Each of the ten magician development institutes founded in Japan had its own unique research theme.

For example, the theme of Lab One, the first established institute, was the practical implementation of biological-manipulation magic to create the most efficient weapon of all: directly interfering with a target’s natural biological processes.

Lab Four used mental interference magic to aim for the strengthening of the magic calculation region itself, which exists in the magician’s unconscious and is the wellspring of this strange ability dubbed “magic.”

Lab Seven’s goal was the development of magic that placed emphasis on combat against groups. Its fruit was colony-control magic.

And the theme of Lab Nine, built in Nara and inviting large numbers of ancient magicians, was to integrate ancient magic into modern.

By joining Lab Nine, these ancient magicians had hoped to improve upon the old magic passed down to them and, by scientific means, create new and more powerful spells. However, Lab Nine’s only goal was to develop strong modern magic that used elements from ancient magic—the production of talented magicians as weapons.

As a result, the ancient magicians gained nothing, their work taken advantage of and their secrets stolen. They could never be satisfied with this course of events, of course; one could call it inevitable that they’d harbor enmity toward magicians crowned with the character for “nine.”

This antagonism was still deep-rooted even now in 2096 AD.

Monday, June 25, 2096 AD. Retsu Kudou, in two capacities—as senior member of Japan’s magic world and retired Japan Ground Defense Force major general—was paying a visit to the old Magician Development Institute Nine with Makoto Kudou, his eldest son and current head of the Kudou family.

Lab Nine, as a national institution, had been shut down not long after World War III’s conclusion, but it still maintained its functions as a laboratory. Currently, as a civilian research company and joint investment of the Kudou, Kuki, and Kuzumi families, it researched perception-type magic—a field struggling to make advancements compared to the more active, applied types of magic.

At least, that was supposed to be the case. While Lab Nine did present itself to the world this way, that wasn’t its main research topic at the moment.

Retsu and Makoto had been led deep within the laboratory to a room where lines of life-sized human puppets stood.

Four rows and four columns, for a total of sixteen. The puppets, fixed to slender pillars, were female-type robots called gynoids.

If this had been a development lab for 3Hs—Humanoid Home Helpers—the sight might not have been that unusual. A few research facilities developed humanoid machines for other purposes, too, like military ones.

But gynoids stuck out in a magical laboratory—from an average, commonsense viewpoint.

“How is the progress?” asked Makoto.

The head researcher, the man who had guided them here, responded with a proud look. “The parasite cultivation is going smoothly, sir. Our proficiency at installing them in the gynoids has reached a success rate of sixty percent, too. As you can no doubt see, we have a total of sixteen Parasidoll prototypes.”

“You’ve met the original quota, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

The scientist’s attitude seemed conceited, but neither Makoto nor Retsu cared. The results his team had produced were worth bragging about.

The head researcher must have sensed their permissiveness—his silver tongue grew smoother by the minute.

“The cultivated parasites are currently in a complete sleep state inside the gynoids thanks to the effects of a loyalty spell. We’re also no longer observing the resistance they originally exhibited. The loyalty spell was the greatest obstacle to getting the Parasidolls into a usable state—and allow me to say we have perfected it. Should you give the order, we can immediately begin performance tests.”

The head researcher’s anticipation-laden words exceeded Makoto’s expectations. He’d assumed it would still take some time before they could conduct field testing; he hadn’t mentally prepared a process for it in his head yet.

“It’s too early for combat trials. You may have integrated the loyalty spell, but you have to test it more before letting them take any autonomous action.”

The answer to the researcher’s proposition came not from Makoto but from Retsu.

“We also don’t know how much demon-power they can stably use outside of test conditions.”

“Yes, sir, and like I said, the tests for that—” persisted the head scientist, unconvinced, before Retsu waved his hand to stop him.

“You’re aware that in August every year, there is a competition among the magic high schools? This year, they’ve decided to adopt a cross-country event called the Steeplechase. It is a long-distance obstacle course where competitors have to overcome both physical and magical interference.”

The researcher immediately understood Retsu’s intent. “You’d like to use the Parasidolls as its obstacles in the event, sir?”

“Even the JDF likely doesn’t have enough people to spare for a high school competition. Using the Parasidolls means that any retaliation from the students won’t harm military magicians, and if we set a cap on their spirit power with the loyalty spell, we won’t have to worry about students sustaining major injuries. It’s the perfect chance to get them out of the testing rooms and conduct their first field tests.”

