On August 5, the 2096 Nine School Competition OPENED at last.

Both the events and the way they were held had been changed. To begin with, Pillar Break and Shields Down would have qualifying leagues, each with nine entrants (or teams) split into three entrants/teams each, then the finals league, with the three first-place entrants (teams) from those three groups. In Rower and Gunner, each individual entrant or pair would run the course alone, competing with others for time adjusted for accuracy rate.

Though the rules of Mirage Bat had changed the least, they had still been altered so that its number of qualifying entrants was twenty-seven—three from each school—with the groupings changed from four entrants per group to three groups of four and three groups of five. Entry into one over the other was determined via blind draw. In addition, the maximum continuous duration of flight spells had been limited to sixty seconds. In other words, they’d created a rule saying the players had to land back on the ground in under a minute.

Monolith Code had been changed from an irregular qualifier/league-finals tournament format to a two-day-long round-robin league. Using all five stages to the fullest, they would have ten rounds, each with anywhere from four to eight matches. This meant the Monolith Code players would be in eight matches during days nine and ten of the competition, and on top of that, they’d enter into the Cross-Country Steeplechase on the eleventh and final day. It was predicted that this would place considerable physical and mental burdens on them.

The competition’s first day would consist of the Pillar Break paired qualifiers for men and women as well as the Rower and Gunner pairs.

“I would have had to trouble you greatly if our event times had overlapped, Isori.”

“But it looks like we don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

Accessing the tournament HQ’s competitor information page from the First High tent first thing in the morning, Tatsuya made a comment in relief, and Isori answered it with a smile. They were looking at the schedule for today’s matches.

The Pillar Break qualifiers would consist of nine matches each for men and women. This was half what it was before this year. One pair would also only be playing in two matches in one day. For this event, at least, the competitors’ burdens had been greatly reduced.

But because of that, though they’d had two courts for each gender until last year, they’d only have one for each this year, meaning the overall schedule was no less dense. However, it did create some leeway in each school’s schedule.

The reason Tatsuya had sighed in relief: because he’d learned Eimi’s race and Shizuku and Kanon’s matches wouldn’t overlap.

Tatsuya was in charge of Shizuku’s CAD for Pillar Break and Eimi’s CAD for Rower and Gunner. This was due to strong requests from each of them, but if Eimi’s race and one of the Kanon-Shizuku pair’s matches had overlapped, he would have had to ask Isori to support both Kanon and Shizuku for that match.

Normally, whether it was Pillar Break or RG (the competitors’ shortened nickname for Rower and Gunner), the technical staff wouldn’t have much to do during the match itself. They could only do minor CAD adjustments and coaching during matches in Shields Down, which had a two-round format, and Mirage Bat, played over the course of three periods. Even for pair events, one staff member for each wasn’t a problem, but Tatsuya would have still felt bad for leaving someone he was assigned to completely in someone else’s hands. If that possibility had become reality, he himself would have felt it to be something reprehensible.

The actual match schedule had Eimi’s race first that morning, with Shizuku playing in matches four and seven. Their match times wouldn’t overlap.

“I’ll be off to the RG course, then.”

“Do your best out there. Even though I don’t need to worry about you, Shiba.”

With a smile that seemed almost a waste to use on a guy, Isori saw Tatsuya off.

Of the three waiting rooms for players and staff built next to the starting line, Tatsuya opened the door for the first team. Nobody was inside. Even so, it was still over thirty minutes until race time. The technical staff would have to start getting set up now, but the players had time left.

“Good morning!”

Just as he said that, Azusa entered with an enthusiastic greeting.

“Morning, Shiba!”

Before Tatsuya could return it, Eimi appeared from behind her. Tatsuya felt a little like she’d spoiled his start, but he decided to respond one by one.

“Good morning, President, Amy. You came together today?”

By together, he was referring to the senior in Eimi’s pair, who had come inside with her. Of course, she had a quiet personality and had only given Tatsuya a light nod. Tatsuya returned the gesture in kind.

“Yep, we ate breakfast together. You weren’t waiting for very long, were you?” asked Eimi, not appearing particularly worried about it.

Tatsuya would be troubled if she had been, so he shook his head normally. “No, I pretty much just got here.”

“Oh, good!” She put her hands together and smiled sweetly. It may have seemed like a quite sly gesture depending on the viewer, but it suited Eimi well.

“Let’s get started on tuning your CAD right away, then,” Tatsuya said.

“We’ll start from there, too,” Azusa suggested to her own assigned player.

The first day’s results were in: Eimi and her partner had placed first in the pairs, and the male Rower and Gunner pair had placed third. The Kanon-Shizuku pair won a spot in the finals league, and the male Pillar Break pair also made it out of the qualifiers.

“Eimi, that was a nice race. You almost didn’t miss any of them.”

“Thanks, Subaru. I was surprised myself!”

Cheerful voices flew back and forth among dinner table seats, but they clearly hadn’t been easy victories.

“We didn’t expect Seventh High to do as spectacularly as they did.”

The mood in the staff’s seating area, where Azusa, Hattori, Isori, Kanon, Tatsuya, and Miyuki were, wasn’t quite like a vigil, but their expressions were serious as they began their first-day retrospection meeting.

“We placed third in the men’s and first in the women’s, but Seventh High placed first in the men’s and second in the women’s,” said Hattori in response to Azusa’s comment, reviewing their results for the day. Only the first event had ended, but they were second in the rankings. And tomorrow’s solo entrant Rower and Gunner was the event they’d predicted they’d have the most trouble with.

“People don’t put Seventh High and water together for nothing, huh? I don’t think we were very far behind when it came to spell accuracy, but their level of skill was amazing.”

After Isori’s honest remark, Hattori spoke again, in a circumspect tone. “It might be more beneficial in terms of wins and losses later if Seventh High takes first place in both the solo runs tomorrow.”

“Because it won’t open too much of a score difference with Third High?”

“Yeah, and I know it’s a pessimistic idea.”

Third High had placed second in the men’s and third in the women’s, giving them 60 points. Today’s point rankings had First High with 20 more than them. It was the result of only one event, but the idea of not being able to put a bigger point difference between them when they were leading was certainly a negative way of thinking. That was just how little confidence they had in the solo event tomorrow.

“…Shouldn’t we have, you know, had Shiba assigned to the RG solo event? Anyone he’s assigned to would probably win.”

It was Kanon who had suddenly come out with that wild idea. Still, it was logically correct—but actually saying it was reckless, to put it lightly.

Sure enough, the staff seats felt a freezing pressure hit them. Kanon had flinched out of reflex, but Tatsuya had restrained Miyuki, and Isori, Kanon, thus preventing an off-court melee.

“…It wouldn’t be possible to switch engineer assignments now. And just because I’m assigned to someone doesn’t necessarily mean the results will turn out better.”

The first half of his comment was something everyone—even Kanon—had to agree made sense, but after hearing the second half, their convinced faces turned into suspicious ones. It was clear that the winning women’s pair in today’s event owed much of their victory to the incredible accuracy and efficiency of their shooting magic.

“From what we’ve seen today, the first practice run seems to greatly affect the end result. I don’t think it would make sense to even have pair entrants give solo entrants advice about that, do you?”

This, too, was a sound argument, but Tatsuya was obviously steering the conversation away. This time, though, nobody could lecture him, apply any brute force, or do anything even more basic than that.

Though Miyuki staying in Tatsuya’s room was partly an open secret, being witnessed at the scene would be bad for a few reasons. Thus, they couldn’t use his room as a meeting place like last year.

Still, that didn’t mean they could stay up all night chatting in the lobby or the café. The hotel was already full—they’d restricted the cheering members who could stay at the hotel to twenty from each school. The present situation was that anyone else in these groups would stay at dispersed places outside the base. If they sat in the lobby or the café for a long period of time, they were sure to have cold eyes directed at them.

Instead, Tatsuya’s group had made their small-talk gathering place the spot next to the work vehicle they used for CAD tuning.

“…It’s kind of like we’re camping out,” Honoka noted.

“Camping out on hotel property?” Shizuku quipped.

“But that’s why it feels strange, doesn’t it?”

“Quite right, quite right.”

The exchange became a turnabout victory for Honoka.

The girls were sitting on folding camping chairs. In front of them was a fold-up camping table. Above their heads was an awning tent stretching from the roof of the camping car.

