***
I have no talent as a mage.
Which meant that even learning the Barlot family's Secret Technique would never grant me precognition.
But,
"This support magic—the kind that lets you recall things you've only skimmed past—doesn't require any special talent. The activation itself shouldn't be difficult."
The root magic behind it was something I could learn.
Perfect Memory.
The moment I heard I could learn that ability, my heart began to pound wildly.
"Of course, it's impossible to recall things you never saw or felt in the first place. The same goes for things you've never experienced. Would that still be acceptable?"
An ordinary person might covet precognition.
But for me, Perfect Memory held far greater value than any precognition that fell short of a hundred percent.
How great a value? Great enough that even someone maintaining a composed demeanor let a hint of excitement show through.
Seeing my reaction, the Count smiled with quiet warmth.
"I'm glad you're so pleased. At least this way, I can repay even a small part of my debt."
Count Barlot said that and rose from his seat.
"Follow me."
It was a sudden directive, but I asked no questions.
From context, it wasn't difficult to guess he intended to teach me the support magic.
He led me to a small room situated in the deepest part of the mansion.
Too sparse to be a reception room, yet too orderly—too devoid of any lived-in feeling—to belong to the servants.
A window stood half-open, and on the table sat a cup of tea so cold that the powder had long since settled to the bottom.
A fireplace with its embers dead, a single chair pushed to an odd position.
At minimum, it wasn't difficult to surmise that this space was not meant for everyday living.
"This place is..."
"A training room. My son also uses it occasionally to practice the support magic."
Click.
The Count locked the door.
As he did, a barrier unfolded to envelop the room.
A testament to how critical the security of this room was to the Barlot family.
The Count cast his gaze around the room and checked the security several times over before he finally spoke.
"What you'll be learning here is Sensory Back-tracing and the Method of Loci."
"Sensory Back-tracing?"
"That's right. Simply tracing memories alone isn't particularly efficient. You already know that magic requires symbolism and catalysts—it also requires specific imagery, doesn't it?"
I nodded.
Magic requires symbols and catalysts.
But as the Count said, imagery is equally important.
It's also why mages are so desperate for good teachers.
A mage who learned magic through self-study can only fire a Fireball in a straight line, but a mage who once watched their teacher juggle Fireballs can attempt a dozen variations with the same spell.
What the Count was emphasizing now was connected to that very principle.
"Sensory Back-tracing and the Method of Loci are necessary for that same reason. This support magic can only be activated smoothly if you build a space inside your mind. It's magic that deals with the mind, not with reshaping reality—so imagery is even more important here than catalysts or symbols."
He added a conjecture alongside that.
"Our family suspects that the very act of creating such a space in the mind may itself be functioning as both symbol and catalyst for us."
And based on that conjecture, the family had honed this technique across hundreds of years.
"This room may as well be our family's history itself. It is training aimed at creating the most vivid possible space inside the mind."
Gazing at the optimized answer born from countless attempts and failures, Count Barlot spoke.
"Thanks to you, my son can train here again. His condition has improved considerably."
"The pain must have made training difficult."
"It did. That... hemophilia, was it? The pain in his stomach and legs. Even when he entered this room, all he could recall were painful memories—the imagery simply refused to take root."
He smiled with quiet satisfaction, thinking of his son who had lately been sleeping soundly without painkillers.
"That boy will one day imagine placing bookshelves in this room and inherit my position as head of the family. All thanks to you. That the family could be preserved—all of it was your doing."
"I hope that day comes as soon as possible. For my part, I'll do everything I can to help Young Master Adrian reach Rank 2 in blood magic."
"Indeed. Though that's still a distant future."
The Count cleared his throat and returned to the subject.
"Well then—enough private talk. Now, look at that teacup."
Following his instruction, I looked at the cold teacup.
Much as I did when spending time with Shallot, I quickly scanned it.
White porcelain.
A faint brownish stain along the rim.
A trace of gold leaf near the handle.
It looked like a teacup that had been used for quite some time.
The tea inside had clearly cooled—evidently nothing more than a training prop—and what had once been mixed into the water had settled to the bottom as powder.
"What do you see?"
The Count's question.
I related everything I had observed.
"...So I see those sorts of things."
