Magic Store 26



"What exactly is this 'Academy district' you're talking about?"

I asked, puzzled.

To my question, the child paused for a moment, then spread her arms wide as she answered.

"It's where the schools are... um, there are so many of them."

"There are a lot of schools?"

"They're really big too. And... there are a lot of big sisters, and a lot of little sisters too... uh..."

The child seemed to struggle to express it, flapping her tail widely from side to side, but it didn't really help explain much.

Given her young age of 7, she didn't have a wide vocabulary.

"And there are a lot of kids my age too... and there's a department store too... it's just so much!"

She trailed off, having run out of words to describe it. I'd have to use my imagination for the rest, I suppose.

Lots of big and little sisters, huh?

That sounds like it's referring to middle and high school students.

And the child said there are tons of schools, so it must be a district with at least dozens of them clustered together.

With the mention of kids her own age, there are likely preschools and daycares as well.

And even a department store, which means this must be quite a sizeable and developed area.

As someone who has lived in a small, quiet neighborhood for over 20 years, I could hardly envision the scale of this "Academy district."

Imagining it led to another question.

"But why are all the schools gathered together like that?"

"Huh?"

Of course, a 6-year-old wouldn't know the reason behind that.

I should rephrase the question.

"I mean, what do the kids there learn that they need so many schools?"



At my question, the child thought hard for a while, then mumbled,

"Magic and... and, catching monsters...?"

"Catching monsters?"

"I think that's what the big sisters said... but honestly, I don't really know for sure."

She added the last part uncertainly.

But the fact that she even mentioned those things meant it wasn't just a completely baseless claim.

"Hmm..."

I asked about it because it seemed like important information to know, but after hearing the child's response, I couldn't help but feel I had needlessly pried.

It reminded me of the casual way the store manager had mentioned it before.

This convenience store, she had said, operates by moving between different locations.

I haven't experienced that myself yet, but I do recall the manager mentioning the Academy district as one of those places.

Since the manager had no reason to just make empty claims, I suppose I'll end up working there someday.

But a place that teaches magic and monster-hunting?

That sounds a bit... dangerous, doesn't it?

And while working there, I'd have to serve all kinds of customers - from preschoolers to high schoolers.

"Ugh, I'm getting dizzy..."

Likely from all the thinking, while still recovering from a cold, the child's face flushed pink, and she started sniffling constantly.

I gave her the rest of the honey water to drink, and we took a 10-minute break.

After the child seemed a bit better, we continued the conversation, focusing on topics she would be more comfortable discussing.

"If it takes you an hour by subway from home to get here, your mom must work around this area then."

"Yes. I can get here quickly by bike."

"Where exactly is home?"

At my question, the child jumped off the chair and went over to the counter by the window, gazing up intently at one spot.

Coming closer, I saw them pointing a finger.

"Over there."

They were indicating a building that must stand at least 70 or 80 stories tall, reaching up into the clouds.

The sheer height of the towering structure was impressive, enough that I could almost imagine a dragon perched at the very top without it seeming too farfetched.

"Sounds like your mom has a good job."

"Yes. I came from there yesterday."

Listening to the child, it seems the building even has dedicated childcare facilities inside.

Intrigued, I glanced up at it, only to feel their gaze and look back down to find the child now looking up at me.

The child asked, "But where do you live, Sir?"

This was a question that required some thought.

After a moment, I replied:

"It's just a 3-minute walk from here. Pretty close by."

"Wow, so you live around here too, Sir?"

"Well... I suppose you could say that."

At my response, the child's face lit up with a bright smile.

"Awesome!"

"What's so great about that?"

"If you live here, Sir, I can see you for a long, long time!"

"Well, I don't know about that. As long as I don't quit my job, maybe. But if I do quit..."

"Huh?"

"If I quit, then I wouldn't be able to see you anymore. I do have to make a living, you know."

This part-time job is just a temporary arrangement until I can find proper employment.



While it's an unusual experience, coming to this other world to sell cigarettes to vampires or chat with a little dragon while snacking on candy, I can't really afford to just sit around the convenience store counter indulging in these peculiar encounters for the rest of my life.

I need to move forward and build meaningful connections, not just leisurely enjoy the novelty of it all.

At least not for the next few months, anyway.

After my response, I noticed the child's expression had become a bit downcast.

Thinking it over, I added:

"This is just an old man's concern, but getting too close to an adult you don't really know isn't always the best idea, child."

"What do you mean by 'an old man's concern'?"

"It means I'm worried."

"About me?"

"We've only known each other for two days, and it's been less than two hours. Saying you know me or that you want to see me for a long time seems a bit much, doesn't it?"

The manager had said this child can sense people's emotions through color.

So it's unlikely anything truly dangerous would happen if the child decided to follow me, an unknown adult.

But by my own standards, I'm still a stranger to this child, given how little time we've spent together.

In other words, I could potentially do harm if I wanted to, even if I have no such intentions now or in the future.

I don't want to become an example of the "kind stranger" that exists among the unknowns.

The world isn't filled with just well-meaning, nosy adults like myself.

"But still..."

The child, looking quite disappointed, hugged their tail and buried their face in it, peeking out only from the edge of their eyes.