In point of fact, the work vehicle First High’s technical staff used for tune-ups was an appropriation of a camping car of a type called a cab conversion. It was a marked enhancement considering the simple, small van they used last year, seeming almost extravagant. Students from other schools would actually boggle when they saw it.

The ringleader behind this outrage was, though easily imaginable, Miyuki. She had harbored dissatisfaction and anger at how her beloved brother had been forced to move around in a cramped work vehicle last year. Even after a year, those feelings hadn’t faded, and she’d forced through an improvement to the livability for the technical staff. Additionally, the funds for it had been covered by a donation from the Kitayama family. Miyuki, for her part, had planned to make FLT (in other words, her father) pay for it, but she couldn’t bring herself to refuse Shizuku’s father’s goodwill.

Of course, while she’d done all that, she’d also made Tatsuya ride on the bus; when it came to her brother, Miyuki would have her way no matter what. Well, in the end, it had resulted in an improvement in comfort for the rest of the technical staff and not for Tatsuya’s, so perhaps she had actually acted impartially.

All of which, too, was no more than reasoning based on hindsight.

“Here’s your coffee.”

“Right, thanks.”

This conversation wasn’t between Miyuki and Tatsuya. Against her will, it had been Pixie who made the coffee for him. And not only for him—she passed out coffee to everyone else, too.

“…Thanks.”

“…”

Miyuki and Minami couldn’t completely hide their displeasure. But from a system standpoint, Pixie had full control over the camping car’s kitchen. Neither of them had any way to stop her.

“Oh, thank you.”

The one who looked at Pixie in the most natural way, like any other human, was Kento. He had been nominated as a candidate for Tatsuya’s aide for this Nine School Competition, and he had won the position splendidly.

“Mizuki, it’s not that Erika isn’t feeling well, right?”

Perhaps to distract herself from her unamused mood, Miyuki asked Mizuki something she’d heard earlier.

Eight people were here: Tatsuya, Miyuki, Honoka, Shizuku, Mikihiko, Mizuki, Minami, and Kento. And Pixie, who couldn’t be counted as one person, was waiting on them.

“Yes… She said she had minor business to take care of.”

At this hour, with night having fallen long ago, few students were outside. Still, First High’s technical staff weren’t the only ones who had parked a work vehicle in the parking lot to adjust their CADs. For a while now, engineers from other schools had been passing by, casually stealing glances at the out-of-place tea party. First High’s competitors would probably learn about this by tomorrow as well. If that happened, the following nights were sure to have an increased number of participants.

On the other hand, the only ones here were those Tatsuya and Miyuki had directly or indirectly told about it. And the siblings had obviously invited Erika and Leo as well. They were nowhere to be found, though.

“Leo said he was going to come, but…”

Mikihiko was the one to explain that, his tone sounding somehow like he was making an excuse. He’d only invited Leo over a voice call; it wasn’t like they were rooming together. One couldn’t blame him for not knowing what Leo was doing, but Mikihiko feeling like he had to defend him somehow spoke to the kindness of his personality.

“Umm, I actually saw Saijou on my way here earlier.”

And then an unexpected person provided information. The commenter was a smiling Kento, sitting directly across from Tatsuya (who always had Miyuki and Honoka on either side, so he would have at least been in front of him). He’d been working here ever since dinner, so as they were about to have their teatime, he’d gone back to his room and showered before coming back.

“The president of Rosen’s Japanese branch stopped him in the lobby.”

“Rosen?” repeated Tatsuya dubiously, as he had advance knowledge from what Mikihiko had told him.

He looked over at Mikihiko, who was staring right back with the same question in his own eyes.

“Yes. I’m sure that man had to be Ernst Rosen.”

Tatsuya and Mikihiko only made eye contact for a moment before Tatsuya quickly returned his gaze to Kento. Without noticing, Kento replied to Tatsuya’s question with a smile, like a dog running up to its owner, its tail wagging.

“Saijou seemed like he was a little put off by it, though.”

A moment after Kento added that—

“What about me?”

—Leo showed up, as though he’d been waiting for the perfect timing.

Kento hadn’t exactly been talking behind his back, but it also didn’t seem like he avoided the awkwardness of having brought up his upperclassman in conversation.

“About how he saw you and Ernst Rosen in the lobby.”

Before it could come to that, Tatsuya took up the mantle of talking to Leo.

“W-well, yeah… Anyway, that’s why I’m late. Sorry about that.”

“We don’t mind. Not like there’s any assigned seating or anything.”

As Kento had sensed, Leo didn’t seem to have particularly enjoyed his conversation with Rosen. Without bothering him any more by asking about it, Tatsuya gestured for Leo to take a seat.

Teatime wrapped up after ten PM. Mikihiko and Leo, as well as Kento just because he was a guy, too, walked Shizuku, Honoka, and Mizuki back, while Miyuki and Minami stayed behind under the pretext of helping to clean up.

It was a well-known secret that Miyuki was staying in the same room as Tatsuya. Nevertheless, Miyuki didn’t have the nerve to go back to Tatsuya’s room while Honoka and the others were watching. She wasn’t that defiant toward her—at least, not yet. Honoka didn’t want to see the two of them disappearing behind a door together, either. Miyuki had remained here out of a fortunate crossing of their respective feelings… Though for Minami, her sense of duty as a maid was mostly what had kept her here, wanting to at least clean up afterward.

And Minami had her fill of that desire. As for why, it was because Pixie, ordered by Tatsuya, was currently handling other jobs and wasn’t helping clean up the table.

At the moment, Pixie was sitting in a camping chair as Tatsuya looked down at her, her eyelids closed and her hands covering her ears. The bodies of 3H models didn’t hear sounds only through their ears, and they could perceive their surroundings with optical sensors even if their eyes were closed. In fact, if she’d wanted to cut off external input, she could have just turned off her sensors, but such an act, from a mechanical standpoint, would have been meaningless. Pixie was adopting such a human posture because her nonmechanical feelings were currently at work.

“How about it? Could you detect them?”

“I did not detect signals from any comrades.”

After Tatsuya, standing in front of her, asked the question, Pixie answered using active telepathy. Since the moment their little get-together had ended, she’d been ordered to search for the locations of any parasites—what was inside the Parasidolls—which had been made to possess and fuse with the feminine robots.

According to the information from the Kuroba family, the Parasidolls and Pixie were essentially the same. Retsu Kudou had probably made the Parasidolls after he found out about Pixie in an attempt to copy her. That was Tatsuya’s read on it. Their bodies wouldn’t have been made from housework-supporting robots, of course—doubtless they’d been built for use in combat. But he felt strongly that, considering his usage of gynoids rather than androids, he’d had Pixie in mind first and foremost.

Parasites could sense other parasites. Not only could individuals possessing humans sense one another, ones residing in humans and ones residing in machines could also sense their kin. The incident in February had proven it. In that case, they should have been able to mutually detect individuals both residing in machines.

Tatsuya decided the reason Pixie couldn’t sense the parasite dolls’ location was because those Parasidolls were currently in a state in which they couldn’t be detected. It couldn’t be that parasites in machines couldn’t detect one another. At the same time, he found it hard to believe that the Kudou family still hadn’t brought the Parasidolls here.

Have they put them in a sleep state? They’re being very careful…

Pixie had told him before that it was difficult to detect low-activity individuals. Did the Kudou’s engineers know that as well? In any case, all he’d learned today was that the only time he’d be able to figure out where the parasite dolls were being stored like this would, at the very least, be right before they took action.

Minami went next to Tatsuya and told him they were done cleaning up. He wouldn’t get any more by persisting any further in this. Tatsuya ordered Pixie to move into suspend mode after going back in the vehicle and locking the entrance, then returned to the hotel with Miyuki and Minami in tow.

August 6, before dawn on the second day of the competition.

Though the sun rose extremely early in the summer, the sky was still dark, blue just beginning to creep into the black. It was that odd twilight time, neither night nor morning, as Miyuki sat at the bedside in the dark. She sat patiently, gazing at her beloved brother’s face as he slept.

Many would have surely found it surprising to know, but Tatsuya was a heavy sleeper. Miyuki had left the room dark, but it would take more than turning on the lights for him to come to. Even making annoying noises in the same room wouldn’t wake him up.

