Chapter 9

It was the day of the All-High Magic Thesis Competition.

Tatsuya and Miyuki arrived at the venue as planned, with no trouble to note. The trailer with their stage equipment had already fully unloaded as well, so roads must have been empty for everyone else, too. It appeared that Isori had already arrived, and Tatsuya could see Kirihara, too, with Sayaka in tow. In the end, the siblings were on time but nevertheless seemed to have been the last to arrive.

“…Tatsuya, should we not do something about that soon?”

Tatsuya had been caught up observing everything from the outside, pretending to be uninvolved, when Miyuki’s voice brought him back to his position as someone indeed involved.

“Does it have to be me who does something…?”

While Tatsuya’s face pinched together, his sister merely nodded. “Unfortunately.”

Tatsuya’s shoulders drooped as he looked back to where Erika and Kanon were glaring dangerously at one another.

“What’s the matter, you two?”

Tatsuya wasn’t the only one here who was on good terms with both Erika and Kanon. Level of familiarity aside, Miyuki was technically friends with both of them, while Isori was probably even more familiar with the two of them than Tatsuya was. Kanon would turn a deaf ear to any mediation on Miyuki’s part, though, and despite his own feelings on the matter, Isori couldn’t be neutral.

So it was up to Tatsuya to hold back a sigh and arbitrate between the glaring girls.

“Oh, Tatsuya! Morning!”

As soon as he’d said something, Erika came back with a light greeting, paying no attention to the one she was confronting.

Seeing that made Kanon’s stare turn significantly more dangerous.

That was all Tatsuya needed to figure out the general situation. Nonetheless, it pained him not to be able to take either side.

“…Shiba. Would you mind saying something to this unreasonable young lady here?”

Good grief… he found himself thinking. It sounds like she hasn’t asked anyone else…

It wasn’t clear whether Kanon realized it herself, but her words made it obvious to everyone that she just wanted to foist the whole situation off on him.

“Haah…” He sighed. Still, he figured it didn’t matter. Whatever Kanon’s intentions were, it would clearly be faster for him to square everything away himself than to hear all their thoughts. Even if it meant being a little forceful.

“If you trust me with this, I’ll gladly accept your request, but…”

His proposition didn’t identify a “this,” which gave him blank power of attorney.

Kanon realized that immediately and scowled. But after looking at Isori next to her and seeing that he wasn’t objecting, she grudgingly nodded.

Tatsuya brought Erika and Leo to a sofa in the corner of the lobby and sat down. (Miyuki, meanwhile, sat down next to him as though it was where she belonged.)

“…So, if I understand what’s going on,” he began before the awkward twosome, “this is nothing for you to butt heads with her about, Erika.”

“…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make trouble for you…”

Erika’s unusually deferential attitude gave Tatsuya pause. However, her general aptitude for causing others emotional trouble was a crime of willful disregard (and often a premeditated one, at that). But if she walked up to someone with the desire to help and ended up making more work for them, even she could recognize it was an awkward situation.

And in that realm, Tatsuya’s own power of insight still had a way to go.

It seemed one couldn’t measure another’s feelings as simply as one could measure magic. So he was still surprised at her fluster, and that was probably why his voice softened more than he intended.

“…You don’t need to be so enthusiastic about the security business—it would be perfectly fine if you cheered us on from the audience. If something does happen, nobody would complain if you helped us get things under control,” said Tatsuya, leaving an unnatural accent on the words.

Erika’s meek appearance gave way to something completely different—a meaningful grin that screamed of conspiracy. “Oh. ‘Help,’ huh?”

“If you have time before things start, you should come backstage to hang out. You’re both friends of mine, so you don’t need to be modest.”

This time, he emphasized hang out and friends in his proposition. Erika and Leo exchanged glances, then smiled in silent amusement.

The waiting rooms for each of the schools grew livelier the closer they got to the curtains opening.

The schools near the end of the presentation order had hours to wait, but the type of student participating in the Thesis Competition—including those on the support staff who would do behind-the-scenes jobs rather than stand on the stage and speak—normally had a deep interest in the other schools’ presentations. Many students could be seen in the lobby having friendly chats with students from other schools.

And students weren’t the only ones reaching beyond their normal groups to exchange words.

Haruka had come to the Thesis Competition not as a counselor from First High but to do a job related to her position as a government agent.

Ever since the incident in April, Public Safety had displayed interest in Tatsuya. More specifically, Haruka’s department within Public Safety had an interest in Tatsuya’s identity. But apparently, whenever they tried to pry into his affairs, they received pressure from higher up the chain. She wasn’t personally being pressured—she only learned of it when she had to sit through her boss complaining about it when giving her missions like this one.

The pressure had only served to deepen her manager’s interest. Still, her boss couldn’t officially send out any agents, which was how the investigation had ended up in Haruka’s lap.

She’d opposed it, of course. She’d vehemently expressed an inability to handle this particular opponent—an inability starting back in April—but, naturally, she couldn’t get anyone to listen. That was the context behind her not being able to keep up with Tatsuya yet also not being able to cut off involvement with him.

Investigating Tatsuya’s identity was the assignment she’d been given, but experts had already pored through the digital data and came up with no clues.

She’d never had any skills in that field. Nevertheless, the work she was actually being relied on for—digging around for intel while counseling—had seen no developments, either. That was inevitable, since the subject under investigation never came around for counseling.

Right now, keeping an eye out for acquaintanceships, especially out-of-school ones, was the only method she could adopt. And it was inefficient and produced dubious results.

The subject of her investigation was currently keeping watch over the equipment in the waiting room allocated to First High. She did have pretexts to get all the way into the waiting room, but as explained before, Tatsuya was too difficult for her to deal with.

Caught between personal emotions and her sense of responsibility, Haruka ended up taking a more passive approach: keeping watch on the waiting room entrance with a coffee can in one hand. (As an aside, the pull-tab type of can had all but died out, replaced with reusable bottle-shaped cans.)

Thankfully, though, her efforts weren’t for naught. Almost immediately after she’d begun keeping watch, a young woman visited the waiting room. She was clearly not of a high school age, nor did she look like a university student. She was probably the same age as Haruka.

