November 6, AD 2095

Yotsuba Main House

Parlor

One week after parting at Tsushima Stronghold.

Tatsuya had left early the day of the battle, so he didn’t know any more about how that battle had concluded than what had been made public. Meeting Kazama again here was a good opportunity to ask several questions, but it seemed that there was a lot even Kazama didn’t know.

After exchanging information with him—though all the information Tatsuya could provide fell into the rumor category—they had been trading hypotheses back and forth when suddenly, he turned toward the door.

A chill crawled down Miyuki’s spine. She knew from experience what that meant.

At last—

“Please excuse me.”

After a formal knock, the door opened without the person on the other side waiting for a response.

The senior butler bowed respectfully. Unlike the boy from before, he was a man in his early old age with a high position that could be discerned just from looking at him.

But he spoke no further—despite the fact that the simple job of opening a door shouldn’t have been given to this old man.

But neither Tatsuya, nor Miyuki, nor Kazama thought it strange. In fact, they all thought the same thing: This old man was the only one who could carry out this task.

“I’m sorry for the wait.”

For behind him, the mistress of the residence spoke.

“I truly do apologize,” began Maya. “My last guests took considerable time to wrap things up… We went beyond the scheduled time, but I couldn’t very well chase them away…”

“Please don’t worry about it,” replied Kazama. “We’re aware that you’re quite busy.” The two of them eventually sat down.

“Miyuki, you may take a seat as well,” she prompted.

Miyuki did so slowly.

However, Maya didn’t speak to Tatsuya. He remained standing next to Miyuki as she sat on the sofa. It was a symmetrical, mirrorlike image, with the butler standing off to Maya’s side as well.

Three white porcelain teacups were placed in front of them. For Maya, Kazama, and Miyuki, of course. Maya gestured for them to drink the black tea, and after she herself took a sip, she began.

“I called you here today because there was something I wanted you to know about the string of military actions that began with the Yokohama Incident the other day.”

“Including me, ma’am?”

It was only natural Kazama would seem unsure about this. Maya was an outsider when it came to military and combat affairs, unlike him, a soldier. But she had a message for him, not questions.

“Yes, and Tatsuya and Miyuki as well,” said Maya, giving a meaningful smile. Though she said “as well,” it was clear from her expression that Tatsuya and Miyuki were the ones she really wanted to tell. “The International Magic Association has come to the conclusion that the explosion resulting in Chinhae Naval Port one week ago was not due to a radioactive contaminant weapon as defined by the charter.”

Radioactive contaminant weapons polluted the earth’s environment through radioactivity from their residual materials. The term was mainly used by the International Magic Association and individual participant countries’ associations, since they all had a goal of preventing usage of weapons that would cause residual radioactive pollution. The term referred to them as weapons, but it also covered magic that caused radioactive pollution as well. The term wasn’t very well-known outside of association circles, but as a magician—albeit a traditional one—Kazama naturally understood.

“With their decision, the motion for disciplinary measures proposed by the association has been rejected.”

Miyuki’s face tensed a great deal for a moment, then changed to a sigh of relief.

“I didn’t know a motion for disciplinary measures was in the picture,” admitted Kazama in a flat voice. Still, Miyuki was one thing; Kazama would have certainly arrived at such a possibility. Nobody mentioned that.

“You’re quite calm about it, aren’t you? You seem as though you were confident they wouldn’t dispatch a disciplinary unit,” suggested Maya instead, going for directness this time.

Magicians were national treasures, national weapons, and national property. Even civilian magicians weren’t allowed to act against the state’s interests. Because of that, in a global sense, magicians’ human rights were limited more severely than those of non-magicians.

Because of this, the International Magic Association didn’t keep its own fighting force. Not enough magicians belonged to the association to constitute one.

In exchange, however, it was able to organize a multinational team to serve as an active unit by calling on the support of its member nations. If they had put together a disciplinary unit in response to this mysterious super-explosion, the nations who stood to benefit from Japan losing national power would have all sent in strong magicians. For Kazama, someone related to military affairs, this would have been a vital concern.

“We knew they wouldn’t detect any radioactive residue, after all,” replied Kazama. He didn’t say, as I’m sure you knew as well. It wasn’t necessary to do so, and he knew full well that if he had, she would have brushed it off.

As expected, Maya simply changed the topic. “Moving on. Did you know that they witnessed the death of the Quaking Sky General, who was with the destroyed enemy fleet?”

“Yunde Liu is dead?” asked Kazama, his poker face dissolving at the news from Maya. His repeat of the question wasn’t an act. His eyes had gone wide.

“Yes,” said Maya. “One of the thirteen strategic magicians, made internationally public by their respective governments, Yunde Liu, has died. Of course, the Great Asian Alliance seems to have placed very tight information restrictions on this.” She smiled. “Strategic magicians have virtually no privacy, after all.”

An individual strategic magician had enough power to rival strategic weaponry, so as she said, they were objects of interest for major world powers. More importantly, for the magicians from those powers. In the current world, magic had to be fought with magicians, as long as you didn’t use some gimmick like antinite. Stopping strategic ones was an important mission for any magician involved in the military.

Major world powers had publicized a total of thirteen strategic magicians to elevate their national prestige. These magicians were also known as the Thirteen Apostles, and the only success case where the nation was able to conceal one’s actions was the USNA’s Angie Sirius.

Japan, of course, was no exception. Espionage activities probing the Thirteen Apostles’ actions had only revealed her name—more accurately, her nickname and code name—and the fact that the person was a minor. Nothing about their identity was certain. All information gathering in this vein was the field of the Ten Master Clans, who put significant efforts into it.

“This would mean the Thirteen Apostles have become the Twelve Apostles.” In just a few simple words, Maya summarized the cause of a major change in the international balance of military power.

And then she offered another piece of secret information Kazama didn’t know.

“It looks like our government is using the opportunity to draw out the Great Asian Alliance for major negotiations,” she explained. “The chief of staff has requested the Itsuwa family mobilize, and they accepted. Mio is accompanying the fleet they organized at Sasebo.”

“She’s boarded a warship?” said Miyuki despite herself, having kept to the role of listening, knowing her position in this situation.

“Yes.” Maya didn’t criticize her, though. In other words, this news was surprising enough that it wasn’t strange that she should forget herself.

Mio Itsuwa was the only strategic magician in Japan that its government had made public—in other words, one of the Thirteen Apostles. As far as confirmed intelligence went, she was the only person aside from Tatsuya in Japan who could use strategic magic. In other words, she was the military’s trump card.

