Math Is Magic

"I... I can't believe it!"

Mirac stared at the name embossed on the book's dust jacket in his hands, still unable to accept the reality that had just been revealed to him. The author's name gleamed in precise, golden letters.

"D-Dave... Arangot..."

That was... the same name as his father, from his previous life!

The man he had loved and respected with all his heart when he was still Vector!

"H-How is this possible?!" he exclaimed, unable to contain his reaction, swinging between astonishment and confusion, between disbelief and a vague, persistent sense of unease.

His heart seemed to beat with inexplicable intensity, as if it were trying to awaken ancient emotions.

"My father... is the author of this book?" he murmured, his voice breaking under the weight of the words. "I-Is it really him?! But this... this is imposs-!"

But as the word "impossible" was about to leave his lips, Mirac suddenly stopped.

Something within him, an instinctive and profound force, pushed him to hold back.

It wasn't mere hesitation but a deeply rooted awareness, an intuition that had never left him from the moment of his reincarnation into this unknown world.

"NO! I'm wrong... At this point, nothing is impossible!" he declared, trying to calm his mind, which churned with thoughts. "If magic exists in this world, along with dragons, fantastical creatures, and even gods… then there must also be a way for all this to make sense! A 'logical' explanation… But how?!"

He ran a hand through his hair, frowning as he tried to piece together a mosaic from the scattered fragments of his intuition. Hypotheses, though fragmented, began to cautiously take shape in his mind.

"First of all… it could simply be a coincidence!" he thought, trying to rationalize. "After all, it's entirely possible that someone in this world shares my father's name and his passion for Math. It's unlikely, but not impossible..."

Taking a long breath to calm his mind, which was caught in a whirlwind of ideas, Mirac muttered his second hypothesis:

"Or… could it be… that he also reincarnated into this world?!"

The mere thought shook him, like a lightning bolt of emotion.

"At my first birthday party, I speculated that others besides me might have reincarnated into this world. It was the only plausible explanation for why certain elements of both worlds were identical, like the names of constellations or the use of the Gregorian calendar."

Now, holding that book in his hands, that doubt was turning into an unsettling possibility.

"But then... could it really be that my father also reincarnated into this world?!" he thought, his heart racing wildly. "But if that's the case… why does he have the same name and surname as in his previous life?! I mean, I'm no longer called Vector Arangot because my new parents gave me a new name. So, why isn't that the case for him?"

The more he reflected, the more the enigma deepened. His thoughts ebbed and flowed, caught between the need for answers and the fear of the implications those answers might carry.

He didn't even know if that "Dave Arangot" was still alive in this world, or if that book was merely a trace of a past he could no longer reach.

"I must find out more about this book!" he concluded, resolute.

With his heart in turmoil, he turned and rushed toward the library exit.

He retraced his steps quickly, passing between the tall shelves that seemed like silent, watchful towers, until he reached the man he hoped could shed light on this incredible discovery.

"Mr. Matthew!" Mirac called, his voice carrying both anxiety and hope.

The librarian, still seated at the counter and absorbed in reading his book, slowly lifted his gaze, irritated by the interruption. His weathered face twisted into an impatient expression as his bony fingers held the page open, as if to underline that he would soon want to return to it.

"Tell me, young Prince..." he said in his usual tone, which wavered between formal respect and a subtle irritation.

Mirac took a moment to steady his breath, clutching the book in his hands as though afraid it might vanish.

When he finally spoke, his voice was firm and resolute.

"I would like to know if it's possible to trace the publication date of this book and obtain information about the author, please," he explained, carefully placing the volume on the counter with an almost reverential delicacy.

The librarian looked at him with a furrowed brow, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. He scrutinized the young prince with narrowed eyes, as if trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his request.

But in the end, remembering that he was not in a position to refuse the Prince's requests, Matthew gave in to the pleading look of the young prince.

"Aaahhh..." he sighed, a vague irritation slipping through his voice.

He took the book in his hands slowly, as if he wanted to make each second of waiting feel heavy.

