Jeanne opened her eyes. The rays of the sun stabbed her eyes. She covered her eyes with her left hand for a moment. Metallic boxes with four wheels packed the street in front of her, with some emitting a loud honking noise. The sidewalk was bustling with people, wearing suits or casual clothing.
She was in unfamiliar territory. She knew that this wasn't her era and that she wasn't in Fuyuki anymore. There were English inscriptions on the nearby houses and shops. Across the street was a sign that read "Coffee Shop" with a faint, sweet and yeasty aroma coming from that direction. The people were speaking English instead of Japanese. This must be-
A bell tolled from afar. The ringing sound echoed across the city - a rousing signal for an event that she didn't know. A massive tower stood proud in the distance. There was a clock on each of its two sides, the two of them near the tower's zenith. The heart of the Mage's Association, which made this city the capital of the United Kingdom.
But for what purpose was she here-
There was a rattling noise behind her. She turned around. A soccer ball was lying on the other side of an iron gate. The gate was connected to a brick wall that fenced a building. A child came running to pick up the ball and carried it away. Jeanne stepped closer to the gate. There were a lot of children in the front yard, playing, smiling, and laughing.
One of them kicked the ball outside the field. It landed at a group of trees near the wall on the left. The ball rolled for a few meters, stopping at the foot of another child. The child was lying down on a bench, looking absentmindedly at the sky as if the noise around him was nonexistent.
Jeanne squinted. He looked oddly familiar. That dark brown hair. That distant look on his face.
The boy began moving at a snail's pace when the ball touched him. He eyed the object at his foot, then shifted his gaze over to the others. And finally, stood up.
"Zayne, pass it over here!" one of the children shouted.
He kicked it over to the field.
"You sure you don't want to play?" another one asked, the others already diverting their attention back to their game.
"Nah, I'm fine," he replied.
I woke up, staring at a white-washed ceiling. There was the bite of alcohol and sterile gauze, and the sting of needles pierced into my skin. My brain scrambled, fumbling to catch up with my current predicament – whether it was a dream or reality.
I was old enough to know what a hospital was. There was an IV bag hooked up to my right arm. I moved my arms and legs around to see if I landed here because of an injury. My head throbbed. Like someone had stuck a knife into it. I shut my eyes, willing the pain away.
Did I hit my head? I ran my left hand across my forehead, my hair, the back of my head down to my neck. No scars. No sore spots.
My next question was where I am. I tried to focus. How did I end up here? Was I caught up in an accident? I… didn't know. Why didn't I know? I quickly realized that no matter how much I tried, I knew nothing. My heart pounded, my lungs drawing ragged breath. I barely even knew my name.
It wasn't long before someone came in to ask me some questions. Name, age, parents, and address, among other things. Not that I was capable of giving any useful information. I barely had any idea what was going on or what was going to happen.
A few days passed. Physically speaking, I was fine, but authorities were looking for my legal guardians or relatives. Their search turned out to be a failure, and so I was brought to an orphanage.
For better or worse, things started to change when I was ten. It was the 23rd of February when we had a new visitor. I easily spotted his short, spiky white hair. It was fairly uncommon and stuck out like a sore thumb. I wondered where he was from.
The staff members he encountered were relaxed around him. Few words were exchanged, but I was out of earshot. He wore a dark grey jacket and blue jeans.
He strolled around the premise, seemingly with no particular destination in mind. The children he came across kept their distance. He wasn't intimidating or anything, at least to me, nor did he seem angry or disdainful. His expression was like a blank sheet of paper.
I kept an eye on him for a while, but I eventually went back to lounging outside. I thought he'd be gone while I was enjoying my regular bit of peace.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked.
At least, that's what I thought. I looked up to see the man in question.
"Go ahead," I said, sitting upright and scooting over on the bench.
He sat down and leaned back. "So, how come you're not playing with the other kids over there?"
They played soccer in the front yard as usual. I've participated a couple of times but never found it as thrilling as they did. I'd rather be alone and read an interesting story. Like a tale about a heroic adventure or detective fiction like Sherlock Holmes.
I shrugged. "Do I have to?"
"Nothing wrong with keeping to yourself," he said. "But, it might come off as though you're being excluded."
