Kays Translations

Chapter 94: The Reversal Thesis of a Failing Magic University Student

The only one who ever cared for Shoma Yamagami, the black sheep of the family, was his great-grandfather, Sho Yamagami.

The Yamagami family, a prestigious clan based in Kita Ward, Tokyo, is known for its warrior heritage spanning generations.

As a characteristic of their bloodline, the Yamagamis possess inherently low magic power. The founder, Sho Yamagami, only had 0.2K, and his descendants typically range from 0.2K to 0.6K—starting life with the weakest magic capacity, effectively unable to use magic at all.

However, in exchange, the Yamagamis have extraordinarily high potential for magic training. The more they train, the more their magic capacity grows—reaching even 200K is not unusual. Sho Yamagami himself reached 404K, setting the world record for highest magic capacity in a human, a record still unbroken.

Yamagamis frequently occupy high-ranking positions in the Ministry of Defense. Professors in the Combat Department of the Magic University are often relatives of the family, and members joining pioneer squads are warmly welcomed, usually achieving great success.

In Tokyo, the Yamagami name is practically synonymous with “exceptional mage.”

The founder, Sho Yamagami, is said to have endured great hardship in his youth.

His low magic power forced him to quit his job, branding him a failure. His comeback required immense effort and support from many people.

At drinking parties, he would always recount in detail his struggles from his time in the Security Corps (the predecessor of the Ministry of Defense). Shoma, his great-grandson, would often sit on his lap, sipping juice, listening to the stories.

Shoma’s magical capacity is 0.8K.

His initial capacity of 0.2K only grew by 0.6K.

In a family known for its exceptional magic growth, he was the exception—a total failure who couldn’t use a single spell. A disgrace to the family of mages.

His parents were deeply disappointed when they realized how lacking he was.

His older brothers mocked his lack of magic. Even his younger sister looked down on him. Though his grandparents never said it, their disinterest was clear.

At the family training ground, he was always relegated to the corner. While the others honed their magic and martial skills, Shoma was made to do basic physical training in silence. It was a painful daily routine. There weren’t enough fingers on his hands to count the nights he cried into his pillow, wondering, “Why only me?”

Without his great-grandfather’s warm encouragement, he might have given up and fallen apart.

Among his entire clan, only his great-grandfather believed in him.

He told Shoma that someday, he would blossom.

That he would find something he was good at.

That no matter how hard things were now, if he kept going without giving up, he would find his path.

He always gave him sweets when they met, played with him patiently, and even let him touch his old, well-worn sage’s staff.

The great-grandfather who loved him dearly passed away the month after writing Shoma’s letter of recommendation to the Magic University.

There was no one left to protect Shoma.

He had to forge his own path now.

Just like his great-grandfather once did.

The minimum requirement for entry to the Magic University is 5.0K in magical capacity.

Shoma only had 0.8K and would normally be rejected outright. However, thanks to his great-grandfather’s recommendation and a submitted thesis, he barely made it in through a special selection.

During his primary and middle school years, Shoma had suffered terribly from his lack of magic. Eventually, he came to accept his limits and focused his efforts on studying technology.

While all other members of his family entered the Combat Department at Tokyo Magic University, Shoma alone enrolled in the Department of Gremlin Engineering.

His unique ideas, inspired by the lost technologies of electrical appliances, formed the basis of his thesis. Submitting it earned him an exemption from the magical capacity requirement.

His great-grandfather had a quirky obsession with these relics from a bygone era—”smartphones,” “computers,” and the like—and would often show them to Shoma, explaining how they were once used.

Shoma’s thesis, heavily influenced by his great-grandfather, though clumsy, was seen as having developmental potential. From the start of his university life, he caught the attention of a professor in the Gremlin Engineering Department.

Yet, as the saying goes, “Not even foresight can predict everything.” What followed was not what anyone expected.

Shoma performed well in his classes.

