Chapter 8: Stoat-Sensei

The Blue Witch had promised to bring me materials on magic linguistics, and I eagerly counted down the five days until our agreed meeting.

Since magic staffs are tools that enhance and support spells performed in magic languages, understanding magic linguistics is absolutely critical to their construction.

Trying to create a magic staff without knowledge of magic linguistics is like a CEO with no field experience attempting to manage a manufacturing plant. Sure, it’s doable, but it won’t go well.

I believed studying magic linguistics was essential for understanding and advancing the theoretical structure of magic staffs.

And, to be honest, I was also just deeply fascinated by magic linguistics.

Unlike the painful slog of studying English back in school, my enthusiasm now was sky-high. After all, it’s magic linguistics. Who wouldn’t be interested?

But five days later, my high hopes for receiving a bundle of magic linguistic materials were completely dashed.

The Blue Witch arrived as usual, dressed in her tattered black clothes, wielding her blue staff kyanos, and wearing her signature mask—but she wasn’t carrying any materials. Instead, there was a small animal perched on her shoulder.

“Hello! Nice to meet you! I’m Kei Ohinata!”

“It… it talked!?”

The small creature greeted me in the voice of a young girl.

It looked like a weasel, but its white fur made me think it was probably a ferret.

A ferret that could talk. Ferrets aren’t supposed to talk. And yet, here it was.

Which meant…

“A magic creature ferret!?”

“Haha, I guess I do look like one. But no, I’m actually a stoat. Also, I’m human.”

The ferret—no, stoat—scampered down the Blue Witch’s body, darted to my feet, and held out a tiny front paw.

The gesture made no sense, but I realized a beat later that it was offering a handshake. I crouched down and took the paw.

Its hand was so tiny! I just shook hands with a talking stoat. This was straight out of a fantasy—or maybe a fairy tale.

What an amusing little creature.

That being said, I didn’t order a talking stoat. I ordered magic linguistic materials.

What happened, delivery person? This isn’t what I asked for. Did you misdeliver my order?

“Where are the magic linguistic materials? Are they delayed? I was so excited to get them today, and instead, you bring me a stoat? This is disappointing.”

I could barely take care of myself, let alone a pet.

When I complained to the Blue Witch, she uncharacteristically looked pleased and said:

“Kei is from Ome, born and raised. Before the Gremlin Disaster, their parents divorced, and they moved to Minato Ward with their father, which is why they survived.”

“Oh, really? That’s great news.”

I sincerely congratulated her.

I knew how much the Blue Witch cared about Ome and its residents. If a survivor from Ome had been found—even in an unusual form—it was a joyous occasion.

“So, what? This stoat used to be human?”

“That’s right! A magic mishap turned me into this!”

With that, the stoat—Kei Ohinata—raised its tiny arms in a cheerful “banzai” pose.

It was ridiculously cute. I couldn’t help but smile.

I’d always hated those TV shows where animals were dubbed over with human voices, but an animal that actually spoke human language? That was undeniably adorable. I usually disliked both people and animals (blame the crop-raiding beasts for the latter), but somehow, this combination was charming.

Honestly, giving up being human might’ve been the best decision this stoat ever made—but thankfully, I had enough restraint not to say that out loud.

“So, a transformation accident, huh? Does that mean you’re a witch? Like, the Stoat Witch or something?”

“Nope! I’m a scholar of magic linguistics. The Blue Witch kindly introduced me because I heard you wanted a lecture on the subject!”

“……”

Kei bowed politely, its tiny head dipping low.

I pulled the Blue Witch aside behind the building.

Lowering my voice, I confronted her.

“Hey! I wanted materials, on paper! Why did you bring the researcher herself? Are you an idiot!?”

“I originally planned to bring the materials, but when I visited her lab, I realized Kei was from Ome.”

She said seemingly unbothered.

“And? So what?”

“She mentioned she’s interested in wand-making, so I brought her along.”

“Are you kidding me!?”

Hey, hey, did you tell her?

That there’s a wand-maker living in Okutama?

That there’s an introverted, unofficial living national treasure here?

That I, the one who created kyanos, am that very wand-maker?

Did you spill the beans!?

“You’re the one who told me to keep my existence a secret. So why’d you go blabbing?”

“Because, of course, I trust her.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Kei is from Ome, after all.”

The Blue Witch declared this as if it were as obvious as saying, “The sky is blue.”

This is bad. This person, normally calm and composed, is way too soft when it comes to people from Ome.

I thought we’d come to an agreement: I didn’t want to meet people, and she didn’t want my nuclear-bomb-level technology spreading around, so my existence was to remain hidden. But apparently, there was a trap hidden in that agreement.