“Father, will the administrative committee agree to that? Considering what the public’s reaction will be if news of this experiment leaks, I don’t think they would simply nod and agree.”

Makoto hadn’t been informed of Retsu’s plan; he was merely expressing concern about how the public would treat the competition’s administrative committee if high school students were being used as guinea pigs.

However, Retsu didn’t waver. “No, the committee will nod and agree. They’ve already submitted to JDF intervention during this year’s event selection. They don’t have the backbone left to refuse our requests at this point.”

However, Retsu didn’t mention what they’d do if information got out. It was clear he had no intention of personally shouldering that responsibility.

And neither he nor Makoto pointed out the worst-case scenario—a Parasidoll losing control and harming a student.

Leaving the detailed procedures of the Parasidolls’ performance testing to his son, Retsu returned to the main Kudou estate in Ikoma. As soon as he arrived, he headed for his grandson Minoru’s room.

Minoru Kudou was a freshman at the National Magic University Second Affiliated High School and Makoto’s youngest child. He would be turning sixteen this year. Normally, he would have still been at school at this time, but he was home sick for the day—again.

“Minoru, it’s me.”

Retsu knocked and announced himself, and after a somewhat hurried series of sounds, the room’s door opened. A skinny, pale-skinned boy’s face appeared from behind it. His features were gentle and delicate, but none would ever mistake him for a girl. He was a textbook pretty boy, should that sort of expression be permissible. He was also wearing rumpled pajamas.

“Grandfather, I apologize for my appearance.”

His young and bright voice, a good match for his face, formed words of apology.

“No need to worry about things like that. Are you all right? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

This wasn’t false concern. Worry and heartfelt consideration for his pajama-clad grandson’s health was clear in Retsu’s expression.

Minoru tried to respond with a smile. “I’m okay. My fever’s gone down already, so—”

But just as he was about to continue his sentence, a fit of severe coughing struck him, preventing him from accomplishing even that modest goal. His body had betrayed his heart. For Minoru, who didn’t want his grandfather to worry, all he could do now was not cry in front of his family’s esteemed patriarch.

“Minoru, lie down,” prompted Retsu, rubbing his grandson’s heaving back until the attack passed.

“Grandfather, I… All right.”

Minoru was about to say he was fine again, but he stopped. He knew what state his own body was in, and he couldn’t put on a brave face. He obediently returned to bed, knowing that was the right course of action to keep his grandfather from worrying any further.

After his grandson pulled the covers up to his neck, Retsu drew a chair closer and sat down. “Minoru, there’s no need to rush things just because of how many absences you have,” he explained in a gently admonishing tone.

Though he had said it to cheer Minoru up, it was also an honest assessment. “Your magic power stands at the top of your generation,” he went on. “Almost no students can rival you—not even the ones entering the Nine School Competition.”

It wasn’t familial bias, either. Minoru possessed magic power worthy of the grandson of Retsu Kudou.

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

Minoru knew his grandfather recognized his talents. The sorrow clouding his face cleared up; Retsu’s words had succeeded in encouraging him.

At the same time, they’d been a little thoughtless.

“The Nines… I kind of wanted to enter it.” Minoru sighed longingly.

Retsu Kudou felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “Minoru…”

By his magic power alone, Minoru would have 100 percent been chosen as a representative at the Nines for his school, Second High. But he’d spent a quarter of the year sick in bed; even if he had received an invitation, he would have had to turn it down so he wouldn’t become a liability for his school’s team.

“Don’t look like that, Grandfather. The Nines isn’t the only stage where I can display my power.”

“That’s right. You’re bright, too. You’ll have plenty of opportunities in the future to shine as a magician or as a magical engineer.”

Retsu grinned at his smiling grandson while pushing down his own pain, which welled up in him.

Retsu distinctly understood that Minoru earnestly wanted to enter the competition and demonstrate the full extent of his natural talents where others would be watching. Retsu also knew that his grandson believed that opportunity would never come.

If he’d been healthy, he wouldn’t have needed to give up on that future.

If he’d been powerless, he never would’ve harbored such a wish in the first place.

Minoru’s abilities were incredible, and that was exactly why he suffered. Retsu thought it was terribly unfair.

Worse, it hadn’t been any god or devil, some immaterial being, who had visited that unfairness upon him.

