Chapter 37: Hypothesis of an Unnamed Epic

Amid the blazing heat of midsummer, the rice fields have begun to sprout ears.

From here, those ears will fill with grains, swell, and lead to the bountiful harvest of autumn. It’s a critical time. While rice cultivation is important throughout the spring and fall, extra care is needed once the ears begin to form.

Last year, I skimped too much on the grain-filling fertilizer, resulting in many light, poor-quality husks. This year, I’m using more fertilizer than last year to ensure better grain filling.

With no new production of chemical fertilizers, high-quality fertilizers are now precious. Back before the Gremlin Disaster, we could spread fertilizer generously to ensure a better harvest, but now, we must carefully measure and conserve it.

I’ve been trying to produce organic fertilizer by fermenting human waste and food scraps in a compost pile, but it hasn’t gone well. Apparently, the waste output of a single person isn’t enough to produce a sufficient amount.

A compost pile made from one person’s daily waste is too small. When the pile is too small, the heat generated during fermentation escapes too quickly, preventing the temperature from rising. Without adequate heat, harmful bacteria and parasites don’t die off, and without their elimination, good-quality compost can’t be made.

If I try to force the temperature up with fire or boiling water, I end up killing the beneficial microorganisms that shouldn’t be destroyed.

These complications make it difficult for someone living alone to produce high-quality compost.

Recently, I started living with three fire lizards, but since their primary diet is charcoal and they don’t poop, they only burp out gas that smells like exhaust fumes.

In urban areas, where there’s a massive amount of waste, fertilizer production seems to be going well. Importing fertilizer is an option, but I’m hesitant to depend on external sources for something so essential. It’d be a problem if they started demanding, “If you want fertilizer, do this and that!”—although I admit that might just be my paranoia talking.

While tending to my rice fields and working on a design for a contraption that uses insulation, steam pressure, and a brazier to automatically maintain a constant temperature in the compost pile, I received a letter from Professor Ōhinata.

The letter began with the usual seasonal greetings, updates about urban life, and answers to my questions, but one line made my eyes widen: “I’d like to visit you soon.”

Professor Ōhinata is well aware of my discomfort around people and has always been considerate of that, so I was surprised by this sudden suggestion. Reading further, I found out why: “I’ve succeeded in stabilizing transformation magic.”

What!?

Does that mean she can now switch freely between her stoat mode and her humanoid beast mode!? That’s incredible!

If she plans to visit in her small, fluffy, adorable stoat form, there’s no reason to say no. Excited, I wrote back with a letter of enthusiastic welcome.

The Blue Witch, who delivers our letters, had already seen the professor in her transformed state and gave her seal of approval: “Kei-chan as a stoat was adorable.” That only made me more excited.

Despite her many responsibilities as the president of Tokyo Magic University, a linguistics professor, and an advisor to the Witches’ Gathering, Professor Ōhinata managed to arrange her schedule and visited Okutama at the beginning of September.

Through the mist of confusion surrounding the area, a white stoat appeared, walking at the feet of the Blue Witch. Seeing the tiny creature immediately brought a smile to my face. Welcome to Okutama Park!

“Sensei, it’s been a while.”
“It has! I’m so happy to see you again, Dairi-san!”

I crouched in front of the Stoat, who had run up to my feet, and shook her tiny paw. Around her fluffy Stoat body, an amulet pendant on a shortened chain swung lightly.

So that’s why she suddenly transformed into an Stoat. Turns out it’s been a long-term project.

The pendant she wore was an amulet I had given her half a year ago. She had requested a locket-style design to hold her father’s photo and asked that the chain length be adjustable. I hadn’t thought much of the request at the time, but now I understood the reasoning. She wanted the chain to be adaptable so she could wear the pendant in both her human and stoat forms.

“I’m happy to see you as a Stoat, but are you okay with this, Professor?”
“Okay with what?”
“Isn’t being in human form your preference? Or do you gain special abilities in Stoat mode?”

For example, the Dragon Witch, whose default form is human, constantly transforms into a dragon because of the immense power it provides: no incantations needed to breathe fire, the ability to fly, strong scales, and other unmatched advantages. Plus, the dragon form suits her personality perfectly.

I wondered if Stoat mode also had some advantages, but the professor shook her head.

“No, there are no special abilities. In fact, being human is sturdier, more dexterous, and faster to move around. As an Stoat, I get hungry more often, can’t eat as many things, and shed a lot.”
“Then there’s no benefit…”
“Oh, but there is a benefit!”
“Like what?”
“I get to meet you like this.”

The professor said this with a radiant smile, without a hint of embarrassment.

Wait… is that really a “benefit”?

“What, do you like me or something?”

“Yes! In this form, can we be friends?”

What was meant as a casual remark was met with an overly enthusiastic counterpunch.

Yikes, outgoing people are scary! We’re speaking the same language, but every word of hers radiates light. It’s terrifying. I can’t comprehend these sunny personalities.

“Did you work hard to master transformation magic just to be friends with me?”
“Yes.”
“Why? I mean, not to put myself down, but I don’t think I’m the kind of person anyone would go to such lengths to befriend.”

