Chapter 6

Things were much as I had expected, especially in the section for books on magic. I knew many of my colleagues at the institute couldn't wait to go and watch in person. Even though they could only stand by the roadside and crane their necks like everyone else, they still talked about it with relish, as if getting a faceful of exhaust from a flying vehicle meant they had taken part in this so-called magical extravaganza.

The LCD screens in the library were also broadcasting live from the scene. Although the conference wouldn't officially begin until tomorrow, this was reason enough to get together and celebrate early.

"...The speech by Archmage Mephistopheles Madsen has attracted particular attention. Tomorrow, after the prime minister and the speaker give their addresses, Mage Madsen will be the first to take the stage. At that time, he will..."

Oh... him again.

Before I knew I was Mephistopheles's stand-in, I hadn't realized his name came up so often.

I looked up instinctively. The camera had already cut away, and Reynold's face was on the screen. His expression was solemn yet approachable, and his hair was combed meticulously back. The speaker of the Magic Council's splendid robes gave him an imposing air, especially among so many high officials with deeply wrinkled faces. He looked like a peacock displaying its tail and radiating hormones.

In that case, my worries had been unnecessary. He must have been ready to pursue Mephistopheles. Had that meal been compensation for the breakup? That kind of thing happened all the time in the CEO novels Moli read.

They should have met by now. Reynold had mentioned a little about work before: at an international event like this, the main participants would privately walk through the venue and go over what they would say before the official opening, to prevent any mishaps from being broadcast live to the world. Five years ago, when the Dragon Emperor of the Holy Dragon Empire visited, dozens of dragon knights took off together on their dragons as he was leaving. Because no one had thought it through beforehand, the air currents from the dragons' ascent blew the federal Magitech Corps marshal's wig off. The video of the poor marshal chasing his wig beat the one of Mephistopheles slaughtering the half-orcs and held the top trending spot on social media for an entire year.

I also saw that the entire senior leadership of the Magic Research Institute was present. Ah, what a rare spell of peace and quiet for me! They wouldn't have time to demote me anytime soon.

The collection of ancient spellbooks was tucked away in a remote corner, and the books here were worlds apart from the ordinary ones outside. Not one was printed; they were all precious ancient manuscripts. Mages of the past hadn't made lots of copies of their spells or research findings and scattered them everywhere, so every book here was one of a kind. Many had even been unearthed from the ruins of ancient mage towers, once the personal notebooks of legendary mages from history.

I loved these towering bookshelves. Row upon row of them reached all the way to the dome, and even when I craned my neck until it ached, I couldn't make out the tops. I had to fly up to see them. Sunlight streamed through the transparent dome onto the thick, timeworn books, turning those near the top a shining gold. They had been touched by countless hands seeking knowledge, and I could smell ink and dust.

The space was enormous, and the shadows cast by the gigantic bookshelves meant the lights at ground level always had to be on. Walking here made me feel peaceful and comfortable. As my fingers brushed the spines, I could almost hear the writers' thoughts whispering between the pages. Words had a spirit of their own. They didn't just record knowledge; they passed thoughts down with it.

Whatever the contents of ancient mages' works, their approach to writing had always been rigorous and solemn. Yet nowadays, there were so-called mages publishing papers online, and plenty more trying to draw attention with things like open online courses. Worse still, there were televised spell talent shows. If the ancient mages who had written their spellbooks so earnestly found out, they would surely join forces and blast them with a forbidden spell, destroying heaven and earth.

The library provided small levitation devices for selecting books from the upper shelves, but a real mage had no need for such cumbersome things.

I floated among the tops of the rows of shelves. Easy-to-understand introductory books were within reach, while advanced and even dangerous ones were all kept up high, sealed behind magical barriers. Some books not only had obscure contents but were themselves protected by dangerous ancient Black Magic.

I pulled out a book that tried to bite through my neck and held its teeth down as I flipped through a few pages. The contents weren't particularly interesting, but its teeth felt nice, smooth and fine, so I couldn't resist stroking them again and again until the book made a sound like it was about to cry.

After looking around, I found my target-

"Space Magic."

That was the book's generic title. It was thick, and the writing was quite casual, but I sensed powerful Magic Power from it. Perhaps some archmage had written it down in passing while conducting research, rather than setting out to write a book. The perfunctory title might have been because the contents covered a broad range, with the author writing down whatever he happened to be researching. Or perhaps, out of some confidence, he believed what he had written was enough to explain the true essence of Space Magic.

I would have to read it to find out. I thought I might find some insights into teleportation spells.

I flew straight over and reached for the book-

But at the same moment, another hand touched mine. It was just as slender, with well-defined joints and fingertips groomed smooth and neat. But like mine, it bore traces of corrosion from magical materials on the skin, leaving it overly pale and bloodless. The neatly trimmed nails had a bluish tint rather than a healthy pink.

The owner of the hand and I both froze for a moment. Neither of us had probably expected another mage to be here at this time.

When I turned my head, I almost thought the book had unleashed some dangerous illusion, or that I had been careless enough to fall victim to a Confusion Spell or even a hallucination spell.

The owner of the hand was floating in midair just as I was, and he too had turned to look at me.

It was Mephistopheles Madsen.

Chapter 6

We looked at each other at the same time and saw much the same surprise in each other's eyes.

Without a word, we both withdrew our hands, but the feeling of his fingers still lingered on my fingertips... Me and Mephistopheles Madsen, floating in the air and silently gazing at each other between the towering bookshelves. I realized that not only had his name suddenly become a frequent part of my life, but the man himself had appeared right in front of me, catching me completely off guard.

It wasn't an illusion, a Confusion Spell, or a problem with my brain. I was one hundred percent certain that it was Mephistopheles Madsen: alive, capable of casting spells, and interested in the same book I was.

Well... I really lacked experience with this sort of thing. After discovering that I had been my ex-boyfriend's stand-in lover, I was face-to-face with his true love in person. This...

The Magic Power and mental power we gave off while using levitation met and collided in the air. That was enough to prove this wasn't an illusion; illusions didn't produce fluctuations of mental power. Right afterward, we both sensed that the other bore no hostility or posed any threat, so at almost the same time, we said:

"Hello."

"Hello."

Mages had been famous homebodies since ancient times. I was certain that more than half of them suffered from social anxiety, so I wasn't quite sure what to say in this situation. Fortunately, neither was Mephistopheles.

So we continued to study each other openly and calmly, making no attempt to hide what we were doing. Our gazes were perfectly frank. To mages, a direct gaze meant concentrated mental power and no underhanded spell being prepared for a sneak attack. Rather than being awkward or off-putting, it was a friendly signal. Our Magic Power probed back and forth, and the messages we received from each other were peaceful and harmless.

Without a screen between us, the real Mephistopheles seemed warm and vivid, with none of the gloomy air one might expect from a typical dark mage. His hair had looked lighter on television, almost cream-colored, but I realized that was probably a difference in the camera's colors. Here before me, Mephistopheles's long hair was almost the same light flaxen shade as mine. It was longer than mine, the carefully tended, soft strands falling all the way to his waist, but the color was identical: neither as bright as platinum nor as dark as brownish yellow. In the sunlight, it reminded me of a wicker rocking chair used for an afternoon nap. It was a comfortable color.

Uh, I definitely wasn't praising myself. I didn't have much of an opinion about my own appearance, but the color was eye-catching on Mephistopheles, especially with his delicate features and the slight upward tilt of his brows that made him look so spirited.

As we looked at each other, I noticed that, come to think of it, although our faces were quite different, we had a rather similar look. His eyes were simply bluer, while mine leaned a little gray.