Ryouma faded in and out as he felt them move his body. One moment, he was in Shishiba's penthouse. The next moment, he was in a bright white room strapped to a chair.
"Is this pretty boy really him?"
"Yeah, he matches the description from Kuroiwa."
The voices around him simultaneously felt like they were echoing off the walls and being whispered into his ear. They grew hushed, but he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to see who'd entered the room.
SLAP—!
His head lolled to the side.
SLAP—!
Then to the other side.
The taste of iron filled his mouth. He could only weakly swallow a little, so the rest dribbled out of his mouth as it hung open.
"Wake up." The sharp command came as Ryouma felt a hand on the back of his neck, followed by a jolt of electricity running through his muscles.
The sensation of his muscles tensing up was at odds with the sedatives they'd injected him with. But it was fine, he could endure. He'd faced much worse before.
"If you tell us who you really are, you might get to live."
Ryouma said nothing. Though he couldn't have done so even if he wanted to. He could barely formulate the thought of a curse word, let alone send the signal to his mouth and vocal cords.
Bright white light flooded his pupils as someone pried open one of his eyelids, displeased by his lack of response to their torture. Ryouma's eye rolled around in the socket, seeking shelter from the blinding light it was being subjected to.
"Maybe we gave him too much?"
"No. Anything less and it might not have worked."
And they were right. If the dose had been a little lower, he might have still been able to maintain enough concentration to use magic.
They let go of his eye, and the lid slowly drifted shut. Bright after-images flashed on the inside of his eyelid even though his eyes were once again shielded from the stinging light.
"We're not going to get anything out of him like this."
"We know his weakness at least. We can just try something else."
Ryouma heard the squeaking, creaking, shuffling sound of shoes, followed by the groan of a heavy metal door being slammed shut. Now that he was left alone, he could give in to the sedative. It would wear off within a couple of hours anyway.
***
"You have to concentrate." The old man whacked the fifteen-year-old Ryouma on the arm with a switch.
Ryouma flinched, causing the books stacked precariously on top of his head to topple over. "It's really hard to do that when you keep hitting me," he whined, rubbing his arm.
The old bouquiniste, a man named René, who'd cursed the young Ryouma for stealing from him, agreed to teach him magic. However, since the day Ryouma obscured his presence while mourning his parents, he hadn't quite been able to replicate it.
"That is precisely why I am hitting you, lad," René sneered. "You have to maintain control over the egregore no matter what comes your way." He whacked Ryouma on the shoulder, then gestured to the books. "Pick them up. Start over."
Ryouma grumbled but did as he was told, cautiously placing each book back on top of his head. Every day, they would go through this grueling process as part of his training. Though it didn't really feel like training.
The boy who once led a fairly normal life in Japan had imagined magical training to be more like that of a manga protagonist—punching trees, meditating under waterfalls, and stuff like that. Instead, when he wasn't doing menial tasks like bookkeeping or chores for René, he was forced to do so-called "thought exercises" that bordered on abuse.
It was all to control something René referred to as "the egregore," which he believed to be the source of magic. Complete mastery over it was evidently how René, a man born in the nineteenth century, had managed to extend his own life into the twenty-first century.
Egregore, mana, qi, or whatever it was—Ryouma didn't actually care. He just wanted the magic to work for him. Because if it didn't, then what did he sacrifice everything for?
But still, he stuck with it. He wasn't going to give up. He couldn't give up. So little by little, Ryouma's concentration grew, and so did his control over magic.
First, René had him master glamour. Enishi Ryouma was, after all, a missing person, so it was important for him to be able to blend in wherever they went. After that, René began teaching him things like transmutation, enchantment, and illusions. Much of it was learned from books in the well-curated library René kept in his quaint Parisian townhouse, but plenty was taught through example.
While normal teenagers experienced things like school festivals, first loves, and preparing for university, Ryouma was living a moderately isolated and quiet life under René's care. Traveling, doing business, training and eating together—all things considered, it was a very comfortable life.
***
"What is your weakness?" barked René as he paced back and forth while his protégé stood straight, balancing an impossibly tall stack of books on his head.
"That I'm not strong?" answered the seventeen-year-old Ryouma sarcastically. René whacked him in the ear with a switch.
Ryouma flinched, and the tower of books began to topple. He jutted out his arm reflexively. The wobbling stack stilled, and the books that had slipped off floated back to the top.
