Math Is Magic

{ 5 DAYS LATER… }

It was Sunday, April 6th.

The air was crisp, and the sun reigned over a clear sky, dotted only by a few soft white clouds lazily drifting on the horizon.

Mirac was making his way towards the garden entrance.

His legs, strong and sturdy, moved with confidence, free from the fatigue he had felt during the early months of training.

From that moment onward, Mirac was certain that the intensity of the training would increase significantly. But he was ready to face any challenge!

It was with this burning spirit that Mirac had shown up on April first, when his father, King Arthur, had been waiting for him to observe his training with Leonard.

As in previous times, that afternoon the king had stopped at the edge of the field, his inscrutable gaze fixed on Mirac.

No emotion had been apparent on his stern features: neither the warmth of pride nor the coldness of disappointment. Only that constant presence, which, since he had spoken about it with Carmen, Mirac had stopped questioning whether it was a sign of affection or mere duty.

On the contrary, he had begun to focus solely on what truly mattered: handling the sword!

He had to ensure that the desire to improve outweighed the sense of inadequacy conveyed by his father's eyes.

On April 2nd, the day after witnessing the young Prince's training, King Arthur, accompanied by the Grand Knight Leonard and the feared "Infernal Knights," had departed for the Sacred Region.

Mirac only knew that an important global conference was scheduled, but nothing else: the details had not been considered something to share with a young Prince of only eight years like him.

When he reached the grand gate of the garden, Mirac saw Vincent waiting for him.

The man seemed agitated, a mix of anxiety and impatience written all over him. He kept adjusting his tie and glasses, automatic gestures betraying his nervousness.

His restless eyes darted beyond the gate, towards the heart of the garden.

As always, the moment Vincent entered his line of sight—even though it was far from the first time Mirac had seen him—the young Prince's innate skill, "Instant Knowledge of Age," triggered in his mind like an alarm bell.

'It's absurd!' thought Mirac. 'How can he only be thirty-nine? He looks at least fifty!'

Of course, Mirac would never voice such a thought aloud, even though it rang clearly in his mind every day during lessons.

"Oh, young Prince!" Vincent exclaimed, finally noticing his presence. His voice was a blend of relief and reverence. He bowed deeply, as protocol dictated. "I'm immensely grateful for your coming."

"Don't worry, Professor Shirkenn," said Mirac with a warm smile. "Helping you is truly a pleasure."

The two of them stood before the majestic entrance of the royal garden, just as Vincent had planned five days earlier. The idea had sprung from him with surprising ease, almost as if it had come about by chance.

The plan was simple, yet full of meaning: to gather flowers from the royal garden and create a bouquet with a subtle, elegant, and genuine charm.

With this gift in hand, Vincent hoped to finally muster the courage to ask Carmen out the following Sunday. A thought that, in his anxious heart, wavered between sweet promise and sharp uncertainty.

Today, Carmen, the servant with lively red hair, had left the castle to go into town to shop. She wouldn't be back until sunset, which would give Mirac and Vincent several hours to carry out their plan.

However, while Mirac stood there with his usual calm posture, Vincent couldn't hide his growing tension. He was visibly agitated, as though every small detail could determine the success or failure of his mission.

In an attempt to distract him and lighten the mood, Mirac threw him a compliment in a relaxed tone:

"Black suits you." He smiled, then winked. "But tell me, those are new clothes, aren't they? I've never seen you wear them before."

Vincent's outfit was entirely black: a sleek shirt, perfectly pressed pants, a tie impeccably knotted, and shoes almost perfectly polished. The ensemble exuded a simple yet refined elegance, a reflection of his desire to look his best.

"Oh, thank you, young Prince!" Vincent exclaimed, attempting to smile with a naturalness that betrayed a slight forced effort. Perhaps, he was already practicing the right expression for that evening. "I was in the capital Magam, yesterday. I took the opportunity to buy these new clothes. Well, except for the tie. That's the same as always. Anyway, I hope I've prepared myself well for this evening…"

With that being said, the conversation naturally shifted to the choice of flowers, as the two of them discussed which bouquet would best convey the elegance Vincent wanted to express.

However, just as they were discussing, a friendly voice interrupted their conversation.

"Young Prince!"

Mirac and Vincent turned in unison, surprised by the call behind them.

It was an elderly man—seventy-two years old, as indicated by Mirac's "Instant Knowledge of Age" ability—who was slowly approaching them.

His clothes, stained with dirt, clearly indicated that he worked in the garden. He wore a pair of blue boots, a green overalls marked by hard work, and a worn white short-sleeve shirt, faded by time.

His face was lined with deep wrinkles, but his dark eyes still sparkled with vitality. A short gray beard framed his timeworn features, and his short gray hair harmonized perfectly with his figure.

