The steam rising from my tea carried more warmth than the sun overhead.
Dim. Distant. Almost indifferent now—like it had finished its job and was simply waiting for permission to leave.
I watched it curl anyway.
Slow. Familiar. Quietly grounding.
"We're getting a bonus. Oh joy."
Noi's voice echoed in my memory as I turned another page. The paper gave a soft, dry whisper each time my thumb moved it—like old leaves brushing against each other.
I took another sip.
Still too hot.
Still worth pretending it wasn't.
"A bonus would certainly come in handy," I thought absently.
Not luxury.
Breathing room.
For things I hadn't fully let myself name yet.
I turned the page again.
Outside the shop window, summer had stopped pretending. The warmth had thinned into something in-between—everything looking unchanged, but carrying a faint exhaustion under it.
The kind that knows winter is already on its way.
And it never announces itself politely.
"Good morning, Mr. Gaspard."
The door hadn't even finished opening before the voice came in.
Bright. Fast. Too awake for the hour.
I didn't look up. I already knew.
"Morning, Mayumi," Mr. Gaspard replied from behind the counter. "You seem enthusiastic. Did something happen?"
A beat of silence.
Then a chair scraping too quickly.
"I see," he continued, tone shifting slightly, "so you want to attend a school there."
I finally glanced over my cup.
Mayumi was already leaning forward like stillness was optional. Her hands wouldn't settle—adjusting sleeves, tapping the table, stopping, starting again. Like her thoughts were trying to leak out through her fingers.
"Good morning, Miss Victoria," she greeted, still vibrating with energy.
"Morning," I replied.
I took a slow sip of tea.
She looked like she might launch herself out of the chair at any moment.
Almost impressive, in a concerning way.
"So," I asked, "were you able to show him the spell?"
Her eyes lit up instantly.
"Oh—yes. They were more fascinated than I expected."
A small, satisfied smile followed.
"Thanks, Victoria," she added quickly.
"I didn't really do anything," I corrected gently.
She shook her head like that answer didn't matter.
"You helped me understand what Steven was trying to say."
At that name, something in her posture sharpened.
"How did you know I could use the spell like that?"
She leaned forward again, chair creaking as she half-stood.
"Are you a mage?"
"Keep it down," Mr. Gaspard warned without looking up.
Mayumi froze mid-rise, then slowly sank back down with visible effort.
The energy didn't leave her.
It just got contained.
"Sorry," I said automatically.
Then I set my cup down.
"No. I'm not a mage."
A pause.
I tilted my head slightly, choosing words that wouldn't drift away halfway through.
"But if everyone under that title shares a common ground—even with different affinities…"
I stopped briefly.
The phrasing didn't feel like mine.
"…then there has to be something consistent underneath it."
"Mana," she said suddenly, almost to herself.
Her gaze drifted toward the window like she had just noticed something important hiding in plain sight.
I nodded once.
Then adjusted the heat in my cup before taking another sip.
Steady. Controlled. Familiar.
"But how did you know I could use the spell like that?" she asked again.
I tapped the rim of my cup lightly.
"Mr. Tau explained it," I said. "If you treat the spell as a byproduct…"
I glanced down at the page I had been reading.
"…water becomes steam. The dart is just the structure it forms around."
Mayumi listened properly now.
For once.
"But to a fire mage," I continued, "that gets dismissed as noise. Useless residue."
I looked at her directly.
"That 'noise' is where your learning actually begins."
Silence settled.
Outside, a cart rolled past, wheels creaking over uneven stone.
"So that was what he meant," she murmured.
"Mm."
Mr. Gaspard exhaled pipe smoke in the background. It mixed with tea, ink, and paper—like the shop itself had absorbed years of conversations and refused to forget them.
"He left this morning," I asked after a moment.
Mayumi nodded.
"Yeah."
Then, quickly—
"I've decided to study in the West."
The sentence landed without drama.
But it didn't need drama to be heavy.
Just certainty.
I lowered my cup slightly.
"I see."
Not much else to say that wouldn't distort it.
But I felt it anyway—how easily people step into directions that don't come back the same.
"But I don't even know where to start," she admitted, suddenly less sharp.
"Then ask someone who does," I said simply.
The room settled again.
Books. Paper. The quiet rhythm of tea being poured and set down.
Outside, the trees were already thinning into the season's shift—green drying at the edges like it was learning how to let go.
Mr. Gaspard chuckled softly.
"So," he said, finally looking up, "you want to study in the West because a boy pointed something out… but you ignored the old man who said the same thing?"
Mayumi pouted immediately.
"That's not—he didn't explain it properly."
Another quiet laugh from him.
"Well, regardless," he continued, "Western states do have institutions for that sort of study. I don't know details, but they exist."
Mayumi leaned onto the counter, her earlier energy cooling into thought.
"Victoria can help," Mr. Gaspard added casually. "As a Concord employee, surely you know more."
I paused.
I know the calendar now.
That was already something.
Enough to be dangerous, depending on who asked.
"I'll… ask my superior," I said.
Technically true.
Technically safest.
Mayumi exhaled like that gave her permission to hope again.
We drifted back into quieter rhythm—cups refilled, pages turned, small sounds filling the gaps where conversation had been.
Warmth held inside the shop despite the cooling world outside.
"This place is warmer than outside," Mayumi said after a while.
"Good insulation," Mr. Gaspard replied.
No one corrected him.
After a pause, I spoke again.
"How did you know you were a mage?"
Mayumi blinked, caught off guard—but not resistant.
"I was taken to the hospital when I was younger," she said slowly. "They thought I was just sickly."
Her fingers traced the cup's edge.
"Migraines. Pressure in my ears. Dizziness."
A brief glance downward.
"Later my mom said it was something called a mana heart."
I tilted my head slightly.
"And that is?"
She shrugged.
"Something about neurological compatibility with mana… I think."
Not precise.
But honest enough to matter.
I took another sip of tea, letting the warmth settle properly this time.
Outside, the street had fully woken—coats, carts, voices layered like fabric being woven too quickly to track.
I exhaled against the glass.
Steam blurred the world for a moment.
"The West," I thought again.
Not just geography.
Not just study.
Something already in motion—quietly pulling everything forward.