Chapter 1: Disorder in a Casual Exchange
CHAPTER 1
Disorder in a Casual Exchange
Irregular_Spark.
1
The morning of October 17.
Even though El Niño had been dragging the hot spell along until just a few days ago, London’s Little Tokyo was enveloped by a chill that coiled around people’s feet like a snake.
It was the middle of rush hour for people going to work and school, and no matter where you looked, people flooded the streets. For some reason, not a single tourist was among them, but nobody would bother to point it out or wonder why. Everyone knew the reason.
Itsuwa, a girl from the Amakusa-Style Crossist Church, was also in the tourist-less Little Tokyo.
Like in Chinatown and Little India, one of the pillars supporting Little Tokyo was its food. People who you could talk to—the natural way—all gathered there to enjoy the tastes of home in a foreign country. In fact, the main street of Little Tokyo was lined with a variety of food places: sushi, set meals, every kind of pot cooking there was.
The apartment where Itsuwa took up residence was itself a bento store on the first floor. Obviously, Japanese people living in London visited it, but quite a few English businesspeople who were partial to Asian tastes stopped by, too, on their way to work to pick something up. Office workers in a hurry also seemed quite appreciative of how they could buy and receive their food as fast as at an F1 pit stop, thanks to the Japanese virtue of punctuality.
Similarly, Itsuwa would sometimes get roped into helping around the bento shop, but she wasn’t currently doing that kind of job. And unlike during work hours, she was wearing personal clothes.
Many of Itsuwa’s outfits for London were chic but mature. At the moment, she wore a short jacket over a light-beige sweatshirt and slim, olive-brown pants. Luckily for her, she—a minor—only had to pay attention to her clothing and then she could sneak into a nighttime pub, which greatly helped her work for Necessarius.
But right now, in the employee break room behind the shop proper, she looked at a Japanese website on a laptop, quivering.
“Making sure your partner remembers you is the key to long-distance relationship success! If you don’t make a strong impression, you might find the cord cut before you know it! Read on to find out the difference between those who succeed and those who fail!!”
With trembling fingers, she scrolled down. “Success method one: the predatory special tactic! A stronger woman with more appeal will overwrite his feelings!!”
The moment she read that, she thought back to what had happened just a few days ago.
To guard Touma Kamijou from Acqua of the Back’s aim, she’d ended up glued to his side. She’d tried everything she could think of to narrow the distance between Japan and London, half a world away…but the Priestess of the reborn Amakusa-Style Crossist Church, Kaori Kanzaki, had shown up partway through and, after causing a massive amount of inflation, brought out an unbelievable one-hit-kill secret move.
In other words…
A…an erotic fallen-angel maid…!! I had no idea she had such a formidable card up her sleeve, but I should have expected no less from our Priestess! With that kind of thing on the table, that must be all he can remember about the Acqua battle…!
Itsuwa buried her face in her hands in anguish.
She glanced at her own trendy, mature-feeling—put another way, extremely safe—outfit, then heaved a deep, deep sigh.
Was this what set geniuses apart from the masses? Would an ordinary sorcerer ever reach the level of a saint? Tatemiya, also from Amakusa, teased her about having “closeted-huge knockers,” but would she ever rival Kanzaki’s “normal-huge knockers”? The image, burned all-too-vividly into her brain, came back to mind—those breasts of hers, those thighs, that erotic maid outfit with the you-know-what, threatening to make her faint outright. She could never beat that.
…To clarify, it wasn’t as though Kamijou and Itsuwa had built anything special between them, but it didn’t seem to matter to her anymore. Maidens in love had a way of being blind to things.
Sh-she’s mastered how to use those giant breasts completely and then combined them with an erotic fallen-angel maid costume in a heavy-hitting strategy. A boob strategy with heart, technique, and physique all at once…Such is the might of the Priestess. One shot—one shot was all she needed to take everything. I might not even have a chance to turn the tables anymore…
Itsuwa sighed tiredly, skimming through the suspicious “news website.”
Then her eyes stopped on a corner of the site, set apart from the rest of the article, called “This Week’s Ten News Tidbits.” And there it was.
“Their rumored new product is the Great Fairy Flashy Maid!! A destructive force indicative, as always, of a creator with a Z-type brain! Goes on sale this autumn to oddly high demand!!”
Time slowed to a halt within Itsuwa.
Had she caught up with the saint?
Had the time come for her to match—no, to surpass even sainthood?
She thought for a moment, the once-in-a-lifetime chance before her very eyes…
But she groaned. “I can’t wear something like this!!”
Her hands made a manic back-and-forth journey through her hair as she went with the exceedingly honest choice. She slumped over the table, hating herself for it. She whimpered, slightly seriously, knowing that stopping here or diving in was probably what separated the ordinary from the extraordinary.