"Alright, young Prince. Let's see if I can help you..." he finally muttered, his voice raspy.

But just a glance at the title of the book was enough to make his attitude shift suddenly.

"OH!" he exclaimed, with a jolt that made his glasses slip down his nose. With a quick motion, he adjusted them, then looked up at Mirac, his face completely transformed.

The initial impassivity was gone, replaced by a sincere expression of surprise and astonishment.

"Young Prince!" he said, with almost excited tone. "Tell me... Where did you find this book?!"

Mirac stood there, dumbfounded, taken aback by the unexpected reaction. He hesitated for a moment, unsure why there was so much emphasis, but finally responded cautiously:

"If I remember correctly, it was in corridor 7, shelf 3. I don't know why, but it was in the 'Magic' section."

Those words echoed in Mirac's mind.

Now that he thought about it, it was indeed curious that such a book had been placed in that section. Perhaps it had been put there by mistake?

But knowing Matthew and his obsession with books, such an oversight seemed unlikely.

And then there was that strange and unsettling detail: the book had "fallen on its own."

But was it really like that?

Or had there been an invisible presence nearby, someone who had intentionally made the book fall?

If that were true, who could it have been? Or even worse, what?

And most importantly, why? What could be the purpose of doing all this?

Those questions tormented him, creeping into his mind like an unsettling shadow.

The mere thought of having been followed all the way to the library, and worse still, constantly observed without knowing it, sent a shiver down Mirac's spine.

Although he had no concrete evidence to support that disturbing theory, Mirac decided to take precautions: from that moment on, he would be more cautious about his behavior, paying particular attention to what he would say or do.

However, right now, he couldn't allow those thoughts to distract him.

At that moment, there was something more urgent to think about!

So, Mirac chose to set aside those worries and refocus all his attention on the book of his supposed father.

As soon as Mirac indicated the location where he had found the book, Matthew straightened up, lifting the book with both hands, as if handling an object of immense value. With deliberate movements, he turned the volume toward Mirac, making the title and cover clearly visible.

"Look carefully, young Prince…" he began, with a deep and almost ceremonial voice. "This is not just a simple math book. No, no, no! This here is one of the 'Seven Sacred Volumes of Math!'"

"Sacred?" Mirac repeated, trying to process what he had just heard.

"Yes, sacred! But not in the religious sense you might think," Matthew explained, shaking his head slightly. "The term 'sacred' here has nothing to do with faith or religion. These books are considered sacred because they represent the legacy of the greatest mathematical genius the world has ever known!"

Then, with a wrinkled, trembling finger, he pointed to the name engraved on the dust jacket, printed with elegance.

"Dave Arangot!" he declared with almost palpable reverence. "The man who revolutionized the mathematical world, leaving a mark that no one has ever been able to equal."

A smile flickered on Mirac's lips, an involuntary reaction, a spontaneous reflection of joy. However, what he felt went far beyond simple happiness.

It was a mix of pride, dignity, and admiration to know that his supposed father had finally achieved the success that had been denied to him in his previous life—due to his murder.

"Really?!" he asked, his voice barely betraying his emotion.

"Absolutely yes, young Prince!" replied Matthew, his face lit up by a rare fervor. "Although I'm not a fan of mathematics, I can't help but admire its genius. His discoveries laid the foundations for much of modern architecture and engineering. Moreover, he was the one who created the calendar we still use today, and even the financial models adopted across all the kingdoms! Without his contribution, these insights would likely have arrived decades, if not centuries, later. For this reason, he has always been regarded by many as the 'Father of Mathematics!'"

"Oh, I see…" Mirac murmured softly, absorbing those words as a direct praise for his father. "A truly exceptional work, I must say..."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Matthew, turning the book back toward himself.

Slowly and gently, he began to turn the pages with meticulous care, tilting the book toward himself to prevent Mirac from glimpsing its contents, as if he wanted to grant himself, for a moment, an exclusive and captivating preview just for him.

