Chapter 6: I'm More Than a Human Calculator, Right?

You’d be surprised how fast word travels.

All I was missing was my face in the school paper with a headline like: Math Lover Embraces Newfound Athletic Prowess.

I tossed my bag (stuffed with schoolwork and assorted existential damage) aside and let myself collapse into the couch.

The phrase what a day didn’t even come close to covering the number of social hindrances I'd been through.

I didn’t even mean to do what I did.

I just… did it.

It felt natural.

Scary, but natural.

I shook my head.

Since when, damn it?

Since she showed up.

Her.

I inhaled sharply and forced myself up from my couch-based utopia of unwinding.

The fridge offered consolation in the form of leftover takoyaki.

A quick reheat later, I was scarfing it down like it might fix something.

Comfort food.

After a long day, that's about all you can ask for.

Or maybe not. That could be an unhealthy coping mechanism, actually.

I don't even know what I am anymore.

Should I even go up there?

Would she even be there again?

Too many questions, Keizo.

Take charge damn it.

Let's see if she's still here.

With one last sigh, I pushed off the kitchen counter and made my way upstairs to the bathroom.

The mirror was empty.

No sign of Izumi.

I turned to face the bathroom window, eyes searching the darkness outside for any movement.

She couldn't have really left yet, could she?

Why would she leave without saying goodbye?

She was probably bluffing this whole time.

"Keizo?" she said suddenly.

I blinked, startling myself awake.

"You've been staring at nothing. Are you unwell?"

I straightened. “What? No. I’m good.”

She narrowed her eyes — a soft frown pulling at her features. "That is a lie."

Great.

I'm getting psychoanalyzed by a girl who doesn't know what a blender is.

"You’re giving me that look," I said with a grin. "Don’t give me that look. What else could I be staring at, besides—"

“Me,” she finished my sentence.

“…Yeah.”

She tilted her head slightly, gaze focused. "Why did you lie?"

Her voice had dropped — not accusatory, just... studying me.

"I've come to realize that Psionic magic seems to be the only branch that is unaffected by this banishment curse."

"Meaning?" I said, a little too sharply.

She pursed her lips. "Meaning I can sense when someone is clearly beyond disorientation. What happened today?"

Good lord what do I even say to that?

I could see she was waiting expectantly, like a cat whose tail was starting to curl. So I said the first thing that came to mind—the truth.

"I don't know how, but stuff floated and I dodged stuff that should've socked me right in the face." I winced unsure what was coming next.

There was a second of complete silence.

Then—

A smile.

"Marvelous, Keizo. I thought it would be much worse. Though, I'm sure you most likely seem unsure as to why, yes?"

"Pfft, of course? It's not everyday time blurs and my reactions become razor sharp, you know."

"I do know. I just didn't know they'd be this strong. Did you set anything on fire?"

"What? No! Wait... that could've happened?"

"Yes and no. The important part is, your alive and well and more in control than you think you are."

So what now?

I asked her the same question and she answered immediately.

"While you were away I did some thinking. I hypothesize that you and I are specially tethered because of this mirror and because you reacted with kindness and a little empathy, some of my magic leaked through."

Huh.

"Did you happen to chant anything while dodging projectiles at school?"

She has such a funny way of words.

"No, like I said, I kinda just did it."

"See," she began, "it's your 'just doing it' that is stumping me. I had to train for years to naturally channel instead of purely relying on grimoires."

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

Are we bonding?

Survey says we've likely done that already through some ancient... wherever-she's-from tradition.

It's why she blushed earlier, and why she's excited for me.

I should be to.

It's a lot to take in though.

Me? A magic user?

Not even my Fate of War create-a-characters could see this coming.

The afternoon soon bled into evening, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened.

Izumi revealed a bit more about her past. She also shared what it was like being… where she was: the Mirror.

It was a lot to take in, but I seemed to be keeping up, more or less.

Izumi is what her world calls an Omnimage, unofficially, of course. She’s someone who has technically mastered—but never received proper credit for—every single art of Magicka. Another term she used quite a lot.

Kind of like me with math.

For her, it was Theurgy and Goetic studies. For me, it was Algebra and Calculus.

If she’s mastered all of this… well, that just makes it interesting.

She was insistent I start paying attention to what she calls this newfound sensitivity to Magicka.

Sure, following in her footsteps could be dangerous. But right now, it felt more like… figuring out a new game level.

Secretly though, a small part of me didn't believe I had it in me.

I shouldn't say that.

I believed it, sure. It was more like I didn’t quite understand why someone like me was tangled up in all of this.

"You mental patterns are tangential, Keizo. Is something the matter?" Izumi questioned.

"No, it's fine."

"You're lying," she replied calmly, "and that's a terrible habit."

"What are you trying to get at?"

"Your emotions."

I stopped pacing around the bathroom.

Right. Psionics, I should've known she'd call me out.

I gotta play it straight with her.

"Izumi," I started. "What do I do now?"

She looked confused, for a brief moment. And then her expression fell.

She sighed quietly. “Does everything not happen for a reason? You have been granted such a beautiful gift. Sensitivity. Most people spend years building the capacity to even notice it.”

I stared at the sink for a second longer than necessary.

The mirror stared back, unhelpful as ever.

“I don’t know if things happen for a reason,” I said finally. “I think people just… end up places. And then they decide what it meant afterwards.”

Izumi didn’t interrupt.

She never did when she thought something important was happening.

“I’m not scared of failing,” I continued. “That part I can handle. I fail at things all the time. That’s familiar territory.”

I exhaled slowly.

“What I don’t get is what happens if I don’t.”

Her brow knit together, just slightly.

“If I can do this,” I said, “if I really have whatever it is you think I do… then things change. And I don’t know what that version of me looks like yet.”
I finally looked at her.

“And I’m not sure I trust him.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… attentive.

Izumi stepped closer to the edge of the mirror’s surface, her reflection overlapping mine like a double exposure.

“In my world,” she said softly, “those who fear becoming more are often those who understand the cost of it.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

A faint smile touched her lips anyway.

“It was not meant to be,” she said. “Merely honest.”

She studied me, as if measuring something I couldn’t see.

“Change does not ask for permission, Keizo,” Izumi continued. “But neither does it steal without giving. Sensitivity is not a command. It is an invitation.”

I swallowed.

“And if I accept it?”

“Then you may become someone new.”

“And if I don’t?”

Her voice neither hardened nor softened.

“Then you will remain who you are,” she said. “And that, too, is a choice.”

There was the slightest downturn at the edge of her expression as she finished speaking.

I leaned back against the counter.

“Great,” I muttered. “No pressure.”

Izumi tilted her head.

“You are already changing,” she said. “You merely noticed it faster than most.”

That… landed.

I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers.

“Okay,” I said after a moment. “Then don’t tell me what I’m meant to be.”

She waited.

“Tell me what I can try.”

For the first time since she’d asked her question, Izumi’s expression brightened—not triumphant, not relieved.

Proud.

“As you wish,” she said. “We will begin very small.”

And so we did.

Under her guidance, the chaos smoothed into something more deliberate. Small things responded first. Then heavier ones. Then fragile ones.

She offered insights that carried far more weight than she realized, adjusting me gently when my focus slipped, never once sounding disappointed.

My heightened reactions—near bullet-time, according to her—suggested a level of affinity she hadn’t expected.

She didn’t seem alarmed by that fact. If anything, she looked encouraged.

“You are on the right path,” Izumi said. “The more you practice, the easier it will become.”

“As it is with most things,” I replied, only distantly aware that I was bending objects with my mind.

I didn’t stop doubting myself that night.

But for the first time, I didn’t let doubt stop me.