Another World Magician
Alt Korean Title: 속임수의 마법사 (The Magician of Deception)
Written by: [Xirus]
___________________________________________________________________
Drip… drip… drip…
The rain played its gentle melody against the windowpanes like fingers tapping on glass—soft, rhythmic, and endlessly patient. Outside, the world was blurred in gray, soaked in a quiet calm. It was the kind of rainy afternoon that made the old wooden orphanage creak and sigh.
Most of the children were tucked away under blankets in the dorms, dozing off or whispering stories under dim lights.
But not these two.
In the corner of the aging library, where dust motes danced lazily in the amber glow of a flickering lamp, Kim Jiwon and Han Nari sat like two mismatched pieces of a single puzzle.
Nari, leaned against the bookshelf, her legs curled beneath her. A thick, worn-out novel sat in her lap—its pages weathered and soft from endless rereads. Her expression shifted constantly as she read: a small smile curled her lips one moment, a faint gasp the next. Sometimes, her brow would knit in frustration, only to soften again into a dreamy sigh.
She giggled once, quietly. Then turned a page and frowned like the book had just insulted her.
Jiwon glanced at her.
"…You okay?" he asked.
"Huh?" She looked up, blinking. "Yeah. Just—this part's ridiculous."
She didn't explain. She didn't have to. This was the fifth time she was reading the same book.
Jiwon smirked to himself and returned to his own mystery—an old photo album resting on his knees.
His brows furrowed as he studied the black-and-white images inside. A man held up a deck of cards mid-performance, his grin captured in motion. A woman levitated just above the stage floor, eyes closed, hair flowing like she was caught in a dream. Another page showed a coin vanishing between fingers. No wires. No props. Just… magic.
But it wasn't magic. It couldn't be.
Jiwon, age seven, wasn't the type to believe in miracles. But he believed in questions. And this album—this puzzle left beside him when he was just a baby—was full of them.
How did they do it?
"Still trying to figure it out?" Nari asked without looking up.
He nodded slightly.
"There's no way a person could float like this," he murmured. "Not without cables or mirrors… but I've flipped through this a hundred times. There's nothing to see."
"Maybe that's the point," she said, smiling faintly.
Jiwon didn't answer. His mind was chewing through the details, the possibilities. What angle was the photo taken from? What kind of stage was it? Was it edited? Could someone back then even edit this?
He didn't notice the way he'd been leaning forward, lips slightly parted in thought.
Nari looked up from her book, her voice softer this time. "You're always so serious when you read that thing."
"I'm not being serious," he muttered. "I'm thinking."
She laughed quietly.
"You think too much for a seven-year-old."
Jiwon turned another page, "You read the same book over and over."
"So?"
"What's so special about it?" he asked, glancing sideways. "You never tell me."
Nari held the book up like a sacred treasure. "It's called The Heroine and the Swordsman."
He blinked. "That's it?"
She shrugged, but her smile turned thoughtful. "It's about a girl who falls in love with someone she probably shouldn't. And… she tries her best, even when everyone else gives up on her. There also this villainess who try to protect his love one from being stolen by the heroine"
Jiwon tilted his head, studying her face. She didn't elaborate. Her eyes had gone distant, like they were watching scenes unfold in a different world.
"…Sounds dramatic," he said.
"It is. That's what makes it good." She hugged the book to her chest. "Sometimes… people like me need a little drama."
Jiwon arched an eyebrow. "People like you?"
"Cute and kind big sister with a bratty little brother," she teased him with a little chuckle.
He scoffed but said nothing.
The room returned to quiet, broken only by the drip of rain and the soft rustle of pages.
Jiwon stared at a photo of a man smiling with his arms outstretched, cards blooming between his fingers like petals.
"Why would someone work so hard just to fool people?" he asked aloud, mostly to himself. "Isn't that just lying?"
Nari looked at him for a moment.
"That the magic part" she said. "Any magician can make any sadness disappear."
Jiwon's eyes didn't leave the album. "That doesn't make sense."
She chuckled. "It doesn't have to. That's what makes it magic."
Magic, he repeated in his mind.
Jiwon didn't look up. His eyes were glued to the page showing a man pulling a dove from an empty hat. "How did he do that?" he mumbled.
Nari walked over and flopped onto the floor beside him. Her knees were scraped, her sweater sleeves too long, and her black braid flopped forward as she leaned in.
"He probably just put the bird in the hat when no one was looking," she said matter-of-factually.
"But how?" Jiwon insisted, frowning. "Where was it hiding before that? The picture before this shows his hands empty. No bird."
"Maybe he's a real magician," Nari whispered, eyes widening playfully.
Jiwon snorted. "There's no such thing as real magic."
She smiled. "Then… maybe he's just really good at tricking people."
That made Jiwon pause.
Yes. That was it. Tricks.
If someone could make people believe a bird came from nowhere, what else could they make you believe?
He traced the edge of the photo with a fingertip, gaze locked. "I want to figure out how they did it."
Nari tilted her head. "Why?"
"I don't know..." He paused. His little brows furrowed. "If I can understand this… then maybe I can understand why someone would make something seem so real when it's not."
She blinked. "That sounds lonely."
Jiwon didn't answer. Instead, he flipped to the next page—an illusion where a coin disappeared between two fingers.
Nari leaned her head on his shoulder. "Well, if you're going to become a magician, I'll be your assistant!"
"I'm not becoming a magician," Jiwon muttered, but his cheeks flushed.
"Oh?" She grinned. "Then I guess I'll be the magician, and you can be my audience."
He huffed and nudged her gently with his elbow. "You're too loud to be a magician."
They both laughed. It was that kind of laughter that only children in old places knew—quiet and bright and echoing off chipped walls like it belonged.
But for now, he closed the book and leaned back against the bookshelf, glancing once more at Nari. Her eyes were glued to her story again, brows furrowed in concern for a character he didn't know.
Jiwon smiled slightly.
"Hey, Nari," he asked.
"Mhm?"
"Do you think… I could learn magic too?" as he looked at the glimpse of Nari book about sword and magic world
She looked up, her eyes playful.
"You? You're already a magician, remember?"
He tilted his head. "Says who?"
"Says the time you vanished from the hallway without a trace last week." She grinned. "I turned around and poof! Gone."
"That wasn't magic," he mumbled, hiding a small smirk. "That was strategy."
"Well, my little magician," she said, "next time you disappear, make sure you leave a note."
The rain outside slowed to a gentle drizzle, the last few droplets slipping down the glass in lazy rivulets.
And in that quiet, glowing corner of the world—between fantasy and illusion—two siblings sat surrounded by stories, the beginnings of their own just starting to unfold.