Math Is Magic

{ TWO MONTHS LATER... }

The day after finding the Mathematics book, Mirac, calmer and more composed, had allowed himself some time to think more clearly about what he had discovered.

Among the various hypotheses that had crossed his mind, one stood out as particularly curious: what if this Dave Arangot, considering the four hundred years that had passed, was actually a native of this "fantasy" world? Perhaps, after dying here, he had reincarnated in the "normal" world, lived a new life, and then become Vector's father.

As fascinating as it was, that theory had been immediately dismissed.

On further reflection, Mirac realized it couldn't be possible.

After all, how could Dave Arangot introduce advanced mathematical knowledge belonging to the "normal" world without having lived there first?

The logic didn't hold, so Mirac had to discard that hypothesis as well.

It was then that another possibility had crossed his mind: what if, in reality, Dave Arangot had died in the "fantasy" world, reincarnated in the "normal" world, and after dying again, returned to his supposed original world—the "fantasy" one—bringing with him the mathematical knowledge he had acquired in his second life?

A double reincarnation might explain some discrepancies, but the idea didn't entirely convince him.

After all, this series of hypotheses would have been plausible only if the timelines of the two worlds were misaligned or of a different nature. Alternatively, if reincarnation in the "fantasy" world always occurred with a lag of several years into the past compared to the "normal" world. Such an explanation could have justified the 400-year difference between Vector's reincarnation and that of his alleged "father."

However, since this did not happen to Vector, the possibilities narrowed: either his father had indeed reincarnated into the past for a very specific reason, or reincarnation into the past was the result of a random selection mechanism involving all reincarnated individuals.

Yet, even accepting these hypotheses as true, a fundamental unanswered question remained: why would his "father" have kept exactly the same name in every incarnation?

Furthermore, even now, Mirac couldn't shake the thought that the matter might not actually concern his "father" at all: in fact, what if it hadn't been "Dave Arangot" who had reincarnated into the past, but Mirac himself who had done so into the "future"?

Indeed, he couldn't dismiss the idea that he had been the one to reincarnate into the "fantasy" world years after his own death, rather than his "father" years before his murder.

However, if that were truly the case, what explanation could there be for this supposed delay in his reincarnation?

Who or what was lurking behind this whole mysterious affair, manipulating reincarnations at will?

In the end, unable to reach a satisfactory explanation, Mirac decided to postpone any further investigation until he was older. Only then, free to act independently and equipped with concrete means to search for answers, would he address the matter. For now, dwelling on these theories seemed to him like a waste of time and energy.

But setting that aside, Mirac had learned many other things!

His historical and geographical knowledge of the Kingdom of Ardorya had begun to sprout in his mind. 

Not surprisingly, he loved spending whole hours studying the history of the kingdoms, past and present alliances, and daydreaming about unexplored lands. Although there were, of course, still many gaps in his knowledge, he felt he had laid a solid foundation for his future learning.

The "Negotiation" lessons, on the other hand, were slowly teaching him the subtle art of formal language, granting him the elegance and cunning expected of a prince. However, mastering this art required constant and demanding practice.

Exercises based on formal phrases and simulated dialogues had helped him improve his control of words and develop a touch of refinement in his expression. While he still felt somewhat awkward in certain situations, he was pleased to notice small improvements, such as the ability to discern when it was better to speak or remain silent.

As for the Continent's Language, in Vincent's eyes, Mirac had almost entirely learned to read and write fluently.

However, the young Prince made sure his improvement appeared gradual and natural, avoiding suspicion that might arise from learning the language too quickly. To this end, he sometimes, with a certain effort of self-control, deliberately inserted a few simple mistakes into his writings: a wrong letter here, a disjointed sentence there.

When this happened, Mirac watched Vincent closely as he corrected him, noting how the tutor would raise an eyebrow with a friendly yet slightly awkward expression.

But during all this time, the real challenge had been Math!

Although he obviously despised it, he couldn't afford to ignore it, as doing so would risk making a terrible impression on his father!

And so, although annoyed by having to study it, Mirac had learned the numerical structures necessary to name the numbers: hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, and so on.

As a result, within a few weeks, mastering the various numerical scales and fully understanding the system that connects them, he had learned to count up to a million!

Just two months earlier, such an achievement had seemed utterly unattainable to Vector. Yet, without showing any interest or enthusiasm for the milestone, the "young old man" had accomplished it.

Meanwhile, as his counting ability gradually improved, his nights were always accompanied by the same dream: the starry sky sending him written messages in white, informing him that his Range in the skill "Instant Counting" was growing, advancing in tandem with the numbers he learned to count.

[ Current Range of "Instant Counting": 0 → 100 ]

[ Current Range of "Instant Counting": 0 → 1000 ]

[ Current Range of "Instant Counting": 0 → 10 000 ]

From this, Mirac had deduced that the Range of his ability expanded every time he learned to count larger numbers. 

