If you want to see the magic of spring, go and watch Kimberly Magic Academy’s entrance ceremony preparations.
People have said this for many years, usually sarcastically. Leave Galatea and head east, crossing two mountains, and you’ll find a path called the Flower Road leading to the campus. This time of year, a cornucopia of flowering trees are in full bloom, including the cherry blossoms. It’s a sight that certainly seems fitting for instilling hope in new students as they make their way to the academy gates.
And yet, it’s a strange sight from a logical perspective. You could search the surrounding area all you liked, but there wouldn’t be a single budding or bloomed-and-faded petal in existence. Thousands of plants exist along the half-mile Flower Road, from trees to shrubbery. Is it truly possible they all conveniently decide to bloom at the exact same time?
“Oh—even Jack the Unblooming has flowered nicely.”
The ancient cherry blossom tree was a thousand years old. Oliver, looking up at what was essentially the emblem of the Flower Road, sighed deeply. One of the tests for Kimberly sixth-year students before they could become seniors was to make sure that every plant along this road was in full bloom for the day of the entrance ceremony. The event had earned nicknames such as the Dark Sabbath and Hell’s Greatest Comedy Hour. This was the truth of this “springtime magic”—to an outsider, it seemed like such a fantastically rare sight, but once it was over, the sixth-years would collectively complain, calling it “the stupidest tradition ever.”
“Hey, you! Your shirt’s sticking out from your pants!”
“Brush that cat fur off your cape!”
“Do you have your handkerchief? Have you gone to the bathroom? Don’t hold it in. If you suddenly feel like you’re going to burst, let a prefect know!”
The dahlias, their stems outstretched, continually henpecked the flow of new students. Of all the living things along this road, they were the chattiest. Unfortunately, the students walking on the outside of the long line had no means of escaping the prying eyes of these so-called “pride plants” capable of thought and language.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” a flower from another bed called out to Oliver, catching him unawares. Its stamen shook as it spoke. “Why, aren’t you a nervous Nellie!”
“…Do I look nervous?”
Singled out, Oliver looked himself over. He was wearing dark-blue pants and a gray shirt covered by a black robe. At his waist were a white staff and an athame in its sheath, each hooked in place. For a fifteen-year-old, he was pretty average at just under five feet tall, with similarly average-length straight black hair. There was nothing distinctive about him at all. He was your completely typical new Kimberly student.
“Yes, you do. I don’t know what you’re so afraid of, but it’s okay to relax a bit! This is your entrance ceremony! At least try to enjoy it—no matter what sort of grisly future might await you.”
“Thank you for the advice, madam. I must warn you, however, that if you don’t stop soon, you’ll snap your own stem.”
“Oh dear!”
The dahlia, which had been keeping up with Oliver’s pace, realized it was overstretched and returned to its flower bed. Oliver sighed and began walking again.
“Are they trying to comfort or scare us? At least pick one and stick to it,” said a student walking next to him. Oliver looked over to find a small, lovely girl with soft curls. Her outfit, except for the skirt, was exactly the same as his. A fellow mage-in-training, then.
“…Ahem.”
It must have taken some courage for her to say anything at all, because he could see the nerves written all over her face. Oliver smiled, taking care to commit to memory the first person to talk to him.
“I know, right?” he said to her. “Have you seen pride plants before, then?”
She relaxed upon hearing his friendly response.
“Not any that chattered on for so long. The ones where I come from are much cuter and simpler.”
“Ha-ha, don’t pay the dahlias any mind. They’re no more than rustling leaves compared with the ones at my folks’ place,” a third person said from behind them. Oliver and the girl had only just started talking when they turned around to find a boy with short brown hair. Although he was likely the same age as them, he was quite tall.
“Those kinds of magical flora have different personalities depending on the magical properties of the soil they set root in. I hear the ones ’round these parts are particularly nasty. That’s why the older students have such a tough time every year.”
He explained with authority. Judging from his tanned face and hands, Oliver assumed his family were magic farmers.
“We’ll have to deal with the same thing in six years,” Oliver joked. “I hear the students in charge are judged by how many blooms Jack has on the day of the entrance ceremony.”
“Ah, the rumored Hell’s Greatest Comedy Hour? From what I can see, Jack’s in full bloom—the current seventh-years must be quite talented,” the curly-haired girl said, and all three looked up at the stately cherry blossoms. At first glance, it seemed like nothing more than a really old tree, but upon closer inspection, they realized the bark’s bumps and pattern resembled the face of a sleeping old man. Did this pride plant elder also speak and move like the dahlias?
“Now, no disrespect to Mr. Jack or his rare full bloom, but there’s something else that catches my attention at the moment,” the tall boy said, shifting his gaze to the front of the line. Oliver and the curly-haired girl looked over as well, and the boy lowered his voice. “…What d’you think of that?”
He was pointing toward the center of the line, at a girl in a very different outfit from the rest of the students. She was covered from the waist down in loose fabric, a garment somewhere between pants and a long skirt. Something akin to a robe covered her top, tied together in front of her chest with a belt, and at her hip was a curved sword. None of them knew the official name for any of these things, but her unique appearance brought the same word to mind.
“…A samurai, huh?”
“A samurai girl?”
“Right. So I wasn’t mistaken, then.”
Now that they were in agreement, the boy hmm’d to himself. The girl was too far away to call out to, so he stood on his toes to better observe her.
“That’s way rarer than a talking dahlia. What’s a samurai from Azia doing at Kimberly’s opening ceremony?”
Oliver silently agreed. He and the two other students were from the Union, a multinational federation. The Union and Azia were so physically far apart that they had close to zero diplomatic relations. All Oliver and the others knew about the place were the rare stories from trade ships and the fragments of culture the more curious adventurers brought back. Naturally, this limited information led to fully romanticized fantasies. Thus, to them, Indus, Chena, and Yamatsu were all lumped together.
“Well, if she’s in line with us, then she must be a new student, too, right?”
“What about her uniform? That katana at her hip doesn’t look like an athame. Is that an Azian academy uniform, then?”
“Quit staring, you dope. I’m sure she has a reason. Maybe her transfer was really sudden and the tailor wasn’t open,” the curly-haired girl scolded the tall boy. Oliver nodded.
“Kimberly scouts children with magical abilities from all over the world, not just here in Yelgland. She must be one of those international prospects—much like you,” he said, to the surprise of the curly-haired girl. She froze momentarily, her eyes widening by the second.
“H-huh? You figured me out already? I was sure I’d memorized the language perfectly.”
“There’s still a bit of an accent in your a and o pronunciations. I’m guessing you’re from the north, maybe around Farnland?”
“…Ugh, you got me. There goes my surprise during the self-introductions,” she muttered bitterly, lips pouty. Oliver grinned guiltily, then took in the scene around him.
“Looks like there are a lot of students from outside the Union. That girl is the only Azian, though. Makes sense, since most of the countries there that we know about are closed off to magic. Must make scouting gifted kids quite a job.”
“Hmm… I wonder what it’s like to live without magic. Boy, I can’t imagine it.”
“The plants are probably easier to take care of, at least.” As the curly-haired girl spoke, the samurai seemed to be staring at a group of chatty dahlias with wonder. The contrast was so funny that Oliver let slip a chuckle.