White, Transparent, and Soft (4)
Finally, morning had come.
Fifteen years had passed since my reincarnation into this fantasy world. The days of being trapped in that orphanage, screaming that I wanted to use magic too, were now behind me.
I might finally get to see real magic. I might finally get to use it myself.
My heart fluttered with all sorts of thoughts.
…Hoo. Calm down.
I took a deep breath and slowly settled my emotions.
It was just magic, after all.
Someone might protest how magic could ever be “just” anything, but I couldn’t forget my First and Second Principles.
First Principle: Survive at all costs. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live long and thin, if possible.
Second Principle: Enjoy moderate schadenfreude. What I sought was the occasional dopamine hit and the attention of others within that long, thin life.
The flashiness of magic is only about 0.1 or 0.2 times the pleasure of schadenfreude… Ah, but it really is too flashy…!
Just imagining all those spells made the corners of my mouth twitch upward.
No, that wouldn’t do. Maintaining my expression was essential.
I recalled the concept I’d established back at the orphanage and carefully schooled my face.
A mysterious, cool, deadpan beautiful girl who never showed emotion on the surface.
Who might that be?
That would be me—Chloe Winterland.
Wasn’t the sight of her occasionally gazing into the distance with those moist, sorrowful eyes incredibly beautiful?
Her face practically screamed that she had a tragic backstory.
Ah, I wondered if the instructor would notice this beautiful visage before announcing the start of the schedule and strike up a conversation.
Anyone, just give me some attention!
If you don’t, I might just fall completely for magic instead? Abandon schadenfreude and become a proper mage?!
Tap.
Someone poked me in the back with a fingertip.
My skin was as white and translucent as it looked, which also made it extremely sensitive. I barely managed to swallow down the pathetic squeak that nearly escaped me.
Keeping my face perfectly blank, I turned to look behind me. There stood Anais Shen, the girl who had spoken to me last night, fidgeting and hesitating over her words.
Minus a few points for touching a beautiful girl’s body without permission.
But the way she bit her lip in regret and hesitated afterward was a massive point in the interest column. Additional points awarded.
It was a narrow pass.
I opened my mouth before she could.
“What? Got something to say?”
“…Ah, yeah. Um… Aren’t you nervous?”
“What do you mean?”
“About magic… It’s our first time using it…”
“Not really.”
Anais Shen let out a strange, deflated “Uuu” at my curt reply and hung her head.
This kid’s secretly vicious.
The first thing she did after waking up was to seek out someone she could relate to! She had the makings of an excellent schadenfreude ally.
After all, schadenfreude began with the low and filthy desire to have others pay attention to you.
It might seem similar to regret at first glance, but the essence was different.
Regret came from the childish idea that if I disappeared, others would regret it and obsess over me.
Schadenfreude was the act of wounding others by dying or getting hurt while being an indispensable presence in their lives.
In other words, regret asked: “It wouldn’t work without me, right? They need me after all, don’t they?”
Schadenfreude declared: “Ah, I’ve carved a scar into their hearts and memories that can never be erased! I can dominate that person!”
Both were equally vulgar desires. I had no intention of denying it.
I openly acknowledged that my desires were filthy and low-class, and I pursued them consistently.
Between someone who couldn’t distinguish good from evil, and someone who could but deliberately chose not to—who was purer?
I would choose the latter.
Because the sight of me continuing to act while fully aware that my desires were clearly evil looked incredibly pure and adorably like a beautiful girl.
Anais stared at me for a moment, then tilted her head.
“What’s that?”
“Hm?”
“The thing you’re doing with your fingers. Like this. Like this.”
Anais awkwardly copied my finger shape.
A beautiful girl clumsily making a peace sign—it made for quite a charming picture.
Above all, the fact that she’s paying attention to me is just wonderful! She’s desperately trying to get closer!
Hehe.
I smiled inwardly.
Of course, I didn’t commit the amateur mistake of letting that smile show on my face.
Maintaining my deadpan expression, I reached out and touched her fingers.
Since we were about the same age, her skin was just as soft and squishy as mine.
Her fingers were slightly slick between the knuckles—probably from sweat, since the sleeping quarters had been a bit warm.
