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Chapter Text

Yugo watches the lights swirl in his vision, bright and magnificent and blaringly loud, making his eyes flutter open and closed again, and he sits in awe and wonders if this is what death truly feels like.

His knees are starting to tingle as they do when they fall asleep, hands shaking and losing control. He feels every laboring breath he takes deep in his chest until it is the only thing that consumes his thoughts – he is dying, for real, and yet it is so simple to live. Yugo’s humanity ends as quiet as it can be, breathing until it can be no more. He supposes it is a fitting ending.

A figure next to him, veiled in dull colors that are muted by the dark of night, rises, contrary to Yugo’s fall. But the sorcerer seems unhappy, from the little Yugo can make out in his dying moments, they clutch their arm and let out an inhumane sound. 

Curious objects protrude out of their head. Yugo laughs, ironic as it is, but it comes out as more of a dying wheeze because of course he’s meddling with the supernatural. And the person’s eyes are glowing a bright cerulean, and now Yugo is sure he’s hallucinating. 

But his son–

Below him, Yuma stirs, his hair not black but a frightening ivory, glowing under the moon that will swallow them both with its sheer size, and Yugo is happy and he is suddenly very afraid for his son, who will have to brave the world alone. 

Alone. The world, all its crushing weight and glory, will never be enough for Yuma. 

Yugo breathes, the spell taking root in his blood, burning his lungs, stabbing his chest. After all, magic creates, and magic kills. 

“ You !” The sorcerer spits, blue eyes wide with fury, teeth bared and deadly, “What have you done?! ”

A red rose lies beside their body, between them and Yuma. The flower is black as if it has been scorched by fire. One petal falls from its stem.

Yugo can barely formulate words, now, “What do you mean…?” And he is not even sure that real, comprehendable words are coming out of his mouth, now. He murmurs something lost to the howling wind, under the night sky, under the glowing moon.

The figure screeches again. The pointed ends of claws protrude out of their hand, fingers blackened like they are stained by ink. Were they always that way? “You’ve- this curse-” -they shriek something incoherent, most likely an ancient profanity, “-you’ve ruined it all!” Their forearm spasms, monstrous, not even making sense, and Yugo’s head throbs with every background rustle.

“Dad?”

“Hey, son,” He breathes, smiling down at Yuma, reminded that the boy is only eleven. He is just a kid , damn it all, his kid. His joyful and wonderful son, whom he will die for and rest easy, knowing that he protected someone he loved. Where he failed before. “Don’t worry, you’re okay.” 

He’s crying now. Yuma and him are both crying, and all while his body fails and the sorcerer writhes in agony. 

“Dad, your face is cracking,” Yuma whispers, touching Yugo’s cheek and tracing a line down to his chin. “Why is it doing that?” His voice breaks; part of Yugo’s heart does along with it. A puddle, most likely left by the evening’s downpour, reflects his face. 

His skin appears to be shattered, no different from ceramic plates. His face is porcelain. Fragile, delicate. 

“They got you, kid, they got you.” He swipes a hand over his son’s forehead. He is clammy and damp from tears, white locks matted down with sweat, red eyes burning holes. It all burns. With his bangs pushed back like this, reminiscent of how he used to tease him before, it is familial. Now, it is final.

Something inside Yugo convulses, shaking his vision, making all the senses scream too bright under his eyelids. 

He catches part of his finger turning to ashes. 

Yuma screams.

The sorcerer melts into the shadows.

The colors, they burn—

—

…Somewhere in the darkness, a sorcerer cackles. A child writhes in his magic chains, screaming, cries unheard. 

Now, it’s not the sorcerer’s fault that the blasted curse was placed upon his shoulders. It’s not his fault that he’s the one who has to take the vital organ from others to fit his magical needs. It’s not his fault that stealing organs from others ends up conciding with the act of murder. 

If only those vile horned devils hadn’t gotten in the way—

He reminds himself that he must focus. One misstep will disrupt the whole process, and then he’ll have to find and abduct another kid, which will lead to more cover-ups, more social masks. Quite frankly, it is very tiring, but he does what he has to do. 

Not everyone is born fortunate, but he has the audacity to give himself the opportunity. He will advance himself in this wretched society.

It’s not like anyone suspects anything. The only person who does know, Kei, he thinks to himself, is too much of a blockhead to really care or do anything about it. Unfortunately, his intellect with a blade does not transfer over into practical application. 