When I expressed my genuine confusion, the Blue Witch, who had been watching, nodded deeply in agreement, much to my annoyance.

“You’ll pay for this in Jenga later!” 

I glared at her.

“Well, the reason I wanted to be friends is simply that I wanted to be friends.” 

Said the professor.

“…What?”
“From the moment I first met you, I thought, ‘I want to get along with this person. I want to be friends.’ Is that so strange?”
“It is strange.”
“Kei-chan has always been like this. Dairi, haven’t you ever met anyone like Kei-chan before?”

Sensing that our conversation was going in circles, the Blue Witch chimed in with her input. Despite her reputation for intelligence, Professor Ōhinata’s reasoning was beyond me. Having a third opinion was helpful.

“I really don’t get it. What’s going on here?”

“There’s no logic to it. Basically, Kei-chan is friendly and social. You know that, right? Even someone as hopeless as you, Dairi, she’s willing to befriend, and she puts in the effort to make that happen.”

“Friendship isn’t something you work hard at. You just click, get along naturally, and before you know it, you’re friends. Like you and me.”

“…Well, that kind of friendship exists too. But for Kei-chan, friendship isn’t like that.”

“?????”

Though spoken gently, I still didn’t understand.

So, what’s the point? This was beyond my comprehension.

Even though I managed to untangle the complicated human relationships stemming from the Flame Witch’s reckless actions, I couldn’t grasp what Professor Ōhinata was thinking.

As I held my head in frustration, Professor Ōhinata wagged her tail nervously, while the Blue Witch sighed and summarized the situation.

“Follow your heart. Forget your definition of friendship for a moment. How did you feel when Kei-chan asked you to be her friend?”

“I thought, ‘Extroverts are scary.’”

“You idiot… well, whatever. But did you dislike it?”

“I… didn’t hate it, I guess?”

We’d been pen pals for years, so I knew that Professor Ōhinata was a good person.

Her letters were always clear and kind, and she always sent snacks along. While we didn’t vibe personality-wise, she was undeniably genuine and straightforward.

When she asked me to be her friend, I was startled, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“I see. I think I get what you’re saying now.”

“Good. Then you know how to respond to Kei-chan, right?”

Prompted by that, I turned to face the Stoat once again.

With her tail raised high and looking a bit tense, Professor Ōhinata waited for my response.

“I didn’t feel bad about it. Friends are fine.”

“You’ll be friends with me?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Thank you! Let’s be good friends!”

Professor Ōhinata hopped up and down in joy, clearly delighted.

Adorable.

If this adorable creature is this happy about it, being friends isn’t so bad.

But there was one problem.

Nodding thoughtfully, I turned to the Blue Witch, who looked satisfied.

“If I become friends with Professor Ōhinata, I’ll have to reevaluate my relationship with you.”

“What are you going on about now?”

“No, think about it. You and I have a pretty high friendship level, right? Now there’s Professor Ōhinata, but the level of closeness is different, and it feels weird to lump you both into the same ‘friend’ category.”

“So that’s what you’re worried about. You’re overthinking it, Dairi. Just call us both friends. There are all kinds of friends.”

“Nope, I’m not satisfied with that. From today, you’re my best friend.”

The Blue Witch froze at my words.

She sure freezes up a lot. It’s hard to read her expressions with that mask.

“…Best friend, huh. I don’t mind. But if our relationship changes to best friends, you should consider the possibility that it might evolve into something else someday.”

“Huh? Is there a level above best friends?”

“If you don’t understand, then forget it. More importantly, if we’re best friends now, calling me the Blue Witch is too formal. Start using my name.”

“Ah, true. That’s just a habit. Blue, Blue… what was it? Blue-something? It’s what’s written on the nameplate at your place, right?”

“It’s Aoyama. Aoyama Hiyori.”

“Alright, Hiyori it is.”

“You’re switching to first names just like that? What’s up with your sense of distance? Honestly.”

As Hiyori—formerly the Blue Witch—muttered complaints, I tugged her sleeve, caught the still-bouncing Stoat in one hand, and headed into the house, feeling giddy.

Three people meant we could play cards in the living room! Two-player card games were limited and boring. Board games also became much more fun with three people.

Having more friends is great. But any more than this would be too much.

We spent the rest of the morning playing cards and board games.

Professor Ōhinata was incredible at both. Her moves were sharp, but her negotiating skills were even sharper.

If you accepted what seemed like mutually beneficial deals, you’d realize she’d won before you knew it. And if you refused her requests, you still couldn’t win. She was absurdly strong.

Out of spite, I crushed them in Jenga and sugoroku, but Hiyori, who only ever managed to place second or third in all the games, ended up sulking. She did win one board game, but she dismissed it as “a pity win” and even yelled at the innocent Stoat, declaring it a “null match.”

I couldn’t tell if it really was a pity win, but if it was, it was way too convincing.

Lunch was simple: salt-grilled sweetfish, rice cooked in a pot, cucumber pickles, and miso soup—all homemade.

