A Risk Worth Taking

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm not saying I really want to do it, but... there's something I'm interested in."

"Oh?"

Shakora's eyes lit up with curiosity.

Ever since she was little, Amy had a knack for learning—she could grasp a hundred things after being taught just one. Whatever she pursued, she was bound to excel.

"Tell me. I'll fully support you."

"No, it's not that I want to do it... I'm just curious."

"Then I'll support that curiosity."

Amy felt bitter.

Yeah, I know.

She understood all too well that with the power and wealth of a first-class noble, nothing in this world was truly difficult.

Expecting a parent to work hard to provide for their child? That was just wishful thinking.

I have no choice but to accept it.

She had spent years rejecting her noble lineage, but it wasn't until she was humiliated by a commoner that she realized how foolish it was.

I'll become the best.

With her mind made up, Amy spoke.

"Magic."

"Hmm? What did you say?"

"If you know someone at a magic school, could you introduce me?"

Shirone never spoke about what had happened in the city.

It wasn't a simple matter. If he brought it up, he'd also have to explain what had happened at the magic school.

He knew the experience that day had been extraordinary.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, one thing was certain—he had crossed a line he could never return from.

A genius knows they are a genius. Shirone had always sensed he was different from others.

He had never felt superior, but his desire to surpass his own limits was stronger than anyone else's.

Still, he kept it to himself.

To him, his parents were the most precious people in the world. Even in poverty, they had never forced him down the wrong path. He didn't want to burden them.

Life continued as usual.

He helped his mother with housework and spent his afternoons in the nearby forest, chopping wood.

Though, truthfully, most of that time was spent meditating rather than swinging an axe.

Ever since his awakening, he had secretly trained his Spirit Zone every single day.

After a month, he had significantly improved his ability to enter the Spirit Zone.

But some things weren't as easy as he had hoped.

Even though he had grown accustomed to the Spirit Zone, he couldn't replicate the magic he had used in the alley.

Of course I can't.

That magic had been an unconscious, instinctive reaction under extreme pressure.

Even if he recreated the same circumstances and emotions, now that he knew he had succeeded before, consciously replicating it was nearly impossible.

To cast magic intentionally, I need to understand every step my insight skipped over.

Without formal training, there was no way for him to learn those missing steps.

So instead, he focused obsessively on the one thing he could practice—the Spirit Zone.

After meditating, he trained Thunder Strike.

Unlike before, now that he was actively trying to control it, his success rate had actually dropped.

Insight is incredible...

Beginners often succeeded not because of knowledge, but because of pure instinct.

Unlike magic, chopping wood was something he could repeat endlessly.

Shirone corrected his mistakes one by one, swinging his axe dozens of times.

CRACK!

The tree toppled with a satisfying sound.

But Shirone showed no joy, no sense of accomplishment. He simply picked up his saw and got to work.

He had only fixed one mistake.

"Tomorrow. And the day after that."

He would keep refining the basics.

For the opportunity that would one day come.

His gaze burned with determination as he carried the wood back home.

Standing by the window, Shirone watched as the late autumn leaves scattered wildly between the mountains.

Three years had passed.

Now fifteen, he had grown into a striking young man—his youthful features still remained, but he had a beauty that naturally drew people's attention.

"I'm heading out, Mom."

"Don't stay out too long. We have enough firewood now."

"Winter's coming soon. It's better to prepare early."

The moment he stepped out of the cabin, the cold air stole his breath away.

In the mountains, the seasons arrived faster than in the city. Snow had already begun to pile up on the peaks.

"I'll have to walk fast if I want to be back before sunset."

But Shirone wasn't one to fear the cold.

After training his Spirit Zone for three years, his mental resilience had far surpassed that of an average adult.

Once he overcame his shyness, he got along with the other mountain kids, but he never formed any close friendships.

They were different from him.

The children of hunters were all rough, both in speech and demeanor—even the girls.

One particular incident stood out in Shirone's memory.

A year ago, a woman named Hauran, six years older than him, had tried to seduce him.

When Shirone, panicked, rejected her advances, she immediately turned cold.

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll make sure your family pays for it," she had threatened.

Thinking back, Shirone let out a small laugh.

Nothing had actually happened, but he had spent days terrified that she might show up at his house.

I wonder how she's doing now.

Reaching the logging area, he carefully selected a tree and struck it lightly with his axe, examining the mark it left.

…

In the usual sense of the word, he wasn't looking at anything.

You don't find it with your eyes.

Sometimes, when you repeat an action or thought enough times, you instinctively understand its principles.

After three years of trial and error, Shirone had started to grasp it.

You feel it with your eyes.

It was a technique known as Inner Sight.

His eyes sharpened, and this time, he swung with much greater force.

With a thunderous crack, the tree fell.

"Two strikes."

This time, he was lucky. But even without luck, he succeeded once every ten attempts.

"Phew."

After meeting his quota, he sat on a fallen tree and entered the Spirit Zone.

His current reach extended to a sphere with a 40-meter diameter—an advanced level, even among students at magic schools.

He felt the world beneath him.

The trembling of the underbrush, the slow movement of worms, the faint sound of roots absorbing water—he sensed it all.

Nature never stops changing.

Lost in that ever-shifting world, five hours felt like a mere moment.

"Huh? It's already dark."

Finishing his meditation, he chopped the fallen tree into smaller pieces and loaded them onto his back.

When he arrived home, a strange carriage was parked in the yard.

Two unfamiliar white horses stood in the stable, munching on hay.

"I'm back."

But unlike usual, no one greeted him.

The atmosphere was tense.

His mother's face was clouded with worry, and in the living room, a well-dressed old man sat across from his father.

"Oh? Dad? You're back early."

"Shirone, you're home."

His father had left at dawn to sell goods in the city—it was unusually early for him to return.

And normally, he would have smothered Shirone with hugs and kisses.

But this time, he remained seated.

"Shirone, greet our guest. This is the deputy butler of the Ozent family."

The old man stepped forward.

"Pleased to meet you. My name is Temuran."

Shirone bowed politely.

Even though he lived in the mountains, he knew the name Ozent.

A second-class noble family from Creas, renowned for producing elite warriors.

"I've come to see you."

Shirone's instincts told him—this was no ordinary visit.