Math Is Magic

It was around six in the evening.

Under normal circumstances, as he had diligently done in the past few months, Mirac would have spent this time studying or engaging in something productive.

However, that late afternoon, he decided to stay in his room. His tired body, marked by intense training, forced him to remain lying on the bed, curled up on his right side, immersed in thoughts he couldn't shake off.

The stern gaze of his father continued to haunt him, like a nightmare that refused to fade away.

'I'm not enough...' Mirac kept repeating to himself, letting the sense of failure overwhelm him.

Every effort, every drop of sweat shed during training, seemed to have lost any value in the face of that impenetrable indifference.

His heart throbbed painfully in his chest, tight in an invisible vise, as if someone were crushing it mercilessly. Each beat in his chest was an unrelenting and painful reminder of what he lacked: his father's approval.

"Tsk!"

A light knock on the door broke the oppressive silence.

"Come in…" Mirac murmured, lacking energy.

His voice sounded weak, faint. No longer as determined as it had always been.

The door slowly opened.

The red-haired servant entered with delicate steps, carrying a silver tray on which rested a lid of the same material.

Her presence was always accompanied by a sense of calm, capable of transmitting serenity. However, that afternoon, it was not enough to dispel the cloud of sadness that enveloped Mirac.

"I've brought you a snack, young Prince," she said in her usual sweet and measured tone, gently placing the tray on the desk, positioned against the wall opposite the bed.

Mirac didn't move, nor did he respond.

His gaze was fixed on the sunset, on the sky painted with red and orange. The glow of the setting sun, which he usually found comforting, now seemed to only emphasize the emptiness he felt inside.

Carmen observed him closely, immediately sensing the distress in his downcast eyes.

"Young Prince, has something happened?" she eventually asked, with a sweetness that sought to slip past the barriers of his silence.

Mirac sighed, avoiding her gaze.

"No, nothing, Carmen."

Carmen wasn't deceived.

"Are you sure?" she insisted, with the patience of someone who doesn't get discouraged easily.

"Yes… Nothing important…"

Carmen slightly shook her head, letting out a melancholic smile.

"You know, young Prince, it's very easy to read your mind. In my eyes, you are an open book. So much so that all I need to do is look into your eyes to understand what's going through your mind. And that's precisely why, young Prince, you should stop shamelessly lying to me."

At that point, Mirac understood: it was useless to try to hide the obvious truth.

He slowly rose from his lying position, feeling the blue blankets sink beneath his weight, and sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands intertwined. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the sun was disappearing behind the walls, leaving the sky immersed in fiery hues.

"Today my father watched the training," he finally said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, I knew," Carmen replied calmly. "After all, His Majesty the King does that on the first day of every month."

"Exactly!" Mirac continued, and frustration began to rise in his voice. "But in all these months, not once has he smiled at me. Not a single spark of pride in his eyes. Sometimes I think I'm not enough for him. And today… today I got confirmation of that. He himself told me!"

He took a moment to clench his fists and grit his teeth, his body tense like a rope about to snap.

"Other times, I wonder if I'll ever be able to meet his expectations..." Mirac confessed, his voice trembling with emotion. "If things keep going this way, if I never manage to see a proud smile on his face... what's the point of continuing to push myself and train so hard?!"

Carmen watched him for a moment, still standing by the desk. Then, without saying a word, she clasped her hands in front of her and, with measured and graceful steps, approached Mirac. She sat next to him on his left.

For a brief moment, she too allowed herself to be drawn to the horizon, where the vibrant colors of the sunset were transforming into darker, deeper shades. The room seemed enveloped in a suspended atmosphere, thick with silence and contemplation.

After a moment of quiet, Carmen broke the silence with her usual reassuring voice, each word carefully chosen to lighten Mirac's heart:

"Young Prince… Listening to your words, the way you speak and express yourself... You seem much older and more mature than the usual children of your age."

Mirac stiffened for a moment, taken aback by this observation. He felt a slight tremor run through his body but tried not to show it.

'Damn, she's right!' he thought, a small unease creeping inside him. 'I need to be more careful with how I express myself… After all, I'm supposed to look like a 7-year-old!'

With a graceful gesture, Carmen adjusted her rectangular glasses, the reflection of the sunset caressing the thick black frame.

Then she spoke again, her tone becoming slightly more serious:

"But besides that, young Principe, you also seem much stronger than children of your age!"

"You think so?" Mirac replied, his tone skeptical, as if those words couldn't reach him.

"Absolutely," she replied with confidence, offering a slight smile. "I'll be honest. Instead of cleaning the dishes, I watched you today during the training. Of course, I'm not a fighter, and I don't know much about swords or combat, but resisting for so long against an opponent like the Grand Knight Leonard at your young age is no small feat. And you should be very proud of yourself!"

Mirac looked up at Carmen, a mix of curiosity and slight embarrassment in his eyes.