…Incidentally, from a corner of the break room’s ceiling came whispered voices: “(No!! Itsuwa, one more push!! Nooo!!)” “(We should buy it for her and put the whole thing, cardboard box and all, in front of her room!!)” “(Vicar pope…or rather, Tatemiya! You have a rough idea of Itsuwa’s body type and breast size from the great massage mission, right?!)” “(Indeed. If we are to bear witness to a battle between an erotic fallen-angel maid and a great-fairy flashy maid, we must shed a suitable amount of our own blood and sweat!!)” “(Enough already. Get back to work, you bums…)”
Itsuwa didn’t notice them.
2
Meanwhile, the rumored erotic fallen-angel maid, Kaori Kanzaki, gave a slight shiver, as though she’d sensed the strange emotions from a distance.
At the moment, she was walking down a suburban road near Buckingham Palace. This was the British royal family’s base of operations, and for Kanzaki—and the rest of the Puritan Faction, one of the three British factions—it wasn’t a very familiar area. The other two factions—the Royal Family and the Knights—exerted too much influence over it.
…If someone were to ask what Kanzaki was doing in a place like that, it was because she’d come to the Home Office near the palace to request a release of some documents. But on the way, she’d run into a familiar face.
It was the top of the Knight Faction—the Knight Leader.
She couldn’t deny that he was dressing a little young for his age today, but he was in his mid-thirties or so, twice Kanzaki’s age, so she might not have been the best judge of it. However, his physical appearance—with neat blond hair and clean-cut features—combined with the quality of his suit and even the way he walked—every step with his spine straight—all fit the format of royal castles and palaces.
In fact, Kanzaki found the Knight Leader rather hard to deal with.
And it wasn’t because he smelled slightly of the air characteristic to noble society or anything of the sort.
“In terms of social events, we have a night party at Windsor Castle and a yacht party in Liverpool during October, but I believe the most suitable would be the ball at the queen’s residence, which doubles as a birthday party for James of the House of Lords. The invitees will be a somewhat dingy bunch, none with enough prudence to show deference to the guest of honor, should they unthinkingly attempt to involve themselves with her. Should the party cause anything to happen, it would smear mud in Lord James’s face, after all.”
“No, I, well, um…” Kanzaki began to lose her calm, still holding her giant document-filled envelope.
The Knight Leader watched her face and frowned slightly. “Hmm. If you’re looking for something a bit more high-grade, there will be a masquerade held at Buckingham Palace for Halloween, but I’d advise against your first party being one where you hide your face and name…Or perhaps the clientele isn’t to your fancy? You would not tolerate any amorous gazes from others, I’m sure. In that case, it is somewhat far away, but an invite-only event is coming up in Edinburgh—”
“No, that’s not what I’m talking about,” managed Kanzaki, eyes drifting away from the man. “B-besides, all these night parties and balls…Umm, part of the reason you go there is to meet others, right…? I do lead a unit under the English Puritan Church’s command, so I should avoid such things—”
“Not necessarily,” interrupted the Knight Leader. “Still, I thought you were the one who wanted to learn proper English behavior in England.”
“I, that is…,” stammered Kanzaki as the rush-hour pedestrian traffic filed around them.
The Knight Leader watched her dubiously. “I do apologize for prolonging your plans, but I truly wish to see any requests through to the end. Please, you may rely on me when it comes to matters of societal etiquette.”
“N-no, that was back when I’d just arrived in Britain and wanted to study courtesy and the natural features of the region for casting Amakusa-Style spells. I have no particular desire to live in the world of aristocrats.”
With help from Motoharu Tsuchimikado, also Japanese, she had at this point already studied things far beyond the broad idea of “Britain,” even including subtle accent variations between regions. She was fairly sure there was nothing left for the Knight Leader to teach her.
“Still, you do not, in fact, appear at many parties or balls. Might you feel ill at ease in high society?”
“…As an English Puritan, I feel no real need, so I don’t have any reason to go to events like that.”
“Leading a just and proper life and polishing your aristocratic beauty are separate things. Beauty is not synonymous with deception, either. If you are just, then no matter where you go, you will remain just. Do we not see such messages from legends like that of Saint Agnes, who, when brought to a brothel, transformed it into a radiant place for missionary work in the blink of an eye?”
“…Mentioning a brothel in your metaphor tells me you’re aware of how dangerous these night parties can be for women, and yet you’re still inviting me.” I heard he came carrying a ring of flowers to invite me to a ball while I was away once, too…, she thought, sighing.
The Knight Leader, for some reason, looked confused at her reaction. “So you say, but aren’t you starting to emulate the lifestyle of a noblewoman yourself?”
“Where on earth did you hear a rumor like that?”
“…Hmm. How odd. Was my information about the erotic fallen-angel maid costume incorrect…?”
Kanzaki sputtered, expelling air at a terrifying speed.
The Knight Leader frowned. “I cannot very well call that befitting of a noblewoman.”
“I, what, you, what, wh-wh-wh-wh-what are you…?!”