Her Abyss spell could depress the water’s surface into a hemispherical shape that could cover anywhere from a few dozen yards to several miles in radius. It was classified as fluid control magic, a subset of the movement magic type. Any ships on the surface caught in her spell’s area would slide down the steep slope of the water, or simply fall, or capsize, or find a watery grave in the giant waves caused by the water’s surface returning to normal upon the spell’s end. An Abyss of one mile could create a hemispherical surface as deep as one mile, easily engulfing any submarines under the surface as well.

This ability, which could theoretically destroy entire fleets in a single attack, was designated strategic magic. However, by targeting underground water sources to cast Abyss, she could also use it to demolish groups of buildings on hard surfaces as well.

“…But won’t it be a strain on her body?” asked Miyuki worriedly.

“I’m sure they considered that when they decided—both the staff and the Itsuwa family,” answered Maya, seeming unconcerned. “They must believe this opportunity is worth it.”

In contrast to her immense magical ability, Mio Itsuwa was quite frail physically.

It apparently hadn’t been as bad for her in her mid-teens, but she’d been using a powered wheelchair ever since she was about twenty. It wasn’t any leg disorder that prevented her from walking but a measure to keep as little of her stamina from being depleted as possible. Rumor went that after graduating university, she almost never left the Itsuwa family residence.

Currently, the Itsuwa were one of the families in the Ten Master Clans, but much of their position was due to having a strategic magician in Mio. Although it wouldn’t be relatively far from where she lived, being on a combat vessel for several days was, in a way, a gamble.

“Just as we had information on Yunde Liu, they probably know that Mio has gone to the front. Also, this is unconfirmed information, but we have word that Dr. Bezobrazov has entered Vladivostok.”

Kazama’s expression changed again upon hearing the name. “…You mean the Igniter, Igor Andreivich Bezobrazov?”

“Yes, the very same. Having seen the results of the battle at the southern end of the Korean Peninsula, the world’s top military experts seem to be reassessing the effectiveness of large-scale magic.”

He hadn’t accidentally said anything, but Tatsuya was surprised at this as well.

Igor Andreivich Bezobrazov was a researcher at the Soviet Science Academy, but at the same time, he was a strategic magician commanded by the New Soviet Union. He wasn’t a concealed strategic magician like Tatsuya; he, like Mio, was one of the Thirteen Apostles, the nationally publicized strategic magicians. His strategic magic, Tuman Bomba, was a step behind Angie Sirius and the USNA’s Heavy Metal Burst in terms of power, but the scope of its destruction was said to be greatest among the Thirteen.

Until now, none of the nations had mobilized the strategic magicians for actual combat, using them only as shows of strength. But this meant the recent battle had caused four strategic magicians, including Tatsuya, to mobilize.

“The Great Asian Alliance probably has the same information…”

“Do you mean peace is likely in the coming days?”

“Yes, that is my humble prediction,” said Maya, looking at Kazama with a smile. For someone in her midforties, her smile possessed a youthful disarming side paired with a mature seductiveness. She often looked less than thirty.

Such allure would never work with Kazama, however. He silently waited for her next words.

“…This will wrap up our fate that started three years ago.” One probably couldn’t entirely call it Tatsuya’s illusion that, as Maya picked up where she left off, her face seemed to color with a slight dissatisfaction, as though she’d missed her mark. “However, several countries are now paying attention to us because of the Chinhae Naval Port’s destruction. More than a couple of them seem to have guessed the attack was a strategic spell and will begin to search for the caster’s identity. Several groups will probably realize the commonalities between the GAA’s dispatched fleet being wiped out and the Battle of Okinawa and use that as a clue. However, if Tatsuya’s identity were revealed, well…it would be an incredibly undesirable situation for me.”

“I understand all too well,” nodded Kazama.

Maya naturally—so naturally you couldn’t tell it was an act—softened her expression. Actually, maybe she really did smile out of genuine contentment. “I’m glad you understand. Just to be sure, however, I’d like you to refrain from contacting Tatsuya for a while.”

Negotiations with Kazama ended in a satisfying manner for Maya and, in turn, the Yotsuba. Saying she had him wrapped around her finger would be an overstatement, but the promise not to use Tatsuya in future combat against the Great Asian Alliance had doubtlessly been made at Maya’s own pace.

Of course, whether he planned on upholding this verbal promise, and whether she believed it on all fronts, was something worthy of a question mark in parentheses.

And now, Maya and Tatsuya had met each other in the parlor. Kazama, of course, left after their business was finished—he was a busy man himself—but Maya had firmly instructed even Miyuki to leave them.

And despite even making her own attendants exit the room, Maya was taking her sweet time beginning the conversation.

Eventually, as Maya gazed down at her empty cup of tea, seemingly dissatisfied, Tatsuya silently sat across from her. Silently—and not asking for her permission first. As he rested his back against his seat and waited for her to speak, his face was a far cry from tension, awe, or dread.

Maya took a look at him, then returned her cup to its saucer. “It’s been three years since we’ve sat down with each other like this.”

Her voice and expression showed no signs of censure toward his insolence.

“This is the first time you’ve spoken to me like this, Aunt.”

“Is that right?”

Instead of respectfulness, the air around Tatsuya was cynical—as always, in a way. In contrast, Maya’s tone had become much more casual compared to before.

“Come to think of it,” she said, “this is the first time we’ve had a private conversation, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Still, the adjective affectionate wouldn’t have applied. The light in their eyes was too strong for that.

“What did you have to talk about?”

“Don’t be in such a hurry. Would you like some tea?”

“Won’t your cronies make a fuss if you were to make tea and bring it out yourself?”

Maya burst out into a chuckle at Tatsuya’s candid remark. “Honesty isn’t always a virtue, you know.”

“And words of consideration for others often hurt to hear.”

A swift, responsive counterattack.

Maya didn’t seem angered by it—in fact, she nodded, impressed. “It is nice to talk to someone with no restraint from time to time.”

“Have I somehow displeased you?”

“We’re aunt and nephew. You don’t need to worry about it,” she said, her tone making it difficult to know whether she meant it honestly or deceptively. She moved a hand to the summoning bell on the table.

The room’s walls and doors weren’t thin enough to let the soft chime of a handbell escape.

Nevertheless, there was a knock at the door before a scant minute had passed. They must have been monitoring the room through some other method, but Tatsuya wasn’t about to stand up in a fluster.

