Chapter 13

The air was thick with the rich aroma of coffee, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and casting warm patterns on the wooden floor, creating a leisurely and comfortable atmosphere. Abstract paintings adorned the walls, while the barista busily worked behind the counter. Soft, melodious music flowed through the speakers, filling the entire café.

Near the corner sat two people facing each other.

One dressed in casual white attire, the other in a stern teacher’s uniform.

The latter’s burly frame and fierce expression made it hard to associate him with a teacher; he looked more like a member of the mafia. In fact, if someone called him that, it wouldn’t be unbelievable.

This wasn’t some adolescent fantasy or a joke—mafia organizations were legal enterprises in Japan, so it was understandable that passersby hurriedly avoided the man wherever he went.

Yet beneath this tough exterior, the cosplayer knew, the man harbored a gentle heart, once affectionately dubbed a "male mother" by online fans.

As the cosplayer observed the man, the man was quietly observing the cosplayer in return.

The cosplayer’s soft black hair fell straight down, framing his delicate face. His eyebrows were finely shaped, slightly arched, lending a friendly warmth. His nose was high and defined, lips a subtle rosy hue against pale skin, reminiscent of a vampire stepping out of a painting—fragile and exquisite like porcelain, radiating a delicate, almost sickly beauty.

The waiter had recently placed coffee and cake on the table.

The youth lifted the slender, graceful fingers of one hand to grasp the coffee cup’s handle, raising it gently to his lips for a few sips before setting it back down. His lips, slightly stained with the liquid, glistened moistly like they were tinted with lipstick. Thick eyelashes drooped low, fluttering softly with each breath like butterfly wings.

His frame was fragile and thin, as if a gust of wind could knock him over.

“Cough, cough.”

Suddenly, the youth coughed, his right fist covering his mouth, veins tinged blue visible against the pale skin of his hand.

The teacher fell silent for a moment, his voice softening in a way even he might not have noticed. “Are you sick?”

“No, it’s an old ailment,” the youth replied gently, his eyes curved in a warm smile.

The teacher grew even quieter.

With such a frail body... it seemed he’d collapse even without a curse spirit’s intervention.

“Do you want to become a sorcerer in the future?” the teacher tentatively asked.

The youth nodded modestly.

The teacher continued, “Have you considered that given your health, being a sorcerer would be very difficult?”

Not just difficult—it might very well be a direct path to the afterlife.

“I’m not afraid of hardship,” the youth answered earnestly.

The teacher was at a loss. After racking his brains, he finally found a suitable question: “Do your family support this?”

The cosplayer’s expression didn’t change. “They support my choice.”

“By the way... you’re Russian, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why did you decide to study in Japan?”

“Japan is the only place in the world with the most curse spirits. Maybe that’s why your country has specialized schools,” he said, implying other countries do not.

The teacher was momentarily speechless.

It was the truth—and that truth was painfully blunt.

“Alright. But I want to say, becoming a sorcerer is not easy. Afterward, the world you face will be even more dangerous. You might die at the hands of a curse spirit. Death is never far for a sorcerer—sometimes just a breath away. The responsibility is heavy. Others can run when danger comes, but you can’t—you must charge forward... You never know if you’ll have a tomorrow. Even so, do you still want to become a sorcerer?” The teacher’s eyes, hidden behind dark sunglasses, sharpened as he spoke solemnly.

He hoped the youth would reconsider. Being a sorcerer was no game. He had taught several students and witnessed too much heartbreak and pain. He didn’t want to see more blood spilled or young lives consumed.

Not everyone has a will of steel.

Regret after the fact would be too late. Time does not rewind. Life happens only once.

Facing the teacher’s doubts, the youth looked straight at him. His determined eyes seemed to pierce through the sunglasses and strike the teacher’s heart.

Clasping his hands tightly over his chest, the youth said firmly, “I have thought it through. That is why I decided to enroll in your school.”

“To worry about gains and losses is human nature. But for me, I hope for a peaceful world.”

Long after, when he looked back, the teacher finally understood: nine and a half out of every ten things the youth said were lies. Only the dreams they spoke of during their first meeting—the pure, childlike ideals—were sincere and untainted.

“Teacher, I want to create a world where curse spirits don’t exist.”