"I... I ’t believe it!"

  Mirac stared at the name embossed on the book’s dust jacket in his hands, still uo accept the reality that had just been revealed to him. The author’s name gleamed in precise, goldeers.

  “D-Dave... Arangot...”

  That was... the same name as his father, from his previous life!

  The man he had loved and respected with all his heart when he was still Vector!

  "H-How is this possible?!" he excimed, uo tain his rea, swingiween astonishment and fusioween disbelief and a vague, persistent sense of unease.

  His heart seemed to beat with inexplicable iy, as if it were trying to awaken a emotions.

  "My father... is the author of this book?" he murmured, his voice breaking uhe weight of the words. "I-Is it really him?! But this... this is imposs-!"

  But as the word "impossible" was about to leave his lips, Mirac suddenly stopped.

  Something within him, an instinctive and profound force, pushed him to hold back.

  It wasn’t mere hesitation but a deeply rooted awareness, an intuition that had never left him from the moment of his reination into this unknown world.

  "NO! I’m wrong... At this point, nothing is impossible!" he decred, trying to calm his mind, which ed with thoughts. "If magic exists in this world, along with dragons, fantastical creatures, and even gods… then there must also be a way for all this to make sense! A ‘logical’ expnation… But how?!"

  He ran a hand through his hair, frowning as he tried to piece together a mosai the scattered fragments of his intuition. Hypotheses, though fragmented, began to cautiously take shape in his mind.

  "First of all… it could simply be a ce!" he thought, trying to rationalize. "After all, it’s entirely possible that someone in this world shares my father’s name and his passion for Math. It’s unlikely, but not impossible..."

  Taking a long breath to calm his mind, which was caught in a whirlwind of ideas, Mirac muttered his sed hypothesis:

  "Or… could it be… that he also reinated into this world?!"

  The mere thought shook him, like a lightning bolt of emotion.

  "At my first birthday party, I specuted that others besides me might have reinated into this world. It was the only pusible expnation for why certais of both worlds were identical, like the names of steltions or the use of the Gregorian dar."

  Now, holding that book in his hands, that doubt was turning into an uling possibility.

  "But then... could it really be that my father also reinated into this world?!" he thought, his heart rag wildly. "But if that’s the case… why does he have the same name and surname as in his previous life?! I mean, I’m no longer called Vectot because my new parents gave me a new name. So, why isn’t that the case for him?"

  The more he reflected, the more the enigma deepened. His thoughts ebbed and flowed, caught between the need for answers and the fear of the implications those answers might carry.

  He didn’t even know if that "Dave Arangot" was still alive in this world, or if that book was merely a trace of a past he could no longer reach.

  "I must find out more about this book!" he cluded, resolute.

  With his heart in turmoil, he turned and rushed toward the library exit.

  He retraced his steps quickly, passiweeall shelves that seemed like silent, watchful towers, until he reached the man he hoped could shed light on this incredible discovery.

  "Mr. Matthew!" Mirac called, his voice carrying both ay and hope.

  The librarian, still seated at the ter and absorbed in reading his book, slowly lifted his gaze, irritated by the interruption. His weathered face twisted into an impatient expression as his bony fingers held the page open, as if to underlihat he would soon want to return to it.

  "Tell me, young Prince..." he said in his usual tone, which wavered between formal resped a subtle irritation.

  Mirac took a moment to steady his breath, clutg the book in his hands as though afraid it might vanish.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was firm and resolute.

  "I would like to know if it's possible to trace the publication date of this book and obtain information about the author, please," he expined, carefully pg the volume on the ter with an almost reverential delicacy.

  The librarian looked at him with a furrowed brow, one eyebrow raised in suspi. He scrutihe young prih narrowed eyes, as if trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his request.

  But in the end, remembering that he was not in a position to refuse the Prince's requests, Matthew gave in to the pleading look of the young prince.

  "Aaahhh..." he sighed, a vague irritation slipping through his voice.

  He took the book in his hands slowly, as if he wao make each sed of waiting feel heavy.