But his research progress was abysmal. Repeated experiments yielded no useful data. Processing failed over and over. Whenever he refined his theories, the professor would point out every flaw and reject them dozens of times.

Even within the Gremlin Engineering Department, Shoma became a failure.

The Magic University is a four-year program.

Year one covers the basics, year two is for applied studies and specialization. Year three involves joining a lab, and in year four, students write a graduation thesis.

But Shoma had to repeat a year.

He failed to submit his graduation thesis on time.

The university has a strict policy: deadlines are absolute. “I’m late, but please wait” isn’t acceptable.

Creating a schedule that ensures on-time submission is part of the thesis process. Saying “I couldn’t make it in time” is not an excuse.

Fortunately, the professor in the Gremlin Engineering Department didn’t abandon him.

This same professor who relentlessly picked apart Shoma’s experiments and theories like bullying, nonetheless promised at the first faculty meeting of the new semester to give Shoma a special opportunity to present his research.

Apparently, an incoming freshman—who joined the university with much fanfare—had also requested to present, and while granting this promising newcomer a stage, they decided to give the struggling repeater a shot too.

This chance, granted by the professor’s mercy, couldn’t be wasted.

Shoma’s family had already given up on him and were pushing him to take a menial job at a family-owned weapons store. They argued that it would be disgraceful to continue embarrassing himself at university with no accomplishments.

When Shoma asked his parents for permission to repeat a year, their cold stares and his brothers’ exasperated expressions still haunted him. If the presentation at the upcoming monthly faculty meeting didn’t go well, they would likely force him to drop out mid-term and relegate him to obscurity.

Cornered, Shoma was in the warehouse at the edge of the courtyard, doing final checks on his cart-mounted Geometric Assembly Gremlin for the afternoon presentation.

He had practiced his presentation endlessly. He had prepared for Q&A. If the crystallization of his four years of sweat and tears operated correctly, everything would go smoothly.

At least, that was the hope.

While nervously ticking off the fifth checklist inside the warehouse, a friend came to visit.

“Hey there, Shoma. How’s it going?”

“Huh? Maya? Didn’t you have class this morning?”

Shoma was surprised to see her.

Maya Himori was the younger sister of the Fourth Flame Witch. Like Shoma, she came from a prestigious family, and they’d known each other since childhood—close enough to be completely at ease.

Like most Himoris, Maya was earnest and sincere, beautiful, and rich in magic power. She entered the university a year after Shoma as the top student of her year and was well-liked by the professors—a true prodigy.

Despite being in the eccentric Mutation Department, her radiant personality turned that oddity into charm. She was considered the university’s “Madonna,” widely believed to be unbeatable if she ever entered a beauty contest.

Though many found her intimidating, Shoma never felt distant from her. He had never sensed any pity, contempt, or disappointment from her—unlike others.

She was like a younger sister, a childhood friend he often played with.

When he tilted his head at her unexpected appearance during class hours, Maya raised the suitcase she was carrying.

“My family asked me to deliver something to Principal Ohinata.”

“Oh, I read in the paper that the Flame Witch was revived. That must be related.”

“Yep. Things have been hectic lately. And my sister’s acting weirdly cold toward the Flame witch-sama…”

As she sighed and said that, Maya’s trunk gave a loud rattle, and Shoma blinked in surprise.

“Maya? What’s in that trunk?”

“…I can’t really say. Sorry. But it seems like there’s a scheduled meeting soon between Chancellor Ohinata and the resurrected Flame witch.”

“Heh, huh. Are you sure it’s okay to be hanging around here like this?”

Guessing who might be inside the trunk, Shoma’s voice became tense.

He didn’t want to interfere with his childhood friend’s de facto VIP escort mission.

But Maya simply smiled and poked him lightly in the side.

“Don’t worry. If we went now, we’d be way too early. Keika-sama even told me to prioritize my own schedule.”

“Is that so? Well, if that’s the case, then I guess it’s fine.”

“How about you, Shoma? Your presentation’s this afternoon, right? How’s it looking?”