Despite his obviously advanced age, the man moved seemingly without issue, as though youth had never left him.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said, with a gentle smile and a slight bow. "I am Edward Foss, the head gardener of the royal garden. It's a pleasure to meet you, young Prince!"

Mirac recognized him immediately.

He had seen him numerous times, always busy among the plants and flowers, but they had never had a chance to speak.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Foss," Mirac replied, returning a polite smile.

Edward then turned to Vincent.

"And you must be the famous Professor, right?"

Vincent nodded and gave a quick bow, with an unusual confidence.

"Yes, exactly! I am Professor Vincent Shirkenn, and I am responsible for the education of His Majesty the Prince."

"Oh! It's an honor to meet a professor of your caliber!" Edward replied warmly. "But tell me, what brings you to the royal garden?"

Vincent and Mirac exchanged a knowing glance.

They hadn't planned on explaining their plan to anyone else, but Edward's presence seemed reassuring.

So, after a quick nod of understanding, Vincent briefly explained the situation.

* * *

Edward raised an eyebrow, struck by the sincere and slightly embarrassed tone of Vincent.

"Oh, I see… A rather important evening, huh?"

A sly smile appeared on his face. Then, with enthusiasm, he added:

"Well, you're in the right place! I know every single plant in this garden. If you like, I can show you the best flowers here and help you choose the perfect one for your beloved."

Vincent, however, quickly shook his head.

"Oh, no no! We don't want to trouble you, Mr. Foss. After all, I'm sure we can manage just fine on our own! Well, I hope so, actually…"

But Edward wasn't discouraged.

"No trouble at all, Professor! It's a pleasure for me! And who better than an old gardener to help you choose the right flowers?"

Vincent tried to insist again, lightly waving a hand to politely decline the offer.

"Really, I don't want to take up your precious time. It would make me feel guilty."

But Edward, with the persistence that only wise old men possess, continued:

"Don't say that, please! As you explained to me earlier, tonight will be a special moment for you, right? So, it's not a bother at all! Helping you would be an honor, Professor Shirkenn. And besides, without the help of a gardener, you certainly wouldn't be able to trim the flowers with the right delicacy, avoiding ruining them, and then create a well-balanced bouquet that truly expresses the beauty of each individual flower."

Vincent, visibly torn, ran a hand through his hair.

After a moment of reflection, he sighed deeply and finally gave in.

"Alright, Mr. Foss," he murmured. "We'll accept your kind help. Thank you."

With a smile that lit up his face, Edward gestured for the two to follow him along the garden paths, like an old captain guiding his young sailors towards a safe harbor.

So, the three of them began walking among the flowers, while Edward spoke passionately about nature.

* * *

Despite having spent his whole life in the castle, Mirac had only been in the garden a few times and had never explored it deeply.

He had always stopped in the picnic area, immediately to the right of the entrance, in the company of his mother or Carmen, and sometimes even his sister Michelle.

But now, as he ventured further, he discovered the vastness and hidden beauty of the place.

The immense royal garden stretched as far as the eye could see, a true labyrinth of colors and fragrances. The flowers, of every species and variety, swayed gently under the caress of the late afternoon breeze, as if dancing to the rhythm of an invisible melody.

Their footsteps echoed on the white gravel path, which wound like veins through the meadow, still dotted with shades of green, but already marked by the first tones of autumn, with the grass turning yellow in spots.

The air, infused with the scent of wet earth, carried the signs of the season, while the flowers, having reached the end of their bloom, continued to miraculously shine with colors that defied the fleeting nature of time.

The trees, with their sturdy trunks and autumn-yellowed canopies, stood tall and majestic, their leaves falling lightly, dancing in the cool air.

Here and there, gardeners dressed in simple clothes worked diligently, pruning bushes and tending flowerbeds with meticulous care.

"By the way, young Prince," said Edward, smiling gently as only an old man could, "it's truly admirable of you to help Professor Shirkenn in this endeavor of his." 

"Do you think so?" replied Mirac, without showing much interest in the compliment.

"Absolutely!" Edward continued with a smile. "Lending a hand in matters of love is one of the noblest acts of generosity."

Vincent turned towards Mirac, his expression oscillating between curiosity and a need for understanding.

"Young Prince... May I ask you something?"

Mirac regarded him intently.

"Go ahead."

Vincent paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the boy.

"Why are you helping me with all this?"

Mirac stopped for a moment, his gaze lost among the branches of the trees.

"The reason, huh?" he repeated thoughtfully.

Then, looking up at the sky, he said:

"I'm not sure..."

He was lying!

Throughout his previous life, the only person Vector had truly fallen in love with was a certain Laila, a schoolmate whose beauty was so stunning it made the eyes of anyone who crossed her path sparkle!

Perhaps it was precisely because of this that Vector had never mustered the courage to talk to her.

Every day he postponed the attempt, paralyzed by the fear of not being good enough and terrified that her rejection might shatter him. 