In fact, the Range of the ability had become incredibly vast, reaching the extraordinary figure of one million!

[ Current Range of "Instant Counting": 0 → 1 000 000 ]

Seeing this, a question had arisen spontaneously in his mind: was there or not a limit to this ability of his?

Moreover, if learning to count had granted him the skill "Instant Counting", did that mean that, by continuing to study Math, he would acquire other powers in the future?

And if so, which ones exactly?

As he reflected on this progress, Mirac briefly lost himself staring out the classroom window. The scenery, with its trees swaying in the breeze and distant hills, seemed so calm compared to the inner turmoil he felt.

'Two-hundred-eighty-five-thousand-four-hundred-twenty-three leaves... Wait, this works even from this distance?! Incredib-!' he was about to exclaim, but he stopped himself before finishing the sentence. 'No, well, I mean... Interesting! Very interesting! That's all...'

On that June morning, Vincent was bent over the chalkboard, finishing writing some math exercises to assign to Mirac. He was focused, one hand absently scratching his chin while the other moved the chalk across the board.

Suddenly, a light knock on the door broke the silence. The gentle yet firm sound made Vincent spin around, while Mirac barely glanced in the direction of the door.

It opened, and Carmen entered with an elegant bow that didn't disturb the balance of the silver tray she carried in her hands. On it, as was the daily routine during lessons, sat a steaming cup of coffee for Vincent.

Her movements were fluid and almost graceful as she approached with her head slightly lowered, radiating an air of calm and respectful cordiality.

"Oh, Carmen! T-Thank you s-so much," Vincent stammered, stepping forward to take the cup.

In doing so, however, his usual clumsiness got the better of him.

He took an unsteady step and nearly stumbled over nothing. Though he managed to maintain his balance, in his attempt to grab the cup, he spilled a few drops of coffee onto Carmen's maid uniform.

"Oh no! Did you burn yourself? I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!" Vincent exclaimed, his expression a mix of pure embarrassment and worry.

His hands, still dusted with white chalk, instinctively moved closer to try and clean the coffee stain, but only made things worse, leaving streaks of chalk on the dark fabric.

"Damn it! I-I'm so sorry again, Carmen…"

Carmen, though the coffee was undoubtedly hot, remained unbothered, her usual composed expression unchanged.

"Don't worry, Professor Shirkenn. It's nothing serious," she said, trying to reassure him.

Vincent, deeply mortified, awkwardly bowed in apology.

"I'm truly so sorry, Carmen… I'm just so clumsy!"

"I assure you, Professor, it's no problem at all. Nothing serious has happened," Carmen replied calmly, as she placed the half-full cup of coffee on the desk. "Rather, please be careful not to drop your glasses. I wouldn't want them to break because of me," she added with a faint smile, stepping closer to gently adjust his glasses with a light touch on the bridge.

When he had tripped earlier, in fact, his glasses had almost fallen off his nose.

"Th-Thank you…" Vincent stammered, as usual.

With a slight, elegant bow, both respectful and poised, Carmen turned and left the room.

Vincent stood still for a moment.

A deep sigh escaped his lips, followed by a nervous chuckle. He muttered something under his breath, indistinct words that Mirac, seated farther away, couldn't quite catch. 

Finally, with another sigh, Vincent tried to free himself from the discomfort that was gripping him.

With one last glance at the door, he turned back to the chalkboard. His movements were a bit hesitant, but with determination, he resumed writing exercises for Mirac, focusing on each number as though those chalk marks could help him forget the incident.

A minute later, Vincent set the chalk down on the shelf beneath the board and briefly examined what he had written. Then, clearing his throat with a soft cough, he spoke:

"Here you are, young Prince. Five exercises in which you'll need to write the numbers in words and vice versa, to be done during this hour. I'll let you try on your own. If you need any help, please don't hesitate to ask me."

His smile was tentative, almost as if he was trying to maintain a professional demeanor despite the discomfort still lingering over him.

With an awkward motion, he returned to his desk. The wooden chair creaked slightly as he sat down, and Vincent began flipping through some notebooks, correcting assignments Mirac had submitted a few days earlier.

Meanwhile, Mirac started neatly copying the exercises into his notebook, carefully aligning each digit within a square. His hands moved steadily, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere, lost in a whirlwind of ideas that had nothing to do with the numbers before him.

For a moment, he lifted his gaze from the notebook and, to his surprise, found Vincent already looking at him. 

The latter, after a slight start, gave him a warm smile. 

Mirac, almost instinctively, returned the smile.

And in that brief exchange of friendly glances, a thought flitted through the young Prince's mind:

'You are a really terrible actor, Professor Shirkenn…'