Haruka searched through faces and memories. As far as people related to school went, she turned up no results.

But she remembered that face.

“…I knew it.”

She used her terminal to read the video off her Public Safety contractor’s hidden camera, had it do an image search, and confirmed that her memory was correct.

“The Electron Sorceress…”

Back when Haruka was a student, the woman, younger then, had been her hero. Or her heroine, perhaps, considering her gender, but the word hero stuck with Haruka better.

The central figure who’d driven Second High to a Nine School Competition championship—the Electron Sorceress.

Haruka, whose dreams of magicianhood had been dashed immediately upon taking high school exams, had looked up to the young woman with a mix of envy and aspiration.

She’d heard rumors of the woman advancing to the Magic University and entering the Ministry of Defense afterward. Why would she be visiting the First High waiting room rather than Second High’s, her alma mater?

It wasn’t overly unnatural. It was Sunday, so it wasn’t strange for her to be in plain clothes. Maybe she was doing some early recruitment. She might not have known the Shiba siblings were the only ones in the room right now, and she might have been after Miyuki in the first place.

But Haruka’s gut told her this was a clue to unraveling Tatsuya’s true identity.

Unaware of the overanxious sentry outside the room—or maybe actually in full knowledge of her—the siblings welcomed their visitor, Fujibayashi, with genial smiles.

“It’s been a while, Miyuki. Has it really been half a year since we saw each other in person?”

“Yes, ever since we met in February. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”

“I went to see the Nines. I invited Tatsuya to a tea party in a hotel room—you should have come with him,” said Fujibayashi, glaring at Tatsuya as if to ask him why he didn’t bring her.

Of course, Tatsuya wasn’t one to let that unsettle him. “I believe it would have been conspicuous to have Miyuki with me.” With his eyes, he added, I didn’t want to attract attention.

Miyuki offered a somewhat awkward look, and Fujibayashi smiled, her face saying it couldn’t be helped.

…It seemed like she couldn’t get him to answer the question unless she spelled it out for him.

“By the way, Ms. Fujibayashi,” said Tatsuya. He didn’t call her “lieutenant,” since this was a normal, public(ish) facility. They’d swept for bugs and cameras, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to worry at all. “Was it all right for you to come here—to First High’s waiting room?”

That question wouldn’t have made any sense to someone who didn’t know their circumstances, and for those who knew a little bit, it would lead them to a misunderstanding. Someone who knew only of her student life would understand it as Is it all right for a Second High alumnus to be hanging around a rival school’s waiting room?

“It’s okay.” Of course, Fujibayashi had no way of misunderstanding. “It’s convenient to have an official title at times like these. Nothing wrong with an engineering officer from Ministry of Defense Technology Headquarters Weapon Research Division visiting someone who unveiled advanced technology at the Nines.”

“Not to mention as someone of the Fujibayashi family?”

“Exactly. So you can call me whatever you want—Lieutenant Fujibayashi, Miss Fujibayashi, Big Sister Fujibayashi… Anything goes.”

“I don’t recall ever calling you Big Sister,” said Tatsuya, actually half smiling at her surprisingly mischievous joke—though it was still in the “dry grin” category.

“Well, that’s enough pleasantries… I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

I feel like I’ve heard that before, too, thought Tatsuya, but then figured staples were staples because of how often they were used. “The good news, then.”

“…Aren’t you supposed to ask for the bad news first?”

“Then I’ll take the bad news first,” he said, changing his stance out of hand.

Fujibayashi gave him an appalled look, then sighed, as it garnered no response. “…No, it’s fine. I’ll start with the good news. The MOVAL suits are finished. Captain Sanada says he’ll be here tonight with them.”

“I see… Fast work as always,” Tatsuya stated. “But it could have waited until tomorrow, when we were back in Tokyo…”

“We’ll be demonstrating them here tomorrow. The captain was the one who devised that plan, of course, so he probably just wanted to brag about them to you as soon as he got the chance. Their key components ended up being completely dependent on you, so he at least wanted to do a good job on the finished product. Yesterday he was going on about how it would preserve his dignity, or something pitiful like that.”

“It’s not pitiful at all. When you get right down to it, I’m the one who couldn’t make something that could hold up in real combat.”

“Could you tell that to the captain? I’m sure it’ll be a load off his mind,” said Fujibayashi with a wink.

Tatsuya answered with another pained smile.

“Now for the bad news,” she continued. “It looks like things aren’t over yet.”

“Has there been a problem?” Tatsuya’s look did more than tighten—it hardened. Miyuki gazed up at him, worried.

Fujibayashi couldn’t brush this one off with a smile, either. “See this for the details,” she said, handing him a data card. It was apparently important enough not to transmit over a wireless broadcast. “I’ve put some insurance measures in place myself…but things might get pretty shady.”

“Understood. We’ll make preparations on our end as well.”

Tatsuya turned to Miyuki and the two nodded to each other. Fujibayashi’s face clouded at that, but she didn’t tell them not to prepare. “It would be best if nothing happened, but…should things get to that point, we’ll be relying on you for help.”

However painful it was, the siblings were precious and powerful parts of their forces. In her position, she couldn’t tell them not to get involved.

The time was 8:45 AM. The seats in the audience were just starting to fill up.

As Tatsuya was looking over the data Fujibayashi had brought, Isori entered with Kanon in tow. “Shiba, do you want to switch?”

They would change lookouts between every presentation. They’d decided the order during a meeting beforehand. Isori in particular had been interested in Fourth High’s presentation, “The Creation of Magic Support Tools via Molecular Rearrangement,” which would be second, so he’d offered to watch their things during the first presentation.

Tatsuya figured the order didn’t matter much, since the waiting rooms all had screens, so he’d agreed to Isori’s timetable and had been standing guard until now.

“Sure. Thank you.”

After a brief reply to the young man, Tatsuya and Miyuki headed for the audience seating.

…However.

They found themselves stopped in the lobby.

“Shiba!”

The one called was Miyuki.

The one doing the calling was a young man—no, a boy. The voice felt stiff; was its owner feeling nervous? The person turned out to be someone the siblings hadn’t seen in two months.

