An electric car, made to look like a classic—in this case, one of the supercars popular domestically from the late 1970s to the 1980s—stopped in front of a high-rise apartment complex standing in the heart of the city.

Maki opened the gull-wing door and stepped out of the car, which was so low it almost touched the ground, and onto the pavement. She stood up in a motion dashing enough for a movie star, then went around the hood to the driver’s seat—though the man in it was just sitting there, since it was a self-driving car—and peered in, saying, “This is fine. Thanks for driving me back.”

Her “lover” (Shizuku’s cousin) gave her a look that said he wasn’t satisfied. But Maki crouched a little, touched her lips to his cheek, and smiled. The young man started the car again without further complaint.

She waved a little at the classic car replica as it drove off, but as soon as it made a turn at an intersection and went out of sight, her smile disappeared, replaced with a chilly glare. She sighed, driving her “lover,” whom she’d manipulated with a simple, calculated smile, from her mind, and headed for the elevator lobby in the apartment building.

Excluding special super-high skyscrapers like Yokohama Bay Hills Tower, few buildings in Japan at the end of the twenty-first century exceeded one hundred meters in height, and among these, residential apartments were especially rare. This was because it was better from a federal land usage efficiency standpoint to build many high-rise apartments all in one area rather than to have a single super-skyscraper standing on its own.

Maki’s apartment was in a high-class mansion area where eighty-meter-high, twenty-story apartment buildings stood at regular intervals. Hers was on the end of the twentieth floor. A combination of mirrors and optical fibers gave sufficient natural illumination to the lower floors as well, but tenants tended to like higher floors anyway.

Therefore, the top floor was also the most expensive. Having a room on the uppermost floor of a high-class apartment building in the heart of the city would have been difficult for someone so young, even with her career, without a patron. This would be true no matter how famous an actress she was—that is, if she really was just a normal actress.

“Thank you for minding the place,” she said to two female bodyguards who had moved into the hallway upon learning of their employer’s return. They weren’t attendants, though those had survived as a tradition in the entertainment world. They weren’t apprentices doubling as errand runners dispatched by the production company she belonged to, either—they were bodyguards her father had picked out.

Maki’s father was the president of a holding company that owned several media corporations, including television stations. The Sawamura family might not have as much capital as the Kitayama family, but they were still members of the wealthy upper class.

After getting back, she went straight to take a shower. In a lounging dress and a gown, casual attire she never wore outside her own house—or those types of photo shoots—she sank down onto the sofa. Manipulating the menu on the side of the armrest, she had the HAR, or Home Automation Robot, ready a bottle of wine and a glass. She took the already-uncorked bottle and poured red wine into the glass.

Rather than putting it to her lips, she brought it close to her face and savored the fragrance. It wasn’t that she wanted the alcohol. This was a kind of ritual that Maki performed to relax her strained nerves after coming back from a job. That being the case, it might be more accurate to say she was reveling in the mood rather than savoring the fragrance.

Still, she wouldn’t leave the wine completely undrunk. When the halfway-filled glass had decreased to half that, a bodyguard opened the living room door and entered.

“Madam, Master Shippou is here to see you.”

“Takuma? …Oh yes. It’s almost time. He’s a little early, but I don’t mind. Show him in.”

Despite her clothing being something most would hesitate to wear in front of others, Maki’s face held no hesitation as she ordered the bodyguard to let the visitor into the living room.

“Right away, madam.”

Even after the bodyguard turned her back, Maki didn’t bother hastily putting on makeup.

She was an actor. Even if she had none on, even if she was seminude, she could play the part of the Maki she wanted others to see. Her simple dress and gown would be sufficient armaments to see the inexperienced boy in.

After the bodyguard showed the young man in, said young man wasted no time going to the seat across from Maki and sitting down, as though thoroughly acquainted with the place.

He was about five foot eight, but like most boys his age, he was rather skinny. He looked fine, but there was some boyish charm still left in his face. However, he also gave off a somewhat impudent impression—it probably came from the strong light of self-assertion in his eyes.

“Good evening, Maki.”

For his part, he had a tendency to be overly conscious about coming off like an adult in both his tone of voice and his behavior.