  "Alright, young Prince. Let’s see if I help you..." he finally muttered, his voice raspy.

  But just a g the title of the book was enough to make his attitude shift suddenly.

  "OH!" he excimed, with a jolt that made his gsses slip down his nose. With a quick motion, he adjusted them, then looked up at Mirac, his fapletely transformed.

  The initial impassivity was gone, repced by a sincere expression of surprise and astonishment.

  "Young Prince!" he said, with almost excited toell me... Where did you find this book?!"

  Mirac stood there, dumbfouaken aback by the ued rea. He hesitated for a moment, unsure why there was so much emphasis, but finally responded cautiously:

  "If I remember correctly, it was in corridor 7, shelf 3. I don’t know why, but it was in the ‘Magic’ se."

  Those words echoed in Mirac’s mind.

  Now that he thought about it, it was indeed curious that such a book had been pced in that se. Perhaps it had been put there by mistake?

  But knowing Matthew and his obsession with books, su ht seemed unlikely.

  And then there was that strange and uliail: the book had "fallen on its own."

  But was it really like that?

  Or had there been an invisible presenearby, someone who had iionally made the book fall?

  If that were true, who could it have been? Or even worse, what?

  And most importantly, why? What could be the purpose of doing all this?

  Those questions tormented him, creeping into his mind like an uling shadow.

  The mere thought of having been followed all the way to the library, and worse still, stantly observed without knowing it, sent a shiver down Mirac’s spine.

  Although he had no crete evideo support that disturbing theory, Mirac decided to take precautions: from that moment on, he would be more cautious about his behavior, paying particur attention to what he would say or do.

  However, right now, he couldn't allow those thoughts to distract him.

  At that moment, there was something more urgent to think about!

  So, Mirac chose to set aside those worries and refocus all his attention on the book of his supposed father.

  As soon as Miradicated the location where he had found the book, Matthew straightened up, lifting the book with both hands, as if handling an objemense value. With deliberate movements, he turhe volume toward Mirac, making the title and cover clearly visible.

  "Look carefully, young Prince…" he began, with a deep and almost ceremonial voice. "This is not just a simple math book. No, no, no! This here is one of the 'Seven Sacred Volumes of Math!'"

  “Sacred?” Mirac repeated, trying to process what he had just heard.

  "Yes, sacred! But not in the religious sense you might think," Matthew expined, shaking his head slightly. "The term 'sacred' here has nothing to do with faith ion. These books are sidered sacred because they represent the legacy of the greatest mathematical genius the world has ever known!"

  Then, with a wrirembling finger, he poio the name engraved on the dust jacket, printed with elegance.

  "Dave Arangot!" he decred with almost palpable reverehe man who revolutiohe mathematical world, leaving a mark that no one has ever been able to equal."

  A smile flickered on Mirac's lips, an involuntary rea, a spontaneous refle of joy. However, what he felt went far beyond simple happiness.

  It was a mix of pride, dignity, and admiration to know that his supposed father had finally achieved the success that had been deo him in his previous life—due to his murder.

  "Really?!" he asked, his voice barely betraying his emotion.

  "Absolutely yes, young Prince!" replied Matthew, his face lit up by a rare fervor. "Although I’m not a fan of mathematics, I 't help but admire its genius. His discoveries id the foundations for muodern architecture and engineering. Moreover, he was the one who created the dar we still use today, and even the financial models adopted across all the kingdoms! Without his tribution, these insights would likely have arrived decades, if not turies, ter. For this reason, he has always been regarded by many as the 'Father of Mathematics!'"

  "Oh, I see…" Mirac murmured softly, abs those words as a direct praise for his father. "A truly exceptional work, I must say..."

  "Exactly!" excimed Matthew, turning the book back toward himself.

  Slowly aly, he began to turn the pages with meticulous care, tilting the book toward himself to prevent Mira glimpsing its tents, as if he wao grant himself, for a moment, an exclusive and captivating preview just for him.