“Oh, Ichijou.”

The one to address Miyuki had been Masaki Ichijou. He wore a band on his left arm that said “security.” He seemed to be participating in the Thesis Competition as a member of the combined nine-school security team headed up by Katsuto rather than as a support member for Third High’s presentation team. He’d probably been on patrol, looking around the venue, when he’d spotted Miyuki and called out to her.

“It’s been a while, Shiba. Since the dance at the after-party.”

“…Yes, it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

There was a pause there, just short enough not to seem unnatural, most likely due to the discrepancy in how they saw each other; Masaki saw Miyuki as a dance partner from the party, and Miyuki saw Masaki as her brother’s rival whom he’d fought at the Nine School Competition.

In order to hide that, or perhaps to sidestep it, Miyuki had responded with a deliberately polite answer and a bow.

“Oh, yes, well…” stammered Masaki. Unlike Tatsuya, Masaki was used to being with rather important celebrities, but he stood bolt upright. Even the boy next to him (probably part of the same self-protection team) looked like he’d seen a ghost and stiffened up. It was amusing, but Miyuki’s ploy seemed to have worked.

“Were you patrolling the building?” she asked with a smile, as though anyone couldn’t tell from looking at him.

“Y-yes, I was.”

A little pathetic to fumble about just from that, isn’t it? thought Tatsuya, but then reversed his thinking—maybe, when faced with Miyuki, there was nothing he could do about it.

Even Tatsuya, who was closest to her and also possessed a modified mind, sometimes found himself charmed by her. For this boy, who was both a complete stranger and in a position to possibly acquire the unattainable prize if he reached for it, perhaps it was actually only natural that he find himself overly sensitive toward her.

His sister, though, without a mind to his thoughts, continued ramping things up, nearing her peak performance. “With you keeping watch over us, Ichijou, we can all rest much more easily. I’m glad you’re here.”

She was right about the Crimson Prince’s presence, as a member of the security team, being reassuring. Even Tatsuya thought as much, so one could call it an objective viewpoint—but wasn’t she fanning the flames a little much?

“Yes, I’ll do everything in my power to meet your expectations!”

Though it didn’t matter to him, Tatsuya found himself worried about whether Masaki would be able to make it to the end of the day.

“I hope you do your best as well, Tomitsuka.”

“Ah… Thank you very much for the well wishes.”

Masaki’s partner, flustered at having been addressed all of a sudden after being left to the side, came back with a response that was slightly too formal for someone his age.

Though she’d agreed with Tatsuya that she didn’t have to be so zealous about security detail when put on the spot, Erika had no intention of acting like a spectator. She met up with Mikihiko, who had come after the Shiba siblings had left for the waiting room, then went to the lobby to grab Mizuki, who had contacted them earlier to say she’d be a little late. Even as the four of them looked for seats, Erika devoted most of her attention to spotting suspicious persons rather than finding seats with a good view.

Perhaps it should be said that her efforts bore fruit: Erika quickly spotted a familiar figure sitting in a back corner of the seats.

“Familiar”—but to her, more like someone she couldn’t forget even if she wanted to. After all, she used to see him every day; and even now, with their schedules out of alignment, they still saw each other about every other one.

He seemed to notice her, too. In fact, he’d probably noticed her a little sooner. That wouldn’t be strange, considering his capacity, but it got on Erika’s nerves.

“Huh? Erika, isn’t that…?” Mikihiko seemed to have noticed as well. He’d met the person before, so this wasn’t strange, either.

“Erika, do you know him?” asked Mizuki.

“No. He’s just a womanizer. Probably here waiting for a girl or something.”

So before he could call out to her or someone suggested they sit together, Erika pretended she didn’t know him.

Toshikazu and Erika weren’t on very good terms (actually, Erika one-sidedly hated him), and Mikihiko, who knew this, averted his eyes from Leo’s questioning gaze, preferring to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Miyuki, I didn’t know you knew Hagane Tomitsuka.”

“He’s in the next class over, so I know his name and face. I’m more surprised that you knew him, Tatsuya.”

After they’d found empty seats, they’d started talking—and not about their longtime-coming reunion with Masaki but about Hagane Tomitsuka, with whom they’d barely exchanged words.

…Unrequited love often happened this way.

“Tomitsuka is in Sawaki’s club. But besides that, the Tomitsuka family is known for its Range Zero.”

The Tomitsuka were one of the strongest families in the Hundred. One didn’t have to be as connected as Tatsuya to know about the abnormal magicians born to it.

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Erika interrupted.

“Erika, are you by yourself?” Tatsuya asked. “What happened to Leo?”

She was supposed to go to the audience seating before them, and they’d been together earlier, so his question wasn’t unnatural.

But Erika frowned, irritation evident on her face. “…Tatsuya, let me use this opportunity to make one thing clear to you.”

Somewhat surprisingly, even Erika didn’t start ranting and raving in the middle of all these unrelated outsiders. But her soft, lowered voice had more than enough punch to make up for it.

“Could you stop treating the two of us like we come as a set? All I did was give him a technique and a weapon. There’s literally nothing else between us.”

“That wasn’t my intent…”

Tatsuya couldn’t even be mistaken for an honest person, but in this particular instance, that was the perfect truth. He hadn’t even purposely tried to imply anything. It seemed to him that her sensitive response meant she actually was pretty conscious of Leo, but he wasn’t mean enough to say that out loud.

“Anyway, where are the others?”

Ever since the send-off party following the Nines, his classmates in 1-E seemed filled with a strange energy. He thought he remembered them getting fired up and wanting to meet here to cheer him on, once again.

“They’re probably not here yet. They know you won’t be going until this afternoon. Oh, but Mizuki and Miki are here. They’re sitting a little farther up. You know, together.”

Erika settled down into the seat next to Tatsuya and grinned.

Clearly, she didn’t like people gossiping about her but loved gossiping about others.

That part of her is just like any other girl, thought Tatsuya.