He’s just too good at playing his own game. 

So the sorcerer rolls his sleeves up to his forearms and plunges his chest into the torso of the boy, who unleashes the loudest howl that he’s ever heard. Flinching back, he almost unplugs himself from the situation. 

“Damned kid,” he mutters, searching the depths of the stomach cavity before retracting with a glowing cube.

He grins to himself. It is a wretched grin, and he almost feels sinful. 

The child has gone still under his grasp. His eyes keep the frozen, wide-eyed expression of surprise and anguish, but they have glazed over. His chest no longer rises and falls. This is the calm in the eye of the storm, the rest, the rebuilding.

The sorcerer mutters ancient texts, all sprawled out on the table in front of him like a strange science experiment. The block begins to glow, vibrating in his hand, sending shivers up his spine, making the hair on his neck stand up. 

And then he

unhinges his jaw and

swallows 

the magic cube

whole. 

A sinister smile creeps its way across his face like ink blooming on wet paper.

This elaborate game of society that he plays; he is the victor. 

Chapter Text

Usami Shiori hands Yuma a generous amount of asparagus and asks for his money. This exchange happens every few days whenever Yuma remembers that he has to feed himself, and has been recurring for years now. He considers telling Shiroi that he actually doesn’t really like asparagus much at all, but she is one of the only people in this god awful interesting town that actually treats him like a human being, so he plays dumb and eats his asparagus. Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Sorry that I can only give you this much,” Shiori sighs, stuffing his gold in a compartment in the cash box. “Even with only you paying the legal tax, I know it’s still a lot.” 

Yuma shrugs, petting his cat, Replica, who is inside his satchel, “I understand it’s tough enough as it is.” He grabs the paper bag full of produce, handing a sardine to Replica. He mewls happily, or, as cheerful as a meow could sound. “The royal family hasn’t been too nice to other shops in town, right?”

Shiori sighs. “Yep, no doubt about it. I get that the tax is to encourage trading, but honestly- hey Aki! -sorry, one of my girlfriends,” she pauses her rant to wave to another woman with a hairstyle resembling a blonde coconut, “It’s been tough.” She pouts to further ponder more things she is unsatisfied with.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yuma says, halting Shiori’s excessive rambling before he’s deluged under her rage, “I’ll be fine with the cash I make and the rest of the money in my pop’s stash.” 

“But it’s not okay! You wouldn’t be able to afford any of the stuff in this shop if I didn’t owe your dad. Face it, Yuma: the whole world won’t be as kind to you as this.”

I know, a voice probes in his head. 

Yuma reverts to his usual duck face, as he does when there are no words to describe what he feels. “I know. I feel guilty whenever you give me produce,” he says truthfully, shrugging. Shiori doesn’t have the raw instinct that Yuma has for detecting lies, but rather, she predicts his manners in a precise and practical way. Apparently Yuma is more open around her than he’d like to be. 

“Nah,” Shiori shakes her head, taking a moment to polish her glasses, “I owe your dad. He saved my life, you know. I’m just doing what he would have wanted.” Yuma knows she means well, but it comes off as comparing oil to water; Shiori has no idea how Yuma has lived. No one does.

Perhaps it shall stay that way. 

The bell above the door rings and in saunters a tall man, dark bangs swept to the left and wearing a charming but otherwise out of place black suit, rivaling Replica’s fur for the darkest midnight. Between the quaint rundown shop, Yuma’s rags and Shiori’s patched dress, he presents as otherworldly. 

“Usami,” he nods. Yuma can’t help taking note of the sheathed, long and certainly sharp blade at his hip. A royal guard. And he’s not afraid of hiding that status, or doesn’t care of other’s opinions, which is twice as dangerous. “And…? I don’t believe we’ve ever met before.”

“Ah, Yuma, this is Tsu-”

Yuma quickly adjusts his hood and ducks his head, concealing his white hair. “I was just about to leave, anyways,” he interrupts, instantly slinking against the door past the Tall Man. Their eyes lock; his narrow in suspicion, Yuma’s glower back, defiant, strong. Say something. I dare you. “Bye.” 

It’s raining outside, because of course it is - I’m cursed, really, truly cursed, he thinks. Rain thunders down in a pattern, one droplet after another, pooling on the ground and turning the dusty paths into muddy messes, dark clouds fighting the sunlight until they win completely, defiant in all the ways Yuma wishes he could be. Replica gives a meek mewl, then disappears inside Yuma’s satchel.