  "Curious, though!" murmured Matthew to himself. "I didn’t know the royal library had this volume. That’s why I asked where you found it. This is the first of the seven books, a simple introdu to mathematics designed for children about ye. But anyway... as for the dating, I ’t give you a precise indication. But I have no doubt that this book is a rather modern reprint."

  "Reprint, you said?" asked Mirac, tilting his head with a mix of fusion and i.

  "Exactly! It's normal, given that the first editions date back mauries."

  Mirac’s eyes widened, struck by an ued revetion.

  "turies?" he stammered, incredulous.

  "Well, of course!" replied Matthew, with disarming casualness. "After all, Dave Arangot lived about four hundred years ago, if I’m not mistaken. The inal books date back to that time."

  Those words made Mirac waver, as if a heavy veil of fog had covered his reasoning.

  "F-Four hundred… years ago?" he repeated, his voice trembliween disbelief and anguish.

  A sense of emptiness washed over him, and the certaihat had anchored him to a mere affeate fantasy seemed to vanish suddenly, leaving him suspended in an oppressive silence.

  If that Dave Arangot had truly been his father, then not only would he be unreachable, but surely long dead and buried for turies!

  The realizatio him paralyzed for a moment, as an overwhelming silence seemed to envelop him.

  Yet, somehow, he mao maintain trol over his emotions, masking his turmoil with an apparent posure.

  "I see..." he said, in a barely audible voice. "So… he’s already dead."

  A bitter sense of awareness crept inside him.

  However, a small part of him g to a shred of doubt, almost as if wanting to protect himself from the idea that threateo overwhelm him.

  ‘But maybe… he wasn’t really my father!’ he thought to himself, letting that yet another hypothesis carry him away. ‘After all, I was born seven years ago. My father lived four hundred years ago. But iher world, the differeween our two deaths was only sixty-five years! If we assume reination happens immediately after death, then we should have at least lived in the same historical period. And even assuming reination isn’t immediate, but there’s a stant time gap between moving from one world to ahe differeween my reination and his should still be only sixty-five years! But instead, it seems to be four hundred years! How is that possible?!’

  As he processed these thoughts, however, a new doubt began to creep into his mind, a suspi that quickly grew more intense.

  ‘Wait a minute! What if there's another variable about reination that I’m not yet aware of? Maybe some factor determines when and how reination happens?’ he wondered, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

  He swallowed with difficulty, and a daring idea began to take shape in his mind.

  ‘Could there be a god behind all this?! Well, it’s highly likely... But which of the Seveies would be capable of something like this?! Perhaps Mother Nature?!’

  "AHEM, AHEM!" Matthew's voice rang out as he cleared his throat loudly, interrupting Mirac's stream of thoughts. "You seem a bit lost in thought, young Prince... Is there something else you need?"

  The question sounded almost polite, but the torayed the evident impatience of the librarian, who was clearly eager to be left in peace.

  Mirac took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling in his chest.

  After letting out a brief, nervous chuckle—his usual way of masking the chaos of thoughts within him—he replied:

  "Ah, no, no… nothing else. Thank you for your help, Mr. Matthew!"

  But just as he was heading for the exit, he paused at the doorway, a final question pelling him to turn bae st time.

  "Umm… Mr. Matthew?"

  "TELL ME!" the librarian excimed, his toinged with impatiend a hint of exasperation.

  "… I borrow it?" Mirac asked, pointing to the math book still resting on the ter.

  "Yes, young Prince!" Matthew said with a loud sigh. "Take whatever you want… But please, remember to knock when you return it. Thank you!"

  With that, Matthew buried himself bato his book, as if Mirac had already left.

  ‘Huh, what a grumpy old man! Not even I used to act like that!’ Mirac thought, but he wisely refrained from saying it aloud.

  Instead, he simply said:

  "Alright. Goodbye, and thank you very much..."

  He took the book, bowed slightly with his torso, ahe library, heading towards his room, with the instinct telling him to ighe unfortable feeling of two eyes behind him watg him from the shadow at the end of the corridor.