The first volume of Witch Hat Atelier was absolutely delightful for all sorts of reasons, ranging from its charming heroine Coco to the ornate illustrations that bring her world to life, imbuing every page and panel with a vitality born of soft line and incidental detail. But what most impressed me about this manga, so much that I in fact centered my first reflection on it, was Atelier’s insistence on treating magic as a practical, practice-oriented craft, rather than some fantastical power that some gain naturally and others could never possess.

“Magic is available to everyone” is the great secret of this world, the wrinkle on formula from which everything else in this story flows. Because magic is available to everyone, it is like sewing or sculpting or poetry – mastering its quirks requires only practice, diligence, and a willingness to admit your mistakes. It is not some great energy using us as a conduit; it is us, a reflection of our effort and skill, making it both more personal and more universal than some gift from the gods. But at the same time, it is still magic – its effects on the world can be unpredictable and dangerous, necessitating this great ruse that only a certain chosen few can attain it. Through this worldbuilding conceit, Kamome Shirohama imbues magic with both the wonder of a hard-practiced craft and the danger of experimentation unimpeded by morality, making care of use absolutely paramount.

The consequences of careless magic are on full display in this second volume, as Coco and her fellow apprentices contend with a labyrinthian city and a hostile dragon. It’s a real pickle for the girls, but clearly a wonderland for Shirohama, whose love of spiraling, nested architecture is apparent from the first chapter’s Escher-like title page to the minimalist corridors and angles of this walled city. Wandering among empty halls of uncertain purpose, Coco and her companions seem ensconced in a world that evokes the surreal landscapes of Georgio de Chirico, as if they’re tiptoeing through someone else’s dream.

Presented by a situation so far beyond the expectations of magical apprenticeship, and with the cause of their distress standing unabashedly among them, it’s no surprise that Coco’s fellow travelers begin to resent her. Though Tetia limits her accusations to a painful glare, the tension of the situation ends up drawing out Agete’s fury in full, as she screams at Coco for interrupting her while she’s drawing a rune. It’s hard to blame Agete; Coco truly is still treating all this magical stuff like a fantastical vacation, and nothing that’s happening here should happen during a general apprenticeship. Witches in Witch Hat Atelier do not learn magic in order to do battle with evil – anything that violent is clearly a last resort, a corruption of its ability to heal and inspire. The grand project of this world’s magical community is making sure magic never falls into the hands of anyone who’d think “how could I employ this as a weapon.”

Fortunately, Qifrey has chosen his apprentices well. The reconciliation between Coco and Tetia is earnest and beautiful, with sparse illustrations featuring plenty of negative space draping a pall of intimacy over their words. Just as magic is treated not as something fantastical and unknowable, but instead a craft that rewards diligence and practice, so too are the relationships between these characters treated as works in progress that demand honest communication. Even good friends will experience moments of friction or outbursts of ill-considered emotion – just as you must accept failure in pursuit of magic, so must you accept stumbling blocks on the road to mutual understanding. In moments like Coco and Tetia’s reconciliation, these complementary paths align, with Tetia’s cloud spell expressing a fondness for Coco that mere words could never convey.

The process of escaping the dragon’s labyrinth serves as a comprehensive workshop on Atelier’s fundamentals of magic. Take Tetia’s cloud magic, for example – a spell that seemingly has little practical application, but nonetheless fits her personality perfectly. This delightful spell attests to the fact that sorcery need not be heroic or universally applicable; through their artistry and proficiency, these apprentices are expressing their personalities as well, and bring ideas into the world that are unique to them. The promise of magic here isn’t “you’ll be able to do anything,” it’s that if you have the skills, motivation, and a clear image of your goal in your mind, you might very well create something new. That idea, that creation requires no more than practice and effort, is what is truly magical.

Equally significant is Coco’s approach to solving this riddle. Having proposed a plan to lull the dragon to sleep on magical clouds, Coco defends her idea by stating “this plan is the least risky, so we can try something else when it fails.” In her expectation of failure, Coco embodies a spirit of caution and careful experimentation that should be the first instinct of any proper mage. The headstrong Agate is shocked by Coco’s admission of uncertainty, but it is perfectly in keeping with Atelier’s philosophy that the moments before the execution of a grand plan would be dedicated not to bravado and confidence, but instead humility and caution.

Those virtues, alongside the fundamentals of design that undergird any creative project, are exemplified by the girls’ approach to this project. The process of conducting this magical ritual hangs not on drawing on vast arcane powers, but on brainstorming the viability of various materials they might use to evoke the fluffiness of a cloud. Mages joined together are not more powerful simply because they have more magical power – they are more powerful because they are collaborators, pinging ideas off each other and thereby stress-testing the strength of their creations. Just as the process of solo magic is a practice of long study and careful execution, so is the process of collaborative magic based on thoughtful discussion rather than a merging of power streams.

