Summary: Only I can use magic.
I woke up at the usual time—7 a.m., sharp. Rolled out of bed, hit the shower, tossed together some eggs and toast, and got dressed for another day at work.
Now, you might be thinking, "Wait. You can use magic. So... why are you clocking in at a boring office job like the rest of us?"
Good question. The short answer? I try not to use magic in public.
The longer version? Well, let's just say I've had... experiences. The kind that make you avoid headlines, dodgy government agents, and creepy cultists calling you their "divine miracle." Trust me, being worshipped sounds fun until you're tied to an altar surrounded by people in robes chanting your name.
Anyway, back to reality. I step outside, hop into my aging sedan, and head to my painfully average desk job—entry-level, no prestige, just barely enough to pay the rent.
"Why not use magic to land a better job?" you ask. Yeah, I've wondered that too. Honestly, I probably should've. But I made a mistake.
See, I spent my whole life honing magic—obsessing over it, really. I didn't grow up like everyone else. No high school parties. No social cues. I didn't even know how a credit card worked until a few months ago.
I'm basically a grown-up with the life skills of a hermit wizard.
Thank god for Lucas and Tina.
They're my childhood friends—the only ones who stuck around. They reached out when I finally reemerged into the real world and have been helping me adjust ever since. From explaining how taxes work to teaching me how to shop for groceries without looking suspicious, they've been my lifeline.
Without them, I'd probably still be hiding in a basement somewhere, talking to candles.
That's right—I didn't even finish elementary school.
Looking back, it's kind of wild how far I've come. From a reclusive shut-in with no social skills to someone living alone in a decent apartment, holding down a solid job in the heart of the city. And yeah, I owe it all to Lucas and Tina. Without those two dragging me into society, I'd probably still be eating canned beans in a cave somewhere.
Okay, fine—I cheated a little with magic to get here. But don't judge me. How else are you supposed to land a job that asks for five years of experience for an entry-level position? Who even writes these job requirements? Sorcerers?
Props to the normies, honestly. They're the real MVPs. I couldn't have survived a week in their world without a little magical help.
Eventually, I arrive at the office. It's a modest little tech startup—nothing flashy, but stable enough. I work as a backend developer. My programming skills? Let's just say they're... functional. But I'm good with the math-heavy stuff, which, surprisingly, makes me pretty valuable around here.
I settle into my workspace and pull up my schedule.
"Just a few meetings this afternoon. Nothing terrible," I mutter to myself.
Knock knock.
"Come in," I call out automatically.
The door creaks open. "Sorry to bother you, Briar. Are you busy? I need your help with something."
I recognize the voice instantly—Carla. My senior. Team leader. Surprisingly chill.
"I'll be there in a sec."
"Okay. I'll be in my office."
I wrap up a few things, grab my notepad, and make my way to her office. I knock politely.
"Come in," she says from the other side.
I step in and take a seat across from her. Carla's standing by the coffee machine, casually pouring herself a drink. She settles into her chair with a light yawn and gives me a small smile.
"Thanks for coming, Briar."
"C'mon, no need to be formal. You're the team lead. You can just drag me in if you want."
She chuckles, but her smile falters. "Actually… this isn't really about work."
Her gaze drops to her cup. She avoids eye contact.
Uh-oh.
I already know where this is going.
"I see," I say, rising from my seat. "Then I'll head back—"
But before I can even stand all the way, I feel a firm tug on my sleeve.
"Wait. Please, Briar. Just hear me out."
I glance down. Her fingers are clenched around my shirt, knuckles white.
"I think… I might be cursed."
That word hits like a jolt of electricity. My body tenses instinctively. I study her expression for a beat before slowly sinking back into the chair.
I exhale through my nose.
"Alright," I say, voice calm but firm. "Explain."
Carla reached into her purse and pulled something out, placing it gently on the table between us.
"A… stone?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No! Look at it carefully. Don't you think the shape is weird for a stone?"
I leaned in. It vaguely resembled a cross—kind of lopsided and smoothed over by time, like someone had tried to carve it a century ago and then gave up halfway. But to me, it looked like… well, a rock.
"It's a stone," I said flatly.
Carla huffed. "Don't you feel anything from it? With your magic sense—sorry, mana sense or whatever?"
Right. Out of everyone still breathing on this planet, Carla is the only person who knows I can use magic. Long story short: car crash. Me, her, a crumpled highway guardrail, and certain death. I had no choice but to use magic to keep us alive. The secret was out.
We made a deal—she wouldn't tell anyone, and I even bound it with a contract to make sure. Ironclad. The problem? I forgot to add a clause stopping her from talking about magic to me. So now she brings it up. All. The. Time.
I could rewrite the contract, but that's a pain—and risky. If I mess it up, she could lose a limb. Or worse.
So now, here we are. Carla waving around cursed rocks like she's on an episode of Magical Artifacts: DIY Edition.
"But I tripped this morning because of it!" she protested, her tone rising with excitement. "There has to be something at play! Maybe it's a forbidden relic or an ancient artifact!"
"It's just a rock," I said again, deadpan. "I already checked."
"But are you sure? I didn't see your eyes glow or any of that magical aura thing you usually give off!"
Ah. So that's what this is.
This woman. She just wants to see me use magic again.
Which… makes sense. In a world where magic is a myth, she's what you'd call an otaku—an enthusiastic fan of anything fantasy-related. Her favorite show? A magical girl series, of course.
I know this because she keeps asking if my magic works like in that show.
With a slow breath, I shifted my gaze, locking eyes with her. My pupils shimmered red, and my voice dropped an octave, filled with practiced menace.
"Carla," I said coldly, "I've told you before. Magic is not a toy. It is an art that comes straight from the devils themselves. There is nothing good that comes from dancing with demons."
She went quiet for a moment.
And then, with the innocent curiosity of someone who had just heard the most exciting part of a forbidden story, she leaned forward and whispered, "So… if that's true… could I get magic if I interacted with a devil?"
…
I blinked.
Was I actually hearing this?
"Hey, Briar," she continued, her voice trembling with desperation, "if I summon one… if I make a contract, like you always talk about… could I get magic, too?"
This woman.
I stared at her. Hard. Desperation clung to her like fog. Her eyes weren't just curious anymore—they were pleading. Fractured.
Was she always like this?
"Briar. Please. Just tell me. I won't ask again—I just need to know."
I didn't recognize her anymore. The confident, capable team leader I worked under was nowhere in sight. Instead, I saw someone unraveling.
And then—I felt it.
Something foreign. Dark. Slithering beneath the surface of her soul.
A presence.
Oh no.
Her words echoed in my head.
She just needs confirmation.
"Yes," I said, the word escaping my mouth before I could stop it.
But at this point, it didn't matter.
Because she was right.
She was cursed.
And somewhere deep inside her...
A devil was already waiting.