The Last Magic Chapter 13

13 Rin 1

After enrolling at the affiliated university, I gradually lost touch with Sakurako.

Not completely, of course, but when you go to different schools, the frequency of contact inevitably drops.

By the way, the nearest station to my university was—this time, without a doubt—the real Shibuya Station, so my environment became quite lively. Well, even though it’s Shibuya, it’s on the opposite side from the scramble crossing and Hachikō’s statue, so it’s not so crowded that it interferes with commuting.

And one of the first things my mother told me after I started university wasn’t something heartwarming like "Focus on your studies," but rather:

"You’ll have to earn your own spending money with a part-time job."

A brutally practical statement. Since the university was already expensive, I was expected to handle my personal expenses myself.

I had honestly assumed I’d still get an allowance even in college, so that was a letdown. Maybe I was just spoiled.

When my mom brought it up, my dad looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe he had intended to give me money on the side, but if I secretly took it from him, it might’ve caused tension between my parents. So I held back. (Not that their relationship is bad or anything.) And just like that, I found myself job-hunting right after starting university.

Shibuya had plenty of shops hiring, so I could’ve picked whatever I wanted, but the thought of working there, then taking the Rinkai Line, transferring to the Keiyō Line, and going home exhausted me. Plus, making a special trip to Shibuya on days without classes sounded like a hassle. So, I decided to look for work around Shin-Urayasu Station instead.

It wasn’t on Shibuya’s level, but Shin-Urayasu had its perks—with Shoppers Plaza, MONA, and Atre, there were plenty of options.

Before my remaining allowance ran out, I started wandering around the area after classes, looking for job postings. I could’ve searched on the smartphone I got as a university gift, but I hesitated to pick a workplace based solely on online listings.

Eventually, my eyes landed on a flyer for a burger shop at the entrance of Shoppers Plaza.

This is the one, I instinctively thought. If I had to give a reason, it was because MONA had a McDonald’s, so this lesser-known burger place probably had fewer customers. And if I was going to work, I’d rather take the easier option.

Of course, I wasn’t bold enough to walk in and ask directly. Instead, I noted the number from the flyer, called them from home, and was told to come in for an interview the next day. Apparently, they had lost a lot of staff after graduation and needed people immediately.

That afternoon, after the lunch rush, I sat across from the manager—a man around my dad’s age—at one of the tables.

"Why did you apply here?"

he asked,  

"Because I love the burgers here," 

I answered cheerfully. It wasn’t a lie—I liked most burgers. Though, to be honest, the vast majority of the ones I’d eaten were from McDonald’s.

Just like that, I was hired and scheduled to start the following week.

My shifts were from 6 PM (just after my last class ended) to 10 PM, three or four times a week.

Most of my work involved cashier duties: greeting customers with a bright "Welcome!", taking orders, preparing drinks, and sometimes fries if the kitchen was busy. During slow hours, I wiped trays and tables.

The job was easier than I expected, and I got used to it quickly. The kitchen staff, though, had it rough—washing dishes, taking out trash, changing fryer oil. Fast food wasn’t as light as it seemed.

"Nah, it’s brutal, Shiba-chan. The trash is heavy and stinks, I’ve burned myself on the oven, and just look at my hands after washing dishes—ugh."

One of the male part-timers held out his hands—white and wrinkled. They had an industrial dishwasher, but stubborn grime had to be scrubbed off manually.

I’d done dishes at home too, but my hands had never looked that bad. It was surprising how different the same job could be.

Most of the part-timers were college students, either my age or slightly older. Many had gone to the same middle school as me. I’d thought I knew almost everyone in my grade, but I had no idea these people existed. It made me realize how small my world really was.

When I mentioned this to Mita-san, a girl my age who worked the register with me, 

"Nah, I knew about you, Shiba-san. Honestly, I think most people from our middle school grade would remember you."

she laughed.

"Huh? Why?"

How could they know me if I didn’t know them?

"You were kinda hard to miss. I was just average, but you were always standing out during sports festivals, right? Plus, you were friends with Nagumo-san. She was on another level—like, celebrity-level noticeable. She had this… aura, y’know? Being a sorcerer and all. Speaking of, what’s she up to now?"

"We were together through high school, but we ended up at different universities. Sakurako was always really smart."

"Wait, really?" 

Mita-san looked puzzled.

"Yeah? What’s weird about that?"

"Nah, it’s just… I always thought Nagumo-san relied on you more. From the outside, it didn’t seem like you two were super clingy, but there was this… understanding between you. Like, a bond you don’t see often. Kinda jealous. So it’s surprising you drifted apart."

"Well, we couldn’t stay together forever." 

I forced a wry smile. You don’t choose life paths based on friendship.

"Hmm… I guess that’s how it goes." 

Mita-san pouted slightly, looking disappointed.

Her cute expression made me feel complicated. If I could’ve gone to the same university as Sakurako, I would have.

My college life was enjoyable. Attending lectures seriously meant passing most classes without much struggle. The basketball club I’d joined on a whim was laid-back and fun, and I got along well with my coworkers.

But—whether at the club or work—drama swirled around me. "So-and-so started dating," "So-and-so broke up." It was a daily occurrence.

There’d been some of that in high school, but once we became college students, boyfriends and girlfriends multiplied like zombies in The Walking Dead. I wasn’t into that scene, so I kept my distance. If I sensed someone might confess, I’d dodge it with vague excuses.

Even though Sakurako lived in the apartment right nearby, we barely saw each other anymore. So close, yet somehow far away.

Honestly, it was lonely. But college kept me busy, and we occasionally exchanged messages on LINE, which I’d just learned to use.

Then, just like that, I started seeing Sakurako again—every single day.

Because she’d suddenly become a YouTuber.

----

I was stunned when I first saw it—I hadn’t heard a thing.

There Sakurako was, right on the YouTube thumbnail, close-up. And it was trending on social media, spreading like wildfire. But this wasn’t some cheap, attention-seeking content—her videos were refined.

Under a cherry blossom tree, petals scattering around her, Sakurako—dressed in a kimono—sang incantations like a dance. The video ended with a breathtaking close-up of pink flames. It looked like an artist’s music video. Her magic was even more polished than in high school, the flames now larger—proof of her dedication.

Beautiful. This was the magic I’d always wanted to see.

Not because it was useful, but because it was mesmerizing.

This was the vision Sakurako and I had imagined back in middle school—the kind of magic we’d dreamed of creating someday. At the time, it seemed impossible, but Sakurako had made it real.

But one reason I’d thought it was impossible was Sakurako’s grandmother’s warning: "Magic shouldn’t be shown off too much." Had that rule changed?

I immediately messaged her on LINE.

[I saw your video! It was so beautiful! But… is this okay? Back in middle and high school, you avoided showing your magic.]

The message was marked as read instantly, and her reply came quickly.

[At first, I planned to follow the traditional sorcerer path. But in college, I realized it wasn’t for me. So I thought—why not use videos to show how amazing magic can be? Plus, it might even make money.]

[That’s great! This suits you better! Your magic is incredible!]

In response, a sticker of a smiling bear (a character Sakurako secretly loved) popped up.

For someone who seemed so composed, she had a surprising soft spot for cute things.