He really wishes he’d stayed inside a bit longer. He clutches the satchel and braces himself for Mother Nature’s grief.

—

Village Chief Rindo cheers, sending their small town’s population into a frenzy as newly appointed sorcerer Jin Yuichi casts a spell, shooting fireworks out of his hands. He waves to the crowd, and at least three of the single women beside Yuma faint. 

“Everyone, be sure to treat Jin well,” Chief Rindo shouts over the roar of the crowd, patting Jin on the back in a way that resembles paternal affection, “as sorcerers do, he’ll be sure to treat any and all mysterious ailments, as well as offer up any magical assistance you need!” Jin nods in agreement. A red firework blooms from his fingertips and burgeons into a star shaped beam. Even the newborn babies seem to be entranced by his enchanting performance. 

“What are your guys’s opinions on Jin?” Midorikawa asks later that night, flipping his okonomiyaki that has a generous amount of cabbage inside. Kageura, the (ever generous) son of a restaurant owner, has the misfortune of working where Yuma’s ensemble of quirky friends like to meet. He is often roped into their conversations against his will. “I think he’s really cool.”

Kageura makes a face. “It would be ‘guys’’ with an apostrophe, not ‘guys’s’, you twerp,” he chastises. “Did you even go to school?” He sets a bowl of batter onto a table beside theirs.

“Don’t bully the fourteen-year old.” Murakami replies, sprinkling more bonito flakes onto Yuma’s pancake, per request. He can’t help but feel hungry, even as skipping a third meal is usually his routine, and a heavy feeling blooms in his gut. “Did you ever learn how to be nice?”

“You’re not my mom.” Kage growls. He throws a spatula at Murakami’s head, as most of their arguments tend to end up. Murakami catches the cooking tool with a straight face. 

Yuma blinks.

Murakami hands Yuma a plate of cooked pancakes. “Anywho, isn’t it kind of suspicious to be talking about someone behind his back like this? Who even cares about sorcerers nowadays?” 

“ The king cares,” Kage butts in. “I think Jin is an ass.” 

“You think everyone is an ass, Kage.” 

“That’s because they are-”

Yuma takes a bite of his okonomiyaki. The hungry beast in his stomach is successfully fed, and perhaps he can save the anchovies for Replica instead. He’s been stingy with them for the past days, but he figures the cat deserves something for being such a good animal. By that, he means not dying or killing rats or anything. 

…Can humans eat rats? 

Hmm. 

Maybe Replica murdering rats wouldn’t be such a bad thing... 

Murakami sighs, Yuma adds a tally to the Number Of Times Murakami Has Sighed At Dinner chart. It is at three so far and steadily growing. “What do you think, Yuma?” 

Well.

Yuma shrugs. “I don’t really have an opinion. His little firework thing was cool, though.” And excessive. Why did he have to do that? He bites his pancake again and doesn’t say anything after that. 

Midorikawa nods eagerly. “Yeah! That’s what I’m thinking. Do you think he could teach me sorcery?” 

Kage snorts. “You? A sorcerer?” He asks, walking past their table carrying a tray of used plates. Yuma is reminded how glad he is that he doesn’t work at a restaurant. 

“Kage, leave him alone,” Murakami responds. “Midorikawa, you should study sorcery if you want to.” 

Yuma scrunches his eyebrows. “Don’t you need sorcerer blood to become one? Like, the Meeden throne won’t recognize you as an official wizard if you’re not related to one.”

“...Oh.” Midorikawa looks down at the floor. Great. He’s said the wrong thing again.

Kage’s face distorts into his signature look of disgust. “Ew, that’s so fucking racist. No one gives a shit about purebloods anymore.” He sets a tray of four water glasses at their table. Yuma takes two of them as he usually does, Murakami and Midorikawa taking one each. (“You have to stay hydrated,” Kageura had chastised, “you’d better not shrivel up like a prune on me, nerd.” And so it was.) 

Murakami sniffs with a funny look in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re allowed to say that? Didn’t you used to date one of the king’s-”

“Shut the fuck up, Ko, I swear I’ll rip you in two.” 

“Do it, you pussy.” 

Kage lets out a string of quiet profanities before heading back to the kitchen. 