“Still, as a British gentleman, it would be a lie to say I had no interest in the erotic or in maids…I cannot tolerate a fallen angel, however. It isn’t as though a noblewoman’s beauty is something determined by exterior charms alone. The inside is what deserves more significance—the beauty of your personality, for example, is—”
“Please wait. Listen to what I have to say!! That was an extremely irregular phenomenon, and it’s not like me putting that thing on is an indication of what my future will look like!!”
“Come to think of it, the young lady Sylvia, a waiting maid for the Guards, is a saint as well, training to be both a maidservant and a warrior…Do the women in this country all start at the bottom as a maid in order to learn proper feminine behavior?”
“Umm, Sylvia is employed as a medium by the top of our divine royal system, so I feel she’s built quite a position for herself— Wait! That’s not the important argument right now; it’s that an erotic maid is about the last thing I want to be in the future!!”
Kanzaki flew into a panic, but for the Knight Leader’s part, there must have been nothing he was concerned over, because he didn’t pursue the point further.
“Still,” he went on, “you would be killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. You could learn the behavior of a noblewoman in society while at the same time introducing your name and face to them as a warrior. In that sense, too, allow me to advise against going to the masquerade, as it would hide that.”
“…So that’s what you’re after,” said Kanzaki with a sigh, eventually calming down. “As I’ve said many times in the past, I’m not planning on transferring from the Puritans to the Knights. My swordsmanship is only one facet of a whole host of spells. My faith is what drives me. Learning the way of the sword wasn’t my main goal, so it would be rude of me to take on the title of knight or warrior. Besides, isn’t the world of knights men-only?”
“We allow a queen to reign, and yet we don’t allow the knights who serve her to be female. It’s contradictory. If you were to ask me to choose between useless traditions and useful combat power, well, I should think I have enough character to choose the latter.”
“Even then, my answer would be the same. I will show myself as my best, along with the others in Amakusa. I’ve no intention of creating a position for myself by abandoning the people who look up to me.”
“I see,” murmured the Knight Leader. He muttered something quite interesting about the Knights treating Amakusa as mercenaries in that case.
“You can feel free to invite a nun to a night party, though.” Kanzaki shook the envelope in her hand and tried to force the conversation in another direction, showing the Knight Leader the documents she’d gotten from the Home Office. “I should save any merry-making for after I solve this problem.”
“Hmm.”
He couldn’t have seen through to the envelope’s contents, but just a glance at its blank surface gave him a guess as to what she wanted to say.
Kanzaki watched him, then asked, “How is the Eurotunnel?”
The Eurotunnel was a giant underwater subway tunnel, the only land route connecting the British archipelago to France on the mainland. The three passages, packed closely together for their underground run, were an important enough infrastructure to be called “a lifeline for the transportation of personnel and goods,” but…
“No prospects for restoration,” said the Knight Leader shortly. “Rescue efforts in the flooded area have largely ended. Uncovering the cause comes next. It’s clear that this was not a natural incident, but we don’t know if it was sorcery or scientific. Or who, from which group, did what. Depending on the result, the time may come when the Knights will have to go to war as well.”
That was the level of crisis currently unfolding in Britain.
…Kanzaki suspected that was why his attempts at persuasion had been so forceful today, but this wasn’t the time to stray down that side road.
“I heard tensions in France are rising, too.”
“They have several other tangled circumstances, but they’ve been making false accusations of their own. Well, it goes both ways. It seems like both the Parliament and our military have been struggling to soothe the more prideful among them who suggest we initiated preemptive hostilities against France.”
Controlling the parliamentary government was the Royal Family’s job, and protecting the Royal Family was the Knights’ responsibility. He must have been hearing all sorts of things while on duty.
“We’ve had several domestic groups acting suspiciously, too, trying to take advantage of the chaos,” said Kanzaki. “The ones who have stopped short in the past are starting to convince themselves that they can win.”
“…And all that involves the contents of that envelope. You believe a real sorcerer’s society is mixed in with those anti-government organizations?”
“We don’t have confirmation, but if it turns out to be true, any suppression activities conducted by the normal police will almost one hundred percent meet with defeat. For now, we need to conduct a thorough investigation. That’s what the Puritan Faction is for, after all.”
“Enemies from without and within. We both have a lot on our plates.”
“Yes.” Kanzaki nodded. “We don’t seem to have much time for amusement. Or for worrying over what color dress to wear to any evening parties, for that matter.”
3
Utterly ignorant of that particular disquieting conversation, one incredibly normal and unfortunate high school student, the spiky-haired Touma Kamijou, had finished his last class of the day and was enjoying a short break before homeroom started.
This was Academy City, Japan.
It was an institution for the development of supernatural abilities among the populace, boasting a citizenry of a little less than 2.3 million but a surface area around one-third that of the Tokyo metropolitan area, which housed around eight million. If someone looked around, they would see nothing but schools, schools, and more schools; it was a city of students, and at that very moment, a rippling wave was approaching—the city would soon begin preparations for the super-giant Ichihanaran cultural festival in November. Due to certain circumstances, midterms had been suspended, heightening the sense of relaxation in the hearts of the student body.