"Noticing the decoration on the doorknob earlier, and now this—your perception is sharp. But this isn't quite the answer I was hoping for."
The Count pointed to the teacup.
"You defined what you saw as a teacup, and then converted every characteristic into words."
"Yes."
"But that's far removed from imagery taking root in the mind. What you described is an image filtered and organized by your conscious mind—not the object itself."
He was right.
In the end, this too was a memory edited by my consciousness.
Even if I recalled it later, I would bring it back with the keyword "cold teacup."
And anything I failed to notice right now—I would never be able to recall.
"What I'm after is the sensory dimension. What sensations does that teacup give you?"
"...I'm not quite sure."
For a moment I worried the Mage's Senses were going to make another appearance.
Just as that concern was rising, the Count spoke.
"When I look at porcelain, I feel something cold. When I imagine picking up that cup, my hand naturally forms its shape. The smell of the tea comes back to me too."
He continued.
"You noticed the stain, didn't you? What do you think caused it?"
"Someone must have tipped the cup."
"Try imagining it again. Not with logic—with imagery."
Following his instruction, I closed my eyes and pictured someone tipping the cup.
"...It wasn't tipped. Someone set it down in a hurry."
"Exactly. That's precisely what I'm after."
I was beginning to understand.
"Now close your eyes and try to absorb this space into your mind."
Following his instruction, I imagined the space.
In the hazy space of my mind, the teacup was sharper than anything else in the room.
With my eyes closed, the Count placed a hand on top of my head.
"I'll help guide the imagery."
A stimulus of magical power flowed into my mind.
My own magical power instinctively resisted the Count's.
This was a fundamental resistance present in all living beings.
The reason objects imbued with more magical power were harder to interfere with through magic—and why magic-based healing was less developed than divine power—could be traced back to this very principle.
"Trust me. Let your magical power step aside."
Of course, this resistance too could be eliminated through training.
I suppressed the resistance as the Count instructed.
The gentle sensation of his magical power lightly stimulating my mind followed.
'What a strange sensation.'
There should be no nerves in the brain, and yet something indescribable made itself felt.
How would I even put this?
The feeling of a cool shampoo scratching the inside of my head?
Cerebrospinal fluid turning into carbonated water?
The best my meager vocabulary could do left it roughly at that.
"Can you picture the room a little more clearly now?"
"...The window behind the teacup is coming into focus."
"Now I'll try to sharpen the desk."
Several minutes passed like that.
Before long, the training room had established itself firmly in my mind.
"Now I'll bring a bookshelf into this room. Whenever you need a particular memory, you simply retrieve that book."
I understood.
In other words, this was a mnemonic technique—categorizing memories into the form of books, then pulling them out to recall them.
Similar to the famous Memory Palace.
With a concrete Sensory Association Method layered on top.
"Let's start by bringing in a single book. What book do you see? It should be whichever object comes to mind first when you think of a book."
"I can see the textbook I use for my black magic lectures."
"...Right. Good. Now try opening it."
I opened the book.
All I could see was blurred text.
I reported that exactly as it was.
"Indeed, that would be expected. Your proficiency is still low, so let's stop here for now. Open your eyes."
When I opened my eyes, the real room came back into view.
The teacup was facing a different direction than before.
"Was the teacup originally facing that way?"
"It seems you remembered clearly. I turned it while you weren't looking."
The Count gave a small smile and settled in across from me.
"This is only the entry point. You'll remember today, but by tomorrow morning, the outline of this room will likely already be fading. And the books on the shelf won't come easily either."
"There's no need to rush. If I train often enough, won't it settle in?"
"No—I doubt it will ever settle in, actually."
"Pardon?"
I tilted my head, and the Count tapped his own.
"The most important thing for creating a place inside the mind is familiarity. The space must feel like your own."
"Won't visiting often make it familiar?"
"But you won't develop any attachment to this place, will you?"
I had no choice but to hold my tongue.
Because he was entirely correct.
"Familiarity comes from attachment. That's also why this room exists only as a training room. My own archive is not in this room—it's in my study. The room I was born and grew up in."
For that reason, the Barlot family never changes rooms from birth to death.
"You should designate your own laboratory or your own room as the familiar space. You'll train here and learn the runic formulas here—but this room itself won't become the space where you draw out your memories."