“Welcome, Takuma. You’re right on time.”

Maki decided to casually go along with Takuma’s overreaching himself. Still, their relationship was not one where the act would lighten his mood any at this point. They’d known each other for close to a year now.

“Want something to drink?”

“No, thanks. Alcohol clouds my judgment.”

Takuma shook his head at the offer. Maki hadn’t intended to give him alcohol, but she didn’t mention that.

“Anyway, could you tell me what you called me over for?”

“Sure. Let’s get right to it.”

Takuma’s attitude was too impetuous for Maki’s tastes, but the boy was almost a decade younger than she, so she didn’t try to make an appeal with her figure. Takuma wasn’t a younger boyfriend, nor was he involved with her.

“I contacted Shizuku Kitayama. But for now, all she knows are my face and name.”

“…Doesn’t care much for celebrities, I guess,” said Takuma, not hiding his disappointment.

Maki gave him a smile, the relaxed one of an actress—no, of a star. “Well, her friend, Honoka Mitsui, seemed to have quite an interest in me.”

“Really?” Takuma’s attitude switched gears—a calculated move—and he leaned in toward the woman. “Honoka Mitsui is near the top of the new junior class. If we can ally ourselves with her, she’d definitely help.”

“Most likely. And if her good friend Honoka Mitsui joins your faction, I think the probability of getting Shizuku Kitayama into it will rise.”

Maki and Takuma were confederates. They both wanted magician allies for their own reasons—pieces on the board to use. Part of their plan was to create a faction using First High students wishing to become professional magicians in the future.

“I would have thought it’d be better to get other new students like you on our side at first…”

“Our goal is to achieve a new order in our respective worlds,” broke in Takuma, “not to create a faction itself. There’s no point playing king of the hill at school. We should prioritize getting people with a lot of influence on our side, like the Kitayama family. That’s why you contacted that dull man with ties to the Kitayama in the first place, right?” He settled an overbearing gaze on Maki. “We’ll target that Honoka Mitsui first. I can expect your assistance, I assume?”

Maki parried his eagerness, or rather childishness, with a smile. “Yes, that’s the plan…but you should probably be courteous with her, since she will be your upperclassman, Takuma. You might accidentally find yourself not paying attention and slip up.”

Takuma’s eyes immediately began to wander awkwardly. In response, Maki wet her lips with her wine and changed to a slightly somber expression. It was an act, of course, but:

“Maki, did something bad happen?”

Takuma frowned when he saw it. His question was exactly what Maki had been going for.

“Something bad… I suppose.”

Obviously, she kept that under her hat. The idea was to make it seem like the look had accidentally come onto her face, and that she’d only answered because he’d asked.

“Like you heard before, Miyuki Shiba and her older brother were at the party as well.”

Takuma showed no signs of catching on. Either he had no ability to spot acting or he literally had zero interest in what Maki actually thought; his attention was focused on what she had to say.

“It seems like it’ll be rough to rope them in.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just talked to them…but they seemed to have a special relationship with the prior student council president.”

At this stage, Maki was already lying. She hadn’t had time to find out anything like that before Tatsuya and Miyuki gave her the cold shoulder. But Takuma had no way of knowing that.

“The prior student council president… Saegusa!”

His ability to think calmly and see through lies was firmly capped by his emotions, which centered around a hostility riled by Maki’s words and by the name Takuma himself had said.

“This is just a guess, but I think the Saegusa family already has their hands on the Shiba siblings. If they are allied with each other, things would get sticky for us. The sister especially has many supporters at school.”

The flames of enmity burning in his eyes, Takuma answered her in a strong voice—or at least one trying to be strong. “That’s how it goes—the more allies you have, the more enemies. If they’re Saegusa pawns, sooner or later we’ll have to clash. And I’ll be ready for it!”

“The sister is the student council vice president, so you might want to give up on making the student council a foothold.”

Maki looked up at her guest, who had shot to his feet in agitation, as if he were the most dependable person in the world. A light of expectation glimmered in her eyes.

“According to what I heard, the sister dotes very heavily on her brother, and her brother is pretty much hated. You might be able to use that to make a strategy,” she advised Takuma, with encouragement in her voice—or at least trying to get it there.