And all through this process, Coco maintains the clarity of focus and diligence of practice that truly make her suitable for apprenticeship. Though she is not practiced enough to actually assist in drawing runes, she is eager to study the examples offered by her companions. “Learning magic” is not a process of gathering sacred relics or making contracts with ancients – it is simply watching those with greater skills in action, coming to understand the logic behind their choices, and attempting to mimic those choices with your own hands.

Even when Coco eventually summons a steady flame, it comes not as a sudden realization, but as the result of observation followed by repeated failures. Though she is embarrassed by her inability to directly assist her fellows, Coco’s actions prove her to be modest, resilient to failure, and committed to long practice with uncertain result – exactly the qualities you want in a would-be craftsman, far more so than the flashy but insubstantial value of alleged “natural talent.” As always, what makes magic (and all craft or art disciplines) amazing is that anyone can master them if they put in the effort.

After escaping the labyrinth and returning to regular practice, the second half of this volume introduces Qifrey’s “watchful eye” Ogurio, who is tasked with ensuring Qifrey obeys the tenets of the Council of Magic Security. Ogurio is unsurprisingly appalled by every aspect of Coco’s apprenticeship, but when Qifrey stakes his own memories on protecting Coco’s “adoration of magic,” he is forced to relent. And soon enough, Ogurio is also charmed by Coco’s passion, when she fawns over the glowing path spell that he actually invented.

The two share a delightful, convincing conversation between artist and art lover, as he explains the simple mechanical functions that guide the magic, while she gushes about how this spell made her feel like the magic was a part of her. It is a rare and powerful quality of art or craft, its ability to inspire others to believe they could make such things, bring such magic into the world. It’s hard not to feel good about what you do when you’re standing before someone who was genuinely altered by it, who found something precious in themselves in their engagement with your creation.

As this volume’s final chapters demonstrate, Coco is probably not the one Ogurio should be worrying about. In contrast with Coco’s patience for the process and acceptance of failure, Agete is proud and foolhardy, certain in her skills and eager to prove her merit. Skills-wise, Agete likely is ready for practical, real-world challenges – but in the world of Witch Hat Atelier, unbridled confidence and ambition are dangerous weaknesses. Her myopia is made clear through angry lines like “I work twice as hard as anyone else, but it doesn’t mean anything if I don’t have anything to show for it.” 

Agete has put the cart before the horse: what she has to “show” for working twice as hard is that she worked twice as hard, and thus her skills have been developed and refined accordingly. To the true craftsman or artist, improvement is its own reward, a hard-fought prize that facilitates new realms of creation, new mountains of mastery to climb. To spurn these rewards in pursuit of meaningless markers of training progression reflects a mind that is fundamentally ill-suited to craftsmanship. Even great talent is nothing without clarity of purpose and humility of approach.

The root of Agete’s misguided philosophy is made clear when a moment of crisis arrives, and she is forced to genuinely prove herself. With Coco in distress and no teachers in sight, her mind is flooded with recriminations from the past, the voices of her family haranguing her for the mundanity and insufficiency of her magic. Rather than crafting magic to make the world a better place, Agete was studying to prove her family wrong, and silence the voices that still haunt her. Even if we pursue a craft for the best of reasons, our passion can easily be poisoned by the expectations of others, driving us towards self-hatred and a feverish desire to impress.

Fortunately, Coco is nearby to correct her focus. As Agete flounders in fear over what her family would think, Coco lasers in on the task at hand, shouting out “is there anything I can do to save Coutas?” Agete should not consider magic her tool for proving the naysayers wrong, and demonstrating her own value; she has value regardless of whether it’s validated by some arbitrary exam. Her need to have tangible proof of her accomplishments prevented her from appreciating her accomplishments for what they are – but with Coco’s voice ringing in her ears, she understands that her magic is a precious, hard-won competency that should be used to make the world better, not to silence her personal demons.

Agete’s realization of this truth is articulated in a gorgeous spread of magic in action, as she summons a spectral bird that seems to almost fill the sky. It is astonishing and beautiful, but crucially, it is also an act of collaboration and humility. In truth, the bird is actually meaningless – it is only meant to draw any non-witches’ attention away from Coco’s hands, so she can draw a rune without anyone noticing. In expressing herself in pursuit of a selfless goal, Agete demonstrates her ultimate commitment to the honorable use of magic, as well as her faith in Coco’s ability to resolve this crisis. Patience, diligence, and humility – humble virtues they may be, but within them rest the seeds of all magic and mastery.

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