"Understood."
The Count gestured.
We left the room again and returned to the Barlot family's archive.
He pulled a single book from the corner of the shelves.
"This is a book compiling the Magical Power Application Methods and runic formulas I used to stimulate your mind. Your first task is to stimulate the mind using this and begin building your inner space."
"Thank you, Count."
I received the book carefully.
This was a book containing the Barlot family's Secret Techniques—I would need to be careful not to lose it.
It was then.
The Count suddenly smiled to himself.
"No need to return it. It's a copy. Keep it."
"Are you certain?"
"Did we not agree to pass our family's Secret Techniques on to your family? I'll have to hand over copies of all these books eventually anyway. Don't feel burdened."
"I'm truly grateful."
What a precious gift.
The Count, having said that much, fell silent and simply regarded me.
Then he broke the quiet and spoke.
"I'll be honest with you. Normally, it takes an entire month just to get to grips with this process. And yet you finished in an hour."
"I suspect it's because my fiancée and I often play similar games together. It made the approach familiar."
"That would do it. Spending time with the Young Lady of the Hausen family must have left you prepared without even realizing it."
The Count patted my shoulder and headed out of the archive.
I called after his retreating back.
"Would it be possible to increase the frequency of our lessons? Once a week feels like too little."
Meaning I won't have time for lessons like this.
"In exchange, I'll make sure to tutor Young Master Adrian in blood magic more often as well."
"Ha. You always bring an offer I can't refuse."
The Count accepted without hesitation.
*
After I began learning the magic to build the Library of Memory—or rather, the Archive of Memory—inside my mind,
I set aside every piece of ongoing research and devoted myself entirely to this training.
— [Director... what have you been up to lately?]
— [Lord Saint. Good day to you. I'm writing because...]
As a natural consequence of not showing my face often as Director Schun, there was the unintended incident of the people around me growing worried.
After that, I sent replies to all of them assuring them not to worry, made occasional appearances to meet my quota as Director Schun,
and continued pouring myself into the Perfect Memory training for several months.
By the time autumn leaves had fallen and winter arrived, I had at last completed my preparations to establish a study inside my mind.
"Congratulations. Now comes the time for Association Method training."
"I'll be getting busier next year, so could we move to once a week for the Association Method training onward?"
"Let's do that."
Of course, I had only finished preparing the study—retrieval was still painfully slow.
The Count informed me this was something I'd have to improve through 3-Digit Training, 2-Card Training, and other exercises to speed up my association.
For my purposes, though, this was already more than enough.
It was only the retrieval that was slow—as long as I had sufficient time, I could recall what I needed.
In the first place, my research wasn't bound by any tight time constraints. I could take it easy.
In practical terms, I had already mastered this magic.
"I plan to complete the archive during this heavy snow season in the Imperial Capital."
"Right. Do good work."
The heavy snow season was nearly here.
The Academy was already deep into winter vacation.
I too intended to spend calm, unhurried time in my beloved home, in my familiar room, completing the archive.
"Thank you, truly, Count."
And before I finished saying my farewells to the Count,
"Young Master Adrian. Here is a collection of knowledge on blood magic that you should study during the heavy snow season."
I didn't forget to hand Young Master Adrian a book compiling what he needed to know about blood magic.
It was also a copy of the book Eri was using.
"Um... Professor Yulian? This is quite thick. Do I need to finish all of it by the end of the heavy snow season?"
"I made it generous in case there's anything you're curious about while we can't meet."
"Ah. Then which pages do I actually need to cover?"
"From page 150 to page 250. Memorized. You'll have plenty of time."
"...Pl...enty?"
I'd given him quite a reasonable scope.
It was roughly eighty percent of the volume of anatomy content I used to study over a month in medical school.
By any measure, that was perfectly reasonable.
"...I'll do my best."
As I was leaving, I had the sense that Adrian was cursing me with his eyes—but it was probably just my imagination.
With that, I left the Academy Territory, boarded an airship, and arrived in the Imperial Capital.
After seeing Shallot off to her family's main estate, I returned home immediately. The first place I headed to was...
"Eri. Can I borrow your room for a while?"
"Huh? Teacher??? So suddenly?"
Erika's room, located in the annex.
My reason for choosing this room was simple.
