Hanabi could never forget what had happened to him the first time he was taught magic constriction. The mere thought of being suffocated by his own energy was more than enough to leave a lasting mark on him, something that lingered far deeper than simple fear, as if the sensation itself had been carved into his memory rather than merely experienced.
It was not just pain, it was the realization that the very thing meant to empower him could also destroy him from within, silently and without warning. The memory alone was enough to unsettle him, even now, especially in moments of silence where his thoughts had room to wander.
And yet, because of that experience, his understanding of magic energy had broadened in ways he had never imagined before, forcing him to reinterpret everything he thought he knew. What once felt like an abstract concept had become something disturbingly real, something that existed not just in theory but in his own perception of the world.
Because of it, his theories and opinions about energy, magic, and mana gradually shifted over time, not suddenly but through continuous reflection and small realizations that accumulated within him. His approach became more refined, more cautious, yet strangely more efficient in a way that even he himself found difficult to fully articulate.
Training, which once felt uncertain and inconsistent, became smoother, as if the gaps in his understanding were slowly being filled without him noticing the exact moment it happened. His progress skyrocketed within just a few months, not because he worked harder than before, but because he began to understand how to work properly, as though he had finally started reading the structure behind what he was doing.
Now, after properly learning many of the basics, Hanabi began to desire something more. Offensive magic, something that would allow him to extend his influence outward rather than only understanding what already existed around him.
All of a sudden, he remembered a magic item he had once inspected while searching for useful tools, back when he was preparing himself in case he encountered people with evil intent, or anything that could threaten the fragile balance he had begun to understand.
It was a plain-looking wand, simple to the point of being unimpressive, almost dismissible at first glance. It looked like nothing more than a small pole, similar to a straight stick, something anyone might ignore without a second thought if it were lying on the ground. He had used it once. Only once.
After a single attempt, he never touched it again. The moment he used it, he felt as if most of his strength had been drained from his body, even though, by his own understanding, he had only lost a small portion of his energy. That contradiction alone was enough to make him wary of it, as it did not match what he knew about normal magical output or consumption. The imbalance lingered in his memory more than the sensation itself.
The wand was labeled as a training wand for offensive magic, as Hanabi recalled from its description, something meant not only for practice but for shaping control over outward magical expression. It was said to be used for practicing offensive spells, though still applicable in real combat situations depending on the user's proficiency. That detail alone made it both useful and unsettling at the same time, as usefulness and danger often seemed to overlap in ways he was only beginning to understand.
As his desire to move forward grew stronger, he decided to give it another try, not out of confidence, but out of necessity to confirm whether his earlier experience had been due to lack of understanding or something more fundamental.
The book he possessed allowed him to widen the space inside the cave, while making the outside appear unchanged, as if nothing had been altered at all, preserving the illusion of continuity. It could also recreate the environment into any form he desired, reshaping space as though it were merely another layer of thought. With a simple request, he could create a room suited for target practice, a place where he could experiment without consequence, without fear of disrupting anything beyond his controlled environment.
Back at the orphanage, the children continued experimenting with different ways to create something they could use to earn a living, driven by both necessity and curiosity. As Hanabi observed them, he noticed a group heading toward the nearby field of grass, searching for plants they considered valuable, moving with a kind of urgency that suggested both hope and inexperience. They moved with purpose, though their understanding seemed shallow, built more on imitation than knowledge.
With the support of Mother Lilith, the children were provided with a magic item that could examine the plants they gathered, allowing them to determine whether they were safe or not before using them. It made their work easier, though not necessarily smarter, as it removed danger but not misunderstanding.
"If you really want to use many plants that much, why don't you just cultivate or something?" Hanabi said as he watched them, his tone more curious than judgmental.
"Cultivate? What's that?" one of the children asked, tilting their head in confusion, as if the concept itself did not naturally exist within their understanding.
"It means taking care of the plant as it grows," another answered, though their tone lacked confidence, as if they were repeating something they had heard rather than truly grasping it.
"That's too much work!" the others immediately complained, their interest fading just as quickly as it appeared, as though effort itself was a barrier they instinctively avoided.
