Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 235: Aligning Intention

The afternoon session of the conference had begun with a noticeable lull.

After the rush of morning demonstrations, after the flurry of introductions and networking and the constant hum of magical activity, the crowd had settled into a subdued rhythm.

Conversations were quieter. Movements were slower. The kind of post-lunch lethargy that even the most energetic mages couldn’t entirely escape had settled over the hall like a comfortable blanket.

Then the stage began to fill.

Piece by piece, instruments began to float up and fill up the space. An orchestra was taking shape.

A young woman stepped onto the stage, her robes marking her as a Vision Mage from one of the eastern academies. She smiled at the crowd, nervous but excited, and raised her hands.

"Good afternoon, everyone." Her voice carried through the hall, amplified by a subtle enhancement spell. "I know we’re all feeling that post-lunch slump, so I’ll try to keep this engaging."

A ripple of laughter passed through the audience.

"What I’m about to demonstrate is something I’ve been working on for the past two years. I call it ’instrument memory recording’, a way to capture not just the sound of music, but the movement that creates it."

She gestured, and a small flute flew to the air beside her.

"Traditional recording crystals capture image and audio. They preserve what we see and hear. They were designed to capture the moment with mana. But this, I was thinking... instead of just images and audio, can we record ’movements’?"

"Especially the residual energy left behind when a musician plays an instrument."

The flute began to move. Fingers that weren’t there pressed against holes. Invisible lips controlling the air input, and real air moved through the physical channel. And sound emerged.

A single note. Clear, pure, unmistakably alive.

The crowd gasped.

"The musician who played this flute, a friend of mine, a student at my academy, agreed to let me ’record’ her playing. I paid her, explained what I was doing, and she played for exactly one minute while I cast the recording spell on the flute." The young woman’s smile widened. "This is the result." 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

The flute continued its phantom performance, a simple melody echoing through the hall. No musician stood on stage. No hands touched the instrument. And yet the music played on.

"Instrument memory," she called it. The phrase caught in the air, sparking whispers and speculation.

The demonstration escalated. More instruments joined. A violin, a cello, a small drum. Each one played by phantom hands, each one producing sound through the real physical impact and vibrations it would usually make, guided by the residual mana left behind by the musicians who had played them.

The effect was haunting, beautiful, strange in a way that made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up.

"The really interesting part," the mage continued, her voice rising over the growing complexity of the phantom orchestra, "is that this works even with a single performance. One practice session. One rehearsal. The mana signature left behind is enough."

She paused, letting that sink in.

"It makes me wonder," she added, a mischievous glint in her eye, "about hauntings. About poltergeists. Objects that move on their own, sounds that come from somewhere... what if it’s just mana? The residual signatures of people long past, triggered by something we don’t yet understand?"

The audience murmured. Some laughed nervously. Others leaned forward, intrigued.

The orchestra swelled to a crescendo, phantom musicians playing in perfect synchronization, and the hall was filled with music.

When it ended, silence reigned for a single, breathless moment.

Then applause. Thunderous, genuine, awed.

Cecilia watched from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes narrowed.

Ghosts.

Hauntings. Poltergeists. The residual signatures of people long past.

She shuddered.

Oathran... this concept was creepy as fuck!

The hall was warm, packed with bodies and magical activity. But the idea that mana could linger, could remember, could replay the movements of the dead long after they were gone...

She thought of Dr. Silver’s grave. Of the frozen cemetery. Of all the people she had lost, all the voices she would never hear again.

What if their mana still lingered somewhere? What if—

"Are you cold?"

The voice came from beside her, low and casual. Cecilia turned, startled out of her spiraling thoughts.

Roarke Raul stood there, his head tilted, his expression one of mild concern. He had appeared beside her at some point during the demonstration, and she hadn’t even noticed.

"Cold?" Cecilia blinked, forcing her expression smooth. "No. Just... thinking."

"Uh-huh." Roarke’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. "Sure."

Why was this man following her since her nap?