Nine AM. The All-High Magic Thesis Competition got started—not with a bang, but with more of a feeling of solemnity. Unlike the Nine School Competition, which—despite the military’s cooperation—was a contest among students, the Thesis Competition was a presentation in front of adults: from the university, from corporations, and even from research institutions. Some presentations would determine future employment on the spot (recruiters were here). Because of this, the sponsors, too, conscious of the authority of the magic schools lined up and present, tended to adopt an adherence to formalities.

The no-fun, all-business opening greetings finished up, and the first school to go, Second High, began their presentation: “Measurement and Usages of Dark Matter Using Convergence Magic.”

As the presentations got underway, people disappeared from the lobby like the tide going out. Haruka, not very interested in magic technology itself, figured that if she was going to be bored anyway, she might as well take a little nap in the tearoom.

But just as she was about to put her plan into action, an acquaintance came into the lobby from the nearest gate and said, “Ms. Ono?”

“Ms. Asuka?” replied Haruka. Because she was the counselor in charge of the mental care of First High students, she was fairly familiar with Asuka, who was the school nurse, though not to the extent of being friends outside of work.

“Did you come to listen to the thesis presentations, too?” asked Asuka. “I thought I remember you saying you weren’t very interested in this.”

The comment might have sounded sarcastic or caustic depending on the tone of voice, but with Asuka’s smooth and gentle speech, Haruka had to wonder if she’d spoken her previous statement out loud. She’s a lot more cut out for counseling than me, she thought, a little jealous of the woman’s perception.

“Well, there was something on my mind…” she replied. “What about you, Ms. Asuka? Are you her escort?”

Asuka wasn’t alone. She had a girl next to her who, while not in uniform, gave off the impression of a high school student. Haruka felt like she knew the girl from somewhere, but she wasn’t one of the students Haruka was assigned to.

“Yes. Hirakawa told me she wanted to watch the presentations today. She’s actually recovering right now, so her physical condition isn’t great, which is why I’m with her.”

By itself, that would have sounded like exceptional VIP treatment, but Haruka picked up on the last name: Hirakawa. Haruka hadn’t touched the recent string of attempted information-theft incidents, but she had a general outline in her head, since she’d needed to write a report about it for her department in Public Safety.

And from a psychological viewpoint, showing Hirakawa other high school students’ achievements would stimulate her and give her a goal to strive for, effectively rehabilitating her.

“I see. I appreciate your efforts,” Haruka said genuinely.

Despite the slight detour, Haruka went to the tearoom as planned and idled there. Taking twenty minutes to drink her coffee didn’t make her a very good customer in the shop’s eyes.

She was about to think how easy her job today would be if she could use up all her time like this, but as usual, the world didn’t make things that easy. In fact, the winds of karma were being rough with her.

“Might you have a moment?” somebody suddenly said.

Haruka’s heart stopped.

Then, as if to make up for that, it started beating at full throttle a second later.

Of course, both of these were metaphors, but that was how surprised she was, how much her pulse and breathing had been disturbed.

Because the one to speak to her had been Fujibayashi.

“Y…es, go ahead…”

“Thanks.”

The woman sat with elegant movements, then ordered a black tea from the waitress who came over a moment later.

In contrast with Fujibayashi’s calm demeanor, Haruka couldn’t hide her impatience.

She couldn’t help it, either. Haruka had been the one supposedly watching her, but now Fujibayashi had taken her by surprise and spoken to her.

Haruka had no idea what she was after, so she couldn’t get the ball rolling. All she could do was stare until the waitress came back with the tea and Fujibayashi put her lips to it, blowing slightly.

“…You know,” said Fujibayashi, “it’s a little embarrassing to be stared at like that.”

Haruka had been so alarmed that she hadn’t realized she’d been staring until it was pointed out. “I…I’m sorry.” Her embarrassment amplified her distress, but the next words out of Fujibayashi’s mouth froze her heart solid:

“No, I consider it an honor that Mizz Phantom has taken an interest in me.”

“…I didn’t think the Electron Sorceress would know anything about someone like me. The honor is all mine.”

At some point they’d started speaking in a more distant, formal tone to each other, but such a change probably couldn’t be helped.

The nickname Fujibayashi had used, Mizz Phantom, wasn’t as widely known as Fujibayashi’s alias, the Electron Sorceress. It was only whispered among those whose hands were dirtied with illegal intelligence activity—it was the code name for an unidentified female spy.

The very fact that Haruka had been pinpointed as a “Mizz Phantom” warranted treating this situation as do-or-die.

On the other hand, the ease with which Fujibayashi had spilled the grave secret told Haruka how important her business with her was. “What did you have to talk about?” she asked.

Seeing resolution instead of confusion make its way to the surface of Haruka’s expression, the other woman gave a satisfied smile. “I believe you understand without me having to say any more, do you not?”

“…I’m sorry, but I’ve never been as talented as you are.”

In actuality, Fujibayashi was right—Haruka accurately predicted what she wanted. It was just that saying “all right” and nodding would have been the same as waving a white flag.

“You’re very modest. I know you graduated with excellent marks from both university and service training. Even Mr. Kokonoe has a high opinion of you.”

In her mind, Haruka clicked her tongue. The Fujibayashi were a famous old magic family. There was nothing strange about her being familiar with Yakumo Kokonoe, the authority on that very old magic.

Meanwhile, it was only earlier today that Haruka had acknowledged Fujibayashi as the target of her job.

The cards she’d prepared had been completely beaten.

“…Look, I’m not going to make any unreasonable requests of you,” said Fujibayashi.

That wasn’t a compromise. It was a psychological scheme to emphasize the superior position she held.

“My only proposition is that we each stick to our own territory,” she said, presenting Haruka with an unmistakable request despite not saying anything concrete.

Haruka was forced to admit she’d been completely outdone. “…I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

In reality, she knew what Fujibayashi’s proposition meant. It was exactly what she’d predicted: She was telling Haruka to keep the Cabinet Office Intelligence Agency out of the military’s affairs.

And Fujibayashi knew that she understood. “Would it be wise to state it clearly for you?” she asked anyway, with a cool face as Haruka clenched her back teeth.

This vixen! Haruka could glare all she wanted, but it was only a waste of effort now.

“It’ll be fine,” said Fujibayashi. “No blame will fall on you for this.”

That meant she’d already dealt with the higher-ups.