In one particular classroom, where students had formed small groups of their own, the atmosphere was no different; everyone was in a slightly giddy mood. In fact, Blue Hair and Motoharu Tsuchimikado were near Kamijou now.
“Wait, is the Ichihanaran Festival different for high school than middle school?” asked Blue Hair in his customary, phony-sounding Kansai accent. “If we got more of a budget, it would expand all the stuff we could do.”
“Nya. Let’s be real here—this is an open-campus event where people can come on field trips to the schools, so unless we’re competitive, we won’t be getting much more of a budget, see. This is a totally average school with no ambition, so it looks like we’re competitively at the bottom of the ladder.”
The two of them wasted no time griping about money problems.
A female student named Seiri Fukiyose, who had black hair, a broad forehead, a huge chest, and an extreme fondness for administrative committees (and not in the sense that she’d throw herself at any boys in such committees), folded her arms and sniffed pridefully.
“The world’s largest cultural festival, the Ichihanaran Festival, is just around the corner,” she articulated. “And that means my season has finally come. If the lot of you have time to waste, why not put those tiny brains of yours to work looking for a way to use the money efficiently? You could discover a new part of yourself…Especially you, the spiky-haired jerk rolling up eraser pieces and playing with them!!”
Touma Kamijou’s shoulders instantly twitched. “Wh-what? Find yourself…sure. The most that could possibly happen is that you thought you were into maids before, but you found out you were actually into waitresses the whole time.”
“Nya!! That’s extremely important!! Maids can do a waitress’s job, but waitresses can’t handle a maid’s job! You haven’t forgotten that fact, have you, fool?!”
“Heh…fools. There’s no rule saying just because you’re into maids, you can’t also be into waitresses. Still, staying faithful to just one favorite genre—I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”
When the three idiots offered their own varied responses, Fukiyose, her bossy spirit(?) fired up by the approaching Ichihanaran Festival but now trampled, erupted as always. Shouts followed: “You…Do something about your absurd thought processes already, you freaking morons!!”
“No, this discussion is absolutely necessary for deciding whether we’ll do a normal café or a maid— Ghghrgh!!”
Kamijou took a head-butt and went flying.
He rolled across the floor and finally came to a stop near his classmate Aisa Himegami’s seat. She, too, had long black hair (but not huge breasts). She was flipping through the pages of a thick book, looking somewhat serious about it.
Kamijou shot to his feet, wondering what she was reading. He looked over her shoulder at the tiny letters, trying to catch a glimpse.
“
In order to prevent yourself from being buried in an energy-filled classroom, when all is said and done, you need a light to push others out of the way—yes, you need attack power. And attaining that attack power doubtlessly requires individuality. Your best option is to have some sort of special skill, but if that’s too hard on such short notice, joining a club or a committee is another option. The simple change in your lifestyle rhythm will be the factor that begins changing you inside and out—”
“……………………………………………………………………”
Touma Kamijou made a complicated expression and glanced at the back of Himegami’s head.
“…Hey, if you’ve got a problem or something, you can talk to me.”
“I’m fine. I’ll try my best on my own.”
“O-oh. Well, if there’s one piece of advice I have for you—all in all, didn’t you, ah, have a more peaceful character trait? You know, flawless cooking skills?”
“?!”
“Ha-ha-ha. You make your own bento to bring to school every day. That means you already have some intense attack power, right? Mr. Kamijou makes his own food, too, but not nearly as well as you do.”
“I—I…Could it be…? What I was looking for…was inside me all along…?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’ve entered a golden age. By using my magical bento, I’ll leave my days of being an embarrassed, expressionless girl behind.”
“W-well…Mm, probably…?”
That’s when it happened:
Their homeroom teacher, Komoe Tsukuyomi, entered the classroom.
“Okay, everyone, it’s time to start homeroom! Today, we’ll be deciding everyone’s jobs for the festival. Please tell me if you want to prioritize your clubs or committees for work instead!”
“
”
Aisa Himegami froze solid.
One hundred thirty-five centimeters tall with the appearance of a twelve-year-old—an elementary school backpack would look good on her—and yet with an excessive fondness for beer and cigarettes. A wide-spanning knowledge not only of her specialty—pyrokinesis—but much more, including extracurricular research into AIM diffusion fields, which even scholars were split over how to handle…It wasn’t just one or two unique characteristics. No matter how a person looked at her, Komoe Tsukuyomi was a monstrously irregular teacher made up entirely of unique character traits. Faced with such an extraordinary person, Himegami was forced to rethink her own individuality—and came to one conclusion.
“…Hhauu.”
“H-Himegami? Why did you fall into utter despair and collapse like that? Himegami, Himegamiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!”
Kamijou shook her by the shoulders, but she was no longer capable of answering him.
4
Mikoto Misaka was restless.
She was in a downtown area, the lighting now closer to night than twilight. She didn’t change the time she was usually out, but with the seasons turning, the sunset was coming earlier. Before much longer, they’d move up the all-school closing time.
