"The more you use an Arcane Device, the more it adapts to you."Kurumi's voice carried cleanly through the shooting range, calm yet commanding.
Her bright violet hair, tied in a side-tail that mirrored Sagiri's, swayed gracefully as she paced behind the students. Dozens of spells erupted from their Devices, bursts of color and force flying toward distant targets as they tried to hit with as little mana as possible.
"An Arcane Device is, in its own way, alive," Kurumi continued. "It recognizes your Mana flow. The Tactica within it resonates with your energy as you shape your spell."
She paused beside a student and gently adjusted their stance."Treat your Device like a partner," she said. "Don't command it—work with it."
Several more spells flashed across the range, fizzling or missing their marks. Kurumi's eyes swept over each student, her gaze sharp and thoughtful.
"All right," she said at last. "Wands down. Gather up."
The class assembled before her."I asked you to strike the target using as little Mana as possible. So—how did you manage?"
"My spells kept fizzling out before they even hit," one admitted."I had to stand completely still," said another."If I look away for even a second, my spell falters," added a third.
Kurumi nodded.
"Exactly. To gain efficiency, something must be sacrificed—mobility, power, mental focus, accuracy."
Her gaze lingered over them, serious now.
"Whether you realize it or not, you've already been using Pacts."
A murmur of confusion rippled through the students.
"You chose to reduce your power," she said, pointing to one.
"You chose to stand still," she gestured to another.
"And you chose to maintain focus above all else." Her voice softened.
"Without knowing, you've formed what we call a Minor Pact. It may not seem significant now, but a Pact's effectiveness scales with your own ability. The stronger you are, the greater its effects."
"Professor," a hand rose.
"If there are Minor Pacts... are there Major Pacts too? Do they work the same way?"
"Yes," Kurumi replied.
"They follow the same principle—but their costs and consequences differ."
She took a slow breath.
"A Minor Pact may demand your efficiency, your range, or your mobility. A Major Pact demands you. Your freedom. Your memory. Your emotions, future—sometimes even your life."
Gasps echoed through the hall.
"As a demonstration," she said, turning toward a nearby table.
The students followed as she approached an object draped under a dark cloth. A faint hum of power emanated from beneath it.
"Professor, what's that?" a student asked.
Kurumi grasped the cloth.
"This," she said, unveiling it with a practiced flourish,
"is my Arcane Device."
It resembled a staff—yet somehow felt wrong. Its structure was foreign, its form unfamiliar. The students exchanged uncertain looks.
"Is that... a staff?" one asked hesitantly.
Kurumi smiled faintly.
"No. I modeled it after a relic from a long-forgotten past. I call it Mosyn-Nagann."
She straightened, eyes gleaming.
"And with it, I have forged a Major Pact."
The room fell silent.
"I cannot use magic without Mosyn-Nagann," she said.
"In other words, I gave up barehanded casting—entirely."
"Wh–Entirely?" someone stammered."Entirely."
She let the word hang in the air, letting the weight of it settle over them like a stone.
"But in return," she continued, her tone calm but proud,
"my power, control, efficiency, and accuracy are all doubled."
"D-doubled?!" a student exclaimed.
Another raised a hand, worry flickering in her eyes.
"But, Professor... why restrict yourself so much?"
Kurumi's eyes softened.
"You see, my Affinity is Neutral. And what does that mean?"
The students looked at their own training wands, recalling how easily they could attune to any element."It means... you can use any Affinity?" one ventured.
"That's right," Kurumi nodded.
"I can resonate with all elements—but with weaker potency."
She glanced down at Mosyn-Nagann.
"You might think versatility is a fair trade. But I made a commitment: I will never cast without her. I cannot externalize my Mana by any other means."
Her gaze drifted over the weapon, her expression tender.
"And in a way... Mosyn-Nagann is now a part of me."
The students could feel the weight of her words, her choice.
"Now then," Kurumi said, breaking the silence.
She began to dismantle the device, piece by piece.
"Wha—Professor?! Why are you taking her apart?! You said she's part of you!"
Kurumi smirked.
"Don't be ridiculous. You've all been staring at her this whole time. I'm disassembling her so you can take a closer look."
The students stared in awe as Kurumi laid the pieces of Mosyn-Nagann neatly across the table.
"A tool is still a tool," she said. "And Mosyn-Nagann is a rather needy one. Regular maintenance is another commitment I've made."She gestured for the students to come closer. "Come, take a look."
Faint runes glowed within the staff's interior, pulsing with soft, rhythmic light.
Kurumi pointed toward a faintly shimmering crystal."This is the core crystal. I could've chosen a denser, more powerful one—but I settled for this. It keeps my precision sharp… and my body intact."
A few nervous chuckles broke the tension.
"These runes here," she continued, tracing the engravings, "help me navigate my spells. They determine rotation across the X and Y axes."
The students scribbled furiously in their notebooks as Kurumi continued her maintenance.
"These," she said, pointing at another cluster of symbols, "handle timing. They tell the spell when to turn."
She carefully applied oil to a bolt, her movements meticulous and practiced."And then," she said, smiling faintly, "there are other runes—not part of today's lesson."Piece by piece, she reassembled the Device.
"With all these runes helping me calculate—" Kurumi clicked the final part into place with a satisfying clack."All I need are range, elevation, wind speed, and…" She reached for a clip of colorful, bullet-shaped crystals, each engraved with a faint glyph."Ammunition."
The students gasped. The magic bullets refracted sunlight into streaks of prismatic color.
"Each of these contains a spell," Kurumi explained. "Simple, but effective."