“Did you call, my lady?”

The butler in his early old age appeared. He saw Tatsuya sitting comfortably across from his mistress, but he didn’t bat an eye.

“Hayama, could you get me some more tea? And bring some of the same for Tatsuya as well.”

“Of course, my lady.”

If it were someone like Aoki, they would have gone red in the face and shouted at Tatsuya, forgetting they were in front of Maya. But if she trusted him to eavesdrop on his mistress’s conversation, no matter what the reason or form it took, he would never do something so petty. Tatsuya wasn’t flustered because he’d predicted that beforehand.

Of course, he also decided it would be pointless to make himself presentable anyway. Anyone with a bit of insight would have realized Tatsuya was not a submissive soul.

While they waited for their tea, Maya didn’t open her mouth. Tatsuya didn’t try to hurry her up, either. When she asked if he’d like tea, she meant it for their conversation. He wasn’t dull enough not to understand something that simple, and he wasn’t childish enough not to be able to wait that long.

Once she had the cup Hayama brought at her lips, she finally seemed to want to talk.

“You did quite a bit this time, Tatsuya.”

Almost nobody would have interpreted her tone or words at face value.

“It wasn’t much.”

Nor did Tatsuya think she was praising him.

“But for the Yotsuba, you did something troubling.”

“I apologize.”

His aunt sighed theatrically and made her complaint as expected, and Tatsuya made a formal apology. He hadn’t a scrap of intention to grovel or press his forehead to the table, though.

“…Well, I know you were just following orders. I had wanted to question Major Kazama over whether they needed to go that far, but…there’s no point in worrying over what’s done.”

“I’m much obliged.”

That time, his apology had a bit of sincerity in it. Leaving aside whether it had been right or wrong, maybe even Tatsuya thought he went slightly too far. Of course, it would have been an understatement to call the unprecedented destruction massively overdoing it, let alone slightly.

“The issue is what happens now,” said Maya.

“Has some concrete trouble come up?”

Maya didn’t immediately answer the question. She closed her eyes, took a sip of tea, and slowly looked up. She peered straight into Tatsuya’s eyes.

For Tatsuya’s part, he didn’t peer back—he put his teacup to his mouth in the same way his aunt had.

“The Stars are moving.”

The words she let him hear while he wasn’t looking at her had enough punch to make him freeze for a moment.

“Does that mean America itself has begun an operation?”

At that point, Maya’s and Tatsuya’s gazes finally locked.

Their burdens were incomparable. Maya, shouldering the powerful organization of the Yotsuba, and Tatsuya, who needed to protect no one but his sister.

But the light in Tatsuya’s eyes was in no way inferior to the pressure of Maya’s gaze.

“Right now, the Stars have only started an independent investigation,” she explained. “But they already know the explosion was caused by a spell that converted mass to energy. They’ve narrowed the caster’s identity down very considerably—in fact, they’ve specifically marked you and Miyuki as individual suspects.”

Tatsuya shook his head one and a half times at Maya’s news.

“…That information-gathering ability is incredible.”

“They don’t call themselves the world’s strongest magic unit for nothing.”

“No, I was referencing your men, Aunt Maya.”

He didn’t get a reply back. Maya was silent, as though she’d been taken off guard.

Tatsuya didn’t make a particularly amused face, instead opening his mouth to fill the silence. “The USNA’s Stars call themselves the strongest magic unit in the world, and yet you’ve dug up their intelligence activity results almost in real time. Do you have spies in there?”

“…I can’t say, unfortunately.”

“No, of course not,” said Tatsuya, nodding in false seriousness at the answer he’d managed to squeeze out of Maya.

Maya made a bitter expression for a moment but immediately covered it with a smile—just like her. “In any case, do be careful of your surroundings,” she told him. “The Stars aren’t like the people you’ve gone up against in the past. If they decide that you’ve dealt a blow to America’s supremacy, they will come with real force to eliminate you.”

“And if the possibility arises that the flames would jump to the Yotsuba, an assassin would be sent in separately. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The aunt and nephew stared at each other.

Not even a trace of a smile was on their faces anymore.

“If you understand that much, then this will be quick.”

“You had Miyuki leave the room because you thought I would arrive at the answer right here, didn’t you?”

Tatsuya’s tone had changed slightly.

His aunt didn’t answer the question. The answer was in her eyes as their gazes intersected again.

“Tatsuya, I want you to quit school.”

What she said was not an answer but an order.

“What would you have me do?” he asked.

“Stay here on your best behavior for a while. I’ll send a different Guardian for Miyuki.”

“I thought selecting a Guardian was the sole decision of the target under escort.”

“Every rule has its exceptions.”

“That is true, but…I must refuse.”

If someone else had been present, they would have shivered like the temperature in the room had suddenly plummeted. But it wasn’t a physical temperature change; it was from the heightened sense of tension in the air.

“If I were to suddenly leave school now,” he continued, “I would think it would be like telling the world I was the magician who destroyed the GAA fleet.”

“I can give any reason for it we need.”

“Can you?”

The expressions disappeared from their faces.

“Are you saying you won’t obey my orders?”

“Miyuki is the only one who can give me orders.”

The tension in the room reached its zenith.

Amid the nervous air, it was like time had stopped.

And then the world was covered in night.

Not in darkness.

A multitude of brilliantly shining stars, hovering in the dark.

The parlor’s ceiling had changed to a moonless, starry night sky.

The stars moved, turning into rays of light…

…and the scent of blood floated through the room.

And a moment later,

without a sound,

the night filling the room shattered.

Nothing in the room had changed; aunt and nephew stared at each other.

But the sense of tension filling the space between them had dissolved along with the night’s destruction.

“…You seem to have gone quite easy on me.”

“Of course I did. You are my beloved nephew, after all,” answered Maya with a smile.

Neither of them were wounded, and the scent of blood in the room was no longer there.

“Well, even bearing that in mind, you were excellent,” she said. “I’ve decided to let you do as you please this time.”

“Thank you,” said Tatsuya, standing without a word and bowing slightly to her.

“It’s fine,” she answered, waving a hand. “It’s just a little reward for having broken my spell.”

Tatsuya left the parlor behind him. No voices came out to stop him.

After Tatsuya exited the parlor, Maya sank into her own thoughts for a short time. Eventually, she heaved a great sigh and rang the bell on the table.

“…You called, my lady?” asked the butler Hayama, immediately appearing.

“I’m changing spots. Please ready tea for the sunroom and lead Miyuki there,” instructed Maya.