Still, while many would nod and agree with this, Tatsuya was, despite how deeply he slept, a morning person. First off, he would wake up every morning when he wanted to. He didn’t need an alarm clock. His biological clock alone was enough. In addition, he was sensitive to malice and ill intent. Even if you snuck in quieter than a pin falling, if anyone who would harm him or Miyuki got close, he’d wake up immediately. And even if you approached within a certain distance without any malice, his mind would rise from its slumber and his eyes would open.

That distance, that boundary, had no regularity and depended on the time and situation. Sometimes he wouldn’t open his eyes even if someone got close enough to breathe on him, and other times he’d wake up the moment anyone entered the room. Miyuki assumed that before he went to sleep, he probably decided how near he’d allow someone to come. Her guess was that when he let others get incredibly close to him, it was a result of falling asleep before setting up a chosen distance.

In a situation like this, with them sleeping in the same room, he would have made sure that she could get up and move around normally without crossing the boundary. In fact, even when she brought a chair next to his bed and sat down, he showed no signs of waking up.

But she wasn’t sure about anything more than this. Another ten centimeters closer, and her brother could wake up. Or he might not, even if she climbed into the same bed and slept next to him.

Miyuki wanted to know.

How close would her brother allow her to get? At what distance was she allowed to be at?

How close will Brother allow me…?

Suddenly, Miyuki felt cold. Her heart hadn’t chilled at the idea or anything. It was midsummer but also before dawn, when the temperature was low, and all she wore were thin summery pajamas. If she would wear them the whole time, it was only natural she’d feel cold after a while.

And then Miyuki’s mind began to drift in a stranger direction.

Isn’t he cold?

This was the first time Miyuki had actually spent an entire night in the same room as Tatsuya. Last night—or more accurately, two nights ago—she’d been so excited it was like she’d tripped her own breaker, falling asleep before she realized it. She’d been knocked out until morning. From last night to this morning, though, she’d been thinking about Tatsuya sleeping in the bed next to her and had woken up several times. Eventually, despite day being yet to break, she’d taken up the mantle of stalker at his pillow side. Her lack of sleep was starting to wear away at her self-restraint.

She reached her hand out for his forehead as though he were a patient with a fever. Her mind seemed clear, but it was actually in the clouds, and in it lay not her apprehension from a moment ago—that he might wake up.

Fortunately, he didn’t open his eyes. His forehead felt icy to her palm.

He’s cold…

In addition to Tatsuya’s body temperature falling during sleep—his body didn’t perform unnecessary metabolization, so it was normally colder than most people already—Miyuki’s perception was affected because in her exhausted, sleep-deprived state, her own body temperature had risen. Her thoughts, however…

How terrible… I have to warm him up.

…had short-circuited.

Umm, I think…in situations like this, body warmth is best.

That was something she’d learned for if she was stranded or otherwise met with an accident. If her brain had been functioning properly, it definitely would have overheated with embarrassment at the idea, but now that she’d, at some point, gotten her hands on a pretext—nursing him—she thought it was the natural thing to do.

…I can’t take off my clothes, but…

Even so, she seemed to have at least the bare minimum of shame. Forgetting her hesitation at how Tatsuya could wake up, she softly nestled in next to him.

Brother, Miyuki will warm you up…

Miyuki, already half asleep, set forth on a journey to a dream world for real this time, holding Tatsuya close.

*   *   *

After confirming that his sister was now breathing regularly, Tatsuya opened his closed eyes.

She finally went to sleep…

Gently removing Miyuki’s arm from his chest, Tatsuya slowly got out of bed. He’d actually woken up by the time Miyuki had reached out for his forehead. But she’d been acting strangely (he could sense it without having to look), so he’d pretended to be asleep to make sure she was all right.

Even sleeping with a one-of-a-kind beauty like this, fortunately, wouldn’t set his libido to work. That wasn’t to say he had no sexual urges at all, though, and it made him far too uncomfortable thinking about embracing his sister in the same futon. The soft sensation of her skin had felt good, which only multiplied the embarrassment. He obviously couldn’t have fallen back asleep like that.

Nevertheless, with a match waiting in the wings tomorrow for his sister, he couldn’t wake her back up at this hour. He didn’t know how long she’d been up for, but there was at least time for her to get some more sleep.

Careful not to make any noise, he changed into casual clothes. After stroking Miyuki’s hair and hoping to himself that she slept well, he quietly exited the room to take in some of the morning air.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, good…morning…?”

As Azusa answered Tatsuya and Miyuki after they entered their headquarters tent bringing breakfast sandwiches with them, she tilted her head, confused. That was why her greeting came out so stilted.

Miyuki, who was trailing behind Tatsuya, seemed oddly—or rather, very embarrassed about something. As far as Azusa could see, the distance between them was a little wider, about thirty centimeters to be exact. And the corners of Miyuki’s eyes were slightly reddened and her gaze was a bit downcast.

The Pillar Break solo event was today, which Miyuki would be participating in. First High’s strategy aimed for an overall victory, and it predicted first place in the women’s Pillar Break. They’d calculated it to be the event where they could most surely acquire points, and even the ever-timid Azusa wanted to avoid the worst-case scenario of a loss in qualifiers. She couldn’t imagine Miyuki, others aside, losing at this event, but her current state still made her feel a tinge of unease.

“…What happened?”

Azusa asked the question because she wanted to rid herself of it, put it down to a vague sense of anxiety.

“What do you mean?”

But when Tatsuya asked her a question back, in a tone that neither confirmed nor denied her own, she found herself unable to ask anything else.

Ultimately, Miyuki fought through the qualifiers without letting her opponents come anywhere close. Their male competitor had been in a bit of a pinch at one point, but he safely made it out of the qualifiers as well. And just like the head minds of First High had been concerned about, both their solo competitors for Rower and Gunner took fourth place, ending with the miserable result of zero points gained.

As for the other schools’ results, Seventh High had won both the male and female event to get 100 points each for a total of 200, keeping them at the top of the leaderboard since yesterday. Both Third High’s competitors had won second to get 60 points each for a total of 120, overtaking First High and leaping out into second place. Considering the events after tomorrow, Third High would believe they could immediately overtake Seventh High. It was a great start for Third High—or it should have been.

The mood during Third High’s dinner, however, was not dominated by jubilance. A heavy air hung over the area where the juniors were sitting. The source of these dark clouds was Kichijouji, who hadn’t been able to win the Rower and Gunner solo event.

“Kichijouji, second place is still great. Don’t let it get to you.”

“That’s right. I got second, too, but I don’t mind it that much.”

As they were cleaning up their trays after they’d finished eating, some seniors passed by to encourage him but to little effect.

“I never thought Seventh High would come out with something like that…”

Kichijouji, who had been silently working his chopsticks, albeit slowly, suddenly murmured in frustration. If there hadn’t been dishes in front of him, he might have put his face down on the table.

He wasn’t shocked purely because he’d lost. The problem was how he’d lost. He prided himself on his ingenuity, so it always dealt a bigger blow to him when he lost strategically, rather than in terms of ability. And he felt like it wasn’t the strength of his opponent today that had done him in but their game plan.

“Look, you couldn’t help it.”

It was easier to comfort someone when they were complaining or whining rather than when they were in a silent depression. The juniors around him took the chance to give him a few words.

“He’s right. Abandoning shooting with this rule set is absurd!”

Seventh High’s tactic had been simple and unexpected. If they could hit the targets with indiscriminate, mechanical shots, all the better—the player could devote his remaining magic power to controlling his boat, shortening the time little by little. Rower and Gunner’s rules calculated the time taken to hit a single target by dividing the fastest team’s time by the most accurate team’s number of targets hit. They then multiplied that time by the number of targets the current teams hit, then subtracted those from their race times. Whoever had the shortest remaining time would be the winner. In other words, if there was a small time difference, whichever team hit more targets would have the advantage—and conversely, as long as there wasn’t a big gap in successful hits, whichever team had a shorter time would be in a good spot.

The one who happened to have the most targets hit in the men’s solo event was actually Third High’s Kichijouji. That would mean the time difference was larger than the one between his pinpoint shooting and their indiscriminate blasting. The result of winning through brute force rather than pursuing precision didn’t sit well with him.

“Yeah, all the pair teams focused on hitting the targets.”

“And that was actually how the First High girls beat Seventh High.”

“They just got lucky with random hits. Sometimes that happens in sports. You think so too, right, Masaki?”

The male second-year students turned to Masaki, looking for agreement. And then all the people who had been comforting Kichijouji realized something odd.