“Well… I think I’ve prepared as best I can. The theory’s solid, and the construction went well. But since I didn’t have enough time for trial runs, I’m still nervous something might malfunction during the actual presentation.”

“It’s that new type of geometric-set gremlin… right?”

Maya looked curiously at the experimental prototype, and Shoma nodded, taking the chance to explain as a kind of practice for his presentation.

Geometric-set gremlins are part of a long-established field, but due to bottlenecks caused by lost technology, only the theoretical research has progressed.

A geometric-set gremlin refers both to the academic discipline of creating meaningful unified gremlins by precisely combining various forms and types of gremlins, and to the gremlins produced by that discipline.

This area of study originated from the analysis of Demon King Gremlins discovered during the Demon King Wars. It is said that if fully developed, it could lead to artificial intelligence and magic life forms.

It is an advanced magic technology far beyond that of Earth’s current humanity, and its analysis and replication could greatly enhance magic capabilities.

However, research has been severely constrained due to the loss of one of the core components: the dodecahedral fractal.

Geometric-set gremlins operate using dodecahedral fractals as mana-condensing capacitors.

Without them, the output suffers from critical deficiencies.

For example, the most recent geometric-set gremlin communication device developed ten years ago utilized two such fractals: one formerly owned by the U.S. and another taken from a magic wand that had served as the Gushiken Memorial Horse Race trophy.

These paired gremlins, each about the size of a house, enable real-time voice communication between America and Tokyo.

Humanity had succeeded in reviving one of its lost electric technologies: the telephone.

However, no new dodecahedral fractals can be produced.

They could only be obtained either by disassembling Demon King Gremlins or via the craftsmanship of the legendary artisan 0933—both of which were lost in the zombie panic 80 years ago.

As a result, gremlin communication devices cannot be mass-produced, and only minor improvements have been made to the existing pair.

Without a dodecahedral fractal, the output is too low—the communication range doesn’t even reach one meter.

Constructing a geometric-set gremlin without using a dodecahedral fractal is extremely difficult.

Geometric gremlins have an optimal volume. If the overall structure exceeds this volume, the amplification and conductivity drop exponentially.

This optimal volume is 1,400 cm³, but with current human fabrication techniques, it’s impossible to fit the mechanisms into that size.

They need to be shrunk down to the size of a human brain, but they always end up being larger than a cow.

Current geometric-set gremlins always exceed the optimal volume, which causes significant performance drops—and they can’t use the core component.

This dual problem has placed immense limitations on practical use, and in 80 years, only one prototype communication device has been created.

Shoma’s research was based on a unique new theory, designed to skillfully bypass the various constraints of geometric-set gremlins.

He managed to shrink the cow-sized structure down to that of a foal.

By repeating a space-filling structure combining tetrahedrons and octahedrons, he was able to create a degraded yet similar effect to that of a dodecahedral fractal.

By carefully interpreting the notes left behind in the lab by 0933 and cross-referencing them with disassembled Demon King Gremlin parts, he built his experimental methodology from the ground up through persistent effort.

Maya, who had been nodding enthusiastically throughout his explanation, raised her hand earnestly and asked a question:

“How long have you worked on this research?”

“If you count the initial theory stage before I even entered university—five years.”

“Thank you. I think it’s an amazing project.”

“I appreciate that… But, hey Maya, the professors won’t be asking such soft questions, you know.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. That wasn’t a professor’s question—it was mine. Don’t worry, you were great! I’ve been watching you this whole time, Shoma-kun, and I know you’ve got this!”

“Really? But Professor Dodo didn’t look happy at all…”

As he imagined the grim face of Professor Dodo from the Gremlin Engineering Department—the one who frequently visited to critique his research in great detail—Shoma frowned.

But Maya reassured him brightly.

“Don’t worry. Professor Dodo likes you.”

“Likes me? That guy’s always nitpicking and criticizing every little flaw in my research. He’s constantly at it!”