I did get some remarks here and there, but that's just par for the course among children. I guess.
"No such thing," I replied. "I'm just not that invested in interaction with others... I think."
If I had to explain it, I'd say that I felt out of place. I didn't actively seek social interaction because I was content. When I was around others, I felt as if I had to integrate myself into whatever they were talking about or whatever they were doing. I didn't want that restriction, so I distanced myself. Or perhaps there was something inherently wrong with me as a person?
"What about you?" I added.
"Me?" he said. "Let's see... I suppose we are somewhat alike in that regard."
I looked at him. "How?"
"I keep in touch with a few acquaintances," he said. "But other than that, I'm not actively looking to make friends."
I raised an eyebrow and leaned a little closer. He and I had something in common.
"Either way, I-" he said.
"Watch out!" one of the kids yelled.
My eyes darted to the source of the sound. Someone had kicked the ball over to us. It was flying high into the air. When it reached its zenith, it could have been mistaken for a baseball. Then it descended. It became larger and larger. I shot to my feet. For a second, I thought the ball was stuck in midair. I glanced at the man on the bench. His movements were sluggish as were those of the children up ahead.
My head was spinning. What was happening? Once I caught the ball firmly in my hands, everything around me accelerated. No, everything was just moving normally.
It was just for a moment, but it felt much longer than that, like the moment stretched for an eternity. Realistically, only two, maybe three seconds passed since I saw the ball flying, but I had time to stand up and look around before actually catching it.
"Nice catch, Zayne!" one of the children shouted over.
"Kick it back!" another one said.
Without another thought, I get rid of the ball.
"Not bad," the man said from behind.
I turned to face him, expecting him to continue and hopefully explain what just happened.
"But are you aware of what you just did?" he asked, stroking his chin.
"Uhm... I..." I said. "No?"
That was the first time something like that happened, and I couldn't come up with any plausible explanation. I was shaking, as if the temperature had just risen by a few degrees. Had I just made a grand discovery of some sort? I swallowed. Was this good or bad?
"If I'm correct, you either enhanced your own reflexes or manipulated the flow of your own time," he said. "In other words, you used magecraft just now."
"Magecraft?" I repeated after him.
Up until that point, I thought that magecraft was just something to be found in stories with fantastical creatures of myth and legend. Yet, he was telling me that it's a real thing.
"Based on your reaction, this is the first time you heard about it," he continued. "So, the spell you just invoked must have come from a crest within your body. The ball was coming at you at high speed, so your body detected it as a threat and fired off the spell in reaction to it."
My eyes widened. I couldn't understand what he was saying.
"At least that's the only explanation I can think of," he adds.
He looked off into the distance. I couldn't fathom what was going on inside his head. Was he reminiscing about something? Was he contemplating a choice?
"Uhm, mister..." I said.
"Kinami," he said. "Ryoken Kinami."
He had his back turned on me, but his raspy voice reached my ears. I tugged at his sleeve, he spun and looked at me.
"Can I come with you?" I asked.
It probably didn't make much sense. He was a stranger who told me that magecraft is real and just told me his name. I didn't know anything other than that about him. Yet, I still wanted to go.
"You don't mince words, eh?" he said. "Do you want to get out of here that badly?"
"Anything's better than being stuck here," I said.
"Careful what you wish for," he said. "Well, I can take you in if you want to help around the house in exchange. Once you're old enough, you can decide what you want to do with your life."
He knelt down to eye level with me and extended his hand. "What do you say?"
I nod, shaking his hand.
I had a new place to call home. It was a small, remote house in the suburbs of London, which made it easy to defend, but nothing fancy. No decorations on the walls or shelves nor any extravagant furniture. If something wasn't essential, then it wasn't needed.
Ryoken was regularly away on business, though it was never longer than a few days. He always made sure that I would be fine in his absence by leaving plenty of food prepared in the fridge. I mostly passed the time by maintaining the house. The man really couldn't be bothered with cleaning. There were layers of dust in the attic and basement. The first time I went down the basement, my body broke into a lung-shaking asthma attack.
When he had time, he taught me how to cook for myself and educated me in math, history, and various languages. Once I knew how to do my own research, I continued on my own.