When they thought back on it, Masaki hadn’t offered a single word of comfort to Kichijouji. In fact, he hadn’t said anything since dinner started today. His hands were bringing the food to his mouth, but his heart seemed like it was wrapped up with something else.

“Masaki?”

“Hmm? Right. Like they say, victory depends on of the whims of fortune. Fortune just happened to work against us this time. We lost out to Seventh High, but we turned things around against First High. As a whole, it’s not bad—in fact, I think we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

He seemed to have been listening to their conversation, but they couldn’t help but feel like his remark was somewhat forced. The classmates surrounding Kichijouji, boy and girl alike, exchanged glances.

“I guess… Yeah, we did turn the tide against First High.”

“Our ultimate goal is to win the whole thing, after all. We’ve got plenty to do for the rest of the competition, too.”

“In other words, dragging this behind me is the worst thing I could do, right? I get it, Masaki.”

But Masaki’s words seemed to have helped Kichijouji get over it. When their dinner hour ended, nobody came forth to interrogate Masaki about his unnatural attitude.

They’d planned another tea party for tonight, but it would only be starting once everyone’s work, beginning with CAD tuning, was done. Tomorrow would be the men’s pair Shields Down in the morning and the women’s pair finals league for Pillar Break. Tatsuya was already assigned to Shizuku since the qualifiers for the latter, and he was also assigned to Kirihara, one half of the Kirihara-Tomitsuka Shields Down pair. The day after, he’d be with Miyuki, their solo women’s Pillar Break entrant, in the morning and then Sawaki during the men’s solo Shields Down event in the afternoon. For Tatsuya, in the competition at least, those two days were estimated to be the busiest.

“Shiba, I finished doing the voltage checks on Kirihara’s CAD.”

“Could you go through the auto debugger next?”

“Okay.”

Using Kento as his assistant, he was tuning Shizuku’s and Kirihara’s CADs. The work was less tuning and more inspection, and the reason he had Kento helping him was for educational purposes—to instruct him in the proper way to tune CADs. But Kento was very deft and had an abundance of knowledge, so he was a good enough assistant even for Tatsuya.

The surprise was that, as the end of their work was coming into sight, someone came to visit Tatsuya.

“Ichijou? What’s wrong?”

The one who had stopped by their work vehicle was Masaki.

“Sorry for coming so late. Do you have a moment?”

“It’s not that late for us, so I can spare a little time. Kento, let’s take a break.”

“All right,” he replied.

Tatsuya and Masaki moved to a place where the work vehicle’s lights didn’t reach.

“You’re letting a freshman be an engineer?” Masaki asked as he walked beside him, sounding a little surprised.

“Well, I was a freshman last year, too.”

But the somewhat sarcastic response from Tatsuya made him give a pained grin—maybe he’d overstepped his bounds.

“Anyway, what is it? The only reason I can think of for you to visit me is about the Steeplechase stuff.” Without matching the relatively friendly attitude Masaki had adopted, Tatsuya tried to head off the next thing he said.

Masaki made a sour face for a moment but then thought better of it—now wasn’t the time for idle chatter. “Yeah, that’s right. Things are looking a lot fishier than we thought.”

“Did you find something out?” Tatsuya stopped walking and turned to him.

Masaki met his question head-on. “We haven’t exactly figured it out yet, but it seems like the hard-liner faction in the JDF has something to do with this.”

“The hard-liner faction?” repeated Tatsuya dubiously.

Masaki, too, immediately realized he wouldn’t know what that meant by itself. “Right, sorry. It’s a group of anti-GAA hard-liners in the JDF.”

“You’re saying they’re pulling strings behind the competition?”

Considered on its own, the scheme was easily convincing. A faction that desired victory through war would choose magicians with high military aptitude in order to swiftly expand their combat power. High school students wouldn’t serve that purpose immediately, but the hard-liners probably didn’t want an outbreak of hostilities in the next few days. And looking at the results of this Nine School Competition, anyone could easily imagine them expanding this methodology to magic sports consisting mainly of university students.

However, the Kudou family—well, Retsu Kudou—and the hard-liners joining forces was a difficult union to imagine. Tatsuya had heard before that Retsu Kudou hated the act of using magicians as weapons. It was secondhand information, to be sure, but highly trustworthy. If he’d only heard it from Fujibayashi, he could consider it to be family bias, but even Kazama, who was against the Ten Master Clans system, had said the same thing.

What Retsu loathed was using magicians as weapons—he did not reject using them as soldiers. Paradoxical, yes, but that was exactly why the old man wouldn’t ever make magic high school students into guinea pigs in a way that seemed so underhanded. Soldiers weren’t expendable, after all. They were a valuable resource.

“Colonel Sakai seems to want magic high schoolers like us to volunteer for the JDF directly without going to the Academy of Defense first.”

Masaki’s continued explanation perplexed Tatsuya even more. He understood—if the hard-liners’ goal was to secure volunteer soldiers as immediate combat power, they wouldn’t stand opposed to Retsu Kudou. If that was also their goal for introducing heavily combat-oriented events here, then that made their intentions pretty clear. They probably wanted to give magic high school students a taste of the thrill of releasing their combat instincts and destructive impulses. By doing so, they’d doubtlessly try to increase the number of young people aspiring to be military magicians.

In spite of being one of those young men—or not even, as he was still a boy—Tatsuya thought about all this as though it wasn’t his problem. Stimulating combat instincts and destructive impulses was a trick even the Yotsuba used in their training.

But that alone wouldn’t explain the spell to make the Parasidolls go berserk. How much did the hard-liners know, and how deeply were they involved? Were they hand in hand with the mastermind, or were they just playing a supporting role?

And then a little question floated to the surface of Tatsuya’s mind.

“…I’m impressed you actually learned about Colonel Sakai by name.”

The Ichijou family must have had their own lines into the JDF. But it certainly wouldn’t have been easy, ascertaining even the ringleader’s name in this short period of time. It wasn’t a popular political party or anything, so he knew they wouldn’t have created registers for each faction and passed them out.

Masaki gave a pained look at Tatsuya’s question, which also sounded like him talking to himself. “Colonel Sakai is an old acquaintance of my dad’s…”

This confession surprised even Tatsuya. “Ichijou, I know I’m probably wrong here, but—”

“You are wrong! Don’t misunderstand me, Shiba!”

When he waxed theatrical and tried to draw him out, Masaki rejected it, consternation plain on his face. It was a relief for Tatsuya, too, to hear him reject it. More enemies were manageable—but if the situation got any more complicated, it would be more trouble than it was worth. He was ready to flip over the game board by force if it came to that.

Actually… I might as well just wreck the Steeplechase course. Then it won’t matter what traps they have in place.

“They were only acquaintances a long time ago!”

Masaki, utterly ignorant of the all too ominous things Tatsuya was considering, was in a rush for a different reason.

“Colonel Sakai was the commanding officer on-site during the Sado Incursion four years ago.”

The Kudou family’s goals and the JDF’s ambitions never had anything to do with me anyway.

“You probably know this, but my father was the centerpiece of the volunteer army that retook Sado. When he did, he asked Colonel Sakai if he could bring a regiment-sized force toward Niigata and the Hokuriku region. The government and the JDF were both paying attention to Okinawa at the time, and since the volunteer army had retaken Sado for the moment, the JDF was planning to settle things with a single battalion.”

It’s not imperative that First High wins the overall competition, either. Steeplechase is on the last day anyway—Miyuki’s victory and Honoka’s and Shizuku’s and the rest will have clinched first place by then. If the competition ends midway through, right on the heels of the Thesis Competition, the Magic Association will lose all credibility—but what do I care?

“Colonel Sakai answered Dad’s request. He’s still thankful for it. They did actually field a large force back then, and Dad says that’s why they didn’t attack after that. And I think so, too.”

If I fire a Material Burst at a spot just beneath the surface, they probably won’t be able to tell it apart from a conventional weapon explosion. Even with my self-made Third Eye, I can aim at microscopic amounts of matter up to close distances of a few kilometers, and if it’s right under the surface of the earth, it shouldn’t stress the volcanic chain. In the middle of the night, it wouldn’t harm any students from any school. The issue would be convincing Miyuki and making it look like someone else did it…

“But after the battle in Okinawa wrapped up, the colonel tried to launch a reverse invasion against the New Soviet Union! No matter how much my father advised him not to, the colonel never changed his mind. Of course, General HQ wouldn’t have ever permitted something that risky. Ultimately, the reverse invasion never came to pass, but apparently the colonel and my dad were in a pretty heated debate until the regiment returned to its regular stations. It was like a falling out, and he hasn’t talked to the colonel since.”