This was the space where I was born, where I grew up, where I had toiled away making Quinine.
The same room Eri had been using since she became a member of the Nihilrit family.
'So it really does come down to childhood memories in the end.'
I'd heard it somewhere—
that even Brother Bill Gates still got nostalgic for the garage where he made his games. (Or maybe not. Take that with a grain of salt.)
Either way, it seemed the memory of one's 'first' place could never quite be surpassed.
"Make yourself comfortable, Eri."
"You could sleep here with me too..."
"How could I do that? You're an adult now."
For the record, my room in the main building and the warehouse where I mainly conducted my drug research had also been candidates.
But those spaces carried too strong an image—one as the room I slept in, one as the room I researched in—for me to bring bookshelves into them.
In the end, reluctantly, I decided to use my old room, now occupied by Eri, as my archive.
"But Teacher—how long will you be using it?"
"It's not that I'll be using it constantly. Just whenever I need to recall something."
My Library of Memory magic was still at a low level of proficiency.
According to Count Barlot, in that case, activating the magic from within the actual room was also a valid approach.
He had mentioned that in his own early days, he could only activate it from within his own room.
"Hmm... alright. Then I'll step outside so I don't disturb you."
"No. Stay."
Of course, the reason I had marched into Eri's room so abruptly wasn't only that.
There was something I wanted to recall as the very first thing I used the Archive of Memory for.
"Sit here."
"Why?"
"I think I've found a way to treat your illness."
Eri's shoulders flinched.
"...You mean my flare-up... whatever it's called?"
"Yes."
Paroxysmal Nocturnal Hemoglobinuria.
The disease Eri had been born with.
A blood disorder, one might call it a distant cousin of hemophilia.
"You won't need to receive blood transfusions from me on a regular basis anymore."
Since the day we first met, Eri had been receiving regular blood transfusions from me.
Because in this world, there was still no medicine capable of curing that disease.
I too had been half-resigned to finding a cure.
The treatment that existed for this disease in the 21st century—as far as I could remember—had principles far too complex for me to reconstruct.
But the manufacturing method of the drug itself was something I had glimpsed once before.
While I was searching for information on Viagra and the other Three Divine Instruments, I had come across it in passing.
'That's what I need to recall.'
"Really?! I'm actually going to be cured?"
Eri, practically jumping with joy.
Watching her, I couldn't help but feel—choosing this cure as the first memory to recall had been the right call.
"Yes. Calm down and stay seated."
I sat her down across from me.
I sat on the bed and closed my eyes as though meditating.
The method was simple.
Just as I had trained: picture the image of this familiar room in my mind.
The scent of Sanctum Hill's characteristic air, faintly filtered through the herbs placed around the room, weaves in.
Fresh off my intensive work on Quinine at the time, the room had been thick with the smell of grass.
I recall the sensation of the doorknob, and open the door.
I successfully entered 'my study.'
'The senses are vivid.'
So that's why the Sensory Association Method is necessary.
The sensation of my cerebrospinal fluid, made to fizz and spark by the magic, stimulating my mind—together with that, the image of the room sharpens.
And then, in the room, a bookshelf appeared where none should have been.
I passed along endless rows of shelves.
The sensation of the books beneath my fingertips was the texture of the parchment I favored.
Among all those books, I began searching for the one on the PNH cure.
I'd been told that sorting them in advance made retrieval much faster—but since this was my first time using it, nothing had been sorted yet.
I went through the disordered books of recorded memories one by one, checking each in turn.
Not this one, not that one.
Hm. A book of recipes.
I should file that over there and come back to it later.
Within a sense of time that had grown hazy.
At last, I found the book I had been looking for.
[Manufacturing Process for Eculizumab (C5 Inhibitor Monoclonal Antibody).]
There was no doubt.
This memory—the one I had skimmed past carelessly that day—was growing clearer by the moment.
Heart trembling, I opened the book.
And...
"...Huh?"
Noise, stained with blood, blotted out every line of text.
The noise grew larger.
It spread, covering the space bit by bit.
And with it, I felt something trickling beneath my nose in the real world.
— "...acher!"
Someone's voice, frantic and near.
"Teacher! Snap out of it!"
By the time I realized that voice belonged to Eri,
my consciousness cut off there.