Chapter 95:The Wounded Beast

I had come to Tokyo Magic University to show my face to Professor Ohinata, and by chance, I was lucky enough to witness a promising research presentation live.

Slumping into a chair in the lecture prep room, I buried myself in the research materials and papers I had asked Hiyori to gather for me. There was still plenty of time until the monthly faculty meeting ended, so I was able to make good progress in thoroughly reading through them.

Yamagami-san’s thesis gave off a strong “he’s really got it” vibe. I still don’t have a clear grasp of the current technological standards, but even taking that into account, his work seemed unusual and very innovative.

I mean, he literally made a magic calculator? Without a dodecahedral fractal or a mana ruler? Judging from the blueprints, the processing techniques were embarrassingly crude, but the theoretical framework and design philosophy were outstanding.

If you can do 1 + 1, you can do basic arithmetic.

If you can do arithmetic, you can build a calculator.

If you can make a calculator, then you can make a computer.

Since they already have wireless magic communication phones, then making a mobile phone should be doable too.

A smartphone isn’t out of the question.

Of course, it’s not like smartphones will be back next year or anything.

But humanity once went from inventing the most basic electronic calculator to popularizing smartphones and even reaching for quantum computers in less than 90 years.

If even blind groping in uncharted electronic territory could bring that progress in under a century, then magic devices—with a visible roadmap mimicking the evolution of electronics—should develop even faster.

Yamagami-san’s research materials were painstakingly detailed, like he was saying, “Bring on the nitpicking, I’ve got answers.” It was both the culmination of 80 years of Gremlin-Set theory in my absence and a revolution that redefined that culmination.

The theories and designs were fascinating, and the materials he used in the magic calculator were also intriguing.

Some of the materials he used were things I recognized. However, a few substances that were impossible to manufacture 80 years ago are now producible. The quality of existing materials had also improved greatly.

Take, for example, the Ghost Gremlin.

It’s one of the components of the Demon Lord Gremlin—an invisible gremlin. Ghost-type monsters that are immune to physical attacks, typically seen in Class B or higher monsters, carry this invisible gremlin, but when they die, it becomes visible and loses its ghost-like properties.

This issue was resolved with exorcism magic.

Apparently, if you kill a ghost-type monster using magic that’s especially effective against ghosts, the gremlin remains invisible, retaining its ghostly properties without any change.

It’s kind of like in a video game—if you finish off a monster with a specific move, it drops a rare item.

Or like in meat production: stress-free livestock slaughtered while relaxed yields better meat, because the blood hasn’t spread—though I don’t actually know how that works.

As for the High-Strength Gremlin, there’s a bit of history.

In the past, they used to produce it in limited amounts by heating fragments of the Spider Witch’s lures just below melting point for extended periods. The resulting high-strength gremlins were low in quality and inconsistent.

But the current method is different. By submerging gremlins in the deep sea and compressing them under high pressure—just like with Abyss Gold, a deep-sea magical metal—they’ve been able to mass-produce high-quality, stable high-strength gremlins.

I had no idea that method existed! Even if I knew, I couldn’t do it.

Wait, so Abyss Gold is made like that too? Does “abyss” actually mean the deep sea? I thought it was just a cool-sounding name.

Since this paper is about gremlin engineering and not magical metals, it doesn’t go into detail there. I’ll have to read some magical metallurgy papers later.

As for the Re-melted Gremlin, a new production method has also been established.

It’s commonly known (not to me) that simply melting and cooling isn’t enough—by forming layers via vapor deposition, its performance improves dramatically.

The process involves heating gremlins to high temperatures to evaporate them, then letting the vapor settle onto a chilled mold. By carefully building up thin layers like this, you get high-quality re-melted gremlins.

Apparently, Shinagawa Materials now holds over 90% of the domestic market share for this new-style re-melted gremlin. That’s pretty strong.

Surprisingly, Elastic Gremlin was still listed as “manufacturing method unknown.”

I thought, “No way,” and combed through the research materials—but they all said, “Only available as dismantled parts from Demon Lord Gremlins. Cannot be produced.”

