The Miracle on the Scratchpad

“Oh. It truly does produce information!”

This thing called a search was remarkably convenient. Whether the information could be trusted remained uncertain, yet it felt as though it would prove quite useful. Should the occasion ever arise to purchase a wand, this would be worth consulting.

Having confirmed that the search function worked properly, Luke decided at last to look up the matter that had truly been on his mind.

Tap. Tap.

The results were disappointing. Useless information, and none of it remotely related to what he wished to know. Part of it was Luke’s own inexperience with search methods, but the greater disaster was that he had no idea what “Ere” even meant — and so the search engine had simply scraped together whatever it could find at random.

Luke tried a different set of keywords.

Tap. Tap.

The search results for cat magical beasts were equally unsatisfying.

“Hah. So even a ‘search’ is not omnipotent, is it?”

Luke let out a long sigh. “Cat” and “magical beast” each returned thousands of results — far too much material — and none of it was what he wanted.

“Hmm. Still, cats do seem rather adorable.”

—…

At that, Pai nodded in agreement.

When James returned, he found himself smiling in spite of himself. The reason was Luke Irushi.

Only moments ago the child had been engaged in a deeply serious discussion of magical-beast studies and the Demon Realm. Now, having been shown how to use a computer, the same child was happily looking at pictures of cats. Seeing that, one could not help but think how very much like a child Luke was.

Did Luke even realize that every time the cat on the screen perked its ears, those little ears of his own twitched in unconscious imitation?

James nearly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reached out to stroke Luke’s head without thinking, then held himself back through superhuman restraint and cleared his throat instead.

“Ah. You have returned.”

Had the concentration been so complete that Luke had not even noticed someone standing directly behind? James had approached carefully, true — but the greater reason was that Luke’s own guard had almost entirely dropped.

Luke resolved to raise his vigilance going forward. To have his heart stirred so thoroughly by a mere video of a cat — it was most unlike him.

The expression that resulted was one of utmost gravity and composure. Watching Luke reassemble a face that had gone completely soft only a second before, James felt a flicker of admiration. The shift was so sudden and so perfect it called to mind a child actor.

“Is the computer to your liking?”

“A rather entertaining magical device, I must say. Efficient, for one thing… How much does such a thing typically cost?”

“Hmm. That computer ran about a million gil, I believe. Including the monitor and the crystal orb, closer to one million three hundred thousand.”

“E-expensive, indeed…”

Far too expensive to ask Yerna to buy one, at any rate.

A tour of the facilities, brief introductions and greetings exchanged with the researchers — and once again time had slipped away. Hunger had begun to set in, so James offered a meal and led the way to a nearby restaurant.

The menu was a simple stew, yet its remarkable depth of flavor thoroughly captivated Luke’s palate. After the meal they spoke a while longer about a few fossils, and before either of them noticed, the sky had grown dim. Luke rose, saying it was about time he took his leave.

James asked, “Have you contacted your guardian?”

“I have already spoken with Yerna, so there is no cause for concern. She said she would come if I waited at the institute.”

James nodded and walked Luke to the front of the building. The distance was not great; they arrived quickly. James, however, showed no intention of going inside just yet.

“Go on ahead. Take the books you wanted to borrow from my office as well.”

“Will you not come in with me?”

“Once you get on in years, stepping straight indoors after a meal leaves you restless. A short walk first does me good.”

“Hmm. Is that so? Then I shall go in first.”

Luke could sympathize. Ordinarily he had taken elixirs and skipped meals entirely, but on the rare occasions he did eat, he too had walked slowly afterward, just as James was doing now, to encourage the motion of the digestive organs.

As the years advanced, the body’s capacities had deteriorated until even elixirs could no longer be taken, and life itself had been sustained by nothing but the mana control of the Circles.

In James’s office, Luke drew out the book he had wished to borrow and studied its cover, thinking.

Why did I cling to life so desperately?

Looking back, he had lived a considerable span even in a state little better than a corpse. The reason Luke had stopped counting his age past one hundred was that his five senses — eyesight included — had faded until he could no longer mark the passage of days.

And so the body of a Tenth-Circle Archmage had at last reached its end.

Because of a dream, was it?

Perhaps because he had seized a clue regarding this body, fragments of lost memory had returned. Just when, exactly, had he “died”?

The heart’s motion had long since ceased. It was not the heart that drove the Circles — the Circles had driven the heart. The body had not ruled mana; mana had ruled the body. Those eyes that once saw through all things had finally closed, until he could distinguish neither magical power nor even color. He had not been able to sleep. Every moment of time and every scrap of will had gone into keeping that body alive.

And the purpose of it all had been singular: to realize that impossible concept — immortality.

