"Why do you ask?"
"It's not that I want to do it, but there is a field I'm curious about."
"Oh?"
Shakora's eyes gleamed with intrigue.
From childhood, if she was taught one thing, she mastered a hundred. Whatever she pursued, she excelled.
"Go on. Your father will support you fully."
"No, I'm not saying I want to—just that I'm interested."
"Then I'll support that interest."
Amy's lips twisted bitterly.
Of course. I already know.
With the power and wealth of a first-tier noble family, nothing in this world was beyond reach.
Expecting her parents to simply cheer her on like doting fools was nothing but childish selfishness.
I have no choice but to accept.
Only after being humbled by commoners did she realize how petty it was to deny the Karmis family's influence.
I'll become the best.
Having made her decision, Amy spoke.
"Magic."
"Huh? What?"
"If you know anyone at the magic academy, introduce me."
Shirone kept silent about what had happened in the city.
This wasn't a simple matter. If he spoke up, he'd have to explain everything—including the incident at the magic academy.
He already understood just how extraordinary that day had been.
Whether it was a blessing or a curse, one thing was certain: once that line was crossed, there was no going back.
Geniuses know they're geniuses. And Shirone had vaguely sensed since childhood that he was different.
He never felt superior, but his desire to surpass his own limits burned fiercer than anyone's.
Yet he couldn't show it.
His parents were the most precious people in his world. Even in poverty, they never forced him down a wrong path—so the last thing he wanted was to burden them.
Life continued as usual.
He helped his mother with chores, and in the afternoons, he went to the nearby forest to chop wood.
But most of his time there wasn't spent swinging an axe—it was spent in meditation.
Ever since his awakening, Shirone had secretly trained in the Spirit Zone without missing a single day.
By the time a month passed, his speed in entering the Spirit Zone had improved dramatically.
But not everything came easily.
No matter how familiar he became with the Spirit Zone, he couldn't recreate the magic he'd cast in that alley.
Of course not.
That magic had been born from desperation—an unconscious surge of power.
Even if he replicated the same situation, the same emotions, knowing he'd succeeded once made imitation impossible.
To cast magic rationally, I'd need to understand every step of the process—beyond just insight.
But Shirone, with no formal training, had no way to learn.
Instead, he obsessively honed the one thing he could do: the Spirit Zone.
After meditation, he practiced Thunder Strikes.
Unlike before, once he began consciously attempting them, his success rate dropped.
The power of insight is incredible.
Sometimes, beginners succeed not through knowledge, but sheer instinct.
But unlike magic, chopping wood allowed for endless repetition.
Shirone corrected his mistakes one by one, swinging his axe dozens of times.
CRACK!
The tree fell with a satisfying crash.
But Shirone showed neither joy nor satisfaction—just calm focus as he began sawing.
He'd found an error. He'd fixed it. That was all.
"Tomorrow, and then tomorrow again."
He repeated the basics, over and over.
For the day my chance comes.
As he carried the wood home, Shirone's gaze burned brighter than ever.