Cecilia filed the interaction away for later consideration. And she tried very hard not to think about ghosts.

"Are you sure that twenty-minute nap was enough?" Roarke’s voice cut through her thoughts, persistent as a mosquito. "Exhaustion can lead to many negative things, you know? Decreased cognitive function. Slower reaction times. Increased irritability—"

"Ooooh, coffee."

Cecilia’s attention snapped to a nearby booth, a small setup with gleaming new equipment, steam rising from polished spouts, the rich aroma of freshly brewed beans wafting through the air. A sign proclaimed it as a demonstration of "Magically-Enhanced Brewing Techniques."

Roarke flinched. "Are you ignoring me?!"

Cecilia giggled, the sound bright and warm. "Sorry, sorry."

She drifted toward the coffee booth and Roarke trailing behind her.

Far from them...

Well.

Not that far from them.

A dark creature watched from the shadows of a structural pillar, its entire being radiating severe irritation.

Arkai Dawnoro gripped a pole that helped support one of the larger demonstration booths, his knuckles white against the metal.

His expression was obscured by the darkness that seemed to emanate from him, not literal shadow, but the aura of a man barely containing something volcanic.

His jaw was tight, locked. Only his eyes were visible in the gloom of his mood, and they were fixed on a single point.

Cecilia. Laughing. Smiling that gentle, warm smile. At Roarke.

At Roarke.

The muscles in Arkai’s neck corded.

But then, slowly, gradually, the darkness shifted. Dimmed. Transformed.

His posture softened. His grip loosened. His entire being seemed to deflate, the wrathful creature replaced by something far more pathetic.

A lost pup in the rain.

Imaginary ears flattened against his skull. An imaginary tail tucked between his legs. His entire color scheme seemed to shift to monochrome, black and white, mourning the loss of something he’d never had.

She already has boyfriends, Arkai. The voice in his head was cold, rational, a tad cruel. Boyfriends. Plural. You don’t even know how many. And your father will never accept a commoner orphan. Never. It wouldn’t be fair to her, dragging her into that mess. Your own family is a disaster. She wouldn’t be happy with you.

But then, another soft giggle drifted across the distance, followed by the rumble of Roarke’s voice.

The darkness returned.

Wrathful darkness. Murderous darkness.

"Can I at least put up my act when her actual boyfriends are around?" The whisper escaped through gritted teeth. "This is just Roarke. This is just fucking Roarke!"

In the first place, why had he followed the man he asked to follow her? Why was he here, skulking in the shadows like some kind of jilted husband?

He couldn’t even drag his legs away. Couldn’t force himself to leave, to retreat, to regain some semblance of dignity.

The distance he had chosen, close enough to see, far enough to pretend he wasn’t watching, was torture. He couldn’t hear their words clearly, just the rise and fall of conversation, the occasional laugh, the intimacy of two people comfortable in each other’s presence.

Cecilia, meanwhile, was perfectly aware of the dark, brooding presence lurking at the edge of her awareness.

She had noticed Arkai the moment he appeared. Had tracked his emotional journey from irritation to gloom to wrath with something approaching amusement.

Jealous husband number two right after Eastiel, would be Arkai Dawnoro.

No, wait, Arkai could be secretly more jealous than Eastiel. Eastiel just wanted people to acknowledge that he was the very first to fall in love with her, and the first who should’ve been hers.

Arkai, meanwhile...

She... deliberately ignored him.

Why were these men following her since her nap?

The question circled back.

Forget it. Let’s just do what needs to be done.

"Mr. Raul." Her voice was casual, conversational, as she accepted a small cup of the magically-brewed coffee. "Do you have someone you like?"

Roarke froze.

The cup in his hand stopped halfway to his lips. His eyes went wide. Genuinely, caught-off-guard wide.

At the edge of her awareness, she felt Arkai’s posture snap to attention. His straining ears had somehow caught the question.

Around the booth, heads turned. Conversations paused. That was the kind of question that drew attention.

A bold question!

Roarke tilted his head.

"Huh?"