Mental Magic

School Festival, cultural festival, academy festival.

It went by many names, but to the students, it was the grand event of the year. It was open to the public, with not only parents invited, but some local residents as well.

In the early hours that morning, Sugisaki and Eriol, the boys of the Literature Club, headed to the fish market to collect the catch they had ordered in advance.

Freshness was the most important thing when making sushi.

As a School Festival project, they had a limited budget. They were not opening an actual restaurant, either, so there was no need to choose particularly expensive fish.

Salmon and the like would do. There was also tuna. Though tuna was expensive, the lean meat along its back, known as "akami," was much cheaper and could also be used for sushi.

Sugisaki had ordered all these fish directly from a fishing boat the day before and paid part of the price as a deposit.

It was only six when the two arrived at the school gates. Normally, the school would not be open at that hour; it had opened early only because of the School Festival.

The fish were heavy, packed into six insulated bags with crushed ice.

Sugisaki initially found carrying them exhausting, but when he saw Eriol beside him carrying just as many bags with ease, he could not bring himself to complain.

"If they're too heavy, give me another bag. I'll carry it for you."

Eriol genuinely meant well and had spoken without thinking, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized they would probably have the opposite effect.

Sure enough, that remark brought out Sugisaki's stubborn streak.

"Of course I can carry them! It's only three fish. Easy, easy! You're the one who should ask me if you run out of strength. I'll be nice and carry a bag for you!"

As a result, the moment they reached the Literature Club and pushed open the door, Sugisaki completely collapsed.

He dropped into the first chair he found and slumped across the table.

"Do these fish need to go in the fridge? Come to think of it, did we get a fridge?"

"No. Refrigerating them would completely ruin the texture. Ice is enough to keep them fresh. For these three days of the cultural festival, sashimi and sushi will only be available in the mornings. In the afternoons, we'll only serve rice balls."

"Huh? President! What are you doing here?"

Sugisaki had thought no one was in the Literature Club yet!

Seeing the president there, he hurried to stand, not wanting her to see him in such a sorry state.

But Huo Lin had already seen him.

"Just rest, Sugisaki. Thanks for your hard work. Leave the rest to me."

Huo Lin pressed an index finger against his forehead and pushed him back down. Sugisaki slumped onto the table again. This time, he really could not get up.

"Why did you get here so early, President?"

"What, did you think I'd slack off? There's still plenty to prepare before opening a sushi shop."

Things like mixing sushi vinegar and steaming rice. She had gotten up no later than Sugisaki and Eriol, rising a little after four in the morning herself.

The sky had only just begun to pale then. Now, after six, it was fully light.

Amano was the only member of the Literature Club who had not arrived yet, but she had been in charge of decorating the classroom and had worked late into the night.

"Right, you haven't had breakfast yet, have you? I ended up with some extra batter while preparing the sauces, and there are some vegetables left over too. I'll coat some okra and eggplant and make you tempura."

"Huh? Really?"

Without another word, Huo Lin was already heating the oil and getting to work.

The batter had been put in the fridge the night before and taken out just before she left for school. It was very thick. Just about anything could be fried as tempura, making it one of the most convenient dishes to prepare.

"Tempura's on the menu for our customers too, so consider this a taste test."

"Then don't mind if I do!"

The president's homemade tempura-how should he put it? The coating was crisp, and the vegetables inside were fried just right. Calling it "delicious" would not be flattery at all.

It would have been perfectly worthy of being served in a Japanese restaurant.

"You'll definitely make a good wife someday, President."

Sugisaki spoke without thinking, and Huo Lin rapped him on the head with a long-handled spoon.

"I was going to fry you a butterfly shrimp too. Guess what? Not anymore!"

"Huh? I was only joking, President! You're a real man, standing tall and proud!"

"No means no. The rest is for our customers."

When Amano Touko entered the clubroom, that lively scene was what greeted her.

"You're here early, Amano. Didn't you get home after midnight yesterday?"

"Yes, but thinking about today's School Festival made me wake up early."

This was not Amano's first School Festival. Students in fourth grade and above could run festival projects, while those below fourth grade could only visit. Now in sixth grade, Amano was participating for the third time. But at previous festivals, the Literature Club had only held simple reading sessions. None had ever been as lively as this one.

Everyone ate several pieces of tempura. Amano ate none, and Huo Lin did not offer her any. Everyone knew Amano only liked eating books.

Rather than fry tempura for her, they would have been better off writing a few lines of a short story on plain paper for her to taste. That was her food.

But when it came to short stories that could fit into a few dozen characters on a single sheet, all Huo Lin could think of were horror stories. To Amano, those would be scorching-hot peppers, perhaps with mustard mixed in.

"Amano, did you have a proper breakfast?"

"What's with that tone? I'm your senior, you know."

Their senior was serving as a waitress today. She was not wearing her uniform, nor a maid outfit, of course, but a simple dress in a soft, understated color.

Amano looked slender even in her usual school uniform, but in her own clothes, she looked even frailer.

Clearly, eating nothing but books did not provide enough nutrition.

But for the literary girl, other foods really were difficult to swallow.

"Try this, Amano." Huo Lin handed her a freshly shaped rice ball.

The rice ball was sprinkled with sesame seeds and dipped in a little sugar.

"I can't eat food like this. Really..." Amano was about to decline when she noticed something strange. "Huh? Why... does it seem to have a smell?"

As a literary girl, Amano could not taste ordinary food. It was not just tasteless in her mouth; it had no smell to her, either.

Amano's father was also a "Book Eater," and she had inherited the trait from him. It was passed down through their bloodline.

Taking the rice ball gingerly, Touko held it under her nose and sniffed.

She was not imagining it.

She cautiously took a bite.

"So this is what a rice ball tastes like?"

It was soft, a little sweet as she chewed, with a fragrance she could not describe.

Like a blind person suddenly seeing the world, Amano had tasted real food for the first time!

In the past, she had always compared great works of literature and poetry to various foods. She described Shiga Naoya's works as soba noodles, for example, and Arishima Takeo's as fresh raw oysters drizzled with lemon juice.

Yet she had never tasted either soba noodles or oysters.

"But why?"

Amano Touko could not understand.

Beside her, Eriol watched the scene with interest.

This was magic.

A peculiar kind of magic.

When Amano Touko ate books, she was not eating paper and ink, but the emotions the author had poured into the words.

Huo Lin would not have understood this before, either. But her encounter with "Phantom Thief Jeanne" the previous week had introduced her to a special system of magic manifested through "spirit" and "faith."

She had promised to help make a weapon for her within two weeks. Although she had not started yet, she had gained a basic understanding of the principles behind this magic, which could be considered "mythological."

This was a small test of her skills.

Sure enough, once she infused the rice ball with the power of mental magic, Amano could taste it.

"Would you like me to make you another? Or some sashimi?"

"No, that's all right." To her surprise, Amano declined.

This was her first time tasting food. The president was always so incredible.

But a literary girl spent her whole life searching for a "chef" who belonged to her alone. President Yagami clearly was not her "chef."

So before she grew dependent on it, Amano did not dare taste it again.

"I see. What a shame."

Huo Lin did not press her.