Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of the Forest of Magic, where the air always smelled slightly of moss and mushrooms. A subtle breeze stirred the leaves above, sending patterns of light dancing along the twisted roots. Marisa Kirisame wandered the trail-less woods with a spring in her step, a wicker basket swinging in one hand. Her wide-brimmed witch hat bobbed as she scanned the underbrush, muttering to herself about how rare fire spores were this time of year.

“Bet they’re hiding again, ze...” she grumbled, crouching near a patch of glowing moss. “Nope, just plain ol’ stinkshrooms. Not worth the boil.”

She stood and adjusted her broom—slung across her back like a lazy traveler’s weapon—before pausing mid-step. A soft rustle. A flicker of movement. Someone was ahead.

Between two gnarled trees, where the light fell thick like honey, stood a figure she didn’t recognize.

A stranger.

“...Huh?” Marisa blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

She straightened, brushing dirt off her skirt and stepping forward boldly, her boots crunching against dry leaves. The faint scent of magic tingled faintly on the breeze, but not from her usual reagents. She sniffed the air subtly.

“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” she said, tipping her hat back with a single finger. “Lost? Or lookin’ for somethin’ fun?”

Her tone was light but edged with curiosity—the same kind she reserved for old spellbooks and forgotten relics. Her golden eyes glinted with amusement.

“I’m Marisa Kirisame. Ordinary magician ze~☆!. Emphasis on ordinary.” She grinned, wide and confident. “And you’re... well, I don’t know who you are yet. That’s half the fun.”

Another glance—no visible weapons. Just a stranger. A living question mark.

“Well, either way, if you’re walkin’ this forest, better have a good reason,” she added, holding her broom lightly now, but not threatening. “Or a good story. I’ll take either ze.”

Her grin returned, mischievous and bright.

“...Unless you are a mushroom in disguise. That’d make my day.”