The cafeteria's clamor was a stark contrast to the quiet dread settling in my stomach. Being magically bound by Matsuri in public was embarrassing enough, but now I sat beside her and her friend, Shiragami Fubuki, a girl I knew was a fox Kenomimi. My gaze kept drifting to Fubuki's fluffy white ears, which occasionally twitched in sync with the cafeteria's sounds. It was a constant, surreal reminder that my world had fundamentally changed. My old mental filter would've dismissed them as a fancy hair accessory; now, my new perception screamed real. Despite knowing the world was magical, the tangible reality of it – Fubuki's twitching ears, the portals my mom conjured – still gave me a jolt of genuine shock, a profound sense of disorientation I couldn't quite shake.
"Good afternoon, Fubuki-senpai," I repeated, trying to sound normal, though my voice felt a little strained, like an old, rusty gear grinding into place. It was hard to reconcile the popular, calm Fubuki I thought I knew, the one who excelled in every mundane subject, with the girl whose ears were currently swiveling like tiny radar dishes, picking up every faint whisper and clatter in the bustling room.
Fubuki's soft, melodic voice responded, "Good afternoon, Rekka-kun. No need for the 'senpai' if you don't want. Matsuri talks about you all the time." Her fox ears swiveled towards me, and her gaze, usually serene, held a hint of amusement, as if she were privy to some incredibly amusing secret.
"Oh, really?" I shot a suspicious look at Matsuri, who just grinned innocently around a mouthful of rice. I swear, if she's been telling her friends about my embarrassing struggles with basic life skills,' I'm going to find a way to pay her back later.
"Anyway," Matsuri interjected, swallowing her food with an audible gulp that was far too loud for a supposed lady, "Fubuki and I were just talking about our upcoming Wilderness Exploration Practical Exam." She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with an almost childlike excitement that completely belied the seriousness of the topic. "It's for our sophomore grade, a big one. We get dropped into a designated 'wilderness' zone for a few days, have to survive, and complete objectives. And yes, it involves magic, magic swords, and actual danger." She punctuated the last three words with enthusiastic nods, as if the prospect of mortal peril was the most thrilling thing imaginable.
My eyebrows shot up so high they almost disappeared into my hairline. "Wilderness exploration? Around Japan?" My mind immediately conjured images of tranquil bamboo forests, serene mountains, perhaps a picturesque hike through a national park. This wasn't some epic fantasy world with untamed wilds and mythical beasts, was it? Japan was… Japan. Concrete, sprawling cities, bullet trains, vending machines on every corner, perfectly manicured gardens.
The sheer contrast between the mundane classroom lessons I'd just endured – quadratic equations, the chemical composition of water, the intricacies of the Meiji Restoration – and the sudden mention of a combat-heavy practical exam involving literal swords and real danger was utterly jarring, like two entirely different realities colliding in my head. One moment, I was calculating vectors; the next, I was being told my sister was going to be fighting monsters.
"Yep!" Matsuri chirped, completely oblivious to my internal turmoil, her cheerfulness a stark contrast to the grim reality she was describing. "Well, not just around Japan. It's more about the dungeons that have popped up." She gestured vaguely with her fork, scattering a few grains of rice, as if 'dungeons' were as common as convenience stores. "You know, the places where mana gathers and creates strange, often dangerous environments. Like the one near Kamakura."
Fubuki nodded, her expression calm and academic, as if discussing a geological phenomenon rather than a hazardous magical anomaly. "The Kamakura Bamboo Forest Dungeon is a common one for these exams. It's relatively stable, which is why it's chosen, though the flora and fauna inside are quite… unique. And dangerous if you're not careful. The bamboo itself is imbued with mana, growing unnaturally tall and forming complex, shifting mazes. We even learn basic combat in combat class specifically for navigating and surviving these expeditions." She sipped from her juice box, completely unfazed.
My jaw nearly hit the table, probably leaving an imprint in the sticky cafeteria surface. "Dungeons? As in, actual D-U-N-G-E-O-N-S? Like from video games? Magic and swords? And you going inside it!" The idea was utterly mind-boggling, a concept that defied every logical framework I possessed. I'd assumed 'magic' was limited to my family's casual abilities, perhaps a few hidden enclaves for secret societies or arcane rituals. Not entire geographical anomalies teeming with danger and requiring armed, magically enhanced combat. It felt less like a real world and more like a poorly designed, high-stakes MMORPG.