It didn't take me long to figure out what his trips entailed. I found sheets at his workspace that read like contracts from an organization called "the Mage's Association." What stuck out to me were phrases like, "recovering the designated target dead or alive."
I kept reading. I wanted to know what those "targets" had done to warrant recovery.
"Exposing thaumaturgy to the public", "conduction of illegal experiments", and, "leaking sensitive secrets or information" were among the most common reasons.
As most kids tend to imitate their role models or parents, I wanted to help him.
"I don't think that's a good idea," he said.
"Why not?" I said. "You're getting rid of bad people, right? Doesn't that make you a hero?"
He sighed. "A hero? That's not how I would describe myself. It's never that simple. Besides, working as a freelancer for the Clock Tower isn't an easy job, and the life expectancy isn't high either."
"You said I could decide what I want to do!" I replied.
"Look, this isn't a choice to be made lightly," he sighs. "But if you're dead set on this, I won't stop you. However, you'll have to go through rigorous training first, and I won't go easy on you. This line of work is life or death. Are you sure?"
"Yes!" I said.
The next day after lunch, he scattered a bunch of metallic parts on the table.
"I want you to assemble this pistol," he said.
I looked at all the parts. "Are there any parts that don't belong there to throw me off?"
He smirked. "Not yet."
There was the body of the gun, the magazine, the slide on top, the barrel, and a spring. I had a vague idea where they have to go, but not in which exact order. In a sense, this was much like a puzzle.
I held the barrel and spring next to each other and noticed that the former fit perfectly into the latter. From there, it could only fit in two possible places. I attempted to put that into the main body, but the slide wouldn't match.
Next, I installed it into the slide before attaching that onto the gun. It slid on like a glove. I inserted the empty magazine next and pulled on the top. The clicking noise confirmed that it was working properly.
"Decent time," he said upon completion. "Onto the next one."
He proceeded to dump over a dozen pieces in all sizes onto the table. From the bigger parts among them, I could deduce that it was a rifle, but I had no idea where to start.
"Come now, don't be discouraged," he said, taking a seat next to me. "I'll give you a hint."
In the end, it took me well over two hours of trial and error until I finished it. I'd practice the assembling and disassembling of various firearms on a regular basis. Following that would be the actual use of them. He set up some target dummies in the backyard for that.
But that was only the beginning of my training.
I landed face-first into the mat, greeted by the smell of rubber. It was soft enough to not leave any lasting damage. But I've already landed on it a dozen times over the past five minutes. My confidence was starting to whittle down.
I rolled over to lie face-up. Hand to hand combat training was the worst, but I had no right to complain. I agreed to this, after all.
"Giving up?" Ryoken said, extending his hand.
"Not by a long shot," I replied, taking it.
He pulled me up and we went into our stances again.
"Other than physical prowess, the only difference between you and me is experience," he said. "With that in mind, ready to go again?"
I nodded.
I moved, trying a feint with my left hand. My right almost connected, but he blocked it with his palm. Ryoken lunged forward, reaching out to grapple me. I tumbled underneath his right arm, stopping at his blind spot.
He swayed back, evading my right elbow strike. I sidestepped his left fist and went in for a flurry of attacks. He caught my left arm and tried to turn me around.
Instead of fighting back, I spun with it. The momentum lined me up for a side-kick. It struck his left arm, freeing me from his grasp.
As I caught my breath, I smiled, realizing that I finally landed a hit on him.
But my accomplishment was short-lived. He crouched down and swept me off my feet in one fluid spin.
This time I fell onto the mat with my back, but I felt better.
"Nicely done," he said. "But you still have a long way to go. If you didn't zone out there, you might have landed a few more hits. Stay focused on the here and now during combat. Anything else can be dealt with afterward."
"Yeah, I'm sorry," I replied, sitting up.
"You're still making good progress," he said. "Let's call it a day for now."
He still outclassed me in our hand-to-hand combat training sessions for a long time. Still, I made steady progress to the point where I could last over a minute against him.
Eventually, he also started to tell me about magecraft. My incessant requests played no small part in it.
"First off, it doesn't work like it's portrayed in modern-day shows or movies," he said. "This is a very broad subject, and again, I'm not a mage myself. So, I will give you the watered down version."