Murakami rolls his eyes. “What a weirdo.” He flips two last okonomiyaki and turns off the stove at their table. He gives one to Midorikawa and one to Yuma. “Anyways, I think you should give it a shot anyway. You’d probably be a natural.” His eyes are devoid of any real meaning or truth, but the bottoms crinkle upwards into crescents at the sight of Midorikawa’s eager (and naive) smile. 

Yuma nods, but doesn’t say anything, settling on giving a reaffirming nod. Replica meows from underneath the table - he’d almost forgotten the cat was there - in a way that seems to agree as well. 

“Ok, then I’ll give it my best!” Midorikawa says, stabbing his pancake. They both wolf down their meals and say goodbye to Kageura, who hasn’t completely forgiven Murakami yet.

Yuma grins. It never gets old.

–

Hyuse groans. This has gotten old, very quickly, very fast. The same routine every single day. Gods, he is so bored. There is nothing entertaining in his ancient, cold, dark castle, and it is completely devoid of any life- Hyuse doesn’t even count himself as living, really, at this point, he’s more magic cursed than flesh- 

“Hyuse!”

Oh.

“Ow- Chika- Formalities, please, he’s our employer-”

“Osamu, please, I’m trying to be concerned-”

Right.

His two employees (are they even employees, really, if they wandered in during the night one evening and he had no choice but to ‘capture’ them so they wouldn’t tell anyone of his existence?) (“We won’t tell anyone! We swear!” Chika had said. Little did Hyuse know, she was a little liar.) stumble into his living quarters, uninvited, Gods, he should just fire them already, Chika holding Osamu as best as she can manage. Blood spills from a spot that Osamu is clutching, covering fingers with his other hand. “So,” Chika begins, breathless, “Osamu was trying to make Raijin-Maru a table and he chopped part of his finger off.” 

Hyuse needs to find other workers. When did he even decide that a carpenter over, like, a butler took priority? He sighs and rubs his temples. “Why. Did you try. To make. Raijin-Maru. A table.” He says, gritting his teeth. 

Osamu shrugged. He tended to shrug most physical ailments like they were temporary things. Chopping your finger off apparently fell under this category. “Chika wanted me to. It won’t happen again, though, I promise.” 

Hyuse glared at Chika, swiftly putting his left hand behind his back. The first time he’d shown her the mess that was his forearms, she’d screamed, recomposed herself after ten minutes, and then asked if Osamu were to carve off the blackened skin, he’d be back to normal. So Hyuse just resolved to not show her things. This also transferred to Osamu, since the two often frolicked around the castle at free will. He needed to clamp down on their rights inside his domain. 

Chika shrugged, as best as she could again, as she had Osamu (tall) in her (short) arms. “He seemed like he wanted a table.” 

He squinted, delirious. “What? How does a frog know what it wants more than you?!” 

“How do you know what Raijin-Maru wants? Every time he gets within four feet of you, you try to eat him!” Chika shoots back, scrunching her eyebrows. It comes off a bit cuter than she probably intends. Something inside him flutters. 

“Uh, Chika? Hyuse, um, sir?” Osamu interrupts, wincing a bit. He opens his hand to readjust his grip on his finger, but all it does is expose the red fluid that heavily coats his skin and carpenter’s apron. “I don’t mean to- um- but can you heal my hand please?” He grimaces again, turning away to do so. 

Hyuse breathes, inhaling, exhaling, hating how the old calming exercise is so ingrained into his brain by Hyerin him. “Give me your hand,” he says, coming out more as an order than an expression of affection. Osamu nods, tentatively placing his in Hyuse’s black talons. He doesn’t miss how Chika stares.

He places his left claw on top, closes his eyes, and begins to chant-

–

Yuma’s house is humble, a small shack by the outskirts of town. He glances outside before going in, vaguely registering that the new sorcerer’s abode is across from his. But Jin probably won’t think twice upon gazing at the pile of sticks that is his home. 

There’s not much inside- Yugo’s inheritance only went so far, and Yuma needs it for sustenance more than furnishing, so it’s mostly just bare, concrete floors, with a small bed in the corner, a thin blanket, and a shelf to store the important things: A photo of Yugo with Yuma’s late mother, a collar that used to belong to Replica, but the badge is so worn down that all it reads is R—-LI-A, a jar with the remaining money, and drawers for all of his food. He places the groceries inside one, vaguely noting that he has only one orange left, and closes it. Yuma was never one to keep many collectibles. There are too many ways in which you could lose them.

