Another World Magician
Alt Korean Title: 속임수의 마법사 (The Magician of Deception)
Written by: [Xirus]
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The rain had not stopped since sunset.
It had been falling for days—relentless and cold—turning the world into a blurred watercolor of grey skies and muddy roads. On the outskirts of Seoul, far from the neon lights and speeding trains, stood a crumbling brick building wrapped in fog and pine trees—Starlight Orphanage.
Once a countryside villa before the war, the building had been repurposed into a home for forgotten children. Now, decades later, the war a distant memory, its walls remained cracked, its roof patched with corrugated tin and weather-worn tarps. The paint peeled from its windowsills. The wooden steps groaned underfoot. Moss crept up the stone fence like the earth itself was trying to reclaim it. In the yard, a rusted playground stood eerily still—its swings swaying when the wind grew bold, as if the ghosts of children still played beneath the storm.
Inside, the hallways smelled of boiled potatoes, mothballs, and wet socks. Despite its decay, there was warmth here—not in the walls, but in the people who refused to let it fall apart.
Miss Baek, the orphanage's caretaker, sat in her modest office with a chipped ceramic teacup between her hands. In her late thirties, Miss Baek carried herself with calm grace—neither old nor worn, but quietly mature. Her dark hair, tied in a simple bun with a ribbon, framed a face that still held the warmth of youth, softened by years of quiet responsibility. She wore a crisp blouse beneath a cardigan that had seen better days, yet always looked tidy, as if she made sure it never frayed too far. Though long days left her shoulders tired, she moved through the orphanage with the practiced ease of someone who had spent her life caring for others.
Every night, she made her rounds, tucking in each child like clockwork—her gentle voice and steady hands a lullaby in human form. She had never married. She had grown up in this very building, once a child in the same beds, beneath the same leaky ceiling. Now she ran it with quiet strength.
To the world, she was no one.
But to the children, she was their world: a nurse, cook, teacher, and protector.
Thunder boomed like cannon fire outside as the windows trembled in their frames. Shadows danced across the walls as the candlelight flickered violently. Miss Baek took a sip of her now-cold tea and sighed, her thoughts distant, heavy.
"Miss Baek…"
The voice was so soft it almost got swallowed by the storm. She turned sharply.
There stood Little Nari at the doorway, clutching the hem of her nightdress with trembling fingers. Her round face was pale, framed by messy twin braids that had begun to unravel in her sleep. Her lower lip quivered as thunder rumbled again, and her big doe-like eyes shimmered with tears, glassy and frightened. She was only four years old.
"I'm scared," Nari whimpered, eyes brimming.
Miss Baek opened her arms.
"Come here, little child."
Nari ran to her, burying her face into Miss Baek's cardigan. The thunder growled again, and the wind outside howled like a wounded beast.
"Let me tell you a story," Miss Baek whispered, drawing the child closer and settling her gently on her lap. "About a world filled with magic, where knights ride dragons and stars fall like snowflakes. A world where sword and magic stand above science and technology. Where magicians can bring light to even the darkest corners of the world. And when the darkness fades, the smiles of children bloom like spring flowers."
Little Nari sniffled, her tiny fingers still trembling as they clutched Miss Baek's cardigan. Her twin braids, now loose and frizzy, framed a heart-shaped face streaked with tears. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes—wide, brown, and full of fear—searched the older woman's for comfort.
"Miss Baek… Do you think a magician will come and stop the rain? I'm scared…"
Her voice cracked like a porcelain cup.
Miss Baek's heart clenched. She smoothed a damp strand of hair from Nari's cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"If you're brave, little one… and if you keep believing, maybe—just maybe—a magician will come to chase the storm away."
To others, it might've sounded like a simple fairytale excuse.
But to Nari, those words were a lifeline—a whisper of hope in the thunder.
Her lips curved into a small, shaky smile.
"Then… I'll be brave."
Miss Baek hugged her a little tighter, her own eyes misty.
"That's my girl. Now then, let me take you back to this world of dragons and magic…"
She spoke softly, weaving tales of distant lands and brave heroes. Slowly, Nari's breathing steadied, and soon, her eyes fluttered shut. The storm outside faded into the background.
Miss Baek carried her gently back to the dormitory, tucking her in among the other children who slept in neat rows under threadbare blankets. As she pulled the blanket up to Nari's chin, she smiled faintly and brushed a stray hair from the child's cheek.
She turned back toward her office, walking the long, dim hallway alone. The candles flickered as wind leaked through unseen cracks. The wooden floor creaked beneath her worn slippers.
CRRREEEEAAAAK~
She froze. One of the floorboards groaned behind her.