Their muffled voice was hard to hear clearly, but I listened intently, sensing it was important.

"You helped me... with the paper crane..."

"That was nothing, really."

"And I'm not coughing anymore."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Yes. That's why I think you're a good adult."

A simple, sincere statement.

Perhaps because the child is just inherently pure, or maybe because this is a pure moment.

"And, I really like you, Sir."

"Even good adults appreciate when children think well of them, you know."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, it's not always easy to tell if the adults you meet are good or bad."

"Umm... How so?"

"I said it's not easy to tell, didn't I? I don't really know either."

Of course, this child is a special case.

At least for her, distinguishing good adults from bad ones doesn't seem overly difficult.

While it may be hard now, she'll eventually be able to do it by sensing the colors.

But for me, there are no colors.

Being devoid of magic, I'm just a colorless figure.

So the things the child is saying to me now are not the result of a simple categorical distinction through color, but truly her own genuine feelings.

She likes me.

She thinks I'm a good adult.

Since the child has shared her heart, I suppose I should share mine as well.

Are you a good child or a bad one?

"Kid."

"Yes?"

"If you maintain even half that angelic demeanor until you're an adult, you're guaranteed a spot in heaven. I'll vouch for you."

"Huh? I can go to heaven...?"

"That's a story for the distant future. So, after you've eaten about 100,000 bowls of rice?"

"I, um, can't really eat that much rice..."

Ah well, guess you won't be dying anytime soon then.

Just live a long, long life.

The child, having put down the tail they were hugging, took a few polite sips of the honey water.

The chill and cold symptoms seemed to have largely subsided.

Glancing at the wall clock, I saw it was now 9:30 AM.

"Feeling better now?"

"Yes. Thank you, Sir."

"The weather's cleared up too, so you should head home soon. I'll be leaving for home a bit later as well, to get some rest."

"Okay."

"Oh, when you come tomorrow, go to the stationery store and buy a sheet of drawing paper. I need to stick the paper crane you made. Roll it up carefully so it doesn't get crumpled, okay?"

Our convenience store didn’t sell A4-sized paper.

Hearing this, the child nodded and asked, "Will I be here again tomorrow?"

"Don't worry, I'll be here at this time every day. You don't have to buy anything if you don't want to."

"But still..."

Ah, the child is starting to look down again.

Their emotions really do swing back and forth.

"In that case, I'll buy you an orange-flavored Chupa Chups tomorrow."

"Okay."

At that, the child's face lit up with a wide smile.

They jumped off the chair, ran to the front door, and waved goodbye to me.

I waved back, and the child pedaled their bike off to the left, disappearing through the bright doorway.

About 10 minutes later, the manager arrived.

"Chan, hello!"

Her usually tidy hair was slightly disheveled, and one sock was pulled up higher than the other.

Panting slightly as they came through the door, it seemed she had rushed here.

"Did you run here?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I was trying to get here earlier, but there was a bit of an issue."

"Well, don't run in the future. It's the change of seasons - you need to be careful of catching a cold."

"I'll keep that in mind next time."

Saying this, she pulled a black smartphone out of their bag and held it up.

Is that some kind of magic phone or something?

I glanced at it for a moment, then asked:

"Manager."

"Yes?"

"Do we have any lint-free burlap sacks?"

The manager paused for a moment, then replied, "Ah, I forgot about that."

"Oh dear..."

This is quite an unfortunate situation.

The burlap sacks we're currently using are old ones that were lying around the office, so after mopping the tile floor, there are bits of lint left behind.

We had to wait for the lint to dry before sweeping again, which doubled the calorie burn.

What's more, the lint doesn't even sweep up easily.

It just clings to the broom, refusing to come off.

We had to go outside and pick it off by hand, and then wash our hands afterward.

"I can pick some up during my next shift, if that's okay."

"No, I'll make sure to get them tomorrow. Is there anything else we might need?"

“A few other things come to mind, but for now..."

First, I mentioned the most pressing issue.

"The convenience store entrance door."

That really needs to be fixed soon.

It was novel at first, but looking at it constantly has become quite tiresome now.

Following my gaze to the front door, the manager muttered while glancing between their smartphone and the door.

"Seeing it in person, it does look even more broken than I thought."

"Is it actually possible to repair?"

"The repair itself isn't that difficult... Ah, how about you try doing it?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. I think it would be good for you to learn how to do it, while we're at it."

As the manager spoke, she handed me the smartphone.

I took it, but... wait, is she asking me to use magic with this?

Now?

"Uh, what should I do first?"

I was expecting some complex ritual or contract, but her response surprised me.

"First, you need to connect to the Wi-Fi."

Ah yes, the data connection is important.

The manager explained the steps to connect the phone to the store's Wi-Fi network.

Once that was done, she showed me an app she had installed.

"Okay, now open this app. It's an AR repair guide for the store entrance door."

I followed their instructions, and the app overlaid interactive instructions and diagrams on the phone's camera view of the door.

"The app will walk you through the whole repair process step-by-step. Just follow along and let me know if you need any help."

I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Repairing the door myself using this augmented reality app was not what I had expected, but it did seem straightforward enough.

"Alright, I'll give it a try. Let's get this door fixed!"

















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