He sets his satchel down on the floor, Replica slowly crawling out of the flap. The cat yawns, licks his paw a couple of times and curls up on a corner of Yuma’s blanket. There isn’t much he does at night, so he just lays down next to the feline and stares at the ceiling. He likes to trace the cracks on the walls with his fingers to see how far they go. 

Yuma decides that he’s had enough of thinking - too much time alone leaves room for thoughts, and that’s not what he really needs to hear. He tosses the remaining blanket over his shoulder and shuts his eyes, only the sounds of his breathing and the nature outside to fill the silence. 

In the night, something rustles. A black cat perks up from his sleep, registering its human, senses acute. It raises itself onto its paws, listening, waiting.

It hears the distant reverb of a voice, far, far away. It is a familiar sound. One it has heard before, chanting, reciting, and mourning something it simply does not understand.

The cat hops up onto the open windowsill and slips into the darkness, its coat blending in with the velvet of night. 

Chapter Text

Amatori Rinji 

Cottage In The Woods

Forbidden Zone, Meeden 

October 23, 3000

Amatori Chika

Moongraze Castle

Holy Gate, Meeden - Aftokrator Border 

Dearest Chika,

I am pleased to inform you and the residents of Moongraze Castle that I have progressed in finding a cure to your master’s ailment. It seems that the rose has a vital importance in the recipe for such medicines. Unfortunately, what I can provide in alchemy is not enough to soften your master’s heart, and this is where I am stuck. Though from your previous letters, it seems that he has grown less irritable, which I consider a victory in this aspect, albeit a small one. I trust you with all of your baking knowledge that recipes should be easy for you.

I know much about the heart, but this curse is almost unheard of. I’ve been conducting experiments within the past few weeks to figure out what exactly the curse is supposedly infecting, but my results are inconsistent. I’ll have to keep working.

Curses can be finicky. You never know what they bring, Chika. 

Anyways, attached is a little brew I came up with. Hara helped me get the crystalline ember from the castle, thanks to her little thing with the prince. Hopefully it quells the curse’s effects for now, but it’s only a temporary cure for a bigger problem. We are experimenting, as always, to find a permanent solution. 

As for Osamu, remind him to be cautious, and to not chop off any limbs. I understand carpentry is his passion, but he needs to learn self-awareness and exercise care when working with his tools. 

(I know he will ignore this, as always. Still, a reminder is better than none.)

Also: have you seen my starglass? I may have left it with you by accident.

P.S.: Sorry that this letter is so disgustingly formal. I have to disguise my actual tone since Hara has been extra anxious about us getting caught. Whatever that means. 

Your brother,

Rinji Amatori

-

Amatori Chika 

Moongraze Castle

Holy Gate, Meeden - Aftokrator Border 

November 10, 3000

Amatori Rinji

Cottage In The Woods

Forbidden Zone, Meeden 

Rinji,

First of all, baking is nowhere near alchemy. I don’t know how many years you had to shut yourself in eating mushroom stew and instant noodles to come to the conclusion that: Yes! Baking and potions are the same and one is definitely NOT a deadly form of sorcery while the other is making breads and cookies! 

Osamu did not heed your warning and accidentally cut his finger off while trying to make my frog a chair. Master had to replace it again - I really don’t know why he does it when it just hurts him a lot, but I think Osamu and I both appreciate the sentiment. I’m not really sure, but I think he’s trying really hard to be good for us. I hope he notices we’re trying really hard, too. 

Master also named the frog Raijin-Maru. He says it has a cultural significance behind it, but I really think he just names everything Raijin-Maru. Example: The capybara.

I have not seen your starglass. Did you check with the grocery shop in town? I know you don’t like going there, but the folks there are nice, as they come. They tend to pick up lost items like that. I think it’s actual sorcery. One time they gave me back my gardening spade that I lost three years ago. 

P.S.: Master is doing fine. After the potion I sneaked into his food his pinky stopped blackening, but the fingernail has now settled into a pointy claw sort of thing. I worry about him a lot sometimes but I just don’t know how to talk to him about that kind of stuff, you know? Any advice for a sister? 

