Chapter 40: The Smiling Magician

“Fuhahaha!! Behold the supreme symphony woven by my puppets!”

The middle-aged man was bursting with cheerfulness.

“Di molto! Today, my puppeteering is peerless! My dolls, now sing—!”

“Um, excuse me. Could you maybe stop that for a sec?”

Completely oblivious to the mood, he charged into the depths of despair with great enthusiasm and started performing his act… only for it to fall completely flat.

---

“Hey Yuri, do something about that. He’s your dad, right?”

“...Sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed right now. I don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with my father’s antics.”

“Yes, more fortissimo, with elegance!! LaLa~”

“What is this guy?”

Before the overwhelming and unreal magical pressure, the middle-aged man kept shouting like a lunatic.

Ah, poor guy. Surely Mr. Yuma must’ve snapped from the sheer terror.

That had to be the only explanation for this absurd behavior.

“Yuri, is your father always like this?”

“This is business as usual.”

So this is normal, huh.

“Um... excuse me. The third volley’s about to come, so could you please sit down soon, Irine?”

“...Ah, no, Sakura. I can’t be the only one to survive this.”

“Don’t be stupid. Even if it’s just one person, we have to—”

“To the bouncing rhythm, catch the vibes! The dancing fool and the watching fool!!”

“Can you please be quiet? I’m trying to say goodbye to my friend for life, and I can’t even concentrate!!”

While Sakura was risking her life to save me, some cheerful old man started singing and dancing in the background. He absolutely ruined the moment.

Seriously, what the hell are we supposed to do with this guy?

“Father, stop it. You've always been oblivious to your surroundings, but this is too much.”

“What are you saying, Yuri? If not now, when else could I possibly unveil my art?”

“Unveil what? Father, enough already! Even I don’t want to cut family ties right before I die—!”

“Ararararara~i!!”

Even with a genuine scolding from his daughter, Yuma didn’t show the slightest hint of remorse.

Yep, he’s a madman. There’s no way someone in their right mind would act like this while sober.

“Well then, that’s enough of the opening act. Now for the main course! Behold my ultimate ensemble performance!”

With that wild proclamation, Yuma scattered confetti into the air.

Looking closer, it wasn’t confetti at all—it was a flurry of academic papers written by him and other scholars from this city. And every single one of them was about gag magic.

“Come, everyone, take one and see! I’m open to requests! I shall show you the true essence of magic that brings smiles to all!”

“...Is this really normal?”

“I don’t know... I have no idea what my father is thinking…”

Among the papers so carelessly scattered,

I saw that crazily dancing, impossibly cheerful magician...

“Yohohoho-hoooi!”

...was just about to burst into tears.

---

It happened more than ten years ago.

"Ah… Kuri. No, it can’t be true..."

A massive fire had broken out at the research facility where his wife worked.

As soon as Yuma heard the news, he rushed to the scene of the accident.

"Ah, Kuri. Ah, Yuri. Are you both safe?"

His young daughter had been in the facility’s daycare at the time. With the entire place reduced to ashes, the chances of either of them surviving were slim.

By the time Yuma arrived at the site, the fire had already been extinguished. The names of the unfortunate victims were being confirmed.

"A-Ah! Kuri, no!!"

Among the listed victims, Yuma found his wife’s name.

One of the charred corpses had something clinging to it—a wedding ring, the same one his wife had worn since their marriage.

That hideous, blackened lump of flesh was the woman he had once loved.

"Ah… Aaahhh!! No… Kuri… no, nooo!!"

She hadn’t made it. She was dead.

While he had been wasting his time researching pointless tricks, his wife had burned to death in agony.

The woman he had vowed to spend his life with was gone, and Yuma teetered on the brink of despair—

"...Suu… suu..."

"...Ah—"

Beneath Kuri’s charred body, something stirred gently, breathing softly.

It must have been so hot… so suffocating… and yet, Kuri, Yuma’s wife, had shielded their daughter with her own body until the very end.

"Kuri… you protected her."

"Suu… suu..."

"I’m sorry… I’m so sorry..."

Only three years old. Still too young to understand anything. Yuma cradled his daughter in his arms and collapsed in tears over his wife’s remains.

---

Just to be safe, Yuma took Yuri to the hospital, then gently laid his wife's body into a coffin. Afterward, he sat down to think about what would come next.

"What am I going to do?"

His mind wandered back to the happy days he’d spent with his wife.

