The Last Magic Chapter 8

08 Kurosaki Natsuki (1)

A sorcerer’s morning starts early. By 5 a.m., before sunrise, I wake up and grab the phone resting by my pillow to reply to messages from friends that came in overnight.

Once that’s done, I let my body adjust to the morning air before finally leaving my bed and brushing my teeth to fully awaken my senses.

Brushing my teeth first thing isn’t some sorcerer’s doctrine—it’s just something I heard was good for my health on TV. I make a habit of adopting anything that seems beneficial. Figuring out what enhances my magic is all trial and error.

In fairy tales, sorcerers—often imagined as witches—are usually depicted stirring a bubbling, sinister purple brew in a giant cauldron late at night. But I don’t engage in such domestic activities. Modern sorcerers are, in their own way, quite contemporary.

The most important thing is maintaining physical and mental health—a principle shared by both academics and athletics. I make sure to sleep by 10 p.m. at the latest, getting at least eight hours of rest. Since I wake at 5, I aim to be in bed by 9. Even third graders probably stay up later than that, but for me, this is non-negotiable.

My school friends often ask, "Why don’t you ever reply to messages at night, Natsuki?" But if I’m asleep, there’s nothing I can do.

Honestly, they’re the ones I don’t understand. High school girls claim to care about beauty, yet they tend to stay up late. That’s terrible for their skin—the foundation of beauty. If they really wanted to be beautiful, sleep would be their top priority, with an early bedtime as a must.

I am a high school girl, but above all, I’m someone striving to become a sorcerer. That means I’m even more conscious of beauty than they are. After all, there’s no downside to being beautiful. To put it bluntly—magic is essentially a service industry. One with a long history, at that.

sorcerers dazzle the powerful with their spells, telling fortunes just plausible enough to please them. Whether male or female, appearance matters. Sure, some might prefer a wizened old sorcerer for that air of experience, but that’s something you can cultivate after aging. While young, you should make the most of youth.

That’s why, after brushing my teeth, I go for a run. I jog early to avoid being seen working hard. It’s crucial that others think, "They’re amazing—without even trying." That’s what makes me seem mysterious.

Ideally, even my words and gait should carry an air of distinction. It’s all groundwork for the future. In this digital age, past actions are easily dug up online, so I need to build a reputation of "They were incredible even in high school." That said, I only seriously committed to magic after my high school entrance exams, so I’d appreciate it if my lackluster middle school days were overlooked.

In winter, it’s still pitch-black past 5 a.m., my breath turning white in the cold. Frankly, I have zero desire to run—but it’s become such a habit that skipping it feels unsettling. Bundled in a tracksuit to avoid exposing skin (and trouble), hood pulled low, I jog down the wide streets.

After running, breakfast: yogurt with honey, a banana, a boiled egg, and herbal tea—quick, healthy, and easy to prepare. All before my parents wake up. Overlapping schedules mean fighting for the kitchen or bathroom, wasting time.

While brushing my teeth again, I exchange morning greetings with my groggy parents.

A simple "Good morning" is enough to make them feel connected. Skipping it would be a loss. Greetings are like magic—high reward for minimal effort.

Once ready for school, I leave. It’s still early—I prefer arriving at a different time than everyone else. "Here before you know it, gone before you notice." That air of mystery is essential. A sorcerer must constantly curate their image. Plus, early trains are emptier, perfect for studying in peace.

From the station to school takes about five minutes. Passing freshly bloomed flowers by the crosswalk, I step through the just-opened gates. My destination? The literary club room. Of course, as a cultural club, there’s no morning practice—but the area is deserted at this hour, making it ideal for spell incantations.

Until five minutes before homeroom, I used to spend this time alone here.

—At least, until a year ago.

Opening the clubroom door, I found the expected guest already inside.

Nagumo Sakurako. A first-year junior who, like me, aspires to be a sorcerer.

Long, lustrous black hair with a faint violet sheen, porcelain-white skin, and features slightly old-fashioned by modern beauty standards—though undeniably striking. While her efforts play a part, most sorcerers come from lineages blessed with good looks. It’s proof that sorcerers are, in essence, a kind of performance clan.

In fact, there’s supposedly a "sorcerer slot" in the entertainment industry—talent who can use magic, have decent looks, and charm audiences. TV loves them. In a way, securing that slot might be the pinnacle of success for a modern sorcerer. Currently, it’s occupied by two figures: a blunt, middle-aged fortune-teller-turned-TV-personality and a handsome young actor in his early twenties who also knows magic. Both, unsurprisingly, are attractive.

Sakurako isn’t a conventional beauty, but her distinctive appearance could land her that slot someday. I’m confident in my looks, but my goal is simply to live as a sorcerer—not enter showbiz.

The literary clubroom is about a quarter the size of a classroom, with two narrow brown tables pushed together in the center and eight pipe chairs around them. Though the club has members, attendance rarely reaches eight—most are ghosts.

Sakurako didn’t join for literature. She entered after learning I, a fellow sorcerer, was a member.

"Good morning."

Seated in a chair reading a magic book, Sakurako stood and bowed in polite greeting.

"Good morning."

I returned the courtesy. Just because she’s a junior doesn’t mean I’d act arrogant.

This, too, is social training. Minimize enemies, maximize allies. To survive as a sorcerer, such discipline is necessary.

Because sometimes, suspicion falls on you just for being a sorcerer. In elementary school, my good grades were once dismissed as "You must be using magic."

Even if your abilities are minor, many still view magic as something dubious. Thankfully, I had more social clout than the classmates who doubted me, so it blew over—but had the tables been turned, things could’ve gotten messy.

That’s why I maintain basic manners with everyone. Pride like "I’m older" is worthless.

At any rate, Sakurako sat back down. She had been waiting for me, but she’s careful not to rush me.