Write back soon,

Amatori Chika

-

Kageura Masato

Kageura Household

Border Village, Meeden

January 4th, 3000

Ninomiya Masataka

Border Palace

Border Kingdom, Meeden

Masato,

Please alert the Border Palace guards if you have any clue as to the whereabouts of Mirai Hatohara. We are persistent in our search and Inukai suggested contacting you, since your guildmate Ema was close with her. 

Best regards,

Ninomiya Masataka

-

Kageura Masato 

Kageura Household

Border Village, Meeden

January 11th, 3000

Inukai Sumiharu

Border Palace

Border Kingdom, Meeden

Dearest Kageura,

How have you been? It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other. Unfortunately work at the castle has been tedious, and you know how I hate jobs like these. Castle guard was supposed to be interesting, but apparently Ninomiya doesn’t know the meaning of fun. 

Don’t tell him I said that. I might lose my head. All’s fair in love and war, I suppose.

Moving on, tell little Ema that I send my greatest condolences at the loss of his teacher, and everyone really is searching hard.

Please, write back this time.

Ninomiya says that you need to stop burning his letters. He knows that you throw them in the fire as soon as you read his name on the envelope. 

Yours,

Inukai Sumiharu

-

Amatori Rinji 

Cottage In The Woods

Forbidden Zone, Meeden 

October 30th, 3000

Mikumo Osamu

Moongraze Castle

Holy Gate, Meeden - Aftokrator Border 

To Rinji,

Chika is doing fine, if you are worried. I’m still nervous about Sir Hyuse - he seems like the temperamental type, although I’ve been trying to act as calmly as I can whenever he has outbursts. I know it’s not intentional. I don’t think any of this is, contrary to what you think. 

Also, if Chika told you about my finger: it didn’t happen. 

The flower lost a petal today. There are seven left. I’m still unsure if they fall naturally or if they’re prompted by some stress factor. But Chika and I would have nowhere to stay if Sir Hyuse suddenly passed. I doubt Hatohara would be alright with us staying with you all, no matter how much you tried to persuade her and your fellow potioneers, so please do hurry with a cure.

Speaking of potioneers, did you catch wind of the sorcerer that was appointed to the nearby village? I wouldn’t have paid it much mind, but they say he has the ability to see the future through scrying, and I immediately became suspicious. Is that a real thing? I’ve never heard Sir Hyuse mention it before. If it is, I’m just being paranoid.

Sincerely,

Mikumo Osamu

-

M ikumo Osamu

Moongraze Castle

Holy Gate, Meeden - Aftokrator Border

November 10th, 3000

Amatori Rinji 

Cottage In The Woods

Forbidden Zone, Meeden 

Osamu,

Your update is appreciated. I trust Chika’s reasons, but I think she may hide things from me that I don’t fully understand. Same with me to her, obviously, and I want to respect that in the same way that she does for me. 

Don’t be nervous about Hyuse. While I’ve never met him, I have exchanged pleasantries with one of his fellow Aftokratorian citizens (or, as pleasant as you can be with a part-Trion Robot-part-human that is also extremely temperamental), and he says that if Hyuse ever gets out of line to let me know. 

Also, I never said anything about your finger.

I think you tend to worry about things a bit too much. The flower will be fine.

Future scrying… It’s definitely a thing, but it’s also a skill that is commonly fabricated through a time-warp spell. (Which is much easier.) What I’m saying is that there’s a higher chance that this sorcerer is a fake rather than real. Of course, there’s also illegal witchcraft used to future-scry like potions, artifacts, thought-scrying, using raw Trion, star-scries (though this is more unlikely and requires a full moon with Orion directly above your location). Et cetera.

I wouldn’t worry about it too much, anyways. You and Chika have each other as well as me, and I’m sure if Hyuse’s life was endangered he’d also pitch in. 

Your friend,

Rinji Amatori 

-

Jin Yuichi

444 Border Street 

Border Village, Meeden

November 10th, 3000

Midorikawa Shun

Midorikawa Household

Border Village, Meeden

Dear Mr. Jin,

My name is Midorikawa. I’ve always aspired to be a sorcerer like you, and you coming to our village was a big inspiration for me! Especially the fireworks spell. It’s my favorite of yours.

I don’t have any sorcerer blood in me, but I think my great-great-great-great uncle was a sorcerer, if my family records are right. Is that still enough for me to channel magic? Is there any way that I can learn from you? 

Your (big) fan,

Midorikawa Shun