The sound of closing the final page of the grimoire was small. The parchment cover overlapping. That was all. But in the silence before dawn, it seemed oddly loud. Raid kept the book on the desk and rested both hands on it. The scar on his left arm floated pale blue in the lamplight. A mark from magical fusion—the irreversible proof of a forbidden technique that directly merged a caster's magical circuits with atmospheric magical elements, accumulating circuit damage with each use and etching it into the skin—seemed to have a deeper color than usual tonight. "You've got it backwards again, old man." A voice came from behind. Lilia stood there with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, blinking her mismatched eyes while pointing at Raid's jacket. Her silver short bob was sticking up on one side. Her eyes were half-closed. She still looked sleepy. Raid's gaze fell to his own jacket. The left and right were reversed. The right front panel was on the left side. It should have been