"Thank you, but-"

He was about to reply, but she interrupted, her tone becoming deeper and more reflective:

"However, I understand that all of this may not be enough to calm what you feel inside. And I can imagine how you must feel. Your efforts, so great and constant, are all aimed at making your family proud, especially your father. It's natural, young Prince. Desiring the approval of those we love is a feeling that we all, sooner or later, experience at least once in our lives. However!..."

Carmen paused for a moment, taking her time to choose her next words carefully.

Once she had gathered her thoughts, she turned her head towards Mirac, gazing at him with calm determination.

"This goal of yours, this desire to make your father proud, must not become a cage."

Mirac flinched, caught off guard by those words.

"W-What do you mean?" he asked, turning slightly towards her.

His hands, nervously gripping the edge of the bed, betrayed the uncertainty that was consuming him.

Carmen remained silent for a few moments, letting the warm sunlight caress her for a brief instant, making her seem almost ethereal.

When she sensed the moment was right, she spoke again, with disarming calm:

"You see... Often, in trying to meet others' expectations, we risk walking paths that don't truly belong to us, chasing goals that don't represent who we are. It's a subtle trap, one we sometimes only recognize when it's too late to change direction."

She slightly turned towards Mirac, meeting his confused gaze.

Then she continued, with a firmer tone:

"This is why, young Prince, it's important to ask yourself: what you do—training hard with the sword—do you do it because you truly want to, because it makes you happy and fulfilled? Or do you do it solely and exclusively to please someone else?"

The question hung in the air, heavy as a boulder.

Instinctively, Mirac looked away, staring at an indefinite point beyond the windows. It was clear that her words had stirred something within him, perhaps a doubt he had never dared to confront.

Not receiving an answer, Carmen moved a little closer, closing the distance between them.

"External approval is fragile, fleeting," she continued, her voice warm and reassuring. "It comes and goes, depending on the circumstances. But inner satisfaction, the kind that comes from doing something we truly love, that lasts forever. It will accompany you for your whole life."

With a gentle gesture, her hand brushed against Mirac's, transmitting a warmth that brought him peace.

"Don't misunderstand me, young Prince," she added, keeping her tone gentle yet firm. "I'm not suggesting that you should ignore your father's advice and expectations. But I urge you not to base your self-worth and happiness solely on his judgment."

Mirac listened in silence, just like a child, with eyes full of uncertainties as he absorbed those words.

Carmen gently took his hands, trying to establish a deeper connection.

"Look inside yourself for motivation, the joy of learning and growing," she resumed, with gentle insistence. "Find your path, follow your heart. And if, by doing what you love, you also manage to make your father proud, so much the better! But always remember: safeguard your ambitions, nurture your dreams, and achieve your goals."

Once again, Mirac lifted his gaze towards her, his eyes filled with doubt.

"And what if... I fail?" he whispered, almost afraid to give voice to the fear that gripped him.

Carmen shook her head firmly, and the sunset ignited her red locks, framing her face.

After meeting his gaze, she responded with conviction:

"In life, you shouldn't worry about failing... But rather about giving up on yourself."

Mirac seemed to freeze for a moment.

Whispering, he repeated her words softly, as if trying to understand them fully:

"Giving up... on myself?"

"Exactly," she confirmed, her eyes full of calm determination. "Only then will you have truly lost everything."

For a moment, silence settled over them like a light blanket. Carmen's words hung in the air, as light as feathers, leaving a luminous trace in Mirac's heart.

It seemed as though a flicker of inspiration had illuminated his gaze, and his face felt warmed again by the sunset.

"Oh, it's getting late!" exclaimed Carmen, glancing at the clock on Mirac's desk. "I believe it's time for me to return to my household chores, young Prince."

Carmen let go of Mirac's hand and stood up slowly, giving a slight nod of respect. With graceful movements, she made her way towards the door, but at the threshold, she stopped and turned slightly, once again showing her kind eyes.

"I hope I've been of help to you," she said with a sweet, almost motherly smile. "The tray can stay there. I'll come by later to collect it."

Without saying anything else, Carmen gently closed the door behind her and returned to her duties.

Though still lost in his thoughts, a fleeting smile appeared on Mirac's face, a sign that his mood had slightly improved.

Then, he got up from the bed, stretching lightly, and walked towards the desk. Sitting in the wooden chair, his eyes fell on the silver tray that lay waiting.

With almost distracted movement, he lifted the lid, revealing a bowl of creamy, inviting chocolate ice cream, topped with a layer of panna cotta and two bright red cherries.

"An ice cream?!" he thought, surprised. "This is the first time I've seen one here in this world! I had started to think they didn't even exist!"

With some urgency, he grabbed the spoon resting beside the bowl and, mouth watering, took the first bite. The dessert melted on his tongue, spreading a rich, velvety flavor as a sense of calm enveloped him.

"Thanks again, Carmen!..." he thought, letting the chocolate, at least for the moment, soothe his darkest thoughts.

* * *

After finishing the dessert, Mirac stretched, letting out a sigh of satisfaction.

"Ah, that was just what I needed," he murmured to himself, stretching his body, which seemed to slowly release the accumulated tension.