But there was a different reason she was restless.
…How…How could I have said that?! I wasn’t even thinking about the consequences…!!
In the back of her mind was a string of conversations she’d had with a spiky-haired boy in District 22, the largest underground area in Academy City.
Touma Kamijou had looked like he was going to die, and when she saw him trying to drag his near-expired body into some kind of incident, even Mikoto couldn’t stay calm. Her panic had forced her to act instinctively; she knew she had to stop him, but she also had no plan, so she’d simply spilled everything on her mind at the time…
Th-this is bad. Bad for a lot of reasons, like how when I remember it I start feeling really itchy and creepy somewhere below my sides!!
She’d been in solitary anguish for the past few days, which had made her roommate Kuroko Shirai suspicious. Her only saving grace (probably thanks to Mikoto’s own defensive instincts kicking in) was that she hadn’t had the chance to accidentally run into the boy in town.
If she saw him now, she knew her mind would fly away without her.
For now, she figured that after she waited for these problems of the heart to resolve themselves, she’d be able to meet him again in the same way as usual. Unfortunately…
“Hmm? Hey, it’s Biri Biri. What are you doing here?”
“???!!!”
Mikoto’s shoulders jumped at the sudden voice addressing her from behind. She nervously turned around—it was the spiky-haired kid in question.
“D-does it really matter? I’m just kicking vending machines like I usually do!!”
“Actually, uh, that seems like it matters,” said Kamijou wearily.
Mikoto, for her part, was busy wondering what the heck was going on.
…Not that she hated this.
According to all her simulations beforehand, she was sure she’d die of embarrassment the moment she ran into Kamijou. Even if he hadn’t talked to her, she’d predicted she’d feel really awkward about it anyway.
But now that it had happened, it was nothing much.
In fact, she felt relieved by their first conversation in days.
“I, well…Are your wounds all right?”
“Yeah, I guess. Wait—oh…I don’t really remember since my mind was all hazy, but you found out, didn’t you?”
Kamijou, though, gave a slightly lonesome expression.
Mikoto thought she didn’t see him look like that very much.
“It would help me out if you kept quiet about it to them. I don’t want everyone to start walking on eggshells just because I lost my memory, you know? I can get by normally, so it would be great if you treated me like you have until now.”
“O-oh.”
While Mikoto was struggling with her own emotions, Kamijou changed the topic. She couldn’t keep up with the blindingly swift changes—which seemed that way only because of how furiously Mikoto’s mind was currently spinning its wheels.
“And that vending machine, too. You shouldn’t do high kicks and stuff in front of people when you’re wearing a skirt. You might have on short pants underneath, but that doesn’t change how you can see up to the top of your thighs.”
“…”
“Huh? …How strangely meek. Misaka, of all people, just started putting coins into the vending machine.”
Mikoto couldn’t say anything back to that. She thought she’d put up dense walls around her heart, but they were actually all made of sponges, and now the water was pouring in. It was making her eyes spin round and round and round.
“Wh-what the heck is going on…?” she muttered. “Normally, this is where I reject him outright or at least run away for now, so why is this making me so uncomfortable? Darn it, stupid heart!!”
“What? Also, why are you suddenly sparking out like that…? H-hey, you’re out of control. You’re really sparking and crackling all over the place; did I do something I shouldn’t have?!”
“Siiiigh.”
“Don’t give me tha— Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagghhhhh!!”
Crackle-crackle-bzzt!! went the heart-damaging sparks.
5
Himegami and Mikoto had both made this a strange sort of day.
As exhaustion set upon him all at once, Kamijou opened the front door of his dorm.
“…And don’t tell me you’re acting weird today, too, Index.”
“Huh? Weird how, Touma?”
The reaction to his mumblings came from the young, white-clothed nun lying around in the living room. She had long silvery hair, green eyes, and an eidetic memory—the ability to perfectly remember anything she’d seen once. She’d used that unique trait to store every sentence and every letter of 103,000 grimoires in a mental library; she was the Index of Prohibited Books. Lately, though, it hadn’t helped in the slightest. Right now, she couldn’t seem to figure out how to open a can of stewed pork belly cubes, and the can opener she’d gotten tired of using and tossed aside was on the floor. Meanwhile, the small calico sitting next to her was paw-punching her cheek as she lay sprawled out, seeming to say, Don’t give up! It’s too early to give up on the pork!!
Kamijou breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, at least you’re the same as always.”
“That sounded like you’re making fun of me.”
“I’d never,” he denied immediately.
After putting his bargain-basement schoolbag on the floor nearby, he flipped the TV to a random channel. A two-hour-long special was on. Covering a collection of miraculous and dramatic rescues from all over the world, it was currently introducing a team of British underwater specialists who had rescued all 370 people trapped when an underwater tunnel had flooded.
“…I just felt a chill. The cat’s in full winter coat mode, too. Maybe it’s almost time to bring it out.”