“Of course, my lady.” Hayama bowed and deftly cleaned up the used teacups without meeting his mistress’s gaze.

Then, just as he was about to withdraw from the room and carry out Maya’s orders, she stopped him. “Wait a moment,” she instructed. “Hayama, isn’t there something you’d like to ask me?”

As his mistress looked at him, Hayama bowed respectfully. “I’m much obliged, my lady. If you’ll allow me to ask…”

Hayama was a prominent figure in the Yotsuba family, having served both the previous head and the current. He appeared to be in his early old age, but he was actually older than seventy.

There was an atmosphere about this mansion, where he was allowed to say things that others would be afraid to even suggest.

“Is it truly wise to leave Master Tatsuya to his own devices, my lady?”

And unlike the others here, Hayama had never made light of Tatsuya’s counterfeit status. His own magic capabilities were not at a very high level, but he’d seen many a magician over the years. His experience rated Tatsuya highly.

As a magician to be cautious around.

“It doesn’t matter. Oh, and I believe I understand quite well what you’re concerned over. And you’re right. He could betray the Yotsuba at any time.”

“…Much obliged, my lady.”

“And as I confirmed earlier, my magic does not mix well with his ability. If we fought for real, there is a high chance that I would lose.”

Maya’s spell was named Meteor Swarm in Japanese for its visual characteristics. Its English name, however, Meteor Line, more properly expressed its qualities.

This was the spell that had entrenched Maya as one of the strongest magicians in the entire world, had given her the nicknames Demon of the East and Queen of the Night. A form of convergence magic that biased the distribution of light in its area of effect, it had especially high power in closed spaces like rooms and tunnels.

Visually, the spell’s process went like this: First, it closed the target area in a darkness bubble speckled with countless tiny stars, and second, it converted those photospheres into a ray system that would pierce the target. Cosmetically, it appeared as though she were attacking with a shower of lasers, but there was no relationship whatsoever between Meteor Line’s attack power and the light’s own energy. Even the quantity of light didn’t matter.

The essence of this spell was twofold. First, how remarkably forceful it was in biasing light distribution, and second, how it configured the light’s coordinates as small orbs and thin lines.

It defined a space for the light to pass through. That, along with whatever objects constituted that space, was then altered into a light-permeable state. As a result, it didn’t matter if the target was organic, inorganic, hard, soft, heat resistant, plastic, or elastic—it would bore holes through the target so that the light could pass through. Even highly transparent glass wasn’t 100 percent transparent; even clear objects wouldn’t be able to escape the event alteration. The spell would simply change them into a light-permeable state, which was the same as boring a hole in them.

If you looked at the logical side instead of the visual phenomenon, the spell interfered with the constructional information of the target via light distribution. Then it directly vaporized solids and fluids, regardless of their heat or pressure. In other words, one could call it a variety of dismantling magic, since it dismantled targets into a gaseous state. It defined the rays themselves as having biased light distribution, too, making it unblockable with reflection, refraction, or interception. Even if you surrounded yourself with a spherical shield, the spell would still create a line through which 100 percent of the light could pass, regardless of the photons’ movement, and simply bore a hole in it.

Not only was magic that interfered with physical phenomena powerless to block Meteor Line, most anti-magic was as well. Area Interference was a purely spiritual defensive method; because Meteor Line traveled through a physical medium—light—it was incredibly difficult to stop the spell’s activation with it. You had to have a power of influence toward the single element—the light’s distribution—that exceeded Maya’s, or you couldn’t stop it. Maya had possessed the ability to influence light distribution since birth, so it was simply too high a hurdle. And once it was activated, you couldn’t resist by using Area Interference there, either. The phenomenon—the overwriting with the skewed light distribution—would already be set there as a preestablished fact.

Neither anti-physical phenomenon defenses, nor anti-magic defenses, nor the Juumonji family’s Phalanx, which activated both at the same time, could stop it. That was why Maya was regarded as an invincible in magician battle and one of the strongest magicians in the world.

However…because Meteor Line interfered indirectly with the constructional information of the limited space, which included an object as a component part, it was a decisively bad matchup against Tatsuya’s spell, which directly interfered with constructional information. The direct interference against spatial construction would easily shatter the bounded field of night, which was built up through interfering with spatial construction via light.

“And I must say, there’s a considerable possibility he will kill me. But even if Tatsuya can betray the Yotsuba, Miyuki cannot. And Miyuki will never see the Yotsuba as an enemy.”

“However, Lady Miyuki would appear to be deeply dependent on Master Tatsuya. Should he wave the flag of rebellion against this family, I wouldn’t think she could go against his will,” Hayama noted with a grave frown on his brow.

However, there was no sign whatsoever of this counterpoint angering Maya. “It’ll be fine. You needn’t brainwash someone to influence their mind. I don’t have to explain that much to you, do I, Hayama?”

Maya’s abrupt smile was colored with pity.

“Miyuki can never escape the responsibility she’s been given. That was how my sister raised her. And Tatsuya could never do anything that would make Miyuki suffer.”

“…But to do that, my lady…”

“Yes. It’s a shame for the other children in the candidacy, but the next family head will be Miyuki—lest we turn Tatsuya, that monster, into an enemy.”

“We must have Lady Miyuki assume the role of family head at all costs, then.”

“There is no need to worry, Hayama. I have a plan to that end as well,” said Maya, her smile fully relaxed.

Hayama bowed deeply, showing the greatest respect, and this time left the parlor behind him.

For the general populace, AD 2095’s Yokohama Incident was a natural extension of AD 2092’s Battle of Okinawa and a plot to retaliate for their loss three years ago—or perhaps for their failed mission.

But it could also only be called historical irony that the series of military actions leading up to the Yokohama invasion operation should end in the same way the Battle of Okinawa had.

August 11, AD 2092

Okinawa

Battlefield

Tatsuya, along with the Onna paratrooper unit commanded by Kazama, had driven the invading force to the water’s edge.

Normally, that should have been expressed as “the Onna paratrooper unit, along with Tatsuya.”

But it was clear to both enemy and ally that the slight magicrafter, standing at the front of a mere platoon of infantry, body hidden by a full-face helmet and armored suit, was the one routing the invaders.

It was a slaughter—too one-sided to be called a battle.

But at the same time, it lacked the hatred to be called a butchery.

No blood flowed.

No flesh flew.

Not even the stench of burning flesh and blood, not even the explosions that tore limbs apart, were present here.