Hiyori, who often came over for lunch, didn’t react, but the Stoat exaggerated her joy as she buried her face in the small plate of Japanese food.

Delicious, isn’t it? My cooking is both skillful and tasty. Back in elementary school home economics class, I made a hyper-realistic rabbit apple that left the teacher speechless. Skilled people don’t mess up in the kitchen.

After eating and feeling full, we naturally decided to take it easy instead of gaming.

While sipping tea (the leaves brought by Professor Ōhinata), we listened to her talk about her recent activities.

“Sensei, you seem busy, but are you free today?”

“I made time for today.”

“So, you’re usually busy, huh.”

“Yes, I’d say so.”

“What have you been up to lately? Lectures? Research?”

“Hmm. Let’s see, something interesting recently would be…”

The Stoat crossed it’s tiny arms in thought.

Hiyori, who had been sipping tea with her mask pulled slightly aside, prompted her.

“From what I know, the ‘Unnamed Epic’ was pretty interesting. Why don’t you share that with Dairi?”

“Oh? The Unnamed Epic…!”

I didn’t know what it was, but the name alone sounded cool.

Hearing words like “unnamed” or “epic” revived my middle-school excitement. This sounds fascinating!

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Let me give you an overview. The ‘Unnamed Epic Hypothesis’ might be key to understanding magic linguistics. This theory emerged thanks to the increased number of magic incantation samples collected through envoys from the Tohoku Hunting Association and the Hokkaido Beast Ranch.”

Apparently, some magic incantations revealed links between them.

The content of one incantation seemed connected to another, and their effects were related.

From this, researchers speculated that many magic incantations might actually be excerpts from a single, massive text.

“The biggest trigger for the hypothesis came from the curse-killing spell and the reflection spell. There’s a curse-killing spell meant to curse someone to death, and it goes like this: ‘I love you, Natu Yawe. But Dennye, I’m a Clara demon, so Baien, this is Fukushiwah, my way of showing Clara love, Fifi Yawe.’

As she spoke, the professor wrote down the translation of the spell on a notepad.

I read the translation and was completely put off. The fact that this incantation results in a death curse is seriously messed up.

“Demons are nuts. Their love is way too twisted.”

“I thought the same. Now, here’s the incantation for the magic reflection spell used by a witch at the Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm.’More than anyone else, Nshwon, first Wutahh, love yourself Honyala Yawe.’

As she explained, the professor wrote the translation of the reflection spell beneath the curse spell.

Looking at them side by side, you can clearly see the connection—or rather, the dialogue between them.

First,

‘I love you. But I’m a demon, so this is my way of showing love,’

the demon says while trying to curse someone to death.

In response, the target of the curse retorts:

‘Love yourself more than anyone else.’

With this, the distorted love is countered, and the curse is reflected back at the demon.

“This is basically a demon confessing its love and getting rejected by someone—probably a cleric. I mean, the response sounds like something a cleric would say.”

“Exactly! That’s the point. It functions as a proper exchange of dialogue, and as a magic effect, it successfully reflects the curse. The witch who uses the reflection spell was confused about why a spell with that kind of content would result in magic reflection. But when you consider the context of the curse spell, it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”

“Huh. That’s fascinating.”

It’s incredibly interesting.

I always thought spell translations had a poetic vibe to them.

But to think they’re actually fragments of poetry—or rather, parts of a poetic narrative—never occurred to me.

Once you hear it, it’s hard to think otherwise.

“In magic linguistics, the prevailing theory is that all magic incantations are excerpts from a single epic poem. Since we don’t know the title of this grand poem, we provisionally call it the Unnamed Epic.”

“That’s awesome. Whoever named it deserves a staff as a gift.”

“Haha, I’ll make sure to pass that along.”

The glimpses of the Unnamed Epic that can be gleaned from these spells are far too fragmented, and its full scope remains unknown.

However, it seems certain that demons and clerics appear in the story, and there’s someone who becomes a king partway through.

The Unnamed Epic, which is the source of all magic—man, I want to read it so bad.

“When you figure out the full text of the Unnamed Epic, let me know. I’m seriously interested.”

“Of course. Personally, I hope unraveling the content of the Nameless Epic will also shed light on the origins of the Shantak Meteor Shower that caused the Gremlin Disaster. Even though it’s a disaster that has already occurred, there’s no guarantee there won’t be a second or third time. Understanding its cause can only help….And honestly, I really just want to know the full text of the Unnamed Epic! It’s killing me!”

“The freezing spell I know has a pretty sorrowful vibe to it. I wonder if the Unnamed Epic has a happy ending.”

“Ugh, a bad-ending epic? That’s kind of depressing to think about.”

“I doubt it’s a simple bad ending. Even if it is, there’s bound to be some kind of moral or lesson in it. Of course, I’d be thrilled if it turns out to have a happy ending.”

For a while after that, we got totally fired up talking about the mysteries of the Nameless Epic.

Magic stone crafting and Gremlin refinement are deep fields.

But magic linguistics is just as deep.

I can’t wait to see where future research takes us.”

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