But the hallway was empty.
She pressed forward, heart beating a little faster now.
BOOM.
Thunder again. Closer. Almost inside.
She reached for her office door—
BAM.
She jumped.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Someone was pounding on the front gate.
Her teacup slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.
"…Who on earth—?"
Clutching her shawl tighter, she grabbed a lantern and shuffled quickly to the entrance, passing the creaky stairwell and the flickering portraits of long-gone donors. Water dripped steadily from a crack in the ceiling. The whole house seemed to hold its breath.
She reached the door.
Unlatched it.
Swung it open.
The storm nearly knocked her off her feet.
A woman stood there.
Soaked to the bone. Her long black hair clung to her face. Her coat was torn, stained with mud and road dust. In her arms, she held a bundled infant, wrapped in a soaked and tattered blanket.
Her voice cracked.
"Please... Please take him…"
Miss Baek raised the lantern, eyes narrowing.
"Wait... I know you…"
She leaned closer.
"You're... that magician's assistant. From the Stardust Troupe."
The woman gave a faint smile that crumbled into sorrow.
"You remember," she said, catching her breath.
"You came last year during the festival. You gave the children clothes, toys... you helped fix the roof," Miss Baek said, her voice warm with recognition.
The woman stepped forward.
"This is my son. His name is Jiwon. I don't have time. If they find us—if they find him—he won't survive."
Miss Baek stared at the baby. His face was red from the cold, but his eyes... they were wide open. Not crying. Not confused.
Just watching.
"You can't just leave him," she said.
The woman shook her head and placed something beside the child on the ground—a cloth-wrapped book.
"It's just a photo album," she said. "From his father's performances. His father loved it. Maybe Jiwon will too."
"His father?" Miss Baek asked.
The woman nodded.
"A magician. Not famous. Not rich. But kind. He performed for the sick, the lonely, the forgotten. He believed wonder was worth more than gold."
She looked back at the gate.
"He died for that belief. And now I must disappear, too."
Another thunderclap.
Miss Baek stepped forward. "At least tell me your name!"
But the woman was already fading into the storm.
Her shadow vanished with the rain as the gate slammed shut behind her.
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Three days later, a small column appeared in the back pages of the Seoul newspapers:
MAGIC TROUPE STUDIO BURNS TO ASH – 7 DEAD IN FIRE
Authorities suspect an electrical spark. No survivors confirmed.
Miss Baek read the article in silence.
That evening, she sat by the fireplace, her cardigan damp at the edges from her earlier dash through the hall. The baby—Jiwon—slept quietly in a warm quilt, his tiny chest rising and falling with fragile rhythm. A soft glow lingered on his cheeks, as though the fire itself was drawn to him. The old book lay beside him, its pages dried and curled, filled with faded illustrations of fluttering doves, disappearing cards, colorful ribbons, and illusions forever paused in motion.
The storm had finally passed, retreating into distant echoes. The fire crackled softly, casting a comforting warmth across the worn floorboards. For the first time in what felt like ages, the house was still.
Miss Baek gazed at the sleeping child, his face serene, the shadows of past cries still clinging to his lashes. Curled beside him was Little Nari, her arm protectively draped over his small body. Her mouth was slightly open, breathing in a soft, even rhythm. The tangle of her dark braids lay across the pillow, and her expression was peaceful—like someone who had just chased away all the monsters of the night.
The two of them, locked in sleep, looked like a painting of quiet defiance against the storm.
Miss Baek's chest tightened with emotion. She reached out, brushing a tear stain from Nari's cheek, and whispered,
"Thank you, little one."
Every night since he arrived, little Jiwon had cried—tears that began the moment thunder roared, as if he remembered the night his mother vanished into the storm. No matter how she comforted him, the child's sobs would pierce through the silence.
But tonight was different.
Miss Baek wasn't the only one who noticed. Little Nari, ever curious and kind, had taken it upon herself to sit by Jiwon's side. Her braids had unraveled again, strands of hair clinging to her cheeks as she whispered:
"Don't cry, okay? Your brave big sister is here."
She had remembered what Miss Baek once told her—that magicians chase away the dark. And so she believed, with all her heart, that her presence would keep Jiwon safe.
As Jiwon cried softly into the crook of her arm, something strange happened—the rain outside began to slow, its rhythm fading like a lullaby winding down.
As if the storm itself had listened.
As if the child had quieted it.
Miss Baek watched in silent wonder, her heart stirred by something deeper than coincidence. She leaned down, brushed her fingers gently across the boy's tiny brow, and whispered with a tired smile:
"...Maybe you really are a child of magic."