I glanced over at the whimsical little creature fluttering its gaze after a butterfly in the distance.

Well, to be fair, Ohinata doesn’t even look remotely human—or act like one.

She’s just a cute little talking stoat. If you’re scared of something this small, adorable, and obviously defenseless, you’d have to fear every living thing.

I was the one who handed over all external interactions to the Blue Witch, so if she decided Ohinata could be trusted, I guess it’s fine?

Sure, getting magic linguistic materials on paper would’ve been ideal, but a talking stoat isn’t a bad alternative.

At least she’s not human. I’m glad she accidentally turned into a stoat. Please, stay like that forever.

Having finished my interrogation, I returned to the stoat and welcomed him.

This was my first time talking to someone in research.

I should probably call her “Sensei.”

“Thank you for coming today, Ohinata-sensei.”

“Yes! Thank you for having me! I’d love to learn more about kyanos!”

She bowed her little head, clasping her tiny paws together in front of her chest and puffing them out with determination.

Huh?

For a professor who studies magic linguistics, her voice and mannerisms feel awfully childish.

Could it be that while she looks like a stoat, she’s actually just a young-at-heart old lady?

No, wait a second.

The word “sensei” makes me think of someone middle-aged or older, but that doesn’t have to be the case.

Might as well ask.

“Pardon me, Ohinata-sensei, but may I ask how old you are?”

“I just turned twelve last month!”

What!? She’s just a kid!

Want a piece of candy?

Since standing around chatting wasn’t ideal, I invited Ohinata-sensei into my home. The Blue Witch, who was well-acquainted with my place, headed straight to the study after asking permission to read my manga collection.

Careful not to accidentally step on the little stoat, I guided Ohinata-sensei to my workshop. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Wow…!”

She scurried up onto the workbench, her tiny, round eyes glimmering as she darted around, marveling at the space.

“This is amazing! It’s just like a magic craftman’s workshop!”

“It looks like it, or rather, that’s exactly what it is.”

The Blue Witch had the same reaction the first time I brought her into my workshop.

In reality, my eight-tatami workshop, originally just a dirt-floored room, has a definite fantasy vibe.

After the Gremlin Catastrophe wiped electricity off the face of the earth, I got rid of my 3D printer and grinder, replacing them with more primitive tools like whetstones and anvils.

The half-open junk box crammed with Gremlin Crystals looks like a treasure chest. There’s an Octa Meteorite mounted and enshrined on the wall, alongside several magic wand blueprints.

Glass shelves display experimental equipment I swiped from the science lab at Okutama Middle School, and when I struck a match to light the lantern I hung from the ceiling, the room filled with a soft, warm orange glow.

The scent of melted wax and soot added to the old-fashioned atmosphere, while Ohinata-sensei sniffled curiously, darting around the room to inspect everything without actually touching the scattered tools.

“Feel free to ask anything.” 

“What’s this?”

“That’s an experiment I tried, seeing if crushed Gremlins could be separated into components by placing them in an ether solvent and spinning them in a hand-cranked centrifuge.”

“Oh, I see? What an interesting experiment! How did it turn out?”

“It failed.”

“Oh no, that’s too bad… What about this one?”

“That was an attempt to process Gremlins with etching. They were too corrosion-resistant, so that failed too. I just ended up destroying my tools.”

“Wowww! You’re working on so many things—it’s amazing!”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Her overenthusiastic praise caught me off guard.

This little stoat is intense. She probably has tons of friends, which makes me feel kind of awkward and distant.

“Dairi-san, you’re so smart! Do you come up with all these experiments yourself?”

“Pretty much…”

“Wow! That’s so creative. Did you study this kind of stuff in university?”

“University doesn’t have much to do with it. I guess knowledge feeds creativity, but…”

“Oh, I get that. The things my dad taught me have really helped with my research too. This kind of thing is similar to being a craftsman, isn’t it? By the way, which university did you go to?”

“It’s a small, unremarkable one you’ve probably never heard of.”

“Really? I doubt that! Was it a university in Tokyo? Where are you from originally, Dairi-san?”

“Aichi.”

“Oh, Aichi! That means miso katsu! It’s so good. Do you eat it a lot?”

At first, I thought she was just interested in the magic wand workshop, but her questions started to veer into unrelated territory.

Why is she digging so much into my personal life? This has nothing to do with staffs or magic linguistics. Is she trying to investigate me?

But she’s just a kid, right? Would a twelve-year-old really do something like that?

“What’s your deal? Why are you grilling me with all these questions?”