What lay ahead now was uncertainty.

"From now on, I have to raise Yuri on my own. I’ll need to cut back on work hours too..."

Grief over his wife's death, anxiety over the future—it all pressed down on him with unbearable weight.

Yuma remained in the now painfully spacious living room of his home, lost in endless thought.

"First, I need to give Kuri a proper farewell. Then, I’ll find a better-paying job, one that lets me spend more time with Yuri..."

His mind still numb with shock, Yuma let these thoughts drift vaguely through his head.

Yuri, his beloved daughter, was still so young. Still in the phase of life where a parent’s love was absolutely essential.

She probably couldn’t even understand that her mother was gone.

And thinking of that, Yuma once again began to sob quietly.

"......"

"Oh, Yuri. You’re awake?"

The next day, Yuri stirred and slowly opened her eyes in the hospital room.

The hospital was overflowing with victims of the fire, and since her injuries were minor, she was expected to be discharged soon.

"Good morning, Yuri. Did you sleep well?"

"......"

"Yuri?"

But Yuma noticed something was wrong.

No matter what he said, she didn’t react at all.

"Hey! Somebody get a doctor! There’s something wrong with my daughter!"

"Huh? Oh, right."

Even when he leaned in close, her eyes didn’t meet his.

Even when he reached out a hand, she didn’t respond.

No matter how much he spoke to her, Yuri just stared blankly into space, expressionless.

Worried, Yuma asked a doctor to examine her.

"......"

"It appears your daughter has lost her mind."

The aftereffects of the fire were far worse than Yuma had feared.

"Most likely, your daughter was conscious during the incident. She saw her mother burn to death with her own eyes."

"What… what does that mean?"

"For a child that young, a parent is their entire world. To have that ripped away right before her eyes… this girl likely shut down her emotions entirely to protect what remained of her fragile heart."

No matter what anyone did or said, Yuri didn’t move a muscle.

Eventually, she even stopped eating, and they had to feed her through a tube just to keep her alive.

"Furthermore, the fire site had low oxygen levels. If her brain was damaged in that environment, recovery will be extremely difficult."

"Wait… are you saying… my daughter…"

"Hypoxic psychosis. In all likelihood, there will be no full recovery."

The cheerful, radiant girl Yuma had raised with such love and care—

"To put it plainly, your daughter has become like a plant."

────She had lost her heart.

Yuma wept in anguish.

Cradling his daughter, now a silent, soulless shell, he was unable to do anything else but cry.

“Please… Yuri…”

Her hair was disheveled, her arms thin, her eyes sunken.

Yet she showed no signs of movement.

“Answer me… Move, talk to me…”

Day after day, he visited the hospital. And day after day, he spoke to his doll-like daughter.

He kept believing that someday, she would smile again—like she had during that picnic with her mother, that radiant smile that bloomed like a flower.

“Just one more time… That’s all I ask…”

Yuma collapsed over his daughter’s body, begging.

He even forgot to eat, wasting away, yet never stopping his cries of grief.

“Smile for me, Yuri────”

As he offered up his unreachable prayers to his daughter.

---

One day, Yuma had a dream.

In it, his late wife stood beside him. Their daughter, Yuri, laughed with boundless energy.

They were celebrating Yuri’s birthday—together, as a family.

“Yuri, happy fourth birthday.”

“You’ve always loved teddy bears, haven’t you?”

“Papa, Mama!! Can I really have this!?”

Yuri squealed with delight, eyes sparkling as she hugged the enormous stuffed bear.

His wife let out a soft sigh of relief, warmth in her gaze as she watched their daughter’s joy.

“Don’t eat too many sweets, alright? We’ve got a feast waiting for tonight.”

“The cake will still be good tomorrow.”

It was a perfect, peaceful moment.

A fleeting return to a life he should have had—if not for the fire.

“Yeah…”

“Oh my, Yuma. Why are you crying?”

Even in the dream, tears ran down his cheeks.

Supported by his gentle, wise wife, he began to sob.

“I don’t know… I just can’t stop crying, Kuri…”

“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“Her smile… it hurts so much to see it…”

As he slept, Yuma remained unaware that it was only a dream.

All he knew was that this world—where Kuri still lived and Yuri smiled without a care—was unbearably precious.

“Crying at a celebration brings bad luck, you know. Come on, you should be smiling too.”

“Yeah… sorry, Kuri. I’m okay now.”