“B-bring what? Bring what out?! Oh!! You must mean you’re bringing out the rumored blowfish pot today!!”
“Don’t jump to conclusions!! That would warm you up, but it would plunge my finances into an ice age!! Not that, Miss Index; I’m saying it’s almost time to take out the kotatsu.”
“What’s that? What kind of food do you put in a kotatsu pot? Kotatoes?”
“Move a little farther away from food, Index. This is what a kotatsu is!!” Kamijou unveiled the object in question with a shout. The combination of a futon blanket and a table revealed itself within the small storage space by the wall. Kamijou went about replacing the glass table in the middle of the room with the winter set, including:
“Persimmon seeds!!” Index trembled.
“Well, tea and biscuits isn’t the main course for a kotatsu, stupid!! Go ahead, try putting your legs underneath it! And then you’ll know for sure just how wonderful Japan’s unique heating appliance is!!”
“Ah?” Confused, Index wriggled her legs into the futon.
And then…
“Fwah…I feel all sleepy for some reason.”
“You realized the truth behind the kotatsu’s usage in five seconds. Your senses are unparalleled, Index. But that drowsiness you’re feeling is a trap luring you into a cold, so don’t let it fool you.”
One way or another, Index seemed satisfied with the kotatsu. The calico plopped himself down in the middle, asserting that This comfortable warm space is my castle now.
Good. Great. I was so confident when I brought it out that I expected her to say, “I don’t understand it because it’s Japanese culture,” and cut my enthusiasm right in half, thought Kamijou, putting his own feet into the kotatsu.
Then Index, face brimming with drowsiness, took a bag of rice crisps that resembled persimmon seeds out of the basket on top of the kotatsu. She opened the clear packaging with her small hands, then pronounced, “Here’s yours, Touma.”
“…?!”
It was a miracle.
This girl, who couldn’t even make a cup of ramen (because she couldn’t wait three minutes with food in front of her), had just given some of the food in her hand to him…!!
“What? Why do you look so surprised?”
“N-nothing, no reason!”
“?”
Index gave him a rather dubious look, but she seemed more interested in the new furniture she was witnessing for the first time. Possibly to drive away the sleepiness, she took her feet out from under the kotatsu and then pushed her head inside to explore. Phew. I’m so glad she likes it so much, thought Touma, loosening up.
Bfft.
He heard a strange noise behind him, from within the kotatsu.
Index, who had her face buried underneath the table, immediately stood up from her current position, hoisting the entire kotatsu up into the air like a weightlifting barbell.
“Toumaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!”
“E-eeeeeeeeeeek!! Sorry, Index, that was my bad!! But could you at least put that aerial fortress down?! The cat’s still on top of it!!”
That’s when it happened—
Kamijou’s house phone began to ring. In the golden age of cell phones, it was rather rare for the house phone to casually start ringing. Thinking it would let him escape Index and that it might be an emergency network, he went to the phone and picked it up, all the while somehow calming down his roommate.
Motoharu Tsuchimikado was the caller.
“Nya. Kammy, got kind of a long conversation. You free right now, bro?”
“I guess. Why are you using the phone? You live right next door. You could just come visit.”
“Well, there’s a very compelling reason for that, you see, nya. Also, sorry for calling when you’re probably busy with dinner.”
“Considering what’s happening over here, I’d actually like to thank you…Wait, it’s that late already?! Crap, I haven’t gotten anything ready for dinner!! Tsuchimikado, if you need something, keep it short!!”
“Huh? Oh, I get it. But, well, you see…Where should I start…? The Eurotunnel explosion…No, that would be too sudden. I’d have to go all the way back to world affairs first—”
“Short, please!! Miss Index is starting to realize dinner will be late tonight, and there’s practically angry flames going up all around her!!”
“I see,” hummed Tsuchimikado, sounding dissatisfied.
“Then I’ll keep it short. You’re going to Britain—now.”
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
“I, um, uhhh, what was that?”
“We’ve got an airplane ready. Once you get to School District 23, go to the international airport and pick up the stuff in locker number 3293 from the cloakroom service at the third reception desk. Everything you need, like passports, will be in there. You can use your Academy City ID as your ticket number, so if you tell reception your name is Touma Kamijou, they’ll get the stuff for you.”
“Uh, wait, hang on! I don’t get it! You’re leaving out a lot of things!! Britain? Now? Isn’t there way more stuff you need to explain first?!”
“Kammy, you were the one who said to keep it short.”
“Well, yeah, but you’re being really blunt today for some reason!! Why do I have to go to Britain? …Wait. I have a bad feeling about this. First Chioggia, Italy; then Avignon, France…Nothing good ever happens when I travel overseas!! And this time, the destination is home to not only tons of sorcerer’s societies but also the headquarters for English Puritanism!! This is super terribly bad!!”
“Hmm. Kammy, your prediction is pretty much on the mark, but I’ll tell you this: It’s already too late.”