I was listening intently on every word like a zealous student. I couldn't wait to practice it myself.
"Magical energy is what powers magecraft and it comes in two forms," he said. "The first is Mana. It's generated by the world and can be found anywhere, though its density is considerably less since the Age of Gods. The second is Od. It's generated in your own body through magic circuits, but is less abundant than mana. You with me so far?"
I nodded.
"Magic circuits are like a pseudo-nervous system in your body," he said. "They enable a mage to perform magecraft. The amount you have is determined at birth, which is why mages constantly try to produce heirs with the highest possible count."
"And the thing on my back you were talking about?" I asked.
"I'm getting to that," he said. "That's called a Magic Crest. It's like a bundle of magic circuits passed down within mage families which usually have spells engraved in it. Like an archive of sorts."
"So, that's what I used back at the orphanage?" I asked.
"Yes, though it was on a subconscious level," he said. "I have to admit though, a spell to accelerate your own time is pretty useful."
In my spare time, I tried to test out what other spells were engraved in the magic crest on my back with limited success. That would take me years to understand, use, and master.
I collected all the bullets on the ground in my hand. I tossed them into the air for the umpteenth time. They descended fast. I tried to focus while reaching out to catch them, but they all fell to the ground with a rattling noise.
I wasn't sure how to trigger my time acceleration on demand. Heaving a long sigh, I went to pick up the bullets again.
"Hey, kid," Ryoken said across the room.
I barely even turned around.
"Think fast," he said.
He tossed a dozen bullets toward me. Everything slowed down. Without wasting a single second, I grabbed each bullet out of the air. Then, time resumed as normal.
"I think your problem is that you're trying too hard," he said, sipping coffee at his desk. "Some mages at the Clock Tower keep repeating the line 'In order to control your mana, you must first control your mind.' Maybe that'll help you out?"
I pondered over those words for a little before trying it out. Inhale. Exhale. This time, I only threw one bullet into the air.
Time Alter: Double Accel!
Sure enough, the bullet descended like a snowflake from the sky. I grabbed it when the effect wore off. A few seconds passed. My body trembled and my concentration was gone. I hadn't done any taxing activities beforehand either. I had to be mindful of not overusing this ability, lest I want to collapse from utter exhaustion.
"Split-second decision making is one of the most important skills to have," he said. "Indecision can lead to death, understood?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good, now before we start, there are two rules I want to make abundantly clear," he continued. "First: never get innocents involved. We're hired guns, but we're not monsters. Second: know when to quit. Don't throw your life away for nothing."
"Got it!" I said.
"Well, I'll keep repeating those until you can recite them in your sleep." He chuckled. "Anyway, first question: you hear gunfire but don't know where it's coming from. What do you do?"
"Take cover, preferably on a vantage point," I replied. "Assess the situation or fall back if need be."
"You know where your target is hiding and where they are heading," he said. "How do you approach this?"
"Set an ambush when the target is moving," I replied. "Fighting them on their terms gives them an advantage."
"You believe you have a fool-proof plan to apprehend your target," he said. "Will you follow it, no matter what?"
"No plan survives first contact with the enemy," I answered. "It's good to have at least one backup plan in case of emergencies."
"The target is worth more alive than dead, but exponentially more dangerous," he added.
"I put them down, better safe than sorry," I reply.
"Good answer," he said. "Now, the final question. Your target is getting away. You have them in your sight, but there are civilians between you and them. What do you do?"
"I..." I said.
Was that a trick question? Taking the chance would violate the first rule he laid out. However, if the target gets away, they might cause more suffering down the line. Is it justified to sacrifice a few for the greater good?
"I think that's enough," he said.
"But I haven't given you an answer yet!" I replied.
"You answered it already," he said, patting my head. "I'll admit it was an unfair question. One which philosophers argue about to this day, but the fact that you didn't say you would take the risk already says a lot."
I wasn't sure at the time, but I thought that for a moment, I saw a hint of a smile from him.
"I'm not sure I understand," I said.
"Maybe when you're a bit older and experienced, you will," he said.
It took nearly two years, but I managed to get through his training regimen. All that was left was to put what I learned to the test.
