Math Is Magic

After the impact with the tree, Mirac fell to the ground, his body shaking with uncontrollable tremors, his breath ripped from his lungs. Every fiber of his body screamed in pain, a pain that seemed endless.

"D-Damn it!" Mirac stammered, his thoughts clouded by torment and frustration. "I-I was so close!"

Every breath he took was a titanic effort. Yet, against all logic, his heart continued to beat, slow and distant, like a drum in the distance.

It was truly a miracle that he was still alive!

With slow, uncertain movements, Mirac managed to lift himself slightly, leaning his back against the rough trunk of the tree. The bark scratched his battered skin, but Mirac no longer felt anything except the pain that flooded his body.

He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking in vain refuge from the pain, as the beating of his heart grew weaker, more distant.

Meanwhile, just as life seemed to slip away from him, warmth returned to radiate through his body. It wasn't just any warmth: it was intense, burning, like a flame that burned from within, awakening every fiber of his being. A sensation that blurred the line between relief and torment.

When Mirac opened his eyes again, the world seemed suspended in an unreal moment of calm.

A little further ahead of him stood Vincent. His imposing figure stood out amid the play of shadows and light, illuminated by the weak rays of the sunset filtering through the leaves.

"Tsk! Damn it!" Vincent scoffed with disdain, pulling the bloodstained blade of Mirac's second sword from his hand.

The blood slowly dripped down his fingers, but the assassin seemed unaware or uncaring.

After throwing away Mirac's second weapon, Vincent began to approach his prey, with slow and measured steps.

Every movement was a declaration of his superiority, a reminder that the battle was already decided.

Finally, Vincent stopped in front of Mirac, looking down at him with an expression filled with fury and contempt.

"You, little bastard!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with venom. "How did you get those two swords?"

As he asked the question, Vincent tilted his head slightly, his cold eyes analyzing every detail of the injured boy.

Only then did he notice the stump of Mirac's left arm, wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.

"And what's that?" Vincent snarled again, his voice thick with disbelief. "Did you treat yourself? Where the hell did you get all that 'magic gauze' from? The old decrepit man from before had barely given you a piece for a finger! Did you have more hidden? Come on, answer me!"

The questions came one after another like lashings, but Mirac didn't answer. Not a word left his lips.

He breathed with difficulty, each breath a knife piercing his lungs. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, a grim reminder of his terrible condition.

Yet, Mirac didn't avert his gaze.

His small, piercing eyes fixed on Vincent with unrelenting ferocity.

There was no fear in that gaze: only pure, burning hatred!

Despite his body being shattered, his spirit still burned, a flame that refused to be extinguished.

"Go to hell, you bastard!" Mirac exploded, his words soaked with anger and pain.

Struggling to speak, a hot gush of blood filled his mouth, staining his chin. But he didn't even bother to wipe it away—not that he had the strength to do so.

Vincent watched the scene with a perverse expression, his lips curling into a contemptuous smile.

"Huh!" he scoffed sarcastically. "You shouldn't be using swear words at your tender age, young Prince..."

No matter how much Mirac tried to appear strong in front of his enemy, every fiber of his being screamed the ruthless truth:

There was no escape!

There was no salvation!

He had lost.

And soon, he would die... Again!

The last chance to turn his fate around had dissolved with his previous plan.

And now, there was nothing left but to face the inevitable.

Mirac knew this all too well, and the awareness burned more than the wounds tormenting him.

Meanwhile, Vincent continued to study him in silence, like a predator evaluating its prey before the final strike. His eyes swept over Mirac's face, hoping to catch a glimpse of fear in his expression, a crack that would add a final touch to his sadistic pleasure.

But those green eyes, fixed and stubborn, betrayed nothing.

"It doesn't matter if you don't want to answer me," Vincent said, suddenly breaking the silence with a feigned kindness in his voice. "But… are you sure you don't want to cry? Don't you want to despair? Beg me to spare you? Who knows... maybe, if you kneel and pray, I might reconsider…"

The words slithered through the air like sharp blades, but Mirac didn't give in.