The battlefield was dominated by a strange silence.

Before the bullets, the hand grenades, the portable missiles the invaders fired reached the defending forces’ battle line, they melted and vanished in midair. The same standard bullets, bombs, and missiles vanished as aggregates.

One invading soldier, still standing his ground, pulling his trigger, then another, then another—all blurred, distorted, and disappeared.

The defense soldiers following after Tatsuya had forgotten how to pull the trigger at this point, gazing intently at the surreal scene.

The intruders shared the same surreal feeling, despite one comrade after another disappearing into nothing.

There was a lack of bloodshed and mangled bodies to stimulate instinctual fear, so even as the invaders were being eaten away by an unknown sense of unease, they didn’t readily surrender.

That was just what Tatsuya had hoped for.

If high-level magicrafters had accompanied the invasion force, it probably wouldn’t have been this one-sided. While it was certainly a mistake on the invaders’ part, it definitely could have proven to be a mistake on Japan’s part, too, to have underestimated that possibility.

…But that wasn’t a good enough reason for Tatsuya to pull his punches.

His mind was currently in a manic state.

He had lost any and all restraint toward destruction and slaughtering. It was as though he felt no aversion to murder. He broke and he killed, just the same as he walked.

Or rather—he erased.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t know agitation, either. It was only natural, but he was currently a long way from having a calm mind after the shock that’d hit him.

And the shock at seeing his sister almost get killed was deep.

His spell could instantly make any fatal wound, no matter what kind, as if it never happened. Today was the first time he’d used Regenerate on others, but he knew beforehand that both his own body and others’ were equal objects that he could restore.

But even his Regenerate couldn’t bring the dead back to life. The continuum of life and death was irreversible; death was an inherent change in life. If he used Regenerate on a corpse, it would create only a corpse without any wounds. The dead wouldn’t come back. Tatsuya knew that as well.

Even if a person’s heart stopped, or they went brain-dead, or were cut in the neck, he could revive them as long as it was immediately after. Even with insta-kill wounds, the possibility of reviving someone by reconstructing their flesh and circulating their blood wasn’t zero, and as long as that was true, his Regenerate could call the dead back to life.

But once death had set in, he couldn’t do anything.

If he hadn’t been in time… That fear was enough to send him spiraling into panic. Tatsuya wasn’t truly scared of other things, including his own death—more accurately, that emotion had been stolen from him. But being afraid of nothing else made the fear of losing Miyuki shake him deep and hard to the core. However calm he may have looked, its effects still had him reeling in agitation.

Because his other emotions didn’t function, he calmly, efficiently, and abandoning all hesitation, delivered retribution.

It was, so to speak, a rational insanity.

A madness funneled into a single purpose.

With the enemy refusing to surrender, his madness greedily devoured their lives.

The invading force’s routed lines could only be described as being in a state of collapse, but that didn’t mean their command structure had followed suit.

Their commander had already decided they couldn’t hold the beachhead and ordered a withdrawal to the seas.

Invading soldiers, fighting tooth and nail to be the first to board the landing craft…

All to escape the hands of the raging god walking toward them, step by step.

All without realizing that was where the Reaper waited for them, scythe brandished.

Before the invading force, now busy escaping instead of counterattacking, Tatsuya stopped.

Then, as though they’d suddenly remembered their duty, the Onna paratroopers created a firing line.

But before the order to fire, a power came from Tatsuya that distorted the scene.

It wasn’t as though there were no magicrafters who could release such strong interfering force that it would ripple to affect others’ vision—in other words, to light waves.

The truly excellent magicrafters didn’t use the kind of power that would disturb the world aside from intentional event alteration, but young and talented magicians who lacked the experience to match their power sometimes caused unintentional event alteration. But what had just happened here was a complete physical side effect.

A small assault landing ship, along with the troops it swallowed up inside, turned to dust and vanished. The view looked distorted because a part of the landing ship had become gas and dispersed, therefore forming a layer of vapor with different density than the air, which in turn had caused a light-refraction phenomenon.

All the soldiers fighting to flee onto the next ship stopped moving at once.

The sound of clapping water was, in fact, the sound of weapons being discarded into the sea.

The clapping on the water to the ground spread in a chain.

A white flag went up.

The GAA ship’s naval flag rising at the same time communicated their plea for lawful treatment of prisoners.

Behind Tatsuya came the order to cease fire instead of the order to fire.

Tatsuya saw this and leveled his right hand at the white flag.

“Idiot! Stop!” came a voice as a hand reached to him from the side.

Tatsuya, meaning to evade it, lowered his arm and twisted his body.

But the right arm he thought he’d dodged clamped down on to his outstretched left hand.

“The enemy has no intention to keep fighting!”

He didn’t need to be told that. He knew.

He couldn’t see the man who stopped him under the full-face helmet, but he’d never heard that voice before.

At the very least, that wasn’t Captain Kazama or Lieutenant Sanada.

Of course, even if Kazama had stopped him, Tatsuya had no wish to annihilate the enemy.

If they were trying to surrender, then he simply had to kill them all before it was set in stone, before they confirmed that they’d given up on further fighting.

Thankfully, there were still some enemies holding weapons.

“I told you to stop!”

But Tatsuya couldn’t pull his CAD’s trigger.

Suddenly, his vision spun, and he lost track of his Dismantle target position.

A strong impact to the back.

He realized he’d been punched.

Immediately, he began to stand, but then he understood the man was already holding him down.

“Any more than this would be butchery. I will not allow it.”

A pistol was up against his helmet, pointing at him.

“Calm down, Specialist. Yanagi, put your gun away.”

He remembered that voice. He had a memory of the term specialist, too. They’d given him that rank for convenience before sending him out, since they couldn’t send a civilian into real combat. The voice was none other than Captain Kazama’s.

“Specialist, remember the conditions we dispatched you with?”

And he remembered those, too, of course.

His seething head cooled a little.

His will to fight decreased, and it quelled his desire for destruction and slaughter.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, taking his finger off the CAD’s trigger. Yanagi released his hand and knee from him.

The landing force’s surrender spread relief through not only Kazama’s unit, which had personally disarmed them, but to another unit as well, which mobilized to intercept. However, though understandable on one hand, it was a little too hasty on the other.

“Message from HQ!”

A signalman ran to Kazama. He took his helmet off, revealing a pale, tense face.

“Ships thought to be a separate enemy force approaching Aguni Island from the north! Two high-speed cruisers and four destroyers! Allied forces won’t make it in time to intercept! Enemy fleet predicted to be in firing range in twenty minutes! We’ve received orders to immediately evacuate from the coast!”