Fujibayashi rose lightly to her feet, and she even had a payment slip for Haruka’s coffee in her hand.

Haruka could just pay her bill at the table, so going all the way up to the register to pay was another annoyance.

Their first match had ended in utter defeat for Haruka.

…But that doesn’t mean I got nothing out of this!

At the very least, the fact that this woman had come to her with this timing spoke to a relationship between Tatsuya Shiba and Kyouko Fujibayashi that needed to be kept secret.

That alone was clear.

So even realizing that she was being obstinate, Haruka inwardly swore revenge.

Suzune, in First High’s leader role for the day, arrived at the hall an hour early, a little past eleven. It was right after the third team, Fifth High, had begun its incredibly lofty presentation, “Controlling Tectonic Movement and the Gentle Extraction of Tectonic Plate Distortion Energy.” Tatsuya was in the waiting room when she, Mayumi, and Mari arrived.

“I’m early!” was the first thing out of Mayumi’s mouth.

The remark made Tatsuya want to ask How old are you?, and he fell into thought as he considered how to respond to her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing…” muttered Tatsuya. Mari and Suzune both looked fine, so he’d lose if he appeared worn out by it. He gave himself a burst of energy and decided to regroup by asking a pointless question. “Did something force you to move up the schedule?” (Meanwhile, Miyuki had completely gone into “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” mode.)

Being late would have been a huge issue, but luckily, coming extra early wasn’t a problem.

The waiting room they’d been given to store their equipment was more than large enough for all of them, and even this late in the game, there were still several upperclassmen aside from Tatsuya and Miyuki who fancied themselves craftspeople rummaging around, tinkering with circuitry. Three more female students wouldn’t feel like a nuisance at all.

“The questioning didn’t take as much time as we thought.”

He’d initially thought his question pointless, but he couldn’t overlook Mari’s answer. “Another questioning? And today, of all days?”

He didn’t have to ask who they were questioning. He knew. He was there when they’d caught Sekimoto, and he’d witnessed his hearing, which was informal at best and illegal at worst.

But that was only one time.

And not because Tatsuya had only been present once—it was because they were only able to question Sekimoto once.

After Ganghu Lu’s attack, the boy had fallen into a manic state. Mari stated with confidence that it wasn’t her magic that caused it, so he was probably panicking that someone was after his life. There was no way Sekimoto wouldn’t realize the end goal of that attack had been his death. Because of that, even an expert official couldn’t get any details out of him.

“Well, we wanted to have this done yesterday…” said Mari.

“It took a while to get approval…” added Mayumi. “And it wasn’t something I could force through by using my family name, either.”

I’d expect not, Tatsuya thought. It wasn’t a criminal organization they were dealing with, so they couldn’t do this forcibly after he was diagnosed as sick. “But why today?” he asked. “If that was the way of it, I feel like you could have just done it tomorrow.”

“Well, aren’t you oddly optimistic today?” said Mari.

Tatsuya thought he’d simply offered a reasonable question, but for some reason, she’d rebuked him.

“Sekimoto and the younger Hirakawa were after materials for the Thesis Competition,” she explained. “And not only that, mind you! But anyway, because of that, it’s not unlikely that the organization backing them would make a move on the day of the competition.”

“True,” Tatsuya admitted. “It’s a possibility for sure.”

He’d anticipated that much. But just because he’d gotten information this morning on that backing organization didn’t mean they had time to take any extra preventative measures. All they could do was make up for their emergency response with the emergency responders set in place beforehand. Calling all the troops and telling them to mobilize immediately wasn’t viable—even during the age of absolute monarchies, they couldn’t get entire standing armies to mobilize at the drop of a hat.

In terms of venue security, they’d put together an immediate emergency response system under Katsuto’s leadership that would act as quickly as possible if something happened. If Sekimoto didn’t know about any concrete plans of attack, questioning him today wouldn’t have been very high on the priority list.

But it wasn’t Tatsuya’s job to point that out.

“Yeah,” said Mari. “It’s only a possibility, but we can’t ignore it. The more information we have, the better.”

For today, it was more important that Suzune be in good form than to get information they couldn’t act on, but it was already over with now. “I see,” he said. “Did you find anything out?”

“Yeah. We only learned this after making him talk again today, but Sekimoto’s showing signs of mind control.”

“…They mean business.” Leaving aside the practical applicability of mind control, Tatsuya found himself surprised at the news. “That didn’t come up in the mental checkup?”

Ever since Sayaka had been placed under mind control by a terrorist organization called Blanche and made to work for them this spring, the school had begun requiring regular mental checkups for all First High students.

The fact that a magician, the kind of person who would be central to Public Safety and the JDF in the future, had been brainwashed and made into a foreign country’s pawn was no joking matter. For the upper levels of their school, and even the political agencies behind it, the incident had been enough of a nightmare to forego student privacy.

If they’d discovered another victim of mind control, it would mean they weren’t overdoing it so far. On the other hand, it made Tatsuya feel like their measures weren’t much help.

“The mental checkups happen at the beginning of each month,” said Mari. “It’s more than likely he fell to it after that.”

“They’re good… Did they drug him, too?” asked Tatsuya.

“We don’t know that much. Mayumi and I aren’t experts in that area.”

Tatsuya wondered if that was actually true, but he kept his mouth shut.

“The psychiatrist didn’t say anything, so it must not have been a normal method,” Mayumi stated. “Maybe it was a real Evil Eye.”

Mayumi’s opinion was a little further out than Mari’s.

“An innate exotype magic user, perhaps…”

Unlike Evil Eye—a light wave oscillation–type spell developed by Belarus before the formation of the Federal Soviet Republics and given to terrorists who supported the re-separation—among the magicians who had natural talent at mental interference exotype magic, a few were said to have the power to rewrite an entire personality. If Sekimoto was one of those who had a true Evil Eye, he might be able to alter the person’s behavior principles in such a short time that neither the target nor anyone nearby would realize it.

“But no matter how strong the mental interference spell is, apparently they don’t go too well unless you prepare the target beforehand,” Miyuki remarked.