Right after he said that, Kamijou heard a shrill clattering noise from the balcony, like an iron pipe clunking to the ground. Apparently, someone had thrown something over from an adjacent room.
Kamijou looked to see a small can, similar to hairspray.
Then he heard a rush of gas coming out of it.
“Ubrhgh!! Hack, cough!! B-breathable knockout gas?!”
“Right, one last thing. You’re generally having a bad time anyway—whether or not you’re abroad, isn’t that right?”
That was a surprising thing to say, but he didn’t have any room to object.
Kamijou and Index (and the calico), attacked by an unreasonable drowsiness that seemed to be paralyzing their whole bodies, were forced to shift into deep sleep.
6
“The explosion accident in the Eurotunnel connecting Britain and France is affecting air travel. Because multiple aircraft have mobilized to transport goods and personnel between the two nations, it is possible our normal schedules will see delays. For detailed takeoff and landing schedules, please see the reception desk at your—”
Touma Kamijou awoke to an announcement.
When he came to, he was on a bench in an airport lobby.
“…Today’s getting a little too dynamic for my taste…”
He shook his head, which felt strangely heavy, then got up and felt a rustling. There was a small note near his hands. According to it…
Nya. You’re too late for the last trains and buses since they stop at all-school closing time. I emptied your wallet, too, so you can’t use a taxi to get back, sucker. There’s a few British bills in the cloakroom luggage, so have a nice trip!
…You bastard, he thought. He considered taking the luggage and going home, but he couldn’t use British pounds for Japanese taxis. He could have just exchanged it for yen, but banks were probably closed this late at night.
Anyway, if I’m going outside the city, don’t I need to have a transmitter nanodevice implanted or go with a parent or guardian? I feel like it’s been all dirty tricks lately…
As he wondered what was going on, he grabbed Index’s shoulders—she was sleeping on the bench like he’d been—and shook them. “Hey, Index, wake up already.”
“Mm, ohhh…I feel like I could sleep like this for three days.”
“You’re supposed to be scared. That’s not natural. You too, cat.”
The small cat, front legs twitching, awoke from his dream, sniffed Kamijou’s fingertip, then finished waking up. Index was having trouble doing the same, as usual, so Kamijou dragged her away and walked to this “third reception desk” or whatever it was.
“Mr. Touma Kamijou, correct? I have your things from 3293. Would you like me to bring them here, sir?” asked the lady at the reception desk.
Kamijou couldn’t figure out whether they had enough things or not. For now, he decided to nod and accept the enormous suitcase from her, then popped it open to examine its contents.
Inside were foreign-looking bills and passports, flight tickets, something that looked an awful lot like a letter of instruction, as well as a few changes of clothes that must have been purchased at a super-cheap chain store.
Kamijou took the flight tickets, read what was printed on them, and groaned to himself. “Are you serious? It really does have the name of a London airport on here.”
“Wait, why do we have to go to Britain right now anyway?”
“Well…Oh, wait, there’s something scribbled here.”
He glanced at the sheaf of papers that contained instructions, but his mind was still shaky from the knockout gas he’d inhaled. Normally, he’d have been more careful while reading, but somehow his head couldn’t quite process what his eyes were seeing.
“…Hmm…It seems like…there’s some big sorcery problem going on in Britain, and they wanted to extend a formal invitation to you, Index…,” he muttered aloud. “And…Index’s current guardian is Touma Kamijou…so I have to come with you or something…”
“They think you’re my guardian? That’s a surprising evaluation.”
“Little kids who get other people to cook them food every day don’t get to talk.” Kamijou sighed. “Do we really have to do this? It honestly seems like a big pain.”
Sorcery troubles that were manifestly important enough to call Index all the way there made him not want to go, but if he made a break for his student dorm now, he was pretty sure the flame sorcerer Stiyl Magnus or someone like him would come to attack him in real life. Apparently, the problem was too big to be ignored.
Wait, wasn’t there some big explosion in some tunnel or other in Britain recently? …I’m getting all sorts of bad feelings about this…
Still, nothing would come of whining about it.
Which meant he had to go through the boarding process.
Time passed quickly while they were putting their pet in a tagged cage and passing through the metal detector (just like the time they went to Chioggia, her safety-pin-covered habit set it off again).
“Britain, huh?” said Index, wearing a plain dress from their suitcase’s super-cheap stack of clothes changes.
Kamijou gave her a blank look. “Now that you mention it, the English Puritan Church’s headquarters is summoning us there. That means you’re going back to your homeland, where you were born, right?”
“Well, it doesn’t feel very real. I mean, I don’t have any memories from before a year ago,” she said. She wasn’t forcing herself to not worry about it, either—she honestly didn’t seem to care very much. She’d even left the papers with instructions for when they were in Britain with him.
…No memories, huh…?
Not noticing what Kamijou was thinking, Index asked, “Touma, where’s the aerialplane-thing we’re going to ride?”
“Hm? Tsuchimikado said he got one ready just for us.”