Hmm.

“Hey, Hiyori. Has humanity not made it back into space since civilization collapsed?”

“That’s a sudden question. As far as I know, no—we haven’t. I’ve never heard of magic capable of that, and there’s not even a hint of a rocket launch program.”

“Then that’s it. If we had, we’d know by now…”

“What are you talking about? Space travel is still a far-off dream.”

“No, listen. When Iruma and I were researching this, we realized something: theoretically, you can make elastic gremlins. Gremlins raised in zero gravity environments turn into elastic gremlins. Theoretically, that is. We haven’t tested it yet.”

“……”

Hiyori fell completely silent, dumbstruck.

Come on, that’s not that crazy of a concept. Hurry up and reboot, would you?

“…Haven’t we already unraveled all the mysteries of the Demon Lord Gremlin?”

“No no no no no, absolutely not! We still don’t understand the pattern differences in the tensegrity structure. We haven’t even got a foothold. We don’t even know the purpose of the triple-leaf knot. I think it’s a pointless part, but Iruma insists it must have meaning.”

I get that Hiyori, as a gremlin engineering amateur, would make such a naive comment—but come on, that’s just ignorant.

My research with Iruma took magic theory from elementary “arithmetic” to junior high “mathematics” overnight, but the Demon Lord Gremlin is like Fermat’s Last Theorem. It’s on another level. You can’t expect a middle schooler to solve the greatest problem in mathematics!

“Well, if the method for making elastic gremlins isn’t known, can you tell someone under your name? Like, call it the Iruma Method or something.”

“No, not that name. Use Dairi-style or 0933-style instead.”

“What? But Iruma figured it out…”

“Just having his name attached to it triggers resentment in long-lived folks like me. Use Dairi’s name.”

I was gently scolded, and felt a little frustrated.

Now that she mentions it, I can understand. Some people might have an allergic reaction to Iruma’s name alone when spoken. Even I’d be skeptical if someone said, “This was developed by Iruma.”

“I get what you’re saying. But still, Iruma did all the thinking. Slapping my name on it feels like stealing credit…”

“What are you talking about? That night, Iruma manipulated Dairi and stole his power. The credit is all Dairi’s.”

“U-uhh…”

The force in her voice made me flinch. Wow, she’s got a lot of hate for Iruma…

The angel in my head was whispering, “No, seriously, Iruma is a genius. This was his achievement,” even as it grabbed Iruma by the collar and repeatedly punched him in the face.

Welp, guess I’ll take the credit. Iruma’s smart, but he’s kind of a jerk. Tough luck, Iruma.

While chatting with Hiyori here and there and reading the thesis, I continued absorbing the latest research and technological knowledge.

Eventually, I heard the bustle of people leaving the conference room next door. The monthly meeting must have ended.

After the crowd cleared out, I sent Hiyori to scout the hallway. Once she confirmed it was empty, I left the prep room and entered the conference room.

Only Professor Ohinata remained.

She was gazing absentmindedly out the window at the twilight cityscape—and she had grown with the 80 years that had passed.

Though, she hadn’t become a granny. I’d heard that due to a transformation magic bug, her body had aged slowly, and it was now clearly evident in her appearance.

Professor Ohinata was no longer a middle schooler with stoat ears.

She looked like an adult woman in her early twenties—with stoat ears.

Hmm. Her aging rate is about one-sixth to one-eighth that of a normal human? She’s not quite like Hiyori, an eternally beautiful girl.

When I entered the room, the professor’s eyes went wide as she rushed over.

“Dairi-san…! Welcome back! I, I…!”

“Uh, could you turn into a stoat again?”

“You’re asking that now?!”

Just as she was about to tearfully leap at me, I stopped her.

Hiyori gave me a look, but whatever. I don’t care what the situation is—what I dislike, I dislike, and I’m not good with things I’m not good with.

Sorry, Professor. That part of me hasn’t changed, even after death.

Despite being rejected, the professor didn’t sulk—in fact, she looked delighted.

