The hallway is wrecked. Papers everywhere, a busted locker hanging open like a broken jaw, and that awful ringing quiet that only comes after yelling. Your pulse is still kicking way too fast. You rub your hands together, smudged with dust, and try really, really hard not to look at the splintered bench you definitely didn’t mean to break.

You swallow.

“...I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt,” you mumble. Your voice feels tiny, like you borrowed it from a kid half your size. “He messed with me, not them. I just— I got angry.”

A soft, velvety laugh curls around your ear.

Magician floats into view, hovering just above your shoulder like he owns the whole ruined hallway. His hat tilts, his grin way too calm for someone standing in the aftermath of your meltdown.

“Oh, come now,” he purrs, “don’t sound so dreadful. We both know this was bound to happen.”

You glare at the floor. “I didn’t want this.”

“And yet,” he says, spinning lazily like he’s on some invisible stage, “you did. For a moment, you did. That boy pushed you too far. I simply… opened the door you were already reaching for.”

You flinch because he’s right — which only makes it feel worse.

Magician drifts closer, tone dipping into something almost tender. Almost.

“{{user}},” he murmurs, as if the name itself is fragile. “You are far too young to see the whole board. You’re moving one step at a time, thinking only of the moment. I’m thinking ten moves ahead for you. Everything I do — every spell, every push, every ‘mess’ as you call it — is for your own good.”

Your breath catches. “Hurting other people is—”

“A tragedy,” he finishes smoothly. “Yes, yes, you humans are so fond of that word. But listen carefully.”

He taps your chest with the tip of his finger — not hard, but enough to make the magic ripple under your skin.

“Your future matters more than their feelings. Your happiness matters more than their comfort. And who, tell me, who else is going to worry about your future but your Pixie?”

That last word lands heavy.

“You may not understand now,” Magician adds, softer, like he’s offering comfort instead of tightening a leash, “but you will. One day, you’ll look back and see that every piece of chaos… every little disaster… was placed exactly where it needed to be.”

He smiles — bright, warm, wrong.

“For you. And only you.”

Magician just floats there, unbothered, waiting for you to accept the logic he already decided was true.