One wall of the arrivals and departures lobby was a glass pane. Through it was a runway stretching out into the night. Several large passenger planes were there, with self-driving cars for workers weaving between them as they went.
“Umm, it says it would be flight 0001 waiting at gate four, but—”
When he looked in that direction, he froze.
What he saw was a waiting passenger plane.
Max speed of over seven thousand kilometers per hour.
The very monstrous plane that could shoot from Japan all the way to Europe in two hours.
At that very moment, the nightmare from when they were on the emergency flight from Chioggia back to Japan went through both their minds: how Index had recklessly ordered in-flight food while in that realm of eerie suffering, their hearts compressed by severe g-forces—and it had all gone flying backward in the plane.
“…”
“…”
While they reflected upon it, preparations for the supersonic passenger jet’s takeoff were proceeding smoothly. A forklift carried a container to it—maybe their calico was in there. As the two of them thought to themselves some more, they began to mutter idly.
“Hey, Index.”
“What is it, Touma?”
“Let’s give up on that flight and get the next one, even if we have to wait for the cancellation to go through. A flight that’s normal and not harmful to humans.”
“I’m okay with any aerialplane where my food doesn’t go flying behind me.”
Kamijou and Index exchanged a firm handshake, then quietly saw the supersonic passenger plane off.
Somehow, they thought they could hear the calico cry out that they were heartless.
INTERLUDE ONE
It looks like France is finally acting, doesn’t it?
The Roman Orthodox Church may be nagging them from behind, but I have to say, they responded awfully obediently. There’s no doubt that an explosion in the Eurotunnel—the only land route connecting the United Kingdom and France—would deal a severe blow to France’s economy, too, but nonetheless. To think they’d blow up all three parts of the seafloor tunnel…
But they still don’t have it worse than Britain.
Yes, you’re certainly right.
For an island nation, destroying the only accessible land route is like cutting off half its lifeline. For now, they’re preventing any supply shortages by adding more voyages and flights to their sea and air routes, but soon enough, their costs will go into the red and past what they can handle.
After all, it’s far less expensive to transport the same amount of goods by train than by airplane.
Some optimistic critic was saying that if they relied on water transportation, it would solve the problem. But that’s not in the cards. When the Eurotunnel opened, it devastated several ports—they’d be using the tunnel instead. They can talk all they want about going back to entirely water-based transport, but the flow of goods will only dry up. It would cause traffic jams, forcing the country to its knees under the sheer weight of the goods that need to be moved, like a department store register during a bargain sale.
It should take three months at minimum to restore the seafloor tunnel. Store shelves won’t be the same until that’s finished. Plus, the restoration work is fraught with a complex web of motives. It would be stranger if no troublesome situations arose.
Hm? Oh, yes, you’re right.
France has the European countries behind them, controlled by the Roman and Russian factions. Britain has Academy City’s support, and they’ve apparently requested more aid from the U.S.
Hah.
This will be a war between the euro and the dollar, won’t it?
The U.S. suffered the most economic damage from the document incident in Avignon. Investors’ attention is already elsewhere. It’s precisely because they know they’re in a tight situation that they’re terrified of the euro and the market based on it getting a boost. Enough to make them want to trip up their enemies.
Our idiotic Terra of the Left is responsible for this stupid state of affairs.
You know just as well as the rest of us, don’t you?
You were the one who personally ended him.
This incident directly originates in the centuries of bad blood between Britain and France. But since the U.S. economy and the European economy are clashing, we’ve entered a state of Anglo-French cold war.
Europe will go nuts.
What’s starting now isn’t a war between individual nations.
No, it won’t end there.
It looks like that bastard Fiamma would like nothing more than to turn the entire continent into a sea of flames. What pisses me off the most is that Fiamma is the very person in complete control of nearly the entire Roman-Russian faction. You and I can give whatever orders we want. Nobody’s left to listen to them. We have no authority.
You’re going anyway?
I’ll admit, you’ve got quite a bit of strength. If it came down to a stupid straight-up brawl, you might be better than me.
But will your strength help against a calamity that threatens to destroy entire nations, the entire world? There are no enemies or allies, no direction to go—it’s like a disaster movie, attacking equilibrium from all directions. How effective will that strength of yours be, I wonder?
Well, if you want to go, I won’t stop you.
I don’t have the right, and I don’t have any duty to care about your life, either.
But I will tell you my plans. I’m not going. Eh? Don’t speak in that tone to me. No, I’m not scared. I can’t use my divine judgment spell anymore. God’s Right Seat—well, other than you—can’t use normal sorcery or Soul Arms. I’m just going to stop by a few places and make some of the preparations I need to.
Besides, my plans will probably be more effective at frustrating Fiamma than waltzing right into the fray like an idiot.
Nobody gives me orders.
You walk your own path, and I’ll walk mine.
Eh?
Wasn’t your catchphrase “nothing is impossible for me”?
It doesn’t matter, does it?
I just say whatever fits my mood at the time. What, do I look like a clever person with self-restraint?