When I was young, I once watched a street magic performance.
As I watched a card floating in midair, I asked the magician.
“Is this magic?”
Seeing my eyes sparkle with fascination, the magician leaned down.
“Does that matter?”
“It does.”
“Magic, huh… Hmm.”
The magician stroked his chin and slowly continued.
“Yeah, it’s magic.
And I’m a magician.”
“Wow!”
I still remember how bright my voice was at that moment, and how the magician smiled in satisfaction.
“If it’s magic, what kind of system does it follow?
Is it the kind that consumes mana to construct spell formulas?
Or is it the type where mystery exists without reason?
I don’t think it’s just simple telekinesis—because psychic powers aren’t magic.
Oh!
Or maybe it’s the kind that summons myths engraved in human history—”
“Sorry, kid.
It’s just a loop trick.”
I also remember the look on the magician’s face when he panicked and confessed the trick.
I loved magic.
In a world where people throw around the word “love” so easily, it might sound trivial, but I truly, wholeheartedly loved magic.
I wanted to use magic.
I didn’t care about the method.
As long as it was magic, as long as it was a power of mystery, I was satisfied with anything.
Even if I had to die just once to reach magic, I wouldn’t mind.
That was how deep my desire was.
“-? Rachel”.
That’s why dying and reincarnating wasn’t a big deal for me.
Even the fact that my gender changed to female wasn’t a big deal.
Even though the world shifted from the era of AR and VR to a medieval setting, that wasn’t a big deal either.
When I fell from a narrow alley into a vast open world, and a man—presumably my father—was shouting words that seemed to be a person’s name, I had only one thought in my mind.
So.
Is there magic here?
Fortunately, there was magic.
Thank you.