"Heh, b-beg you?" the boy whispered in a broken voice, strained by exhaustion and pain. "I actually thought about it earlier…"

For a moment, Mirac stared at his right hand, the only one he had left.

With a strangled breath, his eyes ignited with a wild light.

"But you know what?!"

Then, with a movement that seemed impossible for such a broken body, his hand grabbed Vincent's pants, clutching with all the strength he had left. His knuckles turned white from the effort.

"I've changed my mind!" 

Mirac's expression was a mask of fury, mixed with defiance, despite his obvious weakness. 

His eyes, two green abysses filled with hatred, slowly lifted until they met Vincent's.

"I'd rather die... than have to beg someone like you!" exclaimed Mirac, with whatever breath he had left, a flare of anger that illuminated the darkness of the moment.

With that, in a contemptuous gesture, Mirac released his hold on the assassin's pants.

"Huh!" Vincent snorted, as if the gesture were little more than an annoyance.

A twisted smile distorted his face, turning it into a mask of disdain.

"You should have chosen your last words better..." he replied, his tone venomous, sarcasm laced with a cruel coldness.

Without saying another word, Vincent raised his right hand, gripping the tie tightly. Every muscle in his body was tense, like a rope ready to snap.

The silence that fell between them was absolute, an oppressive void that seemed to hold the breath of the entire world. For a moment, it seemed that even nature itself had stopped to witness the crucial moment.

As Vincent prepared to deliver the final blow, Mirac's mind was overwhelmed by a tide of memories, shattered images flashing too quickly to be grasped. Yet each one left a painful imprint on his heart.

Slowly, the days when Vincent had been nothing but his teacher resurfaced. A solid, almost paternal figure, who had guided him with patience and dedication.

Every lesson, every exchange of words, every awkward moment that had ultimately led to a shared laugh, had once carried the pure, reassuring taste of friendship, of a bond that Mirac had believed unbreakable.

But now those memories crumbled, unable to withstand the weight of betrayal. A betrayal so deep and unexpected that it turned the warmth of the past into unbearable cold.

Every fragment of memory seemed to fade into the cruel reality of that moment, replaced by the cutting chill of imminent death.

Yet, amid the whirlpool of memories, one question forcefully emerged in Mirac's mind, painful in its clarity: why, now that he was about to die, wasn't he reliving the precious moments spent with his family?

After all, in his previous death, his last thoughts had been entirely focused on his parents.

The question tormented him, bouncing in his mind: had something changed in him?

Had the pain of betrayal smothered those memories?

Or perhaps the devastating hatred he now felt for Vincent had overshadowed even the images of those he had loved most in this life?

But no matter how hard he tried, in those few seconds that felt eternal, Mirac couldn't find the answer.

'Oh, right! I could have asked him why he's doing all of this...' Mirac thought, the fleeting thought crossing his mind in that brief moment of waiting. 'Discover his motivations, who presumably hired him to kill me... But it doesn't matter! Even if I did, it wouldn't change anything now.'

A bitter smile formed on his lips.

'Heh, but in the end, it really has been a beautiful life... I'd definitely say better than the other one...' Mirac thought, trying to comfort himself. 'And who knows? Maybe I'll be lucky enough to reincarnate again...'

And as his mind was enveloped by that soft, fleeting hope, his eyes caught no hint of hesitation in Vincent.

His gaze was cold, devoid of empathy: it was like a judge about to pass an irrevocable sentence.

Mirac stared at him helplessly, his heart pounding like a mad drum, his breath short and broken. Terror and hatred mixed in his eyes, but his body, consumed by pain, was now incapable of reacting.

The only thing he could do now was stare at his executioner.

"Goodbye, young Prince!" Vincent declared, his voice cold and triumphant.

In an instant, the sword-tie soared through the air, moving with such speed that Mirac could barely perceive its movement.

The sword-tie flew straight towards the young Prince's forehead, ready to split him in two, just as it had done to Edward.

Time seemed to slow once again.

The sword-tie was now only millimeters from Mirac's skin.

The young Prince closed his eyes, his heart gripped in a silent farewell to life.

He was ready for the end.

But then, suddenly, a wild scream pierced the silence.

"AAAAUGH!!! DAMN IT!!! What the hell was that?!"