Despite the energy in his words, he spoke them oddly in places, but the news was dire enough that he couldn’t help it.

“Give me that radio,” ordered Kazama, his voice calm in contrast.

“Yes, sir!”

The signalman’s voice was louder than it needed to be.

The other members of the unit who were going about disarming the enemy gulped and stared at their captain. For Tatsuya, the fact that no enemy soldiers plotted to use the chance to escape was truly a shame. Or perhaps none of them resisted because he wasn’t bothering to hide his murderous intent.

“This is Kazama. The torpedo boats—no attack planes to spare on the ships, either, sir? What shall we do with the captives? …Understood, sir.”

Kazama brought the radio away from his face and took a breath.

“In approximately twenty minutes, this position will be within effective firing range of enemy ship cannons! All hands, bring the captives and retreat inland!”

Tatsuya doubted his ears.

How were they supposed to escape far in twenty minutes without cars to move and with more captives than allies?

When Kazama took off his helmet, Tatsuya couldn’t see any bitterness or distress in his face. The commander’s firm solemnity had created an iron mask.

But he didn’t need telepathy to see it was clear he didn’t think highly of his orders to bring the captives.

“Specialist, you return to the base first.”

His voice as he gave the short command was especially impassive, backing up Tatsuya’s guess.

At least, that’s what Tatsuya thought.

He said “return,” but he meant “run away.”

“Do you know the exact location of the enemy cruisers, sir?”

Instead of agreeing to the order, he kept his helmet on and asked.

“We do, but… Sanada!”

Kazama didn’t ask why.

Instead, he called his subordinate, who was carrying a tactical information terminal.

“I’ve linked it to our ocean radar. Should I send it to the specialist’s visor, sir?”

“Before that…” interrupted Tatsuya before Kazama could reply. “Did you bring the armament device you gave me yesterday—the one with the range-extension spell preinstalled?”

Sanada lifted his visor and exchanged glances with Kazama.

Kazama nodded, and Sanada looked back to Tatsuya.

“Not here, but it’s still on the helicopter, so we’d only need five minutes for it to—”

“Can you have them bring it here right away, sir?”

Before Sanada could say arrive, Tatsuya made his request with the haste of a boy.

Then Tatsuya looked at Kazama, pulling the wired communication line in the helmet hiding his face and offering it to him.

Kazama frowned but said nothing. He put his helmet back on, then pulled his own cord out and clicked it into the connector terminal.

“There’s a way to destroy the enemy fleet.”

Their secret conversation, held in front of the watchful eyes of the subordinates, began with an unbelievable bombshell.

“But I don’t want the unit to see me do it. Could you get Lieutenant Sanada to leave the device here and move away, sir?”

Kazama couldn’t see the look on Tatsuya’s face.

The timbre of his voice didn’t come over well on the wired connection, either.

The only thing he could use to make his decision was the words he used and his nature, which he’d learned from their short time together.

“…All right. But Sanada and I will stay here.”

“…Yes, sir.”

Tatsuya wondered what the retreating unit would do for a commander, but he changed his mind right away—that wasn’t something for him to think about.

As Kazama issued the retreat order and gave command to an officer named Yanagi—the one who had knocked him down before—Tatsuya simply waited for the armament device to arrive.

The sight of the interception unit’s hurried retreat could be seen on the air defense command room monitor as well.

And of course, by Miyuki and her mother, who had the image up on the entire window, too.

As the unit began to move, captives in tow, the three didn’t show any signs of moving from that place.

There was a stir in the command room. They heard an angry yell of “Who is that idiot?!” even from across the glass.

Miyuki looked at the image and gulped.

Because it was one of their family—her older brother.

She didn’t need to ask his name to know. She didn’t have to look at his identification signal to know. Even with his face behind a smoke visor, she would never mistake him given his stature alone.

An operator was repeatedly calling into a radio for a retreat. A male commissioned officer with a major rank badge was pleading in desperation with a base—probably the Kyushu one—for reinforcements.

Just by seeing the side of Miyuki’s face as she clenched her teeth, Sakurai knew exactly what she wanted to do, what she wanted to say.

It struck her as sad.

She wasn’t even twelve, but she couldn’t say what she wanted. She couldn’t even say the natural, human thing, that selfish request—to ask to go help her brother.

Sakurai didn’t know why Tatsuya had remained there.

But she could guess.

He probably had a means of doing something about the approaching enemy fleet.

Normally, this would be impossible, but for a magicrafter who was a direct descendant of the Yotsuba, which showed prominent capacity in specific fields, it wasn’t unthinkable.

Even if he couldn’t use normal magic, he had shown that he could use an absurd spell to repair someone’s entire body—though according to Miyuki, it wasn’t magic. And he’d done it on none other than Sakurai herself.

But it was also the unmistakable truth that as a magicrafter, he possessed only low abilities. He couldn’t use defensive barriers, unlike a combat magicrafter with even average skills.

Earlier, all he had done was nullify the enemy’s attacks with the feat that seemed to be at odds with human limits of identifying all the bullets and artillery fire and erasing it, whether individually or as a group. She didn’t know how he’d done that, and she thought it was amazing in its own right, but if Tatsuya was trying to use a spell to neutralize an enemy fleet from a point some eight miles away—and if that were possible, it would be equivalent to strategic magic—he wouldn’t be able to defend himself like he did before.

“My lady, I have a request.”

When she understood that, the words slipped off her lips before she even realized it herself.

“What is it?”

Despite the suddenness, Miya’s voice hadn’t a single bit of unnaturalness.

She almost sounded like she already knew what Sakurai was going to ask her.

“I’d like to go out to meet Tatsuya.”

Miyuki, whose eyes had been glued to the screen, turned around in a flurry.

The eyes with which she looked at Sakurai were opened wide.

“Do you mean you’d like to go there right now?”

Still, no surprise in Miya’s voice.

Her personal magic was supposed to be mental interference, not mind reading.

Could my lady also want to…? she conveniently began to think, before shaking the thought from her mind.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Honami, I seem to recall you’re my bodyguard.”

And you’d like to leave my side? she asked between the lines.

It was a natural question for Miya and one that Sakurai couldn’t answer.

“…I’m s—”

“Well, all right, then.”

Before the word sorry could make it out of Sakurai’s mouth—an apology that could have been interpreted either way—Miya nodded generously.

