing Lua’s explanation, Luke at last grasped why he had lost control of his body, and a measure of relief returned.
So this is the “instinct” inscribed into a beastman’s flesh. Now I understand why beastman mages have always been so rare.
If one had to wrestle such instincts throughout childhood and then compete in magic from a later starting line than everyone else, of course one’s achievements would lag. The brain, as it ages, grows rigid and loses flexibility; accumulated “experience” places limits on imagination. Magic is the act of breaking existing frameworks. Therefore a race whose growth period forces them to battle instincts that interfere with Circle control is poorly suited to a discipline that recommends accumulating insight from earliest childhood.
He had vaguely suspected as much, but experiencing it firsthand made the truth far clearer. Five thousand years ago, when beastmen had been humanity’s enemies, detailed records of their daily lives had been scarce.
Having inadvertently confirmed a long-standing curiosity and conjecture, Luke managed to drive a little more of the fear away.
He asked, “Then when does this instinct improve?”
Lua made a thoughtful “Hmm—” sound, her ears flicking. Watching them, Luke fretted that he might be doing the same and absently patted his own ears.
“It differs from person to person, so I can’t give a firm answer—everyone matures at different times. Usually it settles down after puberty.”
“Is that so?”
The word left Luke puzzled. Did this body even possess a puberty? Of course he himself had once had such a period—wanting to show off superiority, which had fueled ambition and personal growth. But now? Could that season return to someone who had already grown old, who had already lived a full human life? He was skeptical. The age at which one ought to mature had long since passed.
Moreover, he did not wish to wait. Circles already turned within his heart; if he could not control them he would die. He needed a means of mastering instinct immediately.
“Is there no method? I have no desire to find myself again in a situation where I cannot control my own body, as just now.”
“Ah, for that I can give you some advice.”
“Advice?”
Lua asked calmly, “Luke, how much do you usually let your instincts out?”
“Not at all. I have no wish to.”
She shook her head vigorously and wagged a finger in exaggerated fashion.
“That’s no good. Instinct is like a spring—the more you suppress it, the harder it bounces back! If you let it out in moderation on ordinary days, it relieves stress and you can control sudden impulses like just now—!”
“Is that so…”
Luke was not entirely sure what a “spring” was, but he roughly understood the onomatopoeia as something that bounced upward.
Instinct… how utterly unsuited a word for a mage.
Not mechanical calculation born of experience, but the actual instinct of the flesh. To Luke, who had never once in his long life experienced such a thing, it was alien beyond measure.
“Then what ought I to do in ordinary times?”
“Well, lots of things. The cat beastmen I’ve seen usually climb into boxes or bat at mobiles… Luke, you should try experiencing more than just reading books all the time!”
“I understand. I am truly grateful for the counsel.”
So I must not only study magic, but also engage in other activities…
Luke thought this body of his was proving far more troublesome than he had imagined.
Once the conversation had settled, Lua took several items from her bag and arranged them on the desk: a white sketchbook and a rainbow of colored pencils. Nothing revealed a child’s inner psychology quite so well as drawing.
She asked Luke gently, “Luke, do you like drawing pictures?”
“Drawing, is it…”
Luke considered for a moment. In the past, any mage worth the name possessed at least some skill with a brush. The primary materials for producing phenomena were “imagination” and “will”; insight and observation were likewise indispensable for understanding phenomena and manipulating principles. One need not be a lifelong painter, yet most mages could draw above the average level.
“I am not incapable of it. But for what purpose?”
The concept of “art therapy” was foreign to him; he tilted his head. Drawing had never been a means of kindling artistic passion—only something he performed when “necessity” demanded design or record-keeping.
“Just for fun—! And for some children, drawing helps suppress their instincts!”
“Is that truly so?”
The mention of suppressing instinct stirred a faint interest.
Drawing, then.
Yet the moment Luke took up a colored pencil and faced the blank white paper, his mind went equally blank.
“I have no idea whatsoever what I ought to draw.”
Having always drawn only from necessity, he found himself at a loss when simply told to produce something. Lua spoke lightly.
“Think simple—! A house, a place you want to go, flowers, someone you want to see…”
“Ah.”
A house, a place he wished to visit, flowers, someone he wished to see.
A thought flashed through him.
“You’ve thought of something you want to draw.”
“Truly?”
Luke began sketching at once. Scratch, scratch—the sound of the pencil. Line by line he filled the sketchbook.
Lua watched him concentrate and smiled contentedly.
“Luke, what are you drawing?”
“Most likely… someone I wish to see.”
Renie Arinseia.
Even dragons, those immortal creatures, crumbled under a thousand years; how long could a being with a human mind have endured? Five thousand years had passed, yet if he could only confirm with his own eyes… She who had been recognized as the sole immortal permitted by the gods upon the earth, she of such will—he had once believed she could weather any crisis.
But the weight of five thousand years was overwhelming. Now she was commemorated only in fairy tales or a corner of history—and even then, remembered as the Immortal King, Renie Arinseia.
Luke had realized it: the only person left in this world who remembered not Renie, but “Rene,” was himself.
Ah, Rene.
The girl who had loved humming songs before the campfire.
He wanted to capture her truly smiling face before even he forgot it.
Some time later, Lua—who had been reading a book in front of him so as not to disturb—closed it the moment the scratching of the pencil ceased and looked at Luke.
“That took quite a while.”
“Ah, did it? Forgive me for making you wait. I did not wish to draw it carelessly.”
Reading a faint “longing” in Luke’s expression, she curved her lips in a small smile.
“It’s fine—we have plenty of time anyway—! May Unni take a look?”
“…It is my first portrait, so I feel a little embarrassed… Pray do not tease me.”
With a shy nod Luke set the sketchbook down. Lua froze.
What lay upon the page was the face of a red-haired girl with emerald eyes, laughing brightly.
Yet the peculiar thing was how far it exceeded anything she had expected.
A child drew this?
She had anticipated something at the level of an ordinary child’s scrawl. This was nothing of the sort. Yet Luke had certainly drawn it—they had remained in the same room the entire time, and the continuous sound of pencil on paper had never ceased.
But this…
She had never imagined such a result.
“Wh-who is this person?”
“Renie Arinseia.”
“Wow… You really drew her well…!”
Lua kept staring at the sketchbook in open admiration.
She draws better than I do…
Still—to draw so vividly the person one wished to see, and for that person to be Renie Arinseia…
Apparently the child was an enormous fan of the Arinseia tales.