The Last Magic Chapter 11

11 Tanaka 1

The reason I went to university was utterly mundane.

It was simply because "If you want to become a sorcerer, enrolling in this school gives you an advantage."

Not that the university itself focuses on magic. The real value lay in the network of aspiring sorcerers gathered here.

People tend to think sorcerers are solitary figures (my high school classmates certainly seemed to view me that way), but no profession is easy to pursue alone—even if you have talent.

Even if you make magic your livelihood, it’s far safer to get connections through others rather than scouring the internet for work yourself (given the nature of magic, worst-case scenario, you could get tangled up in crime). Social ties matter more than you’d think.

In that regard, this university’s Mystery Research Club—colloquially known as Misclub—is considered a prestigious institution among sorcerers. Not the university itself, but the club. Since they don’t allow outsiders to join, you have to get into the university first to become a member.

The word "mystery" might make you think of detective novels, but for this club, it refers to the arcane. Officially, it’s a gathering of mystery novel enthusiasts, but that’s just a front. In reality, it’s a group for aspiring sorcerers. Apparently, when the club was founded, sorcerers faced heavy backlash, so this was their desperate compromise to avoid scrutiny from the university.

That said, some members got so hooked on mystery novels—originally just for camouflage—that they actually became mystery novelists, critics, or translators. So it’s not entirely a lie. Complicated, isn’t it?

Misclub has produced numerous famous sorcerers among its alumni, and its connections run deep—not just among peers, but with senior members who’ve entrenched themselves in politics and finance. Even though the magic itself might not be all that impressive, an unexpected number of people still rely on it. "Do your best and leave the rest to fate"—or so the saying goes, but the wealthier you are, the more you seem to hope that magic can "do something" about that "fate" part.

Misclub is so well-known among sorcerers that aspiring ones are often told: "Before honing your magic, study hard and aim for this university first."

It’s ironic—even if you’re skilled in magic, being bad at academics puts you at a disadvantage as a sorcerer.

I wasn’t terrible at studying, so I didn’t struggle much, but it still didn’t sit right with me. If you’re a sorcerer, shouldn’t magic be what matters?

Then again, in the end, I took the safe route too.

April, right after starting university, was peak club recruitment season. Flyers were being handed out like confetti at the school gates. The overfriendly ones calling out to passersby were mostly drinking-focused clubs—"drinking circles," or Nomisaa for short. I remember back in elementary school when one of those clubs made headlines after getting a girl blackout drunk and assaulting her, sparking a whole social issue.

Of course, the clubs recruiting now probably had nothing to do with that incident, but I was still surprised they were so brazen about it. Beyond that, there were sports clubs (tennis being oddly popular), nerdy cultural clubs, and all sorts of others hustling for new members. The campus bulletin boards were plastered with club posters.

Amid all this, Misclub was doing absolutely nothing to recruit. I looked around, but there were no flyers, no posters—nothing. Well, it made sense. They had no use for ordinary students who couldn’t use magic. The problem was, I had no idea where their clubroom was.

These days, you’d expect club locations to be posted online, but there was zero info about Misclub. A quick search on my phone did bring up a Wiki page—probably because of its many famous alumni—but it only described it as a "long-standing literary club," with no mention of magic. Naturally, there was no clubroom info.

Left with no choice, I headed to a separate building about a five-minute walk from campus. It was a pretty large structure with a green triangular roof, housing classrooms, a cafeteria, and clubrooms inside. The entrance had an open, high-ceilinged lobby that looked like something out of an old-fashioned drama—the kind you’d call a "relic of the Showa era."

The directory at the entrance listed classroom and cafeteria locations but had nothing about clubrooms.

(Don’t tell me they don’t even have one?)

A flicker of unease crossed my mind, but I had no choice but to search. With a sigh, I climbed the stairs.

The first and second floors were bright and clean, but from the third floor up—where clubrooms were packed together—the atmosphere shifted. Dim, oddly damp, with a whiff of decay—like a place where "eighth-year university students" might be squatting.

Honestly, the people I passed looked worn-out and washed-up. Not somewhere I’d want to linger.

At least each door had a sign for its club or team, so I checked them one by one.

My destination was at the end of the fourth-floor hallway—the depths of this degenerate culture. A slightly aged plate on the door read [Mystery Research Club], with a half-hearted Post-it note beside it saying "Newcomers Welcome."

A far cry from the flashy recruiters at the gates. Their idea of "welcoming" was just this scrap of paper.

For a new freshman, opening this exclusive door took some courage—but I had no choice. Not entering would mean throwing away 90% of the reason I’d enrolled here.

Steeling myself, I opened the door and peeked inside. The room was about the size of my living room, with tables and chairs where eight men and women sat.

But the room was dead silent. No "welcome, potential new member" vibes—just the awkwardness of accidentally walking into the wrong class.

Yet my gaze locked onto a woman with long, beautiful black hair, her eyes fixed on a book, utterly still. It wasn’t just that she was pretty—her presence was distinctly different. She was definitely a sorcerer.

"You a freshman?"

Amid the silence, a bespectacled man stood up from his chair. Navy jacket, gray pants—sharp, capable-looking, more like a young IT entrepreneur than a student.

"Yes. I’m in the Faculty of Political Science and Economics."

I puffed out my chest as I answered. Political Science and Economics was this university’s most competitive department, considered the hardest among private liberal arts schools. A quiet point of pride for me.

"PolSci, huh? Impressive."

The bespectacled man replied in a completely indifferent tone. So department hierarchy meant nothing here. My spirits sank.

"So, your goal—reading mysteries? Or…?"

"Magic. I want to be a sorcerer."

"Figured."

Without much surprise, the man gave a wry smile.

"I’m Kikuchi. Club president. This here’s Vice President Kono."

Kikuchi gestured to the woman beside him. Both were apparently the club’s leaders.

Kono gave a light smile and nod without standing, murmuring "Nice to meet you." A quiet, glasses-wearing woman—not unattractive, as you’d expect from a sorcerer. Dressed plainly but neatly, like an office lady in Marunouchi.

"By the way, my hobby is reading mystery novels. This is Misclub, after all."

Kikuchi spread his hands slightly, as if joking. I hesitated—was that a cue to laugh?—but he just made a face like a failed comedian.

"Anyway, mind showing us your magic? Think of it as an initiation. Can’t just let in curious normies."

Fair enough. I set my shoulder bag down, took a deep breath to steady myself, and began chanting.

Suddenly, the room tensed up.

Not because of my magic. The other six—who’d shown zero interest in me until now—had closed their books and were watching intently, straining to hear every word of my incantation, every movement. 

It felt like an audition. Is this Britain’s Got Talent? Are they looking for the next Susan Boyle?

A bit unnerving, but I focused like I always did in practice. My chanting style incorporated moves from trendy K-pop choreography, adding dynamic flair to keep the audience engaged.

Five minutes of chanting—short yet long. How you use that time tests a sorcerer’s skill. The magic itself might be secondary.

I struck a final pose, igniting a green flame in my palm.

The audience’s reactions varied—some frowned, some nodded approvingly, others gave air applause. But overall, their attitudes toward me seemed to soften.

"Okay. Pass, Tanaka. You’re definitely a sorcerer. Welcome to the Mystery Research Club."

Kikuchi’s expression relaxed slightly as he offered his hand. 

Relieved to be accepted, I shook it—then asked a question.

"How’d you know my name’s Tanaka?"

I hadn’t introduced myself yet.

"We’re sorcerers. Obviously."

Kikuchi winked, dodging the question.