If only some criminal syndicate guys were hanging around like last year—I could have placed responsibility on them. I wonder if there’s anyone who would cause a potential uprising lurking in the JDF.

“When I was talking about this with him last night, he was worried he might do something stupid like cause an uprising, but then he shook his head—saying there would be nothing he could do about that, since they’re strangers at this point.”

“An uprising?”

Until then, Tatsuya had been thinking about things entirely unrelated to Masaki’s excuses. But when a term that matched one in his thoughts reached his ears, he naturally shifted his attention to what Masaki was saying.

Masaki, for his part, was surprised at Tatsuya suddenly reacting when he’d been (or so he’d thought) silently listening to his defense and then felt a newfound sense of panic, thinking the term uprising was too extreme.

“No, that’s not to say he suspects Colonel Sakai’s group to be plotting an uprising. Obviously, I don’t know the details myself—there’s just some rumors saying they might do it soon.”

“So there’s no evidence?”

“Well, no.”

“But it’s still a rumor?”

“Seems like it… Anyway!”

Masaki must have felt like this was headed in a bad direction for him. Raising his voice, he veered the conversation back on course.

“Colonel Sakai and the Ichijou family don’t have any connection now. They knew each other in the past, which just means they had a lot of common acquaintances. That’s where he got information on this stuff from. The colonel’s group can’t possibly be plotting rebellion, either. If they are plotting something, they probably just want to get a lot of young magicians in one place and get them into their faction so they can attack the GAA.”

“That by itself is plenty terrifying in its own right… But thank you. This really helped.”

“I-it wasn’t like I was investigating this for you, so you don’t need to thank me. Anyway, that’s how it is, so they probably won’t interfere with any of the events while they’re happening. They’ll most likely act after the competition is over. Either at the closing ceremony party or they’ll contact people individually… If I learn more, I’ll contact you.”

“Thanks.”

Tatsuya saw off Masaki, who was leaving more restlessly than he needed to, with a short word of gratitude. He knew Masaki’s deduction was wrong, but he didn’t intend to get him involved in the parasite doll business.

The hard-liners…

Now that he had a concrete candidate to serve as a stand-in, Tatsuya had actually regained his calm. He clearly didn’t have enough time for any covert sabotage. They’d gotten to the point where only ten days were left until the Cross-Country Steeplechase, the appointed time for the experiment to be conducted. Completing any schemes in such a short interval would be difficult even with Yakumo’s help. The Yotsuba would have made it possible, perhaps. Unfortunately, Maya would never help him bomb part of the Mount Fuji maneuvering ground.

This isn’t like me. I seem to be getting too indecisive over this stuff…

By using that phrasing, Tatsuya admitted that he was tired. For tonight, he ordered himself to push the parasite dolls from his mind and relax at the tea party with his sister and friends.

The competition’s third day would have the men’s Shields Down pair qualifiers and finals in the morning, with the men’s Pillar Break pair finals league.

And currently, they were right in the middle of the third match of the men’s Shields Down pair finals league. First High and Third High had each won one match in the finals league. Whoever won this match would be the men’s Shields Down pair champions.

Tomitsuka held up his shield and charged. Third High’s players, who knew from previous matches that both First High’s competitors were close combat types, had been constantly fighting Kirihara and Tomitsuka from a distance. However, their long-range spells were directly hitting a narrow but high-density Area Interference deployed by Tomitsuka, or so the Third High players thought. In actuality, they were being blocked without exception by his contact-type Program Demolition. The Third High players, under the wrong impression, fired masses of compressed air at them, but…

“Yahhhh!”

A shock wave fired from Tomitsuka’s shield, throwing the compressed air into chaos, reduced them to a mere stiff wind.

It was a compound technique, involving a derivative of the acceleration spell Explosion and the movement spell Stasis. Rather than applying radial acceleration to a population, its event alteration gave an acceleration vector to the gas in contact with the shield, perpendicular to the shield’s surface. (Stasis was to prevent the recoil from this.)

Tomitsuka hadn’t been able to learn an attack spell using air—a popular technique for modern magicians. For that type of spell, you needed to maintain the air’s compressed state until it got close to the enemy or contacted them. Tomitsuka, who couldn’t control magic any farther than his hands or feet could reach, naturally felt like he was bad at it.

But the reason he hadn’t been able to learn this type of spell at all was indeed an issue of the mind. As long as you stood on the earth, air was all around you. And that included within reach of your hands. Simply accelerating air that was close at hand didn’t require a long-distance control spell. For example, all Sawaki’s Mach Punch technique did was use air fixed around his fist to push on the air he came in contact with. It was just hard to immediately follow up a spell that accelerated your flesh—even if it was only a single part of it—to the speed of sound with one that moved a fixed air mass at the speed of sound. Tricks that fired pressure waves never had any remote control involved.

Tatsuya, also one of the operations staff, had been the one to contrive that theoretical outline. But it had been Chiaki Hirakawa who had successfully modified an activation sequence and optimized his CAD so that he could learn and master Blast.

Chiaki had always been better with hardware, like the CADs themselves, than software such as activation sequences, and while she was fine at adjusting the programs, she wasn’t great at arranging them. But when she’d heard Tomitsuka’s idea for a zero-range Blast, she’d visited their instructor Jennifer Smith every day, tackled the activation program arranging she found so difficult, and had finally assembled an activation sequence for Blast that Tomitsuka could easily use. One could say it was thanks to Chiaki that Tomitsuka could use Blast now, albeit at zero range.

Spotting the right timing to destroy Third High’s attack, Kirihara stepped out in front. In terms of ring positioning, Tomitsuka was in the center, the Third High pair was on the edge, and Kirihara was between them.

Kirihara squatted, went down to a knee and, as though falling down, slammed his shield into the ring.

A beat later, the ring shook. He’d used magic to send an oscillatory wave, its cycle nudged to align with the vibrations leaping off the ring from the strike, into them.

The shaking was greatest in the center. However, the psychological effects were heavier on the Third High pair, who stood at the edge. After all, if they fell from the ring, they’d be disqualified.

The other two didn’t let the opening out of their grasp. Tomitsuka dashed in with a self-acceleration spell, overtaking Kirihara and hitting a Third High player with his shield. This time, with a spell he excelled in, one that targeted a fixed object—Explosion.

The other Third High player didn’t have time to worry about his partner falling out of the ring. Kirihara thrust the edge of his shield out at him.

A modified High-Frequency Blade. Rather than cleaving the Third High competitor’s shield, it shattered it. Without having to wait for round two, First High clinched victory in the men’s pair event.

Kirihara grabbed Tomitsuka’s hand and lifted it in the air. In the staff seating built right next to the ring, Chiaki clapped her hands in joy. She’d had a sullen look this whole time, probably because she was sitting next to Tatsuya, but in the moment, she seemed to have forgotten even that detail.

Day three ended with First High taking third in the men’s Pillar Break pair event and first in the women’s pair event. In Shields Down, their men’s pair had taken first, and their women’s pair had lost in the qualifiers. The women’s Shields Down pair’s results had been a miscalculation, but it was because they’d been in the same group as Third High’s pair, which had won first place. If they’d beaten Third High in the qualifiers, the First High pair probably would have won. That was how heated that match had been.

But results were results. In every event today, Third High had taken at least second place. Third High had had 400 points at the end of day two, and so they’d opened their lead on First by 100 points.

Thanks to that, First High’s dinnertime wasn’t an excited one, filled with celebration for the victorious pairs. Instead—well, not exactly instead, but…

“Shizuku, congratulations on winning!”

“Well, you are strong, so it’s only natural.”

“Yep! Congrats, Shizuku!”

…words congratulating Shizuku on her victory were flying back and forth at the nighttime tea party they were holding at Tatsuya’s work vehicle.

“Thanks, everyone.”

Even Shizuku must have been happy with all the praise. With a subtle smile, she bowed her head slightly.

“Tomorrow it’ll be Miyuki’s turn.”

And then a little embarrassed but certainly not trying to hide it, Shizuku gave Miyuki some encouragement.

“Yes. I must do my best as well,” answered Miyuki seriously, a simple smile on her face.