"You're plenty strong, but there are still many things holding you back," said René, shaking his head.
"Such as…?" Ryouma turned his head to follow the old man as he paced in front of him. By directing his magic towards the books, he could move freely, no matter how many he had stacked, as long as his concentration held.
"Your attachments in life."
"Then I'll give up all attachments. I'll live an ascetic life like a monk," Ryouma scoffed. That earned him another whack with the switch. The books wobbled, but held.
"I've been thinking…" René stopped his pacing. His fist clenched the switch for a moment, then relaxed. "Maybe it's time for the fledgling to leave the nest."
"Huh? What are you talking about?" A couple of books fell off the top of the stack.
"I'm saying you should fly towards the rising sun, young albatross."
"Bullshit!" shouted Ryouma. More books toppled off the stack on his head, their pages fluttering through the air before crashing to the floor. "I fuck off back to Japan, and then what? There's nothing left for me there! Am I supposed to pretend everything is normal?!"
The old man just regarded him with a sympathetic look and a shrug, then turned to exit the library.
"I'm not leaving! You can't make me!"
"Of course I can," said René, stopping in the doorway. He shot a cold glare at Ryouma from over his shoulder. "I could force you out at any time if I wanted to. I have no attachment to you. I just chose not to because you were such a pathetic child."
All of the remaining books on top of Ryouma's head came crashing down once the library door clicked shut behind the old man. As he sank to his knees, all he could think was, How could he say something like that?
Ryouma would be the first to admit that, yes, he was a pathetic wretch undeserving of love and care from others. While he admired René like an uncle, he never expected the old man to be especially fond of him. But after nearly four years together, for him to have noattachment? It left a deep ache in Ryouma's heart.
His eyes drifted around the floor-to-ceiling shelves surrounding him in the small library where he'd spent so much time studying, training, and practicing magic. So many memories. There were still plenty of books he hadn't read yet. Still plenty to learn. He didn't want to leave all of it behind for the unknown.
Maybe the old man was right. Maybe Ryouma had become too attached.
Ryouma dragged himself to his feet, then stomped out of the library, straight to the cozy parlor where René usually retired for the evening. There was no point in feeling sad or wallowing in self-pity. He had to assert himself.
"Look here, old man!" He burst into the room, marching straight to the antique wingback chair where René relaxed with his pipe and newspaper. "The only way you're getting rid of me is if one of us dies!"
"Is that so?" Barely acknowledging the youngster, René shuffled his paper.
"That's right!" Ryouma ripped the paper out of the old man's hands and tossed it into the lit fireplace. "So who's going to be first, old man?"
"You are insufferable sometimes…" René muttered as he puffed on his pipe. His eyes flicked toward the burning newspaper and the flames instantly went out. "So, you think because I'm old that I'll croak first? Have you forgotten I've already lived this long?"
"No. But obviously, the human body must have a limit," Ryouma said with a shrug. The old man pushed himself out of his chair and knelt down at the hearth.
"And what is that limit? Two hundred years? Two-fifty? Three hundred?" the old man scoffed. He waved his hand over the ashes in the hearth. Particle by particle, they began to re-form the shape of the newspaper, connecting to a sliver that hadn't yet completely burned.
"Accidents can happen."
"Ha! You threatening me now, lad?" René picked up the re-formed newspaper, his touch triggering a complete rejuvenation of the paper and text as if it had never even been reduced to ash. "That's a two-way street, you know…"
As the old man struggled to push himself off the floor, Ryouma was right at his side, reaching for his arm to assist. René slapped away his hand, instead grabbing the fireplace mantel to hoist himself up.
"Tell you what… I'm tired, boy," he said, shuffling back to his chair with the newspaper. "If you can manage to kill me in a year, I'll leave everything to you." He re-lit the fire, then plopped down in the chair, quickly adding, "You know, because you're so attached to all of it."
"Tch… Why not just kill yourself then?" Ryouma crinkled his nose in disgust. Just what the hell kind of wager was the old man proposing?
"Alas, I am far too much of a coward for that." René shook his head, frowning. He fanned out the newspaper. "I owe it to my beloved to keep living for the sake of her sacrifice to me."
"And what if I don't want to kill you?"
"Then you leave, and I get my house back to myself." The old man shrugged. "Either embrace your weakness or overcome it. The choice is yours."