Prologue: A Crimson Curtain RisesChapter 1 — When Reality and Fantasy Intertwine
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"When reality and fantasy intertwine—our story begins."
Long ago, magic and science were both considered proper academic disciplines.
But as the times changed, the mysteries that once covered the Earth slowly faded from sight. Magic began to retreat from the world stage, gradually forgotten by the march of modernity.
Today, magic is a word most consider to belong solely to fantasy and myth.
Yet even in this age where the arcane has all but vanished, there are still those who carry on its legacy—
Hidden from public view, living in the shadows of the modern world.
They call themselves—
Magi.
And now, as fantasy and reality once more begin to intersect—
Our story begins.
Time: Winter, late 20th century.
Location: Fuyuki City, Hyōgo Prefecture, Japan.
This year, the New Year came earlier than usual, and the weather was bitterly cold.
Dusk was falling. Thick clouds blotted out the sky, a heavy, somber atmosphere blanketing the streets.
Soon, delicate snowflakes began drifting down from the overcast sky. A northern wind swept in, lifting the falling ice crystals and carrying them off toward the distant horizon.
The gentle snow danced down in silence, like a layer of sheer white gauze descending onto the steel jungle, blanketing the gray-black city in white. Eventually, the snow drifted down the manmade paths—gutters, storm drains—disappearing quietly beneath the streets.
Because of the time of year, Japan's New Year holiday had just passed. Schools in the Far East had yet to resume, and many office workers were still on break. With so many people away on vacation, the usually bustling streets seemed oddly deserted. Most shops were still closed, and from afar, the city felt especially quiet and still.
To a lone traveler walking these gray-white streets, far from home in a foreign land, there was no joy to be found in the snowy scene.
Only a quiet, bone-deep sense of loneliness.
Just like now—
"I hate snow."
A low murmur broke the silence of the empty street.
The wind howled suddenly, swirling the drifting snow across the ground. The scattered flakes landed softly atop the existing snowbanks, adding yet another layer of pristine white.
A young man with black hair walked slowly through the snow-covered street.
He wore boots, a long coat, and held a red umbrella, his expression unreadable as he looked around the winter scenery.
"I hate snow... I hate winter… and I hate the New Year even more."
These words, so out of place in a season most in the East considered joyous, nonetheless came from the heart.
After all, just because something is widely loved doesn't mean everyone loves it.
At least not for a wanderer so far from home.
"Because… it makes me miss home even more."
Rovie brushed the snow from his coat and pulled his collar tighter. Then he lifted his head and stared blankly up at the snow-filled gray sky above.
Another year, another holiday season. Back in his hometown, the plum blossoms were probably blooming by now.
Name: Rovie Crowley.
Age: 22.
A wandering magus known within the mystical community as a rare talent.
And of course, a transmigrator who took over this body a few years ago.
The original Rovie had been an elite magus from the Clock Tower, part of the younger generation of rising stars. Born into a noble family and blessed with exceptional talent, he'd carved out a name for himself even amidst a sea of geniuses.
Aside from a little… incident involving his family, he'd been the textbook definition of a successful young prodigy.
That is—until two or three years ago, when things went horribly wrong.
Put simply, the original owner of this body had secretly conducted a forbidden ritual in violation of the Clock Tower's laws. It went horribly awry. His soul was consumed, and his lifeless body lay sprawled across the carpet for two days straight.
That's when this Rovie arrived, reincarnated into the corpse of a damn fool.
When he first opened his eyes, expecting either the afterlife or a hospital ceiling, only to see the intricate red ceiling of a noble's mansion, Rovie had been thoroughly stunned.
He remembered his last moments clearly—a massive truck barreling toward him. The pain, the impact—unforgettable.
It was the kind of experience only someone who's actually been hit by a truck could understand.
For a moment, he'd sensed his own life slipping away.
And yet, when he opened his eyes again, it wasn't the underworld, nor a hospital bed—
It was an old mansion, the air filled with strange scents: mercury, lapis lazuli, blood, and other unidentifiable odors.
That day, another unlucky transmigrator from Earth had been "kidnapped" into another world—by a truck.
As one of countless victims of the interdimensional "Truck-kun" trafficking ring, Rovie was at a loss.
He had been on a pedestrian crosswalk, obeying every traffic rule. It was in a city, for heaven's sake!
How the hell did a runaway semi even get there?
He'd heard the blaring horn at the last second, but by then it was too late.
And now… here he was.
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