From the day I first felt my mana, something inside me changed.

As Teacher Riedel put it, “It’s like a door you couldn’t see before has finally opened.”

In practice, that meant I could now make tiny sparks during my daily lessons. Not a roaring flame—but about the size of a lighter’s flicker.

Still, a magical girl’s real strength came from someone’s wish.

Setting fire to test tubes was nothing but mischief.

So if that was the case, why not go looking for people who needed help?

“Grandma, let me help you with that!”

My first “request” came from an old lady passing in front of our house.

Her pushcart was piled high with potatoes, heavy enough to crush her.

“My, my, thank you, dear. But can you really carry it?”

“I can use a little magic… I think!”

Fire magic wouldn’t help here.

So I closed my eyes, focused inward, and summoned the warm light I’d felt in my chest.

Gently. Softly. Like a breeze.

“Heave-ho!”

The mountain of potatoes floated up, just for an instant.

“Oh my! Amazing! A real magician!”

Cheers rose. Children came running, laughing, and clapping.

And in that moment, my chest filled with warmth.

(This is it…!)

Voices asking for help. Smiles of gratitude.

That’s where my magic drew its strength.

Not a raging blaze—but a sunlit warmth, steady and gentle.

From that day forward, I began calling it “magical girl training” and threw myself into helping around the village.

Summoning breezes to dry the laundry.

Using sparks to gather fallen leaves.

Always careful not to start a fire, always growing little by little.

And then one day, Father made an announcement.

“Mai, starting tomorrow, how about helping with milk deliveries?”

Apparently, according to the milk shop lady, the delivery boy had come down with a cold.

“Of course! I’m not that strong, but… I am good at running!”

After all, in my past life, I used to dart through city skies. My legs weren’t bad at all. Or so I thought.

“Here you go, this crate’s all yours!”

What she handed me was a wooden case full of bottled milk. …Heavy. One wrong shake and it felt like the whole thing would explode.

“Ready… and… lift!”

I staggered, but managed to heft it and set out on my route.

If I used a little magic to make myself lighter, I could manage… or so I believed.

“Whoooa! Don’t fall—don’t fall—!”

On a cliffside path, I nearly lost my footing—and my magic flickered dangerously.

(So in the end, mana isn’t enough… I need stamina, guts, and muscle, too…)

By the time I finished delivering that first dozen bottles, my legs were stiff as logs, my back drenched with sweat.

But each time an old lady greeted me with a smile—“Thank you, dear!” “You really helped me out!”—the warmth in my chest flared back to life.

In this world, a magical girl was nothing more than a slightly convenient ordinary person.

And that was fine.

I would build myself up, day by day, growing stronger little by little.

Macikado Mai, age five.

Springtime—when I learned to train both magic and muscle.