He kept telling himself that, sooner or later, the right moment would come: a perfect instant when words would flow naturally, and everything would feel easier. 

However, that moment never came...

Five years later, Laila graduated and left school, vanishing like a dream at dawn. 

Vector was left behind, burdened by a regret that had accompanied him for the rest of his life: an invisible weight that, over time, had bent his shoulders in his miserable existence.

And now, helping Vincent avoid making the same mistake felt like a form of redemption for Mirac!

It was an opportunity to make amends through someone else, to prevent another person from being haunted by the void of something he himself hadn't had the courage to do.

A few days earlier, while trying to convince Vincent to take the leap and confess his feelings, Mirac had felt as if he were speaking to his past self from his previous life!

Perhaps that was why he had been so insistent, even offering to help with something as simple as choosing flowers.

But, of course, he couldn't share any of this with Vincent, so he tried to justify himself with a quick improvisation:

"Maybe it's because you're my Professor," Mirac suddenly added in a steady voice. "But I'll be honest. At first, I saw you as a rather eccentric, almost quirky kind of person!"

"A-Ah, really?" asked Vincent, trying to ignore that 'insult'.

"Yes, Professor. However!..."

He paused briefly, allowing a warm smile to soften his features. His expression grew gentler as he continued in a more heartfelt tone:

"As time went on, you guided me and taught me everything I know today. For that, I'll always be deeply grateful to you! Helping you now with Carmen feels like the least I can do."

That said, Mirac turned his gaze back to Vincent. His tone grew more serious, though no less encouraging:

"Ah, before we proceed! I just want to remind you that, of course, there's no guarantee things will go as you hope. No one can assure you that Carmen won't reject you."

"Oh, of course!" Vincent exclaimed. "I was fully aware of that, young Prince. I am absolutely prepared in case things don't go as planned... Don't worry."

"Good. I just wanted to make sure you were ready for that possibility as well," Mirac replied with a nod. "Anyway, getting back to the question you asked me earlier…"

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words, then added with a touch of emotion in his voice:

"I'm not quite sure how to explain it, but... I just felt deep down that I had to help you, Professor Shirkenn. It was something I couldn't ignore. That's all."

The silence that followed was laden with unspoken meaning, but Vincent received it with a smile, perhaps feeling more confident than he had just a few minutes earlier.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, young Prince," he replied, visibly moved by the boy's words. "Once again, thank you for all your support!"

Edward, too, with a nod of his head and a gentle hand placed on Mirac's shoulder, offered an affectionate smile.

"Wise words, young Prince. You truly have a noble heart."

Mirac returned their smiles, feeling comforted by their words.

Then the three resumed their walk, their steps light upon the path bordered by flowers and trees.

* * *

Here and there, amidst the flowering bushes, marble statues emerged—some clearly visible, others partially hidden, as if shy in their silent beauty.

The flowerbeds, perfectly tended, looked like paintings, with shades ranging from the deep blue of cornflowers to the bright red of dahlias, and the brilliant yellow of sunflowers.

As they moved deeper into the garden, Edward, with the practiced eye of someone who knew every secret of the place, paused occasionally to point out flowers he thought might make the perfect bouquet. He showcased daisies with petals as pure as snow, suggested lilies with an intoxicating fragrance, or envisioned compositions of vibrant tulips mixed with delicate violets.

Vincent, however, seemed unable to make a decision. Each time he heard a suggestion, he shook his head with a dissatisfied expression, even before Mirac could offer his opinion.

"Oh, uhm, how should I put it... I don't think it's quite... special enough," he murmured softly, as if even he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for.

Edward, patient and understanding, didn't let himself be discouraged.

Throughout their journey, the old gardener continued to suggest flowers with his usual enthusiasm, but Vincent declined each proposal with gentle politeness, eventually admitting, disheartened, that no bouquet seemed worthy of Carmen.

Meanwhile, the sun had begun to set, painting the sky with strokes of vivid orange, tinged with hues of pink and lilac. The clouds had transformed into an impressionist palette, a serene prelude to the approaching evening.

Vincent, increasingly dejected, lowered his gaze. His shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of disappointment.

"I'm sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Foss," Vincent said hesitantly, letting his arms fall to his sides. His eyes betrayed a sense of guilt that seemed heavier than he wanted to admit.

Edward, with the calm demeanor of someone accustomed to seeing the good in every situation, placed a reassuring hand on Vincent's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Professor Shirkenn," he said with a warm smile. "We'll find something that will make you feel confident and proud to present yourself to Carmen."

Vincent nodded slowly, though the anxiety hadn't yet left him.

"Thank you," he replied in a low voice, as if afraid of being an even greater burden. "But she'll be back soon… So we'd better hurry."

They walked in silence for several minutes, until they reached a magnificent expanse of white roses...