“Actually, maybe you shouldn’t think about doing your very best. If you tense up, you could get stuck in a pitfall you didn’t see coming.”

“Miyuki couldn’t possibly lose just by getting stuck in her head, would she? The only thing she needs to worry about is getting disqualified from flying too long.”

“That would be the greatest pitfall of them all.”

“I swear… Subaru, Erika, do you both think of me as that clumsy?”

Perhaps Subaru and Erika had made banter disguised as urges for caution because they couldn’t endure the purity of the air coming off Shizuku and Miyuki. Not exactly as though to prove it, when Miyuki came back with a light humor in her tone, the entire group palpably relaxed.

“No, not exactly,” replied Subaru with a pained grin, and Miyuki didn’t pursue things any more than that, either.

The girls’ flowery chitchat rode the breeze up and melted into the night air. As expected, the nighttime tea party held at Tatsuya’s work vehicle had more people and was livelier for it.

Erika, too, who said she had something to do and couldn’t make it the first day, had been casually participating since last night. Subaru Satomi and Eimi Akechi had joined their ranks today. Soon, their camping table wouldn’t be enough. If any more people came, they’d have to get more chairs and tables. These were all the second-year girls, at least the athletes, so maybe they didn’t have to think about what they’d do if they had more people, though.

Incidentally, their little tea party had already spread to all the First High students by the following morning. And the reason Eimi and Subaru had joined them only tonight was not because they’d run out of modesty after one night had passed.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better today, Amy. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if you’d kept pouting like that all night.”

“I—I was not! I wasn’t pouting!”

It wasn’t the most important thing she had to remind her of…but Subaru soothed the angrily arguing Eimi with an “Okay, okay.” It was unclear whether or not she was seriously trying to soothe her, but that only went to show how bad Eimi’s mental state was. At least, that’s what Subaru thought anyway.

Subaru and Eimi were in the same room. They weren’t as close to Tatsuya and the others as Honoka and Shizuku, and since coming to the venue, they’d stuck together, except for matches, of course. If Eimi was in an awful mood, that made Subaru uncomfortable, and more than that, Subaru wanted to do something for her as a friend.

“What happened?”

The one Miyuki asked was not Eimi herself but Subaru.

“It’s nothing, okay?!” cried Eimi from the side, her face red as she tried to interrupt them.

But that wasn’t enough to keep Subaru’s mouth closed. “Well, that Tomitsuka guy…,” she answered, closing one eye, shrugging with a sigh.

Her answer caused not only Miyuki but Honoka and Shizuku as well to suddenly look like things made sense.

“What about Tomitsuka?” asked Mizuki to Shizuku, who was sitting next to her.

But the one who answered the question was Erika. “He was probably flirting with that woman or something.”

“That…woman?”

“Hirakawa! Chiaki Hirakawa.”

And then, Mizuki too finally seemed to understand what Erika wanted to say. But she still seemed unconvinced as she leveled an inquisitive stare at Eimi.

“Amy, it is Tomitsuka we’re talking about. I think he was probably just expressing gratitude.” Honoka, who had seen Tomitsuka and Chiaki talking familiarly (well, not quite, considering Chiaki looked downcast for a lot of it) at dinner, offered words of comfort.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

Eimi enthusiastically denied it, but Honoka wasn’t the only one who’d seen Tomitsuka frequently talking to Chiaki. Miyuki and Shizuku had seen the same. Even aside from that, if you compared Eimi’s face to Subaru’s, it would be crystal clear which one was trustworthy.

“Amy, that won’t work.”

“What won’t?!”

In fact, given how easily readable her reaction was, it was dubious even whether she wanted to hide it. Of course, the way Shizuku had put that, in her abbreviated way, had at least sounded challenging.

“Unlike Tatsuya, Tomitsuka is actually dense, so you have to tell him straight.”

With the abbreviated part now spoken after the fact, Eimi gave off a queer look. It was the face of someone who didn’t feel like defending herself and knew she couldn’t even if she did.

Speaking of odd expressions, Tatsuya seemed troubled by the choice of what kind he should make, now that he’d been mentioned. But fortunately, his confusion didn’t last long.

“Master.”

Suddenly, Pixie called to him telepathically, and Tatsuya stood up, his face casual despite the inherent stress of the situation.

After all, he’d ordered Pixie not to use telepathy except in specific cases. One of those conditions must have been met.

“Brother?”

“Tatsuya?”

“The machine doesn’t seem to be working right. I’ll go check on it.”

Leaving Miyuki and Honoka with an excuse they could interpret in any number of ways, Tatsuya headed inside the work vehicle.

When he entered, Pixie had called up a map on the data panel in the driver’s seat. The cursor was in the middle of it, on a military-use road on the other side of the cross-country course from here.

“I’ve detected responses from comrades at this point.”

“Are the responses continuing?” asked Tatsuya, staring hard at the map.

“Yes. They seem to have recognized me as well.”

“Can you tell how many?”

“Sixteen individuals identified.”

That matched the number of gynoids Tatsuya had seen in old Lab Nine.

“Oh…” said Pixie with her mind’s voice. Lately, this sort of reflexive action had made her much more humanlike.

“What is it?”

“My comrades’ responses have disappeared all at once. They seem to have entered sleep.”

“Any signs of them moving?”

“Not while I was still receiving responses.”

At this stage, the Parasidolls’ handlers couldn’t publicly do maintenance at a JDF installation. Tatsuya didn’t know how many people knew about it, but this performance test was supposed to be a secret project. Tatsuya had figured they’d done something reasonable, like obtaining a mobile lab and transporting them inside the base like that.

He wasn’t sure how far their range to effectively monitor the Parasidolls extended. But if they were doing performance testing, they wouldn’t want to be very far away so they could monitor them during the tests. The very back of the course matched this condition. The only problem was…

Just as we detected the Parasidolls, they must have learned Pixie was here…

That point was a source of unease. In the same way Pixie could identify the Parasidolls, the Parasidolls could identify Pixie. Which also meant that the Kudou family’s experiment team would know their presence had been detected.

If Tatsuya was in their shoes, he’d move right now. Perhaps leave entirely until the day of the test. However, it was highly possible they wouldn’t be that cautious, given their safe positions under the patronage of Retsu Kudou.

Didn’t I decide just yesterday that there’s no point hesitating? So what if it’s a pointless trip? I should just attack them now…

After wavering, he made up his mind.

When he put on gear he’d hidden in the work vehicle and exited it, the tea party had already wrapped up.

“See you tomorrow, Tatsuya.”

“See you, too, Miyuki.”

“Tatsuya, thanks for the drinks.”

“Shiba, Miyuki, thanks for letting us come!”

“See you, Tatsuya.”

“Good night, Shiba.”

Their friends (plus one underclassman) began returning to the hotel as a lively bunch. After seeing them off, Miyuki looked up at Tatsuya and smiled.

“Brother, you’ll be leaving now, won’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Tatsuya nodded without even thinking of trying to fool her—she always hit the nail right on the head.

“I had everyone return because I thought you would be.”

She seemed to have seen through him to an almost scary degree, but figuring it was a little late to be surprised at that, Tatsuya’s confusion dissipated in his mind before materializing. But even he couldn’t hold it down after the next words that came out of her mouth.

“Brother, please don’t go.”

“Miyuki…you’re, what?”

“No. Brother, I will not let you go.”

He couldn’t see any agitation in her face. Her eyes glittered with a cold, firm resolve.

“Brother, is it necessary to go to the enemy right now? It does not seem that way to me.”

“Pixie’s located the enemy. I finally have a lead.”

“The problem comes before that. What I want to ask is whether you must act to preemptively stop the Kudou family’s experiment.”

For once, Tatsuya didn’t know what to say. Ever since he’d received the anonymous warning message, he’d considered it natural to stop it. But was that something he needed to do?

“Perhaps I am being selfish. Perhaps I think of such shameless things because I can’t help you in any way this time, Brother.”

Miyuki was resolute in her words. She had firmly accepted that shame to stand against her brother.

“I will gladly accept your scolding. However, Brother, before that—please hear me out.”

Tatsuya couldn’t move his eyes away from Miyuki’s gaze. Having decided to head for the enemy, he couldn’t move out from in front of her.

“You haven’t a single reason to shoulder the responsibility for the Kudou family’s experiment. Nor do you have any responsibility regarding the Parasidolls’ performance tests.”

Tatsuya knew that as well and had mentally said as much to himself.