It was just a fleeting moment of peace.

A fragile escape from reality—yet in that moment, it saved him.

“You’re the magician who brings smiles to people’s faces, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. I’m Yuma, the one who fills Yowin with joy.”

“Then you should be smiling too.”

And then, in that dream…

“A man who brings smiles to others shouldn’t be wearing a tear-stained face, should he?”

…his wife reminded him, ever so gently.

---

“…Ngh…”

That happy dream eventually came to an end.

And as always, morning came—harsh and painful.

“…Ah, that’s right…”

Yuma slowly sat up and checked the date.

In the chaos and desperation of his daily life, he’d completely forgotten. But today—this day—

“Today is Yuri’s fourth birthday…”

Half a year had passed since the fire.

And only now did Yuma realize that his daughter had reached her birthday.

---

“…Yes, that’s fine.”

“Thank you.”

Yuma had a teddy bear delivered to the hospital room.

He also brought in his puppet orchestra, having received permission to celebrate his daughter’s birthday.

“Happy fourth birthday, Yuri.”

Surrounded by doctors and hospital staff, he began a magnificent performance using his proud magic.

Just as his wife had told him in the dream, he wore a radiant smile.

“Thank you… for staying alive.”

Even if all Yuri could do was stare into space, she was still his beloved daughter.

With every ounce of his skill, Yuma played cheerful, innocent, pastoral music—the kind Yuri had loved.

He didn’t know how much it truly meant.

But even so, this was the only way Yuma could express his love for his daughter.

“…Ah!?”

“Huh?”

The doctor suddenly let out a shout.

It happened on the day Yuma performed for Yuri again for the first time in a long while.

“Yuri-chan’s… her face…”

When the performance ended and they turned to look—Yuri had tilted her head and was looking toward Yuma.

The girl had responded to her father’s music—turning in his direction of her own will.

At that moment, for the first time in six months, Yuri showed a sign of human response.

---

"Your daughter had, without a doubt, shut off her emotions."

From that day on, Yuma began performing in front of his daughter almost every day.

Held at the same time each day, those little concerts soon became something of a local attraction at the hospital.

"But you managed to pry open the heart she'd closed off."

At first, Yuri could only move her head, but gradually, she began to show more varied reactions.

Tilting her head, widening her eyes, curling her fingers—each subtle movement was undeniable proof that Yuri was on the road to recovery.

"This is nothing short of a miracle."

"Don't be ridiculous. Are you trying to insult me?"

The doctor, watching Yuri slowly come back to life, had called it a "miracle."

But Yuma didn’t see it that way.

"This was simply the brilliance of my magic, nothing more."

It was the same magic that once captivated his wife—a magic that brought smiles to people’s faces.

Mocked as mere party tricks, his performances had nonetheless brought laughter to many. And now, that same magic had reached his daughter.

That was all there was to it.

From then on, Yuma never let his smile fade.

In front of his daughter, he was always cheerful, always smiling.

"...P-Pa?"

"Oh-ho! Indeed, I am your Papa!"

---

Eventually, Yuri regained the ability to speak.

She could eat on her own, and even walk again.

"You're being discharged. Thank you for all your hard work."

"I'm going to miss your performances so much. Please keep doing your best."

"Fuhaha! Well, naturally! My magic is of the highest caliber!"

And so, Yuma took the fully recovered Yuri home.

There was one thing he had to do first upon returning home.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone for nearly a year… my dear wife."

It was to hold a funeral—for the wife who had long since been buried.

Yuma had waited, always with a beaming smile, for the day he could properly lay his wife to rest, together with their daughter.

For Yuri, who had witnessed her mother’s death before her eyes, it was something that had to be done before all else—so she could finally find peace.

────A funeral, one year in the making.

It was said to be a joyful service, filled with friends and loved ones, where Yuma played a medley of songs his wife had adored—surrounded by smiling faces.

---

And so, Yuma reclaimed his daughter.

“Father, Father. I want to become a researcher too.”

“Is that so! Research is wonderful—it's a joy! I'm sure you'll create a marvelous magic that brings smiles to the entire academic world!”

“…I won't make that kind of magic.”

Bit by bit, Yuri began to speak more. The lifeless expression she once wore gradually gave way to signs of vitality.

“The puppet flute alone isn’t enough. I’ll try a new instrument at the next conference.”

“A new instrument?”

“In other words—my butt!!”