Wait, has she developed a masochistic streak since I last saw her?

“Wow! It really is you, Dairi-san! Your way of speaking! Sorry about my appearance, I’ll transform right away. Ura wo watari Yev-Sasa, sai wo haku ba Nimtettutana, konozumi mo hakujū Yog-Yayog-Enyenshua!”

After muttering a bizarre confirmation chant, the professor transformed into a stoat with a loud pop and a puff of white smoke. Peeking out from her fallen clothes, her round, sparkling eyes looked up at me—and I couldn’t help but smile.

OOOOOOOOH!! YES! STOAT MODE ENGAGED! TOO CUTE!! Now this hasn’t changed at all! Stay that way forever!

“Alrighty, Professor, wanna hop on my lap? I brought a comb and scissors—let’s trim that winter coat and brush you out.”

“Well then… I’ll gladly take you up on that!”

Professor Stoat stole a quick glance at Hiyori’s expression, and after confirming her nod, she scampered over and hopped onto my lap, where I was seated.

As soon as I began trimming her fur, he turned completely limp, his mouth half-open in pure bliss. Hiyori gave a wry smile at the indecent display the professor was putting on.

“Mmmnya… Dairi-san.”
“Hm?”
“I feel lonely when you’re not around. Please… don’t go away again.”
“That’s unreasonable. People die, you know.”
“Dairi…!”

Hiyori glared at me, clearly disapproving, but I couldn’t help it. If I said “I won’t disappear anymore,” that’d be a lie.

There is resurrection magic, and my lifespan’s kind of been extended softly, so our final farewell isn’t anytime soon. But someday, the time will come. You can deny the truth, but that doesn’t make it go away.

“It’s a weird way of putting it, but as long as I’m alive, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just call it ‘besties forever’ and settle on that.”
“Dairi…!”

Hiyori repeated my name again, but this time with a tone of admiration.

“You might be blunt, but you’re honestly really sincere.”
“You think so…?”

Me? I jaywalk whenever there’s no cars coming.

If I find a lost wallet, I don’t take it to the police box—I just leave it on a conspicuous wall nearby.

I’ve even sold unlicensed handmade anime fan goods on online auctions.

If I’m considered sincere, then like 90% of the world is, too. The remaining 10% are total scum.

While I carefully trimmed the professor’s fur, I asked about what had happened while I was dead. Apparently, even the professor had been working hard to revive me while also doing his own job.

Specifically, she was searching for resurrection magic through magical linguistics.

In the world of chant-based magic, as long as the pronunciation is correct and there’s a casting medium nearby, the spell will activate—even if the user doesn’t fully understand what it does. That’s how I stumbled upon the core shooting spell “Fire Aaagh!” on my own.

So, in theory, if you just tried out every possible phonetic combination, eventually you’d find resurrection magic.

Of course, she didn’t just test them randomly. Based on the vocabulary and story structure of anonymous epic poems, he made educated guesses like, “Maybe the resurrection chant would sound like this,” and narrowed down the pronunciations from there. Still, it’s an incredibly broad and patient endeavor.

In the end, it was Hiyori who found resurrection magic first.

But if her journey had taken longer, I’m sure the professor would’ve discovered it eventually, too.

I was brought back to life thanks to a flawless two-tiered safety net.

I’m seriously grateful. Thank you, thank you.

While we talked, the professor started nodding off, and by the time the trimming was done, she was fast asleep with a perfectly content look on his face.

Not wanting to wake him, I gently laid him on a knee blanket in the corner of the conference room, placed a handkerchief over her like a futon, and quietly took my leave.

Even after 80 years, Professor Stoat was still the same. One of the top three pieces of happy news since I came back to life.

As it got dark, only the occasional light from all-nighter research labs dotted the university grounds. As we walked through campus, Hiyori, deep in thought, finally spoke.

“Dairi. You may be blunt, but it’s not like you’re totally inconsiderate. You’ve improved since the old days. So I want to tell you… Please don’t bring up marriage in front of Kei-chan.”
“Huh? Why not? Is she, like, past her prime or something?”
“Forget it. I’m not talking anymore.”
“No, sorry, I was totally out of line—bad choice of words, right? Probably?”