That part was the same as hypnosis. People tended to think about human willpower as weak, but it was actually strong. Interfering with emotions or impulses without a clear direction was one thing, but when it came to interfering with firm behavioral principles, affecting a mind with magic—another mind, anyway—was, by itself, difficult.

“Sekimoto has always been unhappy with how the government controls magic in secret,” Mari bitterly explained to Mayumi. “He’s an open-source advocate, so to speak. He believes magic will only truly advance when the knowledge of magic programs and activation sequences is shared throughout the world.”

“Academically, he’s not wrong, but it’s not exactly right, given how sternly certain nations oppose one another in the real world,” Mayumi offered sympathetically.

But Tatsuya said in a cutting way, “It should be called flat-out wrong.” He, for one, had no interest in ideas that didn’t conform with the real world.

“…That’s pretty harsh, Tatsuya,” Mayumi whispered.

“…Anyway, it looks like they took advantage of his idealism,” continued Mari. “He firmly believes it’s the duty of advanced-magic nations to give the fruits of their research to less advanced ones.”

“Which less advanced nations, exactly?”

Mari’s response to his question was less than favorable. “We couldn’t get that out of him. It seems like he doesn’t know, either.”

“…In other words, they put a lock on his awareness.”

I see. That’s how they discovered it was mind control.

“This all means we can’t predict what’ll happen next,” Mari offered, tense.

Mayumi agreed, her own voice worried. “I think it’s possible they’ll adopt a more radical method than we think, too. We’ll be accompanying Rin from here on out, so I told Hanzou to keep a close eye on what’s going on in the building. You be careful, too, Tatsuya. I’m serious.”

“I will.” Not a fiber in him was about to relax after Fujibayashi’s advice anyway, but he accepted her thoughtfulness without protest.

As they were trading their not-so-peaceful words, Suzune was reading over her manuscript, maintaining perfect calm.

Meanwhile, Fujibayashi had just received a notice that indicated radical actions were more than just “certainly possible.” After getting the emergency text, she hurried to look for an empty private communication booth. When she’d found somewhere discreet, she called back and said these words into her audio-only communicator:

“Ganghu Lu has escaped?! Forgive my rudeness, sir, but is that information accurate?”

“I don’t want to believe it any more than you do, but it’s true.”

Kazama’s voice didn’t sound like he was joking. But it made sense; he wouldn’t joke about something like that in the first place.

“The escort car bringing him to Yokosuka was attacked earlier. No survivors.”

“And they didn’t find Ganghu Lu’s remains among them, I assume…but why would they choose today, of all days, to bring him there…?”

“Because the Thesis Competition is no more than a high school event, Lieutenant!”

“My apologies, sir!” Fujibayashi quickly straightened up at the rebuke. She’d been complaining without realizing it.

“But I understand what you mean by choosing today.” Still, he wasn’t the type to let slight breaches of etiquette ruffle him for long. “They carried out this operation so that they’d make it in time. We can assume they had a reason for that; at the very least, we need to put that possibility under our radar.”

Kazama was a combat soldier through and through, an officer who wanted to command from the front lines. He valued quality above all else.

“Fortunately,” he added, “thanks to the new weapon testing we were planning in Hodogaya tomorrow, we’re all ready to deploy. We decided to move up our departure and head to you now. ETA is 1500 hours.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll monitor the situation carefully.”

“Please do, Lieutenant.”

Fujibayashi saluted to Kazama’s instruction, only to realize he couldn’t see her through the phone.

After Mayumi notified him that there would be a change to his duties, Hattori got Kirihara and went to see Katsuto, both to ask about the chance and to report the results of the questioning. (Sayaka was eating lunch with Erika.)

“I see,” Katsuto said. “I want the two of you to form a team and keep an eye out around the building.”

“Understood!”

Katsuto, who had just been in the middle of his meal, instructed them to sit down with him. As he chewed on his grab-and-go sandwich, he listened to Hattori’s report and, when it was over, showed no hesitation in giving them a new mission.

Normally, that would be where it ended; Katsuto almost never asked underclassmen for their opinions on things—

“Hattori, Kirihara. Do either of you sense anything strange about this situation?”

—But this day proved to be an exception.

“Something strange?” Hattori parroted after a pause. Kirihara looked at him, curious. “…Even considering Yokohama’s urban nature, it feels like there are a few too many foreigners around.”

He didn’t have a local’s instincts from being raised in the town, but Hattori took everything seriously. He’d come to scout out the venue last week and the week before that. Compared to those times, he felt a clear increase in the number of foreigners.

“You thought so, too, Hattori?”

“Yes. Did you have the same idea, Juumonji?”

“Mm. What about you, Kirihara?”

“I apologize. I didn’t notice anything about more foreigners. But…”

“No need to hold back.”

“…Yes, sir. The air in the city feels strangely excited, compared to inside the hall.”

“Hmm… You’re definitely right about that.”

After nodding, Katsuto took no more than ten seconds to mull this over, but to Hattori and Kirihara, it felt like he’d been silent for over ten minutes.

That was how heavy the silence was.

“Hattori, Kirihara. Put on bulletproof vests for your afternoon patrols.”

The pair’s eyes widened as they stared at their leader dubiously.

Their attitude couldn’t be called courteous, but Katsuto showed no sign of concern as he picked up his short-distance wireless handset.

He proceeded to give the same order he’d given them to the entire security team.

The afternoon presentations started at one, as planned.

First High would be going at three. Tatsuya and Isori, who had been trading off guard duties during the morning, were now in one final meeting to discuss minor procedures.

Each of them had one person with him.

For Tatsuya, that was Miyuki, and for Isori, that was Kanon.

The “craftsmen” who had been prowling about were no longer here. Mayumi and Mari had moved to either side of the door, too, so they wouldn’t get in Suzune’s way.

That was the state of the room as they heard a restrained knock on the door.

Mayumi quietly opened it to see her successor, a girl even shorter than she was, standing there.

“Oh, Ah-chan. Shouldn’t you be in your seat?” asked Mayumi softly. Azusa, as it happened, had been assigned as a judge.

There was no third-party judging system in place for the competition. The audience would greatly change from presentation to presentation, so they couldn’t have them judge things in the first place.