“Oh… did I bother you? I’m sorry. I just thought, since we’re both studying magic, it’d be nice if we could get to know each other better. Ehehe.”

“Get to know each other…?”

“Yes! I’d be really happy if we could become friends!”

“???”

It was hard to tell with her animal face, but it seemed like Ohinata-sensei was blushing and fidgeting shyly.

Even though she was speaking Japanese, my brain refused to process her words.

What the hell are you even saying?

Friendship isn’t something you try to achieve.

You don’t “work” to become friends—it’s absurd.

Friendship naturally happens because you get along well. You just end up being friends without even realizing it. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

Trying to force a friendship? That’s unnatural and goes against the way things are.

So, what, even if you hate the person, you fake being nice and put on a show of “we’re totally friends,” and that counts as friendship?

Seriously, this kid doesn’t understand what friendship even means.

I’ve never had a single friend in my life, but even I know that much.

…I know that much!

When I clicked my tongue loudly, Ohinata-sensei flinched and drooped her tiny tail, looking dejected.

Kids these days, clueless about how harsh society can be. Listen, there are guys in this world who get so nervous just from being invited to karaoke that they can’t even speak straight. Pick your friends more carefully!

“Enough of that. Just teach me about magic linguistics already. That’s why I called you here.”

“Yes… I’m sorry…”

Ōhinata-sensei looked a little downhearted for a moment, but quickly pulled herself together, leaping onto the drafting table for work.

“Uh, well then, may I use this paper and pencil?”
“Help yourself.”
“Thank you. Alright, then, let me begin my lecture. Oh, do you need a restroom break or anything? I’ve prepared a 90-minute lecture plan.”
“No problem. Go ahead.”

I settled into a chair with a cushion, prepared to take notes, and adopted an attentive posture.

Never did I think, after graduating from university, that I’d find myself sitting in on a lecture again. If there were a university offering magic linguistics lectures, it would surely be popular. And to top it off, the professor is an adorably tiny stoat.

“First, let’s start with the history of magic linguistics. My father, Sōichi Ōhinata, taught linguistics at a university, and shortly after the Gremlin Catastrophe occurred, he was approached by a vampire—yes, a magic user specializing in blood magic—for advice. Deeply concerned by the series of events triggered by the catastrophe, my father formed a magic language analysis team with his lab assistants and seminar students.”
“Hmm.”

Ah, here we go, the vampire magic user again.

The Blue Witch also often spoke of him. Apparently, he was a very capable person, involved in a variety of activities. Though he’s already passed away, I doubt I would have ever met him, even if he were still alive. Socially skilled people make me uneasy.

“The research team began by gathering language samples. In all experimental sciences, not just linguistics, there’s a five-step process: observation, reasoning, hypothesis, verification, and analysis. Observe and collect data, make predictions based on that data, form a hypothesis about what should happen if your prediction is correct, test the hypothesis, and analyze the results. Then you return to observation and repeat the process, progressively approaching the truth in a logical and efficient manner. Oh, you don’t need to take notes on this part; it’s just an introductory explanation. The collection of language samples corresponds to the observation phase of this process. With the vampire’s assistance, the research team conducted interviews with 13 witches and magic users, collecting a total of 72 spells. When the meanings and pronunciations of these spells were analyzed and categorized, they concluded that at least seven entirely unknown phonemes, impossible for humans to pronounce, had to be defined. In other words, magic language isn’t a language meant for humans—Homo sapiens—to use.”
“I’ve heard of that before. The Blue Witch chanted some weird sounds, too.”
“Ah, the Vaarar system also includes unpronounceable sounds. You’re quite well-informed.”

Ōhinata-sensei nodded.

“While magic linguistics is a branch of linguistics, it also incorporates elements of history and cultural geography. For example, in Japan, there are many words for snow: awayuki (light snow), konayuki (powder snow), botan-yuki (large, fluffy snowflakes), mizore (sleet), arare (hail), fubuki (blizzard), jibuki (ground blizzard), betayuki (wet snow), shinyuki (new snow), zansetsu (lingering snow), and so on. This is because Japan is a snowy country. A culture in which snow is common creates a language rich in snow-related vocabulary. In Mongolia, for instance, there are numerous terms for horses, reflecting a culture where horses are central to life. Understanding a language provides insight into the environment and culture where it developed, and vice versa—knowing the environment can aid language comprehension. This is why the research team didn’t just study the language but also investigated the witches and magic users who were its native speakers or as close to it as possible. These were painstakingly detailed studies, and because machines were no longer operational, there was always a shortage of manpower. That’s when I started helping my father with his research in the lab.”

I’d been listening intently up to this point, but I couldn’t hold back my curiosity and raised my hand.