“You have equally little reason to shoulder the responsibility for every single athlete entered into the Cross-Country Steeplechase.”

“…”

He felt like he’d been struck with a Zen stick while in the middle of meditating. Faintly, he began to understand what Miyuki was trying to say—and that she was right and he was wrong.

“Brother, I am about to say something selfish. Something very shallow.”

Miyuki’s voice contained no self-deprecation or pretense of evil. She was not wavering even slightly…

“As long as you protect me, that is enough. I am the only one you need shoulder responsibility for.”

…except for her voice, which trembled as though she was about to break into tears at any second.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with anyone other than me—not the students of First High, much less those of other schools!”

Miyuki clenched her teeth. Her bangs hung in front of her downcast face, hiding how her eyes were holding back tears.

“You can leave the Parasidolls for that day. As long as they don’t decide to release the parasites’ main bodies, those things would never present a threat to you. You can destroy them all on that day. Once the main bodies have been released and the event has ended, I will put an end to every one of them.”

Glaring, challenging, Miyuki locked her gaze with Tatsuya’s. Her eyes had shed no tears.

“And if you will still go, then I don’t mean to be rude, but I will stop you by force.”

This time, Tatsuya was actually dismayed.

He sensed the forbidden power rising within Miyuki.

“Miyuki, stop! Are you seriously going to seal my eyes?! If you do that, you wouldn’t be able to use magic anymore, either!”

“Yes, and I shall likely have to forfeit tomorrow’s event. I may even have to drop out of First High. But all that is better than letting you continue to act unreasonably!”

For the first time, Miyuki let her agitation show. Her tearful voice laid her true feelings bare.

“Brother—Brother, do you realize how hard you’re pushing yourself?! From morning to night, you adjust our players’ CADs; after every match, you listen to the other technical staff members and give them advice; and you stay up late at night preparing for the next day while instructing an underclassman. Meanwhile, you want to take on the Kudou family and the JDF… Even you won’t hold up under all that! You’ll ruin yourself!”

Heavy tears fell from her eyes.

At last, Tatsuya realized that he’d been so exhausted that he hadn’t realized his fatigue was putting a huge amount of pressure on his sister.

The doubts haunting his mind vanished, and he physically felt his heart growing lighter. “You don’t need to do that.”

Miyuki looked up at him, her face struck by surprise. The fretfulness had left Tatsuya’s voice and peaceful geniality brimmed in its place. “I’ll go back to the room now for today.”

“Brother…?”

“Miyuki, what you’re saying is right. I was wrong.”

She hadn’t thought her persuasion would succeed. She knew that truthfully, as a human, her brother was correct. She couldn’t so suddenly believe her brother’s change of heart.

“You’re right about it. You’re the only one I need to protect. As long as I protect you, nothing else matters. If you’re here, that’s enough for me.”

The words Miyuki always hoped for filled her heart and caused her chest to tighten. She stared wordlessly at Tatsuya, as though her earlier eloquence had been a lie. With a gaze that, like before, was straightforward—but unlike before, looked like she was in a dream.

“Let’s get back to the room.”

Her shoulder gently pushed, Miyuki began walking toward the hotel like a marionette.

And behind them, Minami, who had been in the background for the entire scene right up until the end, continued to look down, hiding an expression that implied she’d been enduring the whole thing feeling uneasy.

Competition day four, morning. In the women’s Pillar Break solo event, Miyuki ended both her finals league matches in under one minute and won the championship.

Her victory was so overwhelming it would make one worry about her opponents being traumatized, but Miyuki showed no signs of concern about that. The audience couldn’t even pay any attention to the losers. When she offered a gratified smile, the spectators forgot to applaud, simply watching her. It was as though they’d been entranced.

After lunch would be the men’s Pillar Break solo event and the men’s Shields Down solo event. Tatsuya would be assigned to Shields Down. As he was heading ringside, he met up with Sawaki.

“Shiba, you seem like you’re on your game today.”

Although he’d been concerned wholly with Pillar Break (read: Miyuki) that morning, he’d run into Sawaki in the tent during breakfast.

“Is it that obvious?” Tatsuya asked back, feeling like it was both belated of him and abrupt.

“Yeah. Day one, day two, day three, you kind of looked like you weren’t totally focused. We were getting the results we wanted, so I wasn’t going to say anything, but I figured you were worrying yourself over something.”

Tatsuya was inwardly amazed. It hadn’t been worries but doubts, but he didn’t think he’d shown any of it. In fact, his friends—Honoka, Shizuku, Mikihiko—and others closer to him than Sawaki, like Isori and Azusa, didn’t seem to have noticed he’d been in bad form. Maybe something could be said about not constantly being with someone cluing you in to even small changes, but even so, it was incredibly sharp.

“You look pretty refreshed today. I can feel the fighting spirit coming off you.”

“I may have been letting the exhaustion accumulate without realizing it. Last night I got a really good night’s sleep for the first time in a while, so that probably helped get me back into things.”

It wasn’t an unnatural excuse, but it also wasn’t a good one. Even as he answered Sawaki, he thought that in his shoes, he wouldn’t believe it.

“Cool. Then let’s keep that energy going, Shiba!”

But if Sawaki had any suspicions, he wasn’t letting on. He was pointed only forward. Without thinking about anything unnecessary, his eyes were set only on the approaching match in front of him.

As if in concert with Tatsuya’s regaining his form, First High’s come from behind began.

On day four, First High’s results were third in the men’s solo Pillar Break and first in the women’s solo. First place in the Shields Down men’s solo and first place in the women’s solo. They’d reduced the gap between them and Third High from yesterday’s 100 points to just 60 today.

First High’s drive continued into the rookie competition, too. On its first day, they achieved first place in both the Rower and Gunner men’s and women’s solo events. Working alongside Kento as the boys’ engineers, Tatsuya had guided his underclassman pair to defeat Seventh High and emerge victorious. As for the girls, Kasumi had given a proud look of it was nothing from the center of the victory stand.

On the second day of the rookie competition, they reached the finals in both Shields Down and Pillar Break. For Shields Down, the boys ended at third place, but the girls won a spectacular victory. Tatsuya was Minami’s assigned engineer, but in that respect, he had almost nothing to do.

Pillar Break went the same, with the boys taking third and the girls winning. Izumi had stolen the show during the women’s Pillar Break event. When she’d returned to First High’s tent, she’d had on a huge smile—one that smelled faintly of desire—and she’d gone up to Miyuki and hugged her, but for once, Miyuki let her treat her as a (standing) hug pillow for as long as she wanted.

And then on the third day of the rookie competition…

“…Not much we can do about this.”

“Yes, it will be difficult to compete against Ayako properly in Mirage Bat… Even I likely wouldn’t be able to give her a good match.”

Tatsuya, who was off today and tomorrow in preparation for the main Mirage Bat event coming up in two days, watched the Mirage Bat finals from the stands. The First High entrant had won her way into the finals.

Actually, during the entrant selection stage, they had considered choosing either Kasumi or Izumi for the star girls’ event. Many had been in support of the plan, but Tatsuya had debated it stubbornly, and eventually Kasumi ended up in Rower and Gunner and Izumi in Pillar Break.

The pretext he’d given for opposing their entrance into Mirage Bat was that Kasumi was more well suited for Rower and Gunner, and Izumi had a better affinity for Pillar Break. Those weren’t lies. A lack of weaknesses was a trait distinguishing Saegusa magicians, meaning also that they were suited to all magic and had an affinity with all of it. Cases like Mayumi, who so clearly specialized in one form of magic, were actually the exception.

His true reason, however, was that they wouldn’t be able to beat Ayako in Mirage Bat.

The magic Ayako most excelled in was the convergence-type spell Supreme Diffusion, which dispersed and equalized gases or energy until they became indiscernible. The spell had no direct relationship with Mirage Bat. But Ayako had another spell she was almost as comfortable with as Supreme Diffusion.

And that was Pseudo-Teleportation. It could wrap herself or an allied partner in a cocoon of air, neutralize inertia, then move them instantly through a vacuum tube.

A vacuum tube would be seen as interfering with other players, so she couldn’t use the spell during Mirage Bat unchanged. But if she downgraded it, the spell still allowed her to leap blindingly fast while creating gusts of wind.

Her speed was unmatchable, even using flight magic. Pseudo-Teleportation was significantly superior to flight magic when it came to movement distance. That wouldn’t become a problem in Mirage Bat, though. If there was any way to beat Ayako in this event, it could only be to eliminate the orbs of light before she spotted them.