Hanabi found himself confused by their reaction, unable to understand how such a simple concept was unfamiliar or even unreasonable to them.
"It's quite surprising you know such a word, Hanabi."
Mother Lilith appeared behind him, her presence calm yet noticeable as she stepped closer, as if she had been observing for some time before speaking.
"However, it's not possible, because plants evolve very fast," she explained.
"What does that mean?" Hanabi asked, not fully satisfied with the answer.
"A plant also has a survival instinct. Once it feels danger, it will modify itself against its threat," she said, choosing her words carefully as if simplifying something more complex. "For example, if a plant is often eaten because it is sweet, it may turn bitter to protect itself."
The explanation was simple, almost childish in structure, yet effective enough for Hanabi to understand the core idea behind it. He did not say anything further. Instead, he stopped questioning and continued watching the others, letting the information settle within him without interruption.
"But if you want to try cultivating, I will allow you to, and assist you however I can," Mother Lilith added, her tone remaining gentle but firm in its sincerity.
Hanabi felt as if her words carried more weight than a simple suggestion. It felt closer to a challenge disguised as permission, something that required action rather than thought.
"I need land for it, at least," he replied.
"You can think about it tomorrow. There's no need to rush. It's something that should be considered carefully," she said, as if emphasizing patience itself.
"To say the least… if I decide to continue, there should already be land waiting."
Mother Lilith paused for a brief moment, longer than usual.
"I understand," she said, before turning away and walking back toward her office.
Hanabi felt a sudden sense of unease from that exchange, subtle yet persistent. His instincts sent a faint shiver through his spine, making him wonder what might happen next, even though nothing outwardly suggested danger. Yet no matter how he thought about it, he could not grasp the reason behind that feeling, and that uncertainty stayed with him longer than expected.
Days passed, Mother Lilith fulfilled her promise. Using a small portion of the wide plain field in front of the orphanage, she prepared land for cultivation, shaping it with precision that clearly went beyond normal manual effort. Nuns were trained in various forms of magic, many of which were applied in practical ways, making such tasks far easier than they would normally be, almost routine for them.
Returning from the market, Hanabi was left completely baffled when he saw the land had already been prepared in just a single day, as if time and effort had been compressed.
Even without asking, he already knew who had done it. As he examined the cultivated land more closely, he concluded that it had been shaped through magic rather than labor. The precision, the efficiency, it left no room for doubt, only silent acknowledgment.
For a moment, he found himself speechless, not out of admiration alone, but from recalibrating his expectations of what was possible.
After consulting the book for an ideal plant that would bring the most benefit, he was given a seed called sugar cane to plant.
However, the seed itself was… strange.
It looked like a piece of coal made from stone, rough and unnaturally solid, as if it had been compressed far beyond its natural state. It was so large that he could not even hold a single seed properly in one hand, forcing him to treat it almost like an object rather than a seed. Because of that alone, he doubted whether it would even grow in a normal sense.
Still, he began planting. He dug holes large enough to fit each seed, spacing them out carefully due to their size, ensuring consistency even without certainty. The work was not easy, yet he continued without stopping, as if completion mattered more than comfort. Even so, doubt lingered within him, refusing to disappear completely.
But the next day proved him wrong.
The moment he stepped outside, he saw it.
Overnight, the seeds had grown towering over him.
He only needed a single glance to understand how unnatural it was. The plant stood tall, its yellow-green leaves long and sharp like a double-edged blade, yet covered in soft, almost delicate fibers that made its appearance contradictory. Its body was a creeping structure of green and purple, resembling bamboo, though warped into an unfamiliar form that did not fully belong to anything he had seen before.
Hanabi approached and examined it more closely, his attention narrowing as he studied its details.
When he broke a piece off, he found that while the outer skin was firm, it could be peeled easily, even by hand, revealing a softer interior beneath. Curious, he tasted it.
The flavor was strange, It reminded him of water mixed with a small amount of honey-sweet, yet unpleasant in a way he could not fully describe or categorize. It was not something he could easily enjoy, nor completely reject. Everything seemed to work as expected.
And yet-
Hanabi could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.