Instead, in addition to the expert judges, one student from each school would serve as a judge and score each presentation aside from their own school’s, and it was tradition for that person to be the student council president. First High was no different; Azusa had been working as a judge since the morning.

“The first afternoon presentation finished early, so I came to check on everyone,” she supplied.

“You came to support us? Thank you very much, Nakajou,” Suzune called to her from the back of the room.

“Ah, no, I…I’m sorry, Suzune. Did I interrupt you?”

Despite how quiet her voice had been, Azusa made her small body even smaller. (Metaphorically, of course.)

Isori looked over as well and added himself to the conversation. “Which school seems most promising so far?”

Those assembled had suspended their meeting right after Azusa entered, so Isori hadn’t exactly neglected Tatsuya—by changing the subject, if he had, he might have found himself blown out of the waiting room with a blizzard.

“Fourth High, as we thought. They came with a pretty elaborate setup again this year.”

Isori crooked his head to the side slightly at that estimation. “It felt to me like they were trying too hard to be unique, though.”

Fourth High had the second presentation this morning. It was also the one Isori had had his eyes on.

“But they still put together a system with all that complicated magic and did it flawlessly, which was amazing… Oh, sorry. The next presentation is starting soon. Please do your best, everyone.”

With this, Azusa delivered the cheerleading she’d come here to do. Maybe she, too, had finally gotten used to her position as student council president.

As Tatsuya’s turn came up, the usual suspects were all sitting together in the audience, waiting patiently:

Honoka and Shizuku, who’d joined up at lunchtime, as well as Erika and Leo, enthusiastic to bring their weapons inside.

“Mikihiko…how is it?” whispered Leo.

But not all of them were just sitting around.

“Nothing out of the ordinary at the moment,” he answered, synchronizing his senses with the spirits he’d sent out to survey the area.

“Mizuki?” asked Erika shortly.

“I still don’t see anything strange,” she related, shaking her head. She put on her glasses again for the moment.

They may have been in audience seating, but they were prepared for the hypothetical enemy attack.

After Fujibayashi had warned her off and her Public Safety mission became impossible to continue, Haruka could have simply gone home. Personally, though, that was an aggravating prospect, since it would seem like running away with her tail between her legs. Instead, she sat in a corner of the lobby, idly watching the people going back and forth.

“Ms. Ono?”

And then, someone addressed her from behind.

“Mr. Tsuzura?”

She turned around to see Tsuzura, who was (supposedly) in charge of the team representing First High, standing around as though he was at a loss for what to do.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing in particular, really… I was just taking a short break. Should you be out here, Mr. Tsuzura?”

Tsuzura gave a complicated smile to her question. “No room for little old me in there. Our team this year is talented.”

He calls himself “little old me”… Haruka thought, nodding unconsciously at the “talented” part.

“And…” he went on, “I’m getting a bad feeling for some reason.”

He said “for some reason,” but his tone was the opposite of vague, and it set Haruka on edge.

Tsuzura was both a magician and a magic researcher who had reached the level of assistant professor at the Magic University. His academic specialty was magic geometry, and he was known for his research in a field called polyhedron theory.

One theoretical approach in modern magic was to treat macrophenomena as collections of simple polyhedrons, such as pyramids and rectangular prisms, then grasp the changes in the phenomena via movements of those virtual polyhedrons and alter their events by constructing a magic program that would simply control that movement.

This polyhedron theory had originated as something to overcome a flaw in modern magic—namely, how difficult it was to only partially alter an event—and now it was actually considered important as a predictive technology.

Recognition systems for perceiving the world as a collection of simple three-dimensional shapes abstracted the world—with its infinitely interlacing mutual interactions—into simple, mutually interacting polyhedrons and showed that to the caster. Their recognition of this abstracted, modelized world made it easy to simulate future events from limited information.

Tsuzura was a young authority on polyhedron theory, and his “bad feelings” were, perhaps, predictions with a certain degree of accuracy to them.

“…I also have the feeling the worst won’t come to pass, though.”

Haruka earnestly hoped this last-minute addition wasn’t empty consolation.

And then, at 3:00 PM:

The team representing First High began its presentation, right on schedule.

This year, everyone’s eyes were on Shinkurou Kichijouji, the one who’d discovered a Cardinal Code, but many were still very curious about First High’s presentation theme, which was one of the Three Great Practical Problems of Weighting Magic, the gravity-controlled thermonuclear fusion reactor. Aside from First High’s faculty and students, the venue was filled with people from the Magic University and scientists from private research institutes. The attendants all had enthusiastic eyes on the stage.

Daylight-bright lights poured down over the international assembly hall stage and the massive pieces of audio equipment on it as Suzune’s controlled, clear alto voice flowed fluidly from the speakers.

Isori was next to her, controlling the demonstration machines, while Tatsuya was at a stage wing, switching between CAD monitors and activation sequences.

“…Since last century, we’ve known the answer to the question of what’s required to create a nuclear fusion power generator.”

Suzune went over to stand next to the giant glass ball. Tatsuya pulled up an emission-type spell’s activation sequence.

The moment Suzune laid her hand on the CAD’s access panel, the deuterium gas sealed inside the glass orb turned into plasma, then reacted with the material coating the inside to give off a brilliant glint of light.

A slight excitement rippled through the crowd at the flashy display.

“The first is to turn its fuel, deuterium, into plasma, then maintain it in that state for enough time for it to react. This problem has already been solved with the use of emission-type magic.”

And yet, the sight was something that had been performed many times in the past, and so in terms of novelty, it lacked appeal.

“The main problem preventing electricity generation from nuclear fusion lies in ensuring the atomic nuclei contact one another in time for them to cause the fusion reaction, acting against the electric repulsive force of the plasmatic nuclei.”

The sphere giving off light quieted, and a huge screen descended in the middle of the stage.

“Our predecessors attempted to implement nuclear fusion through nonmagic methods, and once tried to overcome this electric repulsive force by applying extreme pressure to the system.”

The screen displayed both pictures of the experiments repeated up through the end of the first half of the century as well as videos of simulations, each on one half of the screen.

