The Untouchable of Magic High School – A New God Enters the Game

Magic used to be the stuff of fairy tales—spells, mana, equivalent exchange, all that jazz. Now? It's the backbone of the world.

It started in the late 20th century. A cop with some freaky new powers stopped a terrorist nuke plot. Just like that, magic went from myth to reality, and everything changed.

Fast-forward to 2035. Global cooling wrecked crops, food ran scarce, and World War III—the Global Eruption War—kicked off. We were one bad day away from nuclear annihilation. Then mages stepped up, crafting spells that neutered warheads. Humanity survived, but it came at a cost. Half the population? Gone. Old borders? Dissolved. Nukes? Obsolete. Magic became the new king.

Nations scrambled to train elite mages—Strategic-class magic technicians, or just "Mages." They were walking superweapons. Political lines redrew themselves. Genetic research took off when they figured out magical talent was hereditary. Japan, always practical, formed the Ten Master Clans to keep those bloodlines strong. My family, the Mitsuya Clan, is one of them.

To most, magic's a miracle. To those without it, a nightmare. To me? A giant pain in the ass.

Call it a cliché, or maybe a cruel joke.

I'm Yugen Mitsuya, sixth of seven kids—two older brothers, three older sisters, and a pint-sized gremlin of a younger sister. We're magical royalty, part of Japan's elite. My dad, Gen Mitsuya, doubles as a global arms dealer. Don't ask for details; I don't have them.

Here's the kicker: I died. Not heroically, not tragically—just keeled over one night. Lights out. Next thing I know, I'm a seven-year-old kid with all my memories intact. A goddess (or something) mumbled apologies during the transfer, promising perks—knowledge, skills, maybe a magical edge. Could've been a fever dream, who knows.

I woke up to a worried girl—my "sister"—freaking out about amnesia. She bolted for Mom. Shiho Mitsuya, my new mother, rushed in and hugged me like I'd clawed my way out of a grave. Which, technically, I had.

"Yugen! Thank God. Your psion levels spiked, and you were burning up. You okay?"

"I'm fine, Mom. Sorry for the scare."

This body's memories saved my bacon. Without them, I'd be screwed. Because this isn't just any world—it's The Irregular at Magic High School. Yeah, that world. Tatsuya Shiba's out there, and I'm stuck in a magical pressure cooker as part of an elite clan.

Of all the places to reincarnate.

Apparently, I'd had a magical outburst that fried my Magic Calculation Area. Standard stuff for a kid mage. Mom told me to rest, so I did, quietly tinkering with spell formulas in my head. One gave me a bird's-eye view of the world, bypassing even the Yotsuba's identity shields. Insane. I kept it on the down-low.

Then Shina, my five-year-old sister, burst in.

"Yugen-nii! You're awake?!"

"Barely. Shouldn't you be studying?"

She's not in the original story's timeline, so things are already off-script. Good to know. I patted her head, and she practically purred.

"Sorry for worrying you, Shina."

"If anything happened to you…" Her eyes got watery.

Great. Sibling complex alert.

Days later, I was back on my feet, testing magic. One spell, dubbed Kaleidoscope, cranked my senses to eleven. Too much. Soundproofed rooms and noise-canceling headphones became my lifeline.

Mitsuya Clan details were vague in the original series, but we're like the Yotsuba's chill cousins. Less unhinged, more… protective.

"Yugen, you're up?" Mika, my third sister, barged in. Three years older, all energy and zero boundaries.

"Don't just waltz in, Mika-neesan."

"It's sibling love, deal with it!"

Then Kana, the second sister, strolled in. Calm, smiling, and terrifying with her signature paper fan.

"Mika, we need to talk. Yugen, I'm stealing her."

This family's a lot.

Our eldest brother, Motoharu, is at First High. The second brother's in middle school. The eldest sister's in seventh grade. All of them are stupidly protective, especially after my fever.

I'm not here to rock the boat. My plan? Survive, adapt, and steer clear of Tatsuya Shiba.

Meanwhile, Dad—General Mitsuya—was in his study, puzzling over me. I'd changed. The quiet, frail kid was now studying hard and slinging spells with eerie precision. He had a Yoshida mage check me for possession or weird psion patterns. Nada. Just me.

When he confronted me, I didn't blink. "I was reborn into this body."

He'd prepped a lie-detection spell but scrapped it, floored. No seven-year-old talks like that. No kid swears off clan leadership to spare their brother the political meat grinder.

"Motoharu should lead," I said. "I'm not into clan games."

Dad saw something in me—potential, maybe more than the Ten Master Clans could handle. I asked to train at Mom's dojo. Body, mind, discipline—the works.

"A mage's body is their foundation," I told him. "Mine needs to keep up."

He nodded. "You're my son, Yugen. You don't have to carry the clan. Live your life. I'll handle the rest."

Sipping tea, he muttered, "Live well… for the one who didn't."

Only he knew who he meant.