Mirac opened his eyes, stunned and confused.

The blow that should have ended his life had been stopped by something incomprehensible.

In front of him, Vincent, who a moment ago had been an unrelenting and confident figure, was now stumbling backward, his face filled with pure shock.

His right hand—the armed one—had instinctively pulled back. With his other hand, Vincent covered his left eye, from which blood was suddenly pouring out, staining the ground with crimson patches.

'W-What happened?!' Mirac wondered, still unable to comprehend what had stopped the attack.

Vincent, with a stifled groan, but also with surgical slowness, slipped his thumb and index finger into the hole that now marred the lens of his glasses. His hand, meticulous in its movements but slightly trembling from the pain that tormented him, extracted a small stone embedded in his left eye. 

The left lens seemed to have been shattered from the impact of that tiny stone.

This, in turn, had released tiny shards of glass, scattering across his face and around him, sparkling in the warm light of the sunset like broken stars.

'That stone... How the hell did it get into his eye?' Mirac wondered, a shiver of confusion running down his spine.

Although he had no idea how it had happened, he felt a sense of relief. It didn't take a genius to understand that the tiny stone had saved his life by halting Vincent's fatal strike.

'First the sword, and now this stone...' thought Mirac. 'Someone is secretly trying to help me? But who? Who could be behind all of this?!'

But just as he was trying to make sense of the situation, Mirac's eyes widened in surprise.

"What the-?!"

His mouth dropped open in utter disbelief as he couldn't believe what he was seeing: Vincent's appearance was changing before his eyes, like a mirage disintegrating!

'And now… who the hell is he?!' Mirac wondered, his mind racing as he tried to grasp the situation.

The man in front of him was no longer the same. He was no longer "Professor Shirkenn"!

The face marked by time and experience seemed to dissolve, giving way to a new identity.

The gray hair disappeared, replaced by a black mane framing a completely different face. The body, once frail, had become more robust and vigorous, reflecting an age that was clearly younger than his previous physical appearances.

"Dammit!!!" Vincent—or whoever he was—continued to curse, while the pain made him tremble with rage.

With his left eye and half of his face still covered by his hand, his angry gaze shifted past Mirac, aiming toward the trees behind him.

It seemed he was staring at someone, a figure hidden in the shadows.

"Y-You..." Vincent stammered, the shock vibrating clearly in his voice.

Behind Mirac, the sound of footsteps broke the silent air.

Dry leaves crackled under slow, calculated, almost serene steps, in stark contrast to the chaos of the moment.

Mirac, too exhausted even to wonder who it was, remained still, his head spinning as he sensed the presence drawing closer.

'Is someone coming? Maybe it's the same person who gave me the sword and just saved me?'

Accompanying that uncertain thought, a shiver ran down Mirac's spine. But it wasn't so much because of the biting cold of the evening.

It was the threatening presence of the approaching third individual that made him tremble, and Vincent seemed to share the same unease.

Whoever they were, Mirac thought, they must have been skilled and strong enough to throw the stone directly into Vincent's eye, without him having time to react. Considering how long it was taking to get closer, that person must have also had incredible aim and an extraordinary strength for the throw.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.

Mirac had no doubt that the person who, according to his assumptions, had saved his life was now to his right.

He tried to move his head to finally see who his supposed savior was, but his neck, sore from fatigue and injuries, prevented him from moving for a moment.

When he finally managed to make the movement to turn, he found himself staring at a familiar figure, their silhouette outlined against the twilight light.

"I hope you're doing well, young Prince. Please forgive me for making you wait so long..."

Her voice was filled with the usual calmness and kindness.

Mirac blinked a couple of times to focus his vision.

Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze, starting from the person's feet and slowly moving up along their body, until he reached and immediately recognized the face.

For a moment, Mirac was speechless, unable to say or think anything.

To his right, standing and holding the same sword he had been holding just moments before, that person was staring intently at Vincent.

'W-What...?!' Mirac finally snapped out of the shock, his eyes wide.

To make sure it wasn't an hallucination, or perhaps simply because he was relieved to see her there by his side, Mirac weakly stammered her name:

"C-Carmen?!"