Seated on his elegant wooden chair with a carved backrest in flowing lines, his thoughts returned to the ice cream he had just finished and, inevitably, to Carmen's words.

"Wait a minute... Could it be that Carmen decided from the very beginning to help and comfort me like this?" Mirac thought, absentmindedly stroking his chin—sometimes he forgot he no longer had a beard. "Hmm... It's possible. But I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case."

After all, it wasn't the first time she had shown her concern for him, sensing his needs even before he was aware of them himself.

She was always attentive to his mood, constantly ready to act or scold him when necessary, perfectly reflecting her proverbial feminine, almost maternal instinct.

"There's nothing that escapes you, is there, Carmen?" he murmured, an amused smile slipping onto his lips. "Or at least, that's how it seems..."

In front of him, the spoon he had used to enjoy the ice cream lay in the empty bowl, cleaned of every trace of the sweet treat.

Then, almost unexpectedly, the servant's words echoed back in his mind, like an echo interrupting his moment of peace:

"Giving up on yourself..." he repeated softly, letting those words shape themselves among his thoughts. "Maybe that's exactly what I've done. I admit I like wielding the sword, but maybe... I focused so much on living as Mirac that I forgot how Vector wanted to live..."

His eyelids suddenly shot up, and his gaze slid toward the drawer to the right.

With his heart still full of emotions, he looked around cautiously, almost fearing someone might be spying on him through the crack in the door. Only when his instincts reassured him that there was nothing to fear did Mirac relax

"Alright!" he exclaimed, as though he had made a definitive decision.

With a decisive movement, he opened the drawer and pulled out a notepad with a rigid yellow cover. The color, vibrant and sunny, seemed almost like an invitation to begin something new.

He turned the pages gently, observing the neat brown lines running across the beige pages, like tracks ready to guide his thoughts to new destinations.

Gripping his quill, he dipped it in ink and wrote at the top of the first page the "title":

"LIST OF THINGS I WANT TO DO"

A smile lit up his face.

In a way, Mirac felt as if Carmen's words had awakened a forgotten spark within him.

Maybe—but he was quite sure—it was the old version of himself he had lost in this new life...

"Yes, now I remember!"

And in that moment, the river of his thoughts began to flow again, carrying with it the old dreams buried by the misery of his past life, the desires crushed by the daily struggle for survival.

"I wanted to learn how to cook..."

And he wrote it down.

"I wanted to learn how to draw..."

That found space on the page as well.

"I also wanted to travel the world..."

The ink gave shape to these words too.

Soon, Vector found himself pouring every dream he had ever had in his past life onto the page.

The quill, consequently, began to glide quickly across the paper, driven by an unstoppable enthusiasm. One after another, the lines filled with ideas, ambitions, and skills to acquire.

These weren't just long-term dreams, but also small goals and activities to accomplish as soon as possible, before this life too could end prematurely without having achieved anything meaningful.

However, Mirac carefully avoided writing anything that might raise suspicion.

Some desires were too tied to his old reality or required objects that likely didn't exist in this "fantasy" world.

Writing something too "strange"—like learning to drive a car or reading the last chapter of a book that surely didn't even exist in this land—could reveal his true nature as a transmigrator, if anyone were to come across that list.

He didn't want to take such risks, especially considering that his parents and his personal servant, Carmen, had permission to enter his room even in his absence and, occasionally, rummage through his wardrobe or desk drawers.

So, he focused on desires and goals that would appear plausible for this new world but still reflected his deepest dreams. They could be practical ambitions like mastering the art of the sword, or visual experiences like witnessing a meteor shower.

After fifteen minutes of frantic writing, his quill stopped.

Mirac leaned back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed with satisfaction, resting against the backrest and allowing himself a moment of well-deserved relaxation.

In front of him were fifty points. A promising start for a child—or rather, an old man—with a list of dreams as vast and varied as they were.

"It's just the beginning… Over time, I'll surely add more!"

That yellow notebook, seemingly so simple, had now inherited all his old ambitions never realized.

Mirac reread each point on his list with pride before looking up at the clock on his desk.

"It's around 18:00…" he murmured, stretching again and hearing his back creak like dry wood.

He took one last satisfied look at the list, which now filled ten and a half pages, before carefully putting the yellow notebook back in the drawer. Then, he got up from the chair and walked with determined steps toward the dining room.

* * *

After dinner, Mirac gathered his courage and asked his mother if they could talk privately. She, always kind and understanding, agreed without hesitation. Together, they made their way to one of the palace balconies.

The sky was clear, dotted with stars, while the moon was hidden.

"Tell me everything, my son," his mother began sweetly, sitting on one of the white chairs on the balcony. Her gaze, filled with affection and understanding, was fixed on him as she elegantly adjusted her crown, making it shine in the moonlight.

Mirac sat in front of her, his face serious, and without wasting any time, went straight to the point:

"Mom, I need to talk to you about something: it's about Professor Shirkenn..."