Apparently, truth can hurt people.

Even I’d get annoyed if someone said, “Hey, I heard Iruma attacked you in your sleep and brainwashed you? Weak lol.” Just because something’s true doesn’t mean it’s okay to say.

So what can you say, and what shouldn’t you say? I still don’t really get it due to a lack of communication experience, but I’ll try to be careful within what I can understand.

When I showed I was genuinely sorry, Hiyori—still a little skeptical—explained the situation.

Back when Professor Ohinata was biologically in her twenties, there was a time she almost got married to an American researcher. They got close when he came to Tokyo on a study abroad program, and became a couple.

But the moment he returned to the US, he started cheating.

That jerk tossed aside our beloved stoat girl for some other woman. The betrayal was leaked to the professor by another American magic linguist who knew them both, and the relationship ended in collapse.

Her second chance at love came thirty years later, when she looked about high school age.

This second guy was a magician from a prestigious family in Sendai. He and the professor got along well and he seemed honest. Everyone around them thought “he’s a good one,” and they even got engaged for a while.

But then the second guy fell for a femme fatale.

She targeted him for his family fortune and seduced him away. He broke off the engagement with the professor.

She cried.

The one-sided break-off completely ruined the relationship between Sendai and Tokyo for several years. The prestigious magician’s family crumbled, he was disowned, and the woman disappeared. Everything fell apart.

Thus, Professor Ohinata’s second love ended as well.

After two heartbreaks, she was deeply hurt, and hasn’t had a romantic partner since.

On the surface, she acts cheerful, even when the topic comes up, but she never brings up marriage herself anymore.

The story was so heavy I was left speechless for a while.

Seriously? Cheating is a real thing? I thought it was just a made-up plot device in anime, dramas, and manga.

You’re supposed to be dating the person you like most, so why sneak around with someone else? It makes no sense.

Sure, people can change—maybe the person you love most shifts over time. That I get.

But in that case, say, “Sorry, my feelings changed. I want to break up,” and end the relationship before starting a new one.

Having two partners at once should be impossible, yet it actually happens? What is wrong with the world?

And breaking off an engagement? Also baffling.

If you’ve already decided “this is the one I’ll marry!” and then just toss it all away, it’s ridiculously inconsistent. It’s not like he was replaced by a doppelgänger, right?

Was he maybe schizophrenic? That I could understand. But if they got all the way to engagement, there’s no way she didn’t know that.

Professor Ohinata’s romantic history is so convoluted and bizarre, I doubt I’ll ever fully understand it.

Paranormal stuff’s going on. It’s straight-up beyond human comprehension. Creepy!

“H-Hey, Hiyori. If you ever fall for a guy more than me, promise you’ll tell me, okay? That’d be way too scary.”
“Don’t worry. That won’t happen.”
“R-Really? That’s a relief. Oh, and… was it really okay to tell me all that? Honestly, I listened, but I didn’t understand a single part of it.”
“…If there were any other man out there as straightforward about love as you—so much so that you genuinely couldn’t understand any of that story—it might’ve been different. Still, not understanding anything might be a problem in itself. I chose to tell you on my own. But many people still remember what happened back then.
Besides, wouldn’t it be worse if you said something blunt and clueless in front of Kei-chan and ended up reopening her old wounds?”

Once again, I was firmly reminded “don’t talk about marriage in front of Kei Ohinata,” and I nodded solemnly.

It sounded like Professor Ohinata had been hit by supernatural misfortunes—twice. She’d really been through it.

I’m glad my girlfriend is Hiyori.
Apparently, there’s no chance she’ll ever fall for a guy more than me, so I can date her without a shred of anxiety.

Come to think of it, I forgot to ask the professor “What is a ‘koibito’ (lover)?” today.

Marriage is apparently a taboo topic, but “lover” and “marriage” fall under different departments in the Faculty of Love, right?
The kanji are different, after all.

I’ll ask her next time we meet.

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