Yuma’s research began gaining recognition, and his name spread as a mage who delivered smiles. With his incredible performances, he was even invited to noble banquets.

He was finally able to earn enough to provide a comfortable life for his daughter.

“I shall create melodies with my farts!”

“…Heh, what is that? Ridiculous.”

Yuma—a man whose only talent lay in his act—had nearly lost everything in a fire. Yet even then, standing at the edge of despair, he never gave up and kept trying.

“Heh… heh…”

For the first time in years, his daughter Yuri smiled at her father.

---

Yuma was a clumsy man.

And he devoted his entire life to just one thing: making his daughter smile.

Yuma was never born with talent. More often than not, his heartfelt performances completely fell flat.

His musical magic was impressive, but his jokes were one-note, and he had a terrible habit of repeating any gag that once got a laugh.

Even so—those who knew Yuma would unanimously say this:

"His magic is amazing."

Because—

“Never have we seen magic so overflowing with love for family.”

There were many who were moved by the earnestness with which he lived.

Yuma followed after his daughter when he heard she was joining a battle against the demons.

When he saw her silently weeping, he rushed in.

He couldn’t do anything about the magical bombardment.

The only thing he could do was stand in front of his crying daughter—and put on a ridiculous show.

“Father, please compose yourself. This is a moment where everyone has steeled their resolve to face death.”

“…I am composed, Yuri. Hm, I tried adding a harp into one of my puppets… Did it not please you?”

“This is not the time for that, Father. Please, just be quiet for a bit.”

Yuri, exasperated, stopped crying and turned her attention to calming her father.

Yuma, chastened, quietly sat down beside her.

“Looks like the mana concentration’s complete. I’d say they’re fully ready to fire.”

“Soon, everything will probably come to an end. Very well, then—I suppose I’ll spend my final moment by Father’s side.”

The clown who lived for his daughter did nothing but raise a fuss.

But regardless of how he did it, he succeeded in making his sobbing daughter stop crying.

“…Father?”

“No, it’s nothing…”

That alone—

—was more precious to Yuma than anything else.

---

"Oh dear~ Looks like things have gotten quite messy."

Far above, somewhere in the distant sky—

A quiet murmur, unheard by anyone, slipped from the lips of a goddess.

"That Karl... defying my orders again. And now he’s suffering for it. Absolutely ridiculous."

The goddess had momentarily stepped away from her duties to peer down at the mortal world, checking in on the hero she had instructed to flee.

As one of the ancient gods, she had countless responsibilities. Especially now, with the Demon King—humanity’s natural enemy—resurrected and running rampant.

She couldn’t afford to spend all her time babysitting a single hero.

"And to think he’s being swayed by nonsense like 'spirits' and 'precognition.' If the future were truly set in stone, there’d be no point in us interfering at all, would there~?"

Muttering to herself, the goddess voiced her thoughts toward her hero, now cornered.

There is no such thing as a fixed future. That’s why she, a goddess, continued racking her divine mind, always asking, "What can be done to reach a better outcome?"

"Those spirits are just running calculations with a broader perspective than humans. What’s truly needed to shape the future comes down to just one thing."

Spirit magic is nothing more than an advanced computation.

Time and again, the goddess had seen heroes overcome hopeless odds—battles where survival seemed impossible—bringing hope back to humanity.

And without exception, every one of those miracle-working heroes had one thing in common—

"A powerful human emotion... something no spirit could ever predict."

There existed something stronger than anything else: the uniquely human willpower.

—

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—

—

—

The enemy bombardment was about to begin.

The city of Yowin was on the verge of complete annihilation.

—

—Humanity had no chance of winning.

That was the conclusion the spirits had reached.

—

“…Irine?”

It was, to anyone’s eyes, an unmistakable crisis.

At this point, the only hope left was to pray for a so-called “miracle.”

—

“W-What is it, Irine?”

“……”

That’s why—undoubtedly—this was nothing but a coincidence.

A pitiful middle-aged man, driven by love for his daughter, flailed about, desperately trying to do something—anything—that might help.

“Why—”

And yet that desperate act, by sheer accident, filled in the final piece of the miracle.

The heartfelt wish of one man was passed on to one girl.

—

“Why are you smiling, Irine!?”

In dire straits lies the path to salvation.

The muscle-brained noblewoman, with a radiant smile for her companions, declared:

“Bravo, Lord Yuma.”

And stood, face-to-face, against the oncoming bombardment.