She loaded one with a crisp click, then aimed—not at a target, but seemingly at nothing in particular. Her finger squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The shot echoed through the range. The bullet flew straight, then curved sharply, spiraling mid-air before snapping toward a distant target. The students gasped as it stabilized, slithering like a living thing until—
CRACK.
A perfect hit.
"Spells don't need to follow a straight path," Kurumi said, her smirk cutting through the silence."My magic revolves around motion and precision. Once I mark my target… my spells do not miss."
The students' eyes gleamed, as though they had just witnessed a revelation."But don't let that fool you," she warned. "Precision and control demand focus. If I fire without thinking, the spell will go anywhere. It might even hit you."
Her grin turned mischievous. The students fell silent.
"Professor!" A voice rose above the hush—a boy, bold and curious."Can your spells hit Professor Kazuki?"
Kurumi met his gaze, her expression softening into amusement."Well…" she said, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Sometimes."
Ripples of awe and disbelief swept through the crowd.
"Sometimes?" one whispered.
A sorcerer whose spells never missed—yet Kazuki could still evade them. And yet…
"But that means it's not impossible!" another exclaimed."If she can hit him, then we can land a hit too!"
Their voices brimmed with excitement, youthful resolve taking root.
Kurumi's smile turned gentle. Good, she thought. Let them chase the impossible."If you want to hit him," she said aloud, "you need to be unpredictable. If you rush in blindly, he'll read you like a book."
Her tone sharpened. "Now, try again. This time—curve your spells."
"Yes, ma'am!" the students replied in unison.
The range came alive once more. Arcs of color and light twisted through the air as spells bent around the new metal barrier. Some grazed the target; others split in midair and failed to land.
Kurumi's eyes widened slightly. They're improving fast. Then her gaze fixed on one girl in particular. Something about her casting felt… off.
Kurumi walked up quietly."Hey," she said softly, lowering her voice. "Your Device is incomplete. That's dangerous. Finish it soon—and be careful until then."
"Uh… yes, Professor…" the girl replied, her hands trembling around her Device.
Another student noticed. She stepped closer and rested a hand gently on the girl's arm."Hey," she said kindly.
"Let's go to the workshop later. I'll help you fix it."Her dark blue hair caught the fading light as she smiled.
The girl nodded. "Thank you."
As the sun dipped lower, the noise of spells and chants faded with it.
Late afternoon. Classes had ended.Kazuki strolled down the quiet hallways, passing by the workshop. A faint creak from a half-open door caught his attention.
Students? At this hour?
He peeked inside. Two girls were bent over a table, parts and tools scattered everywhere.
He recognized one of them—the same student who'd brought him lunch a few days ago.
He stepped inside. "Lessons are over. Why are you still here?"
"Ah—Professor Kazuki!" The dark-haired girl straightened up, startled.
"I'm just helping my friend with her Device."
Kazuki's eyes flicked from her to the unfinished contraption on the table."Do you owe her a favor?" he asked bluntly.
"Huh? No, I—" she began, but he cut her off.
"Then why trouble yourself?"
She fidgeted with her fingers, searching for words."Well… during Professor Kurumi's class, I heard she needed to complete her Device. When I looked closer, she seemed lost, so… I wanted to help."
Kazuki tilted his head, studying her expression.No one asked her. She owes her nothing… and yet she stays.
He regarded her quietly for a moment, trying to understand that kind of selflessness."…Is that so," he murmured.
"Can we stay a bit longer, Professor?" she asked carefully.
He looked at her, then at the other girl—focused, trembling, but determined.
"Half an hour," he said at last.
Her face lit up. The sunset glinted against her dark blue hair."Thank you, Professor!"
He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. Watching them work together—talking, solving problems, laughing—something in his expression softened, yet it remained unreadable.
Then he left.
The sun continued its descent, painting the workshop in gold. The two girls worked tirelessly.
"Ah! Almost finished!" the dark-haired girl said, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
The door creaked. Both students turned—then froze. Kazuki stepped inside, carrying a tray with two cups and a small box.
"P–Professor… we're almost done, so—" the girl stammered.
He said nothing, setting the tray down gently beside them. Then, he handed her a small box—the same one she'd given him that day at lunch, now empty.
"…Professor?"
"Your curry was delicious," he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Her eyes widened, then softened."I'm glad it helped," she said warmly.
"Bring that tray to the kitchen when you're finished."
"Yes, Professor!"
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
As he walked down the dim corridor, the sunset poured through the high windows, painting his figure in gold. The faint laughter of the two students echoed from behind the door—soft, human, real.
Kazuki's steps slowed. For a moment, something unfamiliar stirred in his chest—something... gentle. Something he hadn't felt in forever, or perhaps... never?...
"Kazuki~!"
A cheerful voice echoed down the corridor. Sagiri's, bright and unrestrained as always.
She jogged up to him, her usual energy filling the quiet hall."Let's go to the tavern! Saki said she wanted to—"
She stopped mid-sentence, blinking as she caught a clear look at his face. Something about it seemed... off.
"Wha—! Who are you?! What did you do to Kaz?!" she exclaimed dramatically, pointing a finger at him.
Kazuki's eyes shifted toward her, calm but sharp as ever.
"Aah— my bad! It's just… you look—"
"Let's go," he interrupted before she could finish, resuming his steady stride down the corridor.
Sagiri blinked, caught off guard."Huh. That's rare," she muttered under her breath, then quickly caught up with him, brushing the thought aside.
The echo of their footsteps faded into the distance—one calm, one lively—as the last light of day disappeared beyond the academy walls.