“That’s because he likes you. Professor Dodo is super busy, but he still takes the time to review your research thoroughly and point out every issue—that’s amazing, you know? He doesn’t have that kind of time for everyone. He’s definitely treating you specially. He has high expectations for you. So don’t worry—everything will be just fine!”

Clenching her fist in front of her chest, Maya cheered “Fight!” and disappeared into the university with her trunk in tow.

Thanks to her encouragement, Shoma’s nerves eased significantly.

That’s right—this was a project five years in the making. A project that had been beaten down and rebuilt time and again under Professor Dodo’s harsh guidance.

There’s no way it could fail.

Surely, he needed to have more confidence. The work he had built up, the knowledge he had accumulated—those things would never betray him.

After spending the morning checking everything and taking a break for lunch, Shoma wheeled the prototype and equipment into the conference room where the research presentation would take place.

He spent the afternoon lecture period doing a final rehearsal. Now, after school hours, the time for his research presentation had finally come.

The presentation was to be held jointly with Isobe, a freshman from a prestigious private integrated high school. Each presenter had 15 minutes, followed by 5 minutes of Q&A.

If he made an impression, he could establish himself as a researcher.

If not, he’d be dragged back home and treated like a failure.

In these next twenty minutes, Shoma’s future would be decided.

As the lecture ended, professors from various departments gathered in the conference room in small groups. Among them was Professor Dodo from the Gremlin Engineering Department, who approached Shoma with a sly grin and whispered into his ear.

“Hey. The Blue Witch is sitting in on today’s research presentation.”

“Wha—!? Y-you didn’t tell me that!”

“She’s dropping in. Apparently her partner got interested in your research. She’ll be listening from another room via projection magic.”

“Why are you telling me that!? Keep it to yourself! I’m already nervous enough—now the Blue Witch is listening? That’s—well, I mean, it’s an honor, but seriously!? Professor, are you just enjoying watching me squirm?”

“No, no, not at all. Be confident. Be proud. You’ve completed a piece of research that even the Blue Witch wants to hear about. I must say, it’s been worth keeping an eye on you.”

Professor Dodo walked off to his seat with a faint smile, ignoring Shoma’s protests.

The calm that Maya had helped him regain earlier evaporated in an instant. His nerves surged past the breaking point and snapped. But now, there was no choice but to go for it. Worrying about saying something wrong or being rude didn’t matter anymore. He just had to give it his all.

What he needed to do hadn’t changed.

Whether he soared or crashed—the stakes had simply gotten higher.

Then the time arrived. Shoma took a deep breath and began his presentation in front of the assembled, formidable-looking professors.

He gave a brief self-introduction and preamble, and then jumped right into the main topic.

“The device I developed can—”

Shoma closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and then opened them, speaking with confidence as he unveiled the culmination of his research.

“—calculate one plus one. In other words, it’s a magic-powered calculator.”

The room buzzed with surprise.

As the professors murmured among themselves, Shoma smoothly explained the new geometrical set-based gremlin mechanism. After rehearsing the presentation dozens of times, the words flowed naturally.

He explained the principle and demonstrated the calculation of 1 + 1.

When he pressed the button, Shoma—who couldn’t perceive magic directly—couldn’t sense it himself, but mana flowed through the geometric gremlin device.

Then a flag marked with the number “2” rose.

The murmuring grew louder.

“Thank you for listening. I will now begin the Q&A session. Are there any questions?”

As Shoma bowed and asked, nearly every professor in the room raised a hand.

The only one who didn’t was Professor Dodo, who sat with his arms crossed and a satisfied smile on his face.

Shoma was overwhelmed by the unexpectedly enthusiastic response, but after a brief pause, he pointed to a professor in the front row.

“Uh, Professor Ishi-ya. Go ahead.”

“I’m Ishiya from the Department of Magic Medicine. May I ask how you solved the problem of mana input? Even if you didn’t use a dodecahedral fractal, the input method using mana rulers—which are also lost technology—can’t be newly manufactured, correct? Wouldn’t this device ultimately require a demon or transcendent to operate if you expect new production?”