"Of course, dungeons!" Matsuri said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, like asking if the sky was blue or if rice was delicious. "They started appearing after the Outsiders arrived, along with the mana. Some are small, some are huge. They're basically pockets of other worlds bleeding into ours, like cracks in reality that just… opened up. The Kamakura one used to just be a normal bamboo forest, perfectly tranquil. But after a major mana surge about fifty years ago, it transformed. Now, it's a living labyrinth of towering, mana-rich bamboo that grows and shifts, strange glowing plants that might bite back, and unique magical beasts that roam its depths."
"Magical beasts?" I swallowed hard, the taste of my lunch turning to ash in my mouth. "You mean like… monsters? The kind you actually have to fight them?" The casual way she threw out these terrifying concepts was truly disturbing.
"Some are," Fubuki clarified, her tone calm despite the unsettling topic, always the more pragmatic of the two. "Others are just animals that have adapted to the mana-rich environment, growing stronger, larger, or gaining unusual abilities. But they can still be aggressive and territorial, especially if you wander too close to their nests or disrupt their feeding. That's why we have these practical exams, Rekka-kun – to teach us how to navigate and survive in such places. It's a fundamental skill for anyone with abilities to fight, really. Or anyone living near a dungeon, for that matter. We train extensively with magic, with weapons, and with advanced survival skills to ensure we can handle whatever comes our way inside. It's not a game."
I stared at them, my half-eaten lunch forgotten on my tray, a knot tightening in my stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. My sister, the cheerful, off-key humming girl who still snored occasionally, regularly went into dungeons armed with a weapon, facing creatures that could kill her? This wasn't just about my family being secretly magical; it was about the entire world being secretly magical, with perilous zones scattered across the landscape that required specialized training and combat. The sheer casualness with which they spoke of it was unsettling, bordering on terrifying. It was as if they were discussing a weekend trip to the grocery store, while I was being told the grocery store might spontaneously transform into a dragon's lair.
A sudden, jarring thought struck me, cutting through my shock like a sharp blade. It was a question that had been lurking in the back of my mind since the System's arrival, but now, with the revelation of magic in the school and dangerous practical exams, it surged to the forefront. "Wait, if this is a practical exam… why did I never have to do anything like this? My school experience has always been completely normal. No magic, no dungeon survival, no weird beasts, no combat classes, nothing remotely dangerous. Just… math, history, and chemistry." I looked directly at Matsuri, my voice tight, a growing sense of confusion and a faint, unsettling tremor of betrayal in my eyes. "Why was I never part of any of this? Why didn't I have combat classes or wilderness exploration?" The questions tumbled out, urgent and raw, weighted with years of unseen normalcy and a sudden, stark realization of my lifelong exclusion.
Matsuri's usual bright demeanor softened slightly, the playful spark in her eyes dimming to something more somber, more gentle. She glanced at Fubuki, who gave a subtle, understanding nod, a silent agreement passing between them. Matsuri took a deep breath, her gaze meeting mine directly.
"Rekka-chan," Matsuri began gently, her voice losing its usual boisterousness, "you… well, you've always been different, right? Since you were little. We all noticed it, even if you didn't. You didn't have any mana. Your body couldn't absorb it, couldn't use it. You were… empty, where we had currents." Her words were soft, almost regretful, but undeniably firm.
"So, because of that, you were exempted from all the magic-related classes and practical exams. It was actually a school-wide policy for cases like yours. The risks were simply too high for someone without mana to participate safely in combat training or dungeon exploration. It wouldn't have been fair to you, or to the others who would have to constantly protect you."
The words hit me with a surprising, gut-wrenching force, a blow straight to my chest. Exempted. It wasn't that I was just unaware of magic; I was literally written off from the magical world, deemed incapable and too vulnerable to ever participate. It explained everything: why my parents treated magic so casually around me, assuming I couldn't perceive it; why I had never perceived the magic that permeated their lives, because my body actively rejected it. It was a protective measure, yes, a shield, but also a profound form of segregation based on my inherent magical deficiency. I had been living in a carefully constructed illusion, shielded from a reality that was constantly threatening the lives of those I loved, a reality I was utterly unprepared for.
"So… for all this time, I've just been… a muggle," I muttered, the word feeling heavier now, loaded with the crushing weight of years of exclusion and ignorance. My childhood, my sense of self, it was all a lie, a protective bubble that had just burst. "A normal person in a family of wizards, attending a school that secretly prepares others for monster-filled dungeons, while I was just… learning algebra and the chemical properties of baking soda."
The contrast between my bewildered self and their casual acceptance was stark, a chasm I suddenly felt compelled to cross, not just for power, but for sheer, desperate survival. If dungeons were a normal, dangerous part of their lives, if my own sister faced death regularly, I couldn't afford to remain 'exempt' any longer. I had to gain mana, and I had to do it quickly.