Luke stared blankly down at himself. If this body was the result of that research, then why had it taken this form? He could state with certainty that it was not a body to his taste. Even in the past, he had never harbored any wish to become a little girl. Almost certainly, this appearance had not been chosen by desire.

He could say so with confidence, for he had experience taking a woman’s form before. There had been the time he had no choice but to infiltrate an information clan that admitted only women, accompanying Renie. Performing a Polymorph into a female shape then had been quite the ordeal.

Why must I be in a form like this?

Polymorph could not alter one’s fundamental sex, and so they had been found out soon enough — but in the end, not sending Renie alone had been the correct choice.

Dwelling on those days is giving me a headache.

A black mark on his record. A kind of trauma. The memory brought a pointless ache to the head every time it surfaced. At some point he had sealed the recollection away entirely — and becoming this body, it seemed, had broken that seal.

He lacked the strength to reseal the memory now. At times like this one had to turn one’s attention elsewhere at once, yet nothing immediately came to mind. He considered taking out a book, but reading something dense with thought — history, for instance — would only be poison. It would keep prodding at the memories.

Then Luke’s gaze fell upon a researcher slumped over a laboratory table, fast ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠asleep.

John, was it?

A young man whose name he had exchanged only in passing before the meal. Working on some problem or other, as Luke recalled. Still an undergraduate, apparently, and studying even here at the institute.

Their acquaintance was so slight that there was little about the man to hold Luke’s interest — yet Luke’s eyes drifted to the scattered sheaf of papers beside him. A quick glance revealed the traces of someone wrestling with a problem. Were these the problems he had been working through all this time?

There seemed no better diversion for the mind. Luke gathered the papers from beside the sleeping student and lifted them for a look ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— partly to see whether the work was being done well.

“Mm. This section is written incorrectly. And this formula is entirely wrong.”

Luke picked up a pencil lying haphazardly on the table and began marking corrections across the problems — proofreader’s symbols, revised numbers, rewritten characters. Scratch, scratch. As the graphite ground against the paper, the marks and figures multiplied across John’s work.

—…

Whether the soft scratching pleased her or not, Pai watched in silence as Luke worked through the problems, her small form trembling faintly with each stroke of the pencil. And so even the pencil’s noise — which, given his frayed nerves, might well have been irritating — became no hindrance at all. On the contrary, it brought a quiet peace.

“Oh. This problem. I would not have known from a glance, but it is rather an interesting one.”

Contrary to expectation, the deeper he went the more the difficulty unfolded, and Luke’s spirits rose. Memories of the past no longer crossed his mind. The headache had vanished cleanly.

Like a conductor guiding an orchestra with a baton, Luke’s hand moved the pencil — and at last it stopped. His phone vibrated.

Yerna.

She must already be here.

Luke pocketed the phone and left the institute at a quick pace, thinking as he went that he ought to ask later whether there were any similar problems to be had.

“Nnh… Ah. What. Did I doze off?”

Lately he could not fight off drowsiness. Stress, perhaps — or the truth was he no longer even wanted to fight it. Half a year now, sunk into Shaeh’s Miracle Equation, one of the five great unsolved magical problems of the world. The wretched thing had a way of driving a person mad the longer you worked at it.

Find a lead, and it was wrong. Start over from the beginning. Repeat that for six months and of course one would grow sick of it. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel. Clearly he was not the talent this problem required.

…Or so he was thinking, when he picked up the papers — and received a shock.

Whoever it was, they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had scrawled all over the magical formula he had been working on! Crossed the whole thing out with an elegant X, as if to say stop this already.

He could not contain his fury. He crumpled the paper in his fist. Fine. So that was the message — quit. Good. To hell with it. Some people had spent a decade on proofs like this, but he was done. He was leaving.

And then, looking more carefully, he saw that it was not mere graffiti.

Traces of correction — the wrong parts fixed.

No… surely not…?

He hastily smoothed the crumpled sheet and followed the corrections with his eyes. The further he read, the more he could only stare in astonishment.

This… this has been proven.

How? By whom? By what means?

No — there had to be a mistake somewhere. This damned magical formula had always had a way of toying with people like a miracle. Just when it seemed solved, some error was invariably waiting. That was how twisted the formula was — and why it had earned the bizarre nickname “Miracle Equation.”

And yet… he could not find it. He could not see where it was wrong.

Yes. Perhaps — just perhaps — this had been proven.

I’m going to lose my mind…

The problem was that even looking at it, he could not fully grasp by what line of thought the proof had been achieved. This truly was a miracle.

But I’m supposed to re-prove a proof I don’t even understand how it was proven?

By the nature of magical formulae, if you did not comprehend them completely, they were worthless. Without that, a proof was good for nothing.

Ah. His head felt ready to split again. Why did it have to be proven at all…? Otherwise he could have simply given up cleanly.

John clutched his head once more.

“Who in the world solved this?”