“Thank you for the question. Please refer to page 12 of the handout. The diagram in the lower right shows the amulet compound mechanism, which handles mana input. Compared to a system using a mana ruler, the charging speed is about 1/120, but it does not require any mana control to operate. In principle, even more complex mechanisms can be added and handled via manual circuit switching. Does that answer your question?”

“Thank you. I understand now.”

As Professor Ishiya nodded in satisfaction, more hands shot up instantly.

Shoma responded to the professors’ questions precisely and efficiently, but five minutes wasn’t nearly enough to get through all of them.

Despite the continued interest, the presentation session came to an end, and Shoma stepped down from the podium amid thunderous applause.

Relieved, his body went limp, and his hands trembled.

Wrapped in a warm glow of joy from having completed his presentation perfectly, Shoma sat down in the last seat among the chairs lined up in the room, ready to listen to the presentation of the next promising freshman.

The second and final presenter for the research session was Isobe, a first-year student from the Department of Monster Studies—and to be honest, his presentation was utterly painful to watch.

Admittedly, the timing hadn’t done him any favors.

He had the unfortunate task of following Shoma’s wildly successful presentation, and poor Isobe was so nervous he looked on the verge of tears, barely able to get his words out.

Even from the perspective of someone outside his field, his content didn’t seem particularly impressive. For a first-year, it was decent—nothing more.

Shoma wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Isobe was completely shredded during the Q&A session.

“I’m sorry if this sounds like a layman’s question, but…”

“I admit I’m not very familiar with this field, however…”

“Actually, I’m the author of the paper you cited…”

With these prefaces, the professors launched into a barrage of brutal critiques, tearing his research apart for its many flaws. Isobe was drenched in cold sweat, clutching his chest like he was in pain, and staggered off the stage in a daze.

Watching the pitiful freshman’s retreat, Shoma felt a chill run down his spine.

If not for Professor Dodo’s meddling, that could have been him.

The Tokyo University of Magic’s faculty board was a battlefield. A terrifying one.

With Isobe’s exit, the research presentations concluded.

The professors stayed for their monthly meeting, and Shoma exited the room.

As he stepped into the hallway, a wave of joy and relief washing over him, he nearly had a heart attack—standing right beside him was a black-haired woman.

A face he’d seen countless times in history textbook illustrations.

In her hand was the over-technology magic staff Kyanos.

There was no mistaking it—this was the Blue Witch herself.

The Blue Witch smiled at the utterly dumbstruck Shoma and spoke:

“That was a fine presentation. I hope you don’t mind, but could I have a copy of your paper? I’d also like the raw experimental data, if you have it.”

“Y-yes! P-p-please, here…!”

Shoma hastily handed over both the materials he’d used for the presentation and a document file containing the data he’d brought just in case.

His hands were shaking terribly, but the Blue Witch didn’t seem to mind. She accepted the documents politely, thanking him.

“One more thing—a message. ‘Not bad.’ That’s what they said.”

“Th-thank you…?”

He didn’t know who the message was from, but it was still a compliment—and one that came from the Blue Witch, no less. That alone made him incredibly happy.

Having said what she came to say, the Blue Witch turned and left without ceremony.

As a validation of his research, it was the best result he could have hoped for.

Not only had he received thunderous applause from some of the university’s most renowned professors, but even a living legend had praised his work.

Shoma Yamagami was no longer the disgrace of the once-proud Yamagami martial family.

He was now Shoma Yamagami, gremlin engineering researcher.

Brushing tears from the corners of his eyes with his sleeve, Shoma felt the brightness of his future radiate through his entire being.

And then, he walked forward.

To report to the grave of the great-grandfather who had believed in him.

To bring good news to the childhood friend who had supported him.

The painful and difficult days were over.

A new life stage had begun for Shoma Yamagami.

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