“This very base might be in danger as well if we leave the enemy fleet alone. If Tatsuya is going to do what I think he will, then I’d like you to go help him.”

“What you think he will?”

The question had been reflexive.

Miya seemed to know what Tatsuya was trying to do. Thinking about it again, maybe that was only natural, because she was his mother.

“He only understands that it’s theoretically possible; I don’t believe he’s ever actually tried it. But he must have an idea about that. He is very quick-witted, that child.”

She spoke as though she couldn’t care less.

But Sakurai still felt like she was a mother proud of her son.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Hoping that was truly the case, Sakurai politely bowed in gratitude.

In the previous great war that spanned twenty years, the main weapons on warships had changed from onboard missiles to Fleming launchers. (At the time, they were called by the name rail guns, but when they were made larger, their name was changed.)

Current ship artillery was in the style of continuous fire from Fleming launchers. Since their rapid fire was overwhelmingly superior to gunpowder cannons, and there was no need to carry large weights of propellant fluid and machines, they could make the explosive-style loaded missiles larger. However, their firing range was no different from gunpowder cannons and might have even been less. That was because Fleming launchers placed importance on rapid fire, and extending one’s firing range while maintaining that rapidity had adverse effects because of recoil on the ship that couldn’t be ignored.

Top-of-the-line warships’ anti–ground attack power was said to be over ten times that of one hundred years ago. If one made it into a Fleming launcher’s effective range, even a single ship could turn a town into a sea of flames.

And it wasn’t good against only cities. The launchers’ rapid-fire capabilities were effective against encampment raids, too. If soaked in the concentrated artillery fire from two cruisers, a subpar magicrafter would be helpless.

Tatsuya, too, knew that this was a battle against time. He pulled the magazine from the large sniper rifle loaded with a specialized CAD—the armament device with a range-extension spell equipped—that had arrived, and further, he took the bullets out from inside it.

He held the bullets in both hands in turn, forming a prayerlike pose, and again fit the magazine back in.

Kazama and the others who were watching had no clue what he was doing. All they could sense—and barely—was that he was using a powerful spell, but they couldn’t even speculate as to what kind of spell was at work.

Probably, even if it wasn’t Kazama and the others, no one would have known. If there was a magicrafter who could tell what Tatsuya was doing now without advance knowledge, that would be even more extraordinary.

What Tatsuya was doing was the work of dismantling the bullets temporarily into atoms and then reassembling them back to normal.

It took two minutes before he finished reloading all five bullets.

“Approximately ten minutes until enemy fleet enters effective firing range.”

Sanada announced their remaining time to Tatsuya, who had finished preparing the device.

“The enemy fleet is cruising at nineteen miles due west… Will it reach?”

“I’ll just have to try.”

Tatsuya answered as such to Sanada’s question and brought the armament device up to an elevation of forty-five degrees.

Taking no account for the wind’s effects, just aiming as far as he could.

In that posture, he expanded a magic program.

A pipe-shaped virtual area was expanded in front of the muzzle. It was a magic that accelerated the speed of objects passing through it.

Despite the virtual region’s creation taking some time, Sanada ended up nodding, satisfied with the constructed region’s size.

The longer the virtual region that held the accelerating effects, the more range extension it offered. At this length, it could perhaps reach nineteen miles.

But the spell Tatsuya was expanding didn’t end there.

In front of that object-accelerating magic region, a second virtual region appeared.

“What…?!”

The object-accelerating virtual region had three processes.

It would pull down the apparent inertial mass of an object penetrating the region.

It would pull up its speed.

It would return its apparent inertial mass to normal.

The magnification of this inertial mass and manipulation of speed were variables the magicrafter would input.

The properties of the virtual region Tatsuya added now were basically the same. However, the magnification of inertial mass control was designated positive, the speed magnification kept the same, and the inertial mass restoration canceled.

In other words, the virtual region Tatsuya had added was an arrangement of the virtual region spell for accelerating, which Sanada had designed, into a similar spell for maximizing inertial mass.

He had accomplished this through improvisation.

“This kid does some unbelievable stuff…”

Sanada’s mutter was drowned out by the sound of the sniper rifle firing.

Tatsuya gazed out at the open sea, as if following with his eyes the supersonic bullet he couldn’t have seen.

Finally, he shook his head in disappointment.

“…No good, sir. It reached only twelve miles.”

How had he followed the bullet’s path?

It was a detached tone of voice, but he was probably still disappointed. Maybe he felt himself worthless.

“The only thing I can do is wait until their fleet gets within twelve miles.”

Hearing that remark, the color of Sanada’s face changed.

“But then we’ll be in their firing range, too!”

The effective range of the Fleming launchers on board the cruisers was nine to twelve miles. It was restricted by the recoil allowed by the ship—in other words, the ship’s shape and size—so you could fairly accurately predict it from the ship type, regardless of manufacturer differences.

Getting inside twelve miles meant being in firing range.

“I know, sir. You two should go back to the base. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Don’t be a fool! You’re coming back with us.”

This was both the beachhead the enemy chose and the last place they’d fought the enemy.

It would almost certainly be where the enemy attacked next.

It would be one thing if he could strike from beyond their enemy ships’ firing range, but if it came down to a shoot-out, his chances of survival were grim.

“But if I don’t destroy their ships, the base will be in danger.”

And his family likewise.

“Then, we should at least move away from here.”

The two were smart enough to know what he was so hung up over—what he was trying to protect.

“We can’t. There’s no time to look for another firing location.”

And so Sanada’s proposal was rejected for a reason he was already well aware of.

“Can’t we stand in for you?” Kazama, who had been silently listening to them talk, asked Tatsuya in a low voice.

“No, sir.”

What came back in return was the expected answer.

“Then, we’re staying here, too.”

That, however, was the unexpected answer.

For Tatsuya, Kazama’s immediate response was unbelievable.

“…If I fail, you two will go down with me.”

“There is no strategy with a hundred percent success rate and no battlefields without danger of losing your life. If strategists are constantly straddling victory and defeat, soldiers are always fighting between life and death,” finished the captain, with no boastfulness at all.

That famous line, understood from one section of the Hagakure, was powerful enough that Tatsuya gave up hope of persuading them otherwise.

A column of water rose in the open sea.

The enemy’s test firing for its naval bombardment.

Neither Tatsuya, nor Kazama, nor Sanada spoke any longer.

Tatsuya saw the enemy’s precise position displayed on his visor.