“Excuse me.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Ōhinata-sensei, are you really twelve? This doesn’t sound like something an elementary schooler would be lecturing about.”
“Thank you! I went to a private school, and since enrolling, I’ve never scored anything but first place on tests. My father praised me for it all the time.”

The little stoat perked up her whiskers proudly and puffed out her chest fur.

Child prodigy, huh? Incredible.

I wonder if, in this era, humanity’s survivors all need to be exceptional in some way. Between myself, the Blue Witch, and Ōhinata-sensei, it feels like those with no unique skills or talents have already fallen victim to the harsh survival competition. It’s a rough time to be alive.

“Back to the topic at hand. Some spells contain references to literature, so it seems magic languages may also have written forms. However, we have no way of knowing what those characters might look like. Consequently, research into magic linguistics primarily focuses on spoken language. But this comes with significant risks. When magic languages are accurately pronounced in the presence of Gremlins or magic stones, individuals without proper magic control are forced to activate magic against their will. While this can serve as a highly effective diagnostic tool for verifying pronunciation accuracy, it remains a dangerous phenomenon. Magic surges are inherently hazardous.”

I nodded.

The Blue Witch had warned me about that, too. Accidentally triggering a spell could have disastrous consequences. Speaking a single word could be like an unintended gunshot—lethal, even.

“The research team worked on magic language studies, but given the times, they were pressured to quickly produce practical applications for their research. Allocating precious manpower to projects with no practical benefits was unthinkable. Specifically, the team prioritized modifying and improving spells. Let me give an example from the Deni system of spells used by the vampire: it includes a self-enhancement spell. This spell consumes both magic energy and the caster’s blood to dramatically boost physical capabilities. Its energy and blood consumption levels are tolerable even for ordinary people. While it does cause post-use anemia, it isn’t life-threatening. With this spell, an average person could theoretically defeat weaker monsters while wielding a larger Gremlin. This would significantly reduce the burden on witches and magic users performing monster hunts and greatly improve physical labor efficiency, among other benefits.”
“Wow. I’d like to learn that spell. What’s the incantation?”
“You can’t. It includes unpronounceable sounds.”
“Ah, right…”

I see, that’s where the bottleneck lies. Well, that’s no good then. Too many spells are exclusive to witches and wizards. If they can’t be chanted no matter how much they’re studied, then it’s pointless.

“That’s why we’re developing a workaround: rerouted chants. By analyzing magic language, avoiding unpronounceable sounds, and reconstructing the incantation using human-pronounceable words with the same meaning, we aim to create spells with the same effect that humans can chant.”

“Oh!”

So there is a point to the research.

I see now! That’s definitely something only a linguist could pull off.

Linguistics is amazing!

I looked at Ohinata-sensei with admiration. Linguists are real heroes. My magic staff may be able to change the world, but these linguists hold the fate of the world in their hands too. Respect, Sensei!!!

“And during this research, magic outbursts have caused the deaths of the entire research team, including my father. Now, I’m the only one continuing the research.”

“Eh?”

She dropped that bombshell so casually that I froze in shock.

People really die from these magic outbursts? It’s not just a risk—it’s been happening repeatedly? What the hell! Where’s the safety protocols!?

“Is researching magic languages really that dangerous? Dangerous enough to cost lives?”

“Yes. This research is life-threatening. When the structure of a spell is modified, the resulting effect often differs from what is intended. Sometimes, this can be fatal. For example, instead of consuming blood to enhance one’s body, the blood might boil or multiply uncontrollably until the person bursts. In my case, when I modified and cast a transformation spell meant to turn me into a dragon, I ended up as a stoat. I was fortunate not to transform into inorganic matter, microbes, or die instantly.”

“Yikes!”

I’d been thinking the stoat professor was just adorable, but hearing this story made it no joke.

She crossed a dangerous bridge and ended up with that!

This isn’t something a twelve-year-old should be doing! No amount of lives would be enough for research like that.

“Why not leave the research to witches or wizards who won’t cause magic outbursts?”

“They’re not aware of what or how they’re pronouncing their spells. In the end, we need someone who can’t pronounce unpronounceable sounds—an ordinary person—to test whether the spell is free of them. Even if it’s risky, it has to be done.”

“Quit the research. Seriously, you’re going to die. Leave it to adults.”

“I want to complete my father’s research with my own hands.”

Ohinata-sensei declared firmly.

In her sparkling eyes was a fierce resolve, the kind born of living in an era of upheaval.

I was overwhelmed. Her tiny stature seemed to loom large. That determination was no joke.

Ohinata-sensei is one incredible girl.

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