The Last Magic Chapter 18

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Nagumo Sakurako is famous. She’s a sorcerer, but her magic videos are so breathtakingly beautiful that the world treats her more like an artist.

Once, a TV program even introduced her with a caption like [Beautiful-Magical-Artist] (Why is TV—especially commercial broadcasting—so hopelessly lacking in taste?).

Truthfully, I didn’t like Sakurako much at first. Born into a family of sorcerers, blessed with good looks, and a graduate of a top-tier private university—it felt like she’d been handed everything from birth.

And why wouldn’t I think that? My parents were ordinary, my looks were nothing to write home about, and my family was so poor that they told me, "If you want to go to college, make it a national university."

In short, Sakurako won the parent lottery, while I got the losing ticket. That’s all I wanted to believe.

But it irked me, so I started digging through her videos. Alongside her spellcasting MVs, I found a ton of livestreams of her magical training.

Compared to her magic videos, these were long, dull, and had far fewer views.

Thinking she was just padding her upload count, I decided to watch one so I could leave a snarky comment.

The first one that caught my eye was a takigyou (waterfall meditation) video.

I’d seen comedians do it as a punishment on variety shows, so I figured it wasn’t a big deal. I played a game on my phone while half-watching the video on my tablet.

At the edge of my vision, Sakurako—dressed in full white robes—stood under the waterfall, hands pressed together in prayer.

The game was just a monotonous grind for items, not even fun. After about 30 minutes, I got bored and glanced back at the tablet—Sakurako was still under the waterfall.

(What the hell is she doing this for?)

Curious, I started scrolling through the comments.

[So long and boring.] [Do sorcerers really need this outdated training?] [It’s just for show, right? No way she does this regularly.]

Most were negative, 

[Takigyou is brutal.]

but one stood out in her defense

[With that water pressure, most people can only last a few minutes. The fact that she can endure it this long proves she’s trained like crazy. Damn, impressive. I could never.]

The commenter went by LittleWoods.

After reading that, I looked up takigyou and realized just how grueling it really was. And here was someone already famous doing it. It made no sense. Even as a publicity stunt, it was weird.

Another comment from someone who seemed knowledgeable about magic said:

[She’s doing it to strengthen her magical power. It’s an old-school method.]

[Honestly, she doesn’t need to push herself this hard. Unlike physical strength, magic doesn’t fade—moderate training is enough to cast most spells even at 60. Sakurako’s rushing through life. She doesn’t have to suffer like this. It’s painful to watch.]

Rushing through life? Why? She’s got money, fame—she could marry some handsome actor or a tech CEO and coast on easy mode.

Intrigued, I started watching her other training videos.

Next was mountain climbing. Dressed in stylish outdoor gear, she scaled a steep peak while muttering incantations.

The comments were just as cynical:

[Maybe she just likes hiking?] [Trying to be a mountain girl? How try-hard.] [Probably mimicking Shugendō.]

Again, mostly negative.

I couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t entertaining—if anything, it was exhausting to watch. She climbed relentlessly, never stopping her chanting. The same person who cast spells so elegantly in those five-minute MVs.

The same know-it-all from before, now under the name Tanaka, had commented:

[Climbing while chanting is way harder than normal hiking. You’re pushing your body while confronting your inner self. Any sorcerer watching would feel the strain. Why does Sakurako even post these? As content, it’s pointless. I wish she’d stop. It’s heartbreaking in every way.]

Tanaka seemed to be either a sorcerer or someone well-versed in magic. I scrolled for more positive takes.

[Maybe she wants people to know who she really is. That she’s not just naturally gifted—that there’s real effort behind it.]

This was from a user named Katou, who left supportive comments on her other videos too.

"Yeah, well, everyone’s working hard."

I muttered it aloud. I wanted to believe Sakurako just had the right kind of effort—the kind that paid off—and was flaunting it. I almost stopped watching, but for some reason, I clicked another video.

This time, she was chanting feverishly in front of a campfire-like flame. Sweat poured down her face—honestly, not a flattering sight. Why would she upload this?

I checked the comments again, desperate to understand.

[I think there’s someone she wants to show this to.]

One comment began like that.

[I heard from a mutual acquaintance—we went to the same middle school—that Sakurako does nothing but magical training outside of necessities. She’s consumed by it. Someone told her, ‘At least record your training,’ so she started posting these. This is the real Sakurako. And there’s someone she wanted to see it.]

The poster’s name was SATO.

I didn’t fully grasp what they meant, but the training videos did feel like they were uploaded with a clear purpose. 

Like she was screaming, "You need to see this!"

Of course, that "you" wasn’t me. I knew that.

But the more I watched, the more ridiculous it all felt.

"Being able to work hard is a talent too." I tried using that to dismiss her, but then I hated myself for thinking it. Pathetic. I felt like a joke.

Does talent enable effort, or does effort create talent? In the end, it doesn’t matter. The fact is, Sakurako keeps pushing forward, and I’ve done nothing.

I tossed my phone aside and sat at my desk.

I could never endure her extreme training. But I could at least focus for the same amount of time. Otherwise, I’d be too pitiful.

With Sakurako’s training video playing, I started studying like I was competing against her.

Within 15 minutes, I was fed up. I glanced at the tablet—she was still going. Clicking my tongue, I forced myself back to my workbook. I repeated this cycle until I was drained, and only then did the video end.

Even if this was a performance, the footage had almost no cuts. At the very least, it wasn’t faked.

(A sorcerer, beautiful, smart, and a hard worker? Give me a break.)

Yet the next day, I watched another training video and studied the same way.

Over time, I started feeling a strange kinship with Sakurako—until, before I knew it, I’d become a fan.

Before, I’d ignored them, but the comments were full of people like me. [Watching you push yourself makes me want to try harder.] All these earnest, borderline corny posts.

I never cared before, but now I understood.

Sakurako seemed expressionless, but if you looked closely, her face betrayed subtle shifts—hints of pain, exhaustion, just like me. She wasn’t a genius. She was just a fool who kept grinding until she forged herself into who she was.

I’d spent my life using talent as an excuse to give up. Sure, I’d never be Sakurako or Ohtani Shohei, but that wasn’t a reason not to try.

So now, I play Sakurako’s training videos and push myself to my limits.

And with a weird sense of superiority, I think: Those who only watch her five-minute magic clips have no idea who she really is.

But still—why can Sakurako push herself so far beyond normal limits?

Who made her start filming these training videos?

And most importantly…

Who did she really want to see them?

No matter how much I searched, I couldn’t find the answer.