The one who had engraved this miserable fate upon him was his own father.

And the one who hadn’t been able to stop it was his grandfather.

Self-loathing began to gnaw at his heart.

“By the way, Kyouko came to visit me today. She said she wanted to see you, too.”

“Is that so? I’m glad to hear it, Minoru.”

“Yep.”

Among Retsu’s grandchildren, Minoru and Kyouko Fujibayashi were especially friendly with each other. Minoru seemed genuinely happy as he talked about her visit.

His grandson was finally smiling for real—but that made him seem even more pitiful. Retsu began to find it difficult to be there. He placed his hand on his grandson’s cheek to check that his fever wasn’t too high, then stood.

“Why don’t you rest for a while, Minoru? If you do, your fever should go down.”

“I will, Grandfather.”

After hearing his grandson’s obedient reply, Retsu struggled to show him a smile in response before leaving Minoru’s room.

In his study, Retsu sank deep into his favorite seat, a soft, overstuffed leather armchair that he could imagine sinking into forever. The bottle of Armagnac on his sideboard beckoned to him, and he fetched it with just two steps; one there and one back.

And yet, he felt that escaping through alcohol would be intolerable right now.

How did it come to this? He knew that was a silly question. His story wasn’t very unusual; it was egotism, pure and simple—shrugging off the ails of others as inevitable facts of life but worrying for hours upon hours when they befell his loved ones… Retsu tried to think about it that way, but no matter how much he ridiculed or berated himself, the anguish wouldn’t go away. And he knew it wouldn’t.

Minoru’s frailty was a side effect of genetic manipulation. He was an engineered magician—a genetically modified human with an enhanced magic factor.

The reckless genetic manipulation of his own son was something Makoto had done because of his complex toward his father—Retsu. Ever since he was young, Makoto always felt inferior, because his magic power would never come close to matching his father’s. His children were also merely average among the Ten Master Clans, possessing talent only slightly above his own, and he had despaired at not being able to grant them more.

Objectively speaking, Makoto and his children all had fairly strong magic power. Retsu was simply a poor measure to compare against. There was only one difference: Retsu had survived the acquired-strength program, which had a survival rate of 10 percent; Makoto displayed laudable abilities even without taking a similar risk. Retsu had told his son and heir as much, at every opportunity. But nothing he said was ever enough to convince Makoto.

When the disappointment inside him changed into an obsession with power, a madness began to take root within Makoto. He was imprisoned by the fallacious idea that if he couldn’t naturally have an heir with high magic power, he’d simply create one artificially.

He’d further enhanced the Kudou genes, created by planned crossbreeding via artificial fertilization and synthetic womb technology, then used the genetic material to create the strongest magician. Minoru was the result. Publicly, the story was that Minoru had been born after Makoto and his wife opted for in vitro fertilization. However, the truth was not nearly so decent.

Minoru’s genetic father was Makoto Kudou.

His genetic mother was Makoto’s youngest sister, who had married into the Fujibayashi family.

In other words, Minoru was Kyouko’s half brother by a different father—a child born between siblings.

He was not a child born of incest, however. There had been no sexual relations between Makoto and his younger sister. They’d only provided the raw genetic material. However, there was no mistaking the fact that he was a child born to blood-related parents.

No one knew if Minoru’s health condition was because of faulty genetic modification or an effect of the inbreeding. However, there was no doubt that this unique conception had cursed him.

From a magic-power reinforcing point of view, the engineering had been a success.

Minoru had some of the highest latent magical ability among modern magicians. His magic power could rival both Miyuki Shiba’s and Angelina Sirius’s.

But because of his extremely frail constitution, Minoru couldn’t consistently display that magic power. He hadn’t descended into infirmity like Mio Itsuwa, so he could use magic however he wanted when he wasn’t sick. But as someone whose condition would leave him bed-ridden for even the smallest things, chances to flex his talent as a magician were limited.

Not only was Retsu’s grandson unable to live a full-fledged magician’s life, he couldn’t even serve as a biological weapon, the role he’d been born to fulfill as an engineered magician. And after over ten years of agony, Retsu had come to one conclusion: It was the corruption of modern magic research, hell bent on turning magicians into living weapons, that had cast a terrible curse upon Minoru.

We must stop seeing magicians as weapons.

We must not create any more children like Minoru.

For the hundredth time, perhaps for the thousandth time, Retsu hardened his resolve.