“However, neither increasing the gas pressure with super-high temperatures nor applying implosive pressure using the vaporization of surface materials created a stable thermonuclear reaction. There are several causes for this; one lies in the endurance of the containment vessel, while another is the issue of having to supply fuel. There was also one case where our predecessors successfully maintained a reaction, but the energy they created was too great to be used to practical effect. All of these problems, however, can be summed up as one: When it comes to drawing out the energy at the distance possible for fusion, the electric repulsive force in the system is simply too large.”

The screen rose again. From behind it appeared two huge, cylindrical electromagnets, each hung from the ceiling with four ropes, facing one another—at a glance, a primitive experimental device.

Isori raised one of the electromagnets—it looked like he was pulling it up with his hands, but that was an act, as magic was responsible for lifting it—and then let go.

The electromagnet swung quickly at the other, but before they collided, the other electromagnet swung up the other way.

“Though I’m sure this doesn’t warrant an explanation, the electric repulsive force between two objects increases geometrically as their distance decreases. Objects with a strong homopolar Coulomb force will increase that force when drawing near, and so they will never collide.”

Suzune went over to the silently swinging experimental devices, put on a headset to protect her ears, and placed a hand on the access panel installed on a support beam.

A moment later, thundering noises, like mega-sized cymbals crashing into each other over and over again, echoed through the auditorium.

Suzune removed her hand, and the two electromagnets returned to their silent back-and-forth bouncing.

“But we can decrease the electric repulsive force with magic. We have successfully developed a magic program to lower the apparent Coulomb force in this limited space to one-hundred-thousandth of what it should be.”

Suzune hadn’t especially raised her voice.

But the auditorium stirred loudly at her words.

As if to support her point, the main demonstration machine slowly rose from underneath the stage to its center.

As an analogy, it was a giant piston engine made with transparent materials. Specularly worked pistons thrust into the giant see-through cylinder from below, and those pistons were attached to a crank and flywheel. The upper portion of the cylinder contained a pair of valves; the transparent pipes coming out of them went through a cistern filled with water.

“Because of the noxious properties of neutron beams, this device uses hydrogen gas instead of deuterium gas. We will use an emission-type spell to turn the hydrogen gas inside the cylinder into plasma, then use a gravity-control spell and a Coulomb-control spell at the same time. The Coulomb-control spell will lower the repulsive force, and the gravity-control spell will gather the hydrogen plasma with that reduced force into the center of the cylinder, beginning a nuclear reaction. The time needed for this device to cause a nuclear reaction is zero point one seconds. As you all know, a nuclear reaction will never maintain itself. Without applying something from the outside to cause the reaction, it will cease immediately. Our school’s gravity-controlling nuclear fusion machine uses this quality proactively.

“After the nuclear reaction stops, the machine cools the hydrogen gas enough so that the container can endure an oscillation-type spell. The heat collected from this process will be applied to the gravity-control and Coulomb-control energy. The pistons, drawn to the gravitational field created by the gravity-control spell, will experience a continuous increase in inertia, then send the hydrogen gas, now cooled to a suitable temperature, into the water tank for heat exchange…”

As Suzune continued her explanation, Isori put his hand on the experimental device’s access panel. Plasmatize, Coulomb control, gravity control, cooling, energy collection, plasmatize, Coulomb control, gravity control… Isori continued stably activating these spells, looping dozens of times.

“Right now, a high-ranking magician is required to continuously activate this experimental device. However, with the substitution of higher energy-collection rates and stationary magic, I am certain that we can one day create a gravity-controlling magic program nuclear reactor that only needs the magician to light the fuse.”

The moment after Suzune wrapped up her speech, the auditorium filled with roaring applause.

Gravity-controlled thermonuclear reactors were said to be technologically impossible because the mass of the target of the gravity-controlling spell would slowly but steadily reduce during the nuclear reaction. Gravity-controlling spells made an object’s mass their target, but because that mass would change, the spell would immediately stop with a “target does not exist” error. Thus, while nuclear fusion explosions were possible, a sustained nuclear reaction was not.

But by using a Coulomb-control spell alongside one, the gravity-control spell wouldn’t need to be as intense. And by abandoning the fixation with a sustained nuclear reaction in favor of an intermittent one, it could be performed using the new loop-casting technology. The idea was a beautiful one, and the spectators showed uproarious praise and applause for it.

The Thesis Competition presentations were each given thirty minutes, with ten minutes between each to switch teams. In those ten minutes, the leading team would have to clean up their demonstration equipment, and the next team would have to finish setting up their own on the stage. As it happened, this switching-out period was actually far busier for the representatives and support crew than for the presenters.

As Tatsuya was packing up the console he’d used for the presentation, the next team’s controller (in other words, the assistant with the same role as him) came up to set up his own console.

“Let me just say that your presentation was amazing.”

At first, Tatsuya didn’t realize the comment had been directed at him. He didn’t have time to be making small talk. But when he realized he was apparently being addressed, he saw Shinkurou Kichijouji there, with a fearless smile on his face.

“I suppose I should say thank you?” Tatsuya asked.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting any thanks.”

Tatsuya shut the case with a thud and picked up the console, which was about the same size as a tabletop synthesizer. Kichijouji pointedly placed his own console case in the same spot.

Connections were installed on either side of the stage, so they normally switched back and forth for presentations. Did he have a reason for needing to be on the same side as Tatsuya?

“The gravity-control spell was an application of the general spell used in flight magic, and the spell that controlled the Coulomb force was an arrangement of a spell developed by the previous Sirius—the late William Sirius—to neutralize the bonding force between atoms. So, most of all, I was surprised by the polish of that loop casting.”

“Your keen perception is astounding. I should have expected as much from Cardinal George.”

Even as he spoke, Kichijouji’s hands were smoothly setting things up. Tatsuya was now the only First High student left on the stage.

Meaning to withdraw himself, he began to walk backstage, his long sideways case hanging from his side.

“But we’re not going to lose to you. In fact, we’re going to win this time.”

The voice came at Tatsuya’s back. He should have rated it childish, but it didn’t feel all that bad. Deciding to give a clever retort, he stopped and turned around.

And that was when explosions rocked the building.