"Curious, though!" murmured Matthew to himself. "I didn't know the royal library had this volume. That's why I asked where you found it. This is the first of the seven books, a simple introduction to mathematics designed for children about your age. But anyway... as for the dating, I can't give you a precise indication. But I have no doubt that this book is a rather modern reprint."

"Reprint, you said?" asked Mirac, tilting his head with a mix of confusion and interest.

"Exactly! It's normal, given that the first editions date back many centuries."

Mirac's eyes widened, struck by an unexpected revelation.

"C-Centuries?" he stammered, incredulous.

"Well, of course!" replied Matthew, with disarming casualness. "After all, Dave Arangot lived about four hundred years ago, if I'm not mistaken. The original books date back to that time."

Those words made Mirac waver, as if a heavy veil of fog had covered his reasoning.

"F-Four hundred… years ago?" he repeated, his voice trembling between disbelief and anguish.

A sense of emptiness washed over him, and the certainties that had anchored him to a mere affectionate fantasy seemed to vanish suddenly, leaving him suspended in an oppressive silence.

If that Dave Arangot had truly been his father, then not only would he be unreachable, but surely long dead and buried for centuries!

The realization left him paralyzed for a moment, as an overwhelming silence seemed to envelop him.

Yet, somehow, he managed to maintain control over his emotions, masking his turmoil with an apparent composure.

"I see..." he said, in a barely audible voice. "So… he's already dead."

A bitter sense of awareness crept inside him.

However, a small part of him clung to a shred of doubt, almost as if wanting to protect himself from the idea that threatened to overwhelm him.

'But maybe… he wasn't really my father!' he thought to himself, letting that yet another hypothesis carry him away. 'After all, I was born seven years ago. My father lived four hundred years ago. But in the other world, the difference between our two deaths was only sixty-five years! If we assume reincarnation happens immediately after death, then we should have at least lived in the same historical period. And even assuming reincarnation isn't immediate, but there's a constant time gap between moving from one world to another, the difference between my reincarnation and his should still be only sixty-five years! But instead, it seems to be four hundred years! How is that possible?!'

As he processed these thoughts, however, a new doubt began to creep into his mind, a suspicion that quickly grew more intense.

'Wait a minute! What if there's another variable about reincarnation that I'm not yet aware of? Maybe some factor determines when and how reincarnation happens?' he wondered, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

He swallowed with difficulty, and a daring idea began to take shape in his mind.

'Could there be a god behind all this?! Well, it's highly likely... But which of the Seven Deities would be capable of something like this?! Perhaps Mother Nature?!'

"AHEM, AHEM!" Matthew's voice rang out as he cleared his throat loudly, interrupting Mirac's stream of thoughts. "You seem a bit lost in thought, young Prince... Is there something else you need?"

The question sounded almost polite, but the tone betrayed the evident impatience of the librarian, who was clearly eager to be left in peace.

Mirac took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling in his chest.

After letting out a brief, nervous chuckle—his usual way of masking the chaos of thoughts within him—he replied:

"Ah, no, no… nothing else. Thank you for your help, Mr. Matthew!"

But just as he was heading for the exit, he paused at the doorway, a final question compelling him to turn back one last time.

"Umm… Mr. Matthew?"

"TELL ME!" the librarian exclaimed, his tone tinged with impatience and a hint of exasperation.

"Can… can I borrow it?" Mirac asked, pointing to the math book still resting on the counter.

"Yes, young Prince!" Matthew said with a loud sigh. "Take whatever you want… But please, remember to knock when you return it. Thank you!"

With that, Matthew buried himself back into his book, as if Mirac had already left.

'Huh, what a grumpy old man! Not even I used to act like that!' Mirac thought, but he wisely refrained from saying it aloud.

Instead, he simply said:

"Alright. Goodbye, and thank you very much..."

He took the book, bowed slightly with his torso, and left the library, heading towards his room, with the instinct telling him to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of two eyes behind him watching him from the shadow at the end of the corridor.