The wind direction, wind speed, and other specifications that would impact the shot were listed off in a stream of numbers.

Tatsuya brought the armament device up.

A projectile shot—an angling that prioritized distance above all else, relying on coincidence to hit.

Considering the bullet’s flight time and falling arc, the enemy was already within range.

Tatsuya activated the virtual region spells, then pulled the trigger four times in succession.

Each time he did, he nudged the barrel one way or another, compensating for the effects of the wind on his aim.

The projectile shots had no real aim to begin with, of course. Even with luck on his side, he’d do no better than landing one somewhere vaguely near the enemy ships—and he didn’t mind that from the start.

Tatsuya followed the motion of the four bullets in his head.

To be more precise, he followed the bullets’ data, which he could see in the information dimension, via his conscious and unconscious brain regions.

By his hand, by his one-of-a-kind spell, he had dismantled and reassembled the bullets earlier.

However far away their constructional information got, he would never lose sight of them.

And then he saw the information of one of those four shots land right in the middle of the enemy fleet.

Tatsuya had his hands full simply following where the bullet went. Kazama and Sanada stood back in order to leave him undisturbed as he attempted whatever large-scale magic it was.

And so, when the thing they’d predicted—and that nature had predicted—had come, they had no choice other than to deal with it using with their own magic.

The enemy had already finished its test shots.

Next to come would be trajectory-corrected artillery fire.

The explosive shells fired, their path lower than Tatsuya’s shots, and closed in on them faster than Tatsuya’s bullet reached.

Kazama, a practitioner of old magic, didn’t have very high interference power against physical objects. In fact, it was low.

Sanada was a magic engineer at heart, not a magician, so even with his high anti-object interference abilities, he couldn’t keep up on the speed front.

At this rate, they’d hit a wall before Tatsuya shot down the enemy fleet—

“Moving in to support!”

A figure on a motorcycle split through the rain and torrent of explosive fire.

No sooner had the rider, clad in a woman’s armored suit, jumped off the bike than she shouted that and unleashed a wave of psionic light.

When Tatsuya, who had been focusing his mind on the spell to annihilate the enemy fleet, heard her voice, he felt, in a corner of his mind, surprise and relief.

The surprise was because Sakurai had left his mother’s side.

The relief was because under her protection, he could concentrate fully on his spell.

The Sakura series of engineered magicians: Their special trait was strong anti-physical and heat-resistant defensive magic.

They couldn’t use technical spells as high level as the legendary Phalanx of the Juumonji, but the pure defensive ability of each of their anti-object and anti-heat spells ranked them as top-class magicians in all of Japan.

And ever since she was a child, Honami Sakurai had exhibited excellent abilities that were even a cut above the rest.

That was why she’d been chosen as the bodyguard for a valuable magician—that magician being the only user of mental construction interference magic.

The artillery shells, on their direct course, were beaten down into the water.

The fire stopped reaching land.

One after another, she activated spells to offset their momentum, each hundreds of miles in front of her.

As he watched her with his physical eyes, with his mind’s eye Tatsuya noticed one bullet reach a spot directly above the enemy fleet.

He held out his right hand, pointed his index finger west, then flipped his hand open.

The bullet dissolved into energy.

The mass-dismantling spell Material Burst had just been used for the first time in actual combat.

There was a flash over the horizon.

The clouds covering the sky lit up with reflected white light.

Although sunset was a distant prospect, the western horizon glittered brilliantly.

An explosion rumbled. Nobody here could mistake it for a distant clap of thunder.

It was the sound of all the fuel and gunpowder bursting at once, without any secondary explosions.

The artillery fire ceased.

An eerie rumble came to them.

“Tsunami! Retreat!” yelled Kazama, hastily picking up Sakurai—who had suddenly fallen to the ground, limp—and running. Sanada got onto the motorcycle and brought it next to Kazama, who ran as though he were flying.

Tatsuya had gotten into the tandem seat.

Kazama jumped, Sakurai in his arms.

With an acrobatic nimbleness, he landed standing on the handlebars—though it was more than simple acrobatics.

Taking full advantage of the military motorcycle’s great horsepower, they dashed off at a quick pace, despite clearly having the weight of too many people on it.

The storm that had brewed beyond the horizon settled, and as Tatsuya watched the wave die down and pull away, he kneeled down upon the hill they’d come to.

In front of him was Sakurai, who was lying there, limp.

His face, with his helmet removed, was covered in unadulterated sadness.

“…It’s okay, Tatsuya. This is only my life span.”

Tortured by the powerlessness of a life he couldn’t save rapidly extinguishing its light before him, Tatsuya agonized, despite supposedly having lost his emotions. Sakurai gave him an unenergetic but pure smile.

“It isn’t your fault. We never knew when my engineered body would reach its limit.”

Tatsuya wanted to tell her that she was wrong.

Compared to normal people, an engineered magician’s life span was unstable, but she was clearly enfeebled by the burden of using so many big spells in a short period of time. The burden of completely preventing a full artillery volley from a fleet of ships was too great even for the Sakura series.

But Sakurai didn’t want him to say that.

So he gritted his teeth.

“It really isn’t your fault. My role since birth was to be a shield, and today, I’ve carried out my duty to the end.”

But Sakurai seemed to know exactly what Tatsuya was thinking.

“And I didn’t do it because someone ordered me to. I did it because I wanted to.”

Tatsuya tried to use Regenerate but quickly realized it wouldn’t work.

He could rewind time for matter, but with his strength, it was impossible to reverse her life’s clock.

“Could you please stop?” whispered Sakurai with a smile, as though she’d misunderstood that, her voice coaxing. “I’ve never had any freedom to live how I wanted until now. And now, I got to choose where I’d die. I won’t let this chance escape. I don’t have to die as a tool created by man—I can die as a human being.”

Tatsuya had never even dreamed she’d had such darkness in her mind this whole time.

But surprisingly enough, even to him, he didn’t feel surprise.

“So please just let me die, okay?”

Tatsuya nodded wordlessly.

She closed her eyes, her expression relieved.

Just like that, she stopped breathing.

Sanada, standing nearby, began to chant a sutra.

Kazama placed a hand on Tatsuya’s shoulder.

As Tatsuya rose, his hand stayed.

No tears fell from the boy’s eyes.

Mysteriously, the emotion of sadness was gone from his heart.

After hearing Honami Sakurai’s final words, he realized there was no need to be sad.

“…” But at the time, he didn’t understand that being able to erase his sadness with logic wasn’t normal.