After that brief moment of enjoyment, her fingers formed a proper V sign.
I briefly considered twisting her wrist to turn it into a gal-style peace sign, but that seemed a bit much.
Girls this age should look like girls this age. That’s the right way.
Unfortunately, both she and I were fated to live as soldiers. Still, once the war ended, there would be life afterward, wouldn’t there?
Since we had talent for magic, we’d likely be pulled back to the rear anyway.
We could live safely.
If I could fully enjoy attention and schadenfreude in my later years, I might even manage to build somewhat normal friendships.
Assuming, of course, that I never got caught.
I barely managed to suppress the giggle that threatened to slip out again.
“There. Done.”
“What… does this mean?”
“Victory and peace.”
“Aha…! That’s a nice meaning! Thanks, Chloe.”
“…Yeah.”
Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. I didn’t make it up.
These days it was mostly used as a pose for photos, but the origin of the V sign really was victory and peace.
The first V came from British Prime Minister Winston Churchill during World War II, wishing for Allied victory. The second came from American anti-war activists in the 1960s who used it to express their desire for peace.
Ah, obviously the reason I made the V was to get drunk on my own cuteness.
Got a problem with that?
…Anyway, it should be about time now.
Creak. Thud.
The door suddenly burst open with a loud noise.
The instructor who had explained the schedule last night shouted in a booming voice, as expected.
“All trainees will rise at 0630! Everyone change into uniform and put on combat boots! Assemble at the roll-call ground in ten minutes!”
Ah, as expected… Speak of the tiger and it appears. Same with the instructor.
Roll call was beginning.
The eight of us with magical aptitude were separated immediately after roll call and led to an empty lot behind the training field.
The area had already been fully prepared for the test.
On one side stood a thick target wall made of packed earth. Next to it were old wooden training dummies. On the opposite side was a wide, empty space.
The empty area must be for D-type magic detection or E-type magic enhancement tests.
Judging from the equipment layout, I could roughly guess today’s schedule.
From A to E.
They were going to test every type of magic in actual practice.
Finally!
Fifteen years! Fifteen whole years!
I’d been reincarnated into a fantasy world yet had gone fifteen years without using magic even once.
Because the orphanage director never even taught me the basics, those ignorant days of just babbling about fireballs were finally over.
Starting today, I—Chloe Winterland—would be reborn as a mage whose very name sounded cool.
You thought of mages that lightly?
Of course—wait, no, hold on…!
Hoo.
I took another deep breath.
Let’s calm down first.
First Principle: Survive at all costs.
Second Principle: Enjoy moderate schadenfreude.
Today’s goal was directly tied to survival.
I had to stay composed.
The non-commissioned officer had said it—if I could fire even a single A-rank spell, I would definitely be assigned to the artillery.
Artillery meant the rear lines. The rear meant survival. Survival meant the First Principle.
Whether I could fire one A-rank spell today or not would decide my entire military life.
Dopamine and schadenfreude were all well and good, but I had to survive first if I wanted to enjoy them.
“Everyone, attention.”
The female officer standing in the middle of the empty lot spoke up.
She looked to be in her forties, with heavy dark circles under her eyes and bandages wrapped around her left wrist.
She must have been sent to the rear training camp because of an injury.
The smell of dirt and trenches practically radiated from her uniform—so strongly that I could detect it clearly even from here.
Did everyone who experienced trench warfare end up like that?
She reeked of the front lines.
“I am the examiner in charge of today’s test. You don’t need to know my name.”
Her introduction was refreshingly blunt.
“Since the aptitude test was already completed at the induction center, what we are measuring today is practical application ability.”
“……”
“Having aptitude does not mean you can use magic, just as being able to read sheet music does not mean you can play the piano.”
Well, that was mostly correct.
I was starting to feel a little nervous.
“Those with A-rank aptitude, step forward one pace.”
Three people, including me, stepped forward.
It looked like I would be third.
Perfect. I could watch the first two and roughly copy what they did.
Secretly looking at someone else’s answer sheet was a fundamental part of testing. This wasn’t cheating—it was reference.
A brilliant piece of logic.
The first trainee raised her palm toward the target wall.
This was finally the moment I would witness real magic with my own two eyes.