As both Tatsuya and Miyuki predicted, Ayako was racking up the points for herself during the rookie Mirage Bat event. Their First High underclassman was faring well, too. If things continued at this pace, she could probably get second.

But that was it. Even now, the points difference was only increasing.

The match-ending buzzer sounded.

In the rookie Mirage Bat, victory went to Ayako Kuroba of Fourth High. First High took second, Third High took third, and Fifth High rounded the results out in fourth place.

Monolith Code on the rookie competition’s final day. Even here, First High was struggling but putting up a good fight. Starting this year, the event would be played as a full round-robin. Both the rookie event and the main one would use six arenas over a two-day period, split up into ten rounds where each team would play eight matches total. (In other words, each team had two rounds without a match.)

Day two, round nine. First High’s team, led by Takuma Shippou, had won all six of their matches before this. Two matches ago, they’d won a hard-fought victory over Third High, seen as their greatest rival before the competition began, and a triumphant mood had been drifting among the rookie team. But after seeing Third High lose to Fourth High in the previous match, they felt tense, as though someone had dumped ice water on their heads.

“That’s crazy. What was his name again?” asked Leo to Tatsuya—they weren’t watching the match from the VIP seating but from the general cheering seats.

“Kuroba. Fumiya Kuroba.”

“Kuroba—you mean…”

Mikihiko, also spectating from the cheering seats, clammed up as though he didn’t want others to hear.

First High versus Fourth High would indeed be a match to end all matches. And unfortunately, things looked grim for the former.

The craggy stage, speckled with big boulders, was modeled after a karst. On the edge of it stood First High’s monolith, and protecting it was Takuma Shippou. Surprisingly, he’d volunteered to be the defender, and so far, he’d taken down every single enemy who had made it that far. One could say a big reason for their victory over Third High was that Takuma had annihilated their offense.

And now, Fumiya was pushing Takuma back. Fumiya was jumping from boulder to boulder just like Ushiwakamaru, not letting Takuma get a straight shot. And in midair, the handgun-shaped CAD in Fumiya’s hand took aim at Takuma, attacking him with formless impacts.

The untyped magic, Phantom Blow.

Tatsuya had used the spell himself in last year’s rookie competition, but the power behind Fumiya’s was entirely different. Which made sense—Fumiya wasn’t using only Phantom Blow. Behind that, he’d slipped in a spell he specialized in, one only he could use, called Direct Pain, which caused a person’s mind to feel physical pain.

He was lowering the force of it in such a way that even the magic researchers in the stands couldn’t see, much less the spectators, so no single attack led to knocking Takuma out. As a result, Fumiya’s spell was recognized as a strong Phantom Blow rather than Direct Pain.

Still, misunderstanding it wouldn’t change its power and the effects it delivered. The pain accumulating in Takuma’s mind was draining him of his ability to concentrate.

Declining concentration directly linked to a reduction in spells’ power and its success rate. To stop Fumiya from moving, Takuma tried to use Stone Shower, a spell that would use colony control on small rocks, focus them, and stream them toward the enemy.

The rocks danced up from around him.

But instead of coming down upon Fumiya, they hit the boulder he’d been standing on a moment ago.

Direct Pain fired from Fumiya’s hand, hidden behind Phantom Blow.

And with that, Fumiya had dealt a KO to all three members of First High’s team, clinching Fourth High’s victory.

The rookie Monolith Code event closed with Fourth High taking the championship. But First High secured second place, earning them an overall victory in the rookie competition.

As a result, at the time of the rookie competition’s end, the difference between first-place Third High and second-place First High became five points. Through the freshmen’s successes, the battle for first was right back where it started.

Day nine of the Nine School Competition. The battle moved from the rookie competition to the main competition once more. And under this starry sky, the finals of Mirage Bat, also called Fairy Dance, was about to begin.

First High would be fielding Honoka and Subaru in the final match. Honoka’s engineer was Tatsuya, and Subaru’s was Azusa. Both were juniors, but the plan was to pull far ahead of Third High at once. With Third High’s finalists being limited to one person, the plan had already halfway succeeded. Bringing in the other half was something both Tatsuya and Azusa had worked hard to set the stage for. Now it was all up to the athletes.

Honoka, having changed into a fitted uniform of mainly light lime, stood in front of Tatsuya a little awkwardly. She knew the clothes were for the event, but they were still embarrassing for eyes of the opposite sex to be seeing this close.

“No problems at all. Anything feel out of place to you?”

It was inevitable that, after checking her CAD’s tuning, Tatsuya would give her a thorough look. Because for him alone, it was more reliable for him to check her with his “eyes” rather than measure her with a machine.

“No… Nothing does. I’m okay,” answered Honoka finally, her voice soft and timid. She had a reason to be embarrassed that went beyond simply a member of the opposite sex seeing her like this. Tatsuya understood that as well, but that was exactly why he had to make sure his expression was casual.

Maybe I’ll give her a little time to herself, like before the qualifier, so she can focus on the match…, thought Tatsuya. But just as he was about to say something to her…

“Shiba, I’m coming in.”

…in came Subaru, who had been doing final adjustments in the next booth over with Azusa.

“Did you need something?”

His words were quite unfriendly, but his tone wasn’t that inhospitable. He’d simply asked a question. She was an entrant from the same school, but Mirage Bat was an individual competition. You couldn’t exactly call it nonsensical that she’d visit a player she was about to compete against right before they were supposed to go out on the field, but it wasn’t normal, either.

“I just thought I’d come say hi to you before going.”

“Say hi? To me?”

“Yes—to you.”

Subaru nodded in an affected way. Of course, that was par for the course for her. A year ago, it might have bothered him but not now.

“I’ll be winning this match, thank you. Sorry, but I’m putting a stop to your undefeated epic today.”

Still, that haughty remark wasn’t like Subaru at all.

The “undefeated epic” referred to how every athlete Tatsuya had ever been assigned to, since last year, had been essentially undefeated, only losing among themselves. In this year’s Nines, too, Eimi in Rower and Gunner, Shizuku in the Pillar Break pair and Miyuki in the solo, Kirihara in the Shields Down pair and Sawaki in the solo, the boys in the rookie Rower and Gunner, and the girls in the rookie Shields Down had all taken home victory in every event.

“It’s not like I’m out there winning.”

But Tatsuya didn’t misunderstand those things as his own accomplishments. Eimi, Shizuku, Miyuki, Kirihara, Sawaki, Minami. Every one of them an athlete who could have won first prize without his help. He felt as though he was the lucky one. Even if a pained grin was mixed in with his response, that didn’t mean his personality was twisted.

“Even so. Nobody you’re assigned to loses, Shiba. And I’m about to end that legend.”

Objectively speaking, however, there was no doubt that these achievements had been putting pressure on their competition rivals. Subaru must not have been any exception to the pressure, displaying such an uncharacteristically strong-willed attitude.

To be honest, the attitude made him uncomfortable. But even so, to Tatsuya, Subaru was an athlete from the same school. It would be a bad idea to pile on the pressure with an inept reaction.

“I see.”

Other than that short response, he had no way to answer her.

After seeing Subaru off and returning his eyes to Honoka, she was for some reason impassioned.

“Tatsuya!”

No shame was left in her look. In its place burned the flames of fighting spirit.

“I’ll do my best. And I’ll win! I’ll protect your undefeated record, Tatsuya!”

She was so eager he worried about her self-destructing. But in Honoka’s case, throwing cold water over her would have the opposite effect. He’d learned about her personality in the year they’d known each other.

“All right. I’m counting on you.”

In fact, at times like this, it was better to fan the flames even further.

“Okay!”

Honoka nodded, seeming happy, her smile full of energy.

The Mirage Bat finals match.

Its results: Honoka won first and Subaru second. Third High’s entrant clawed into third place, but First High won 80 points total and Third High only 20.

First High, at last, stood at the top of the overall rankings.

“For a while I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but it looks like things will work out again this year.”

At the dinner seats where First High’s students had gathered, the mood was actually more relieved than overjoyed.

On day ten of the Nine School Competition, First High had won first place in Monolith Code as well, widening their point lead over Third High to 95 points. For now, having opened up a nearly 100-point lead meant they’d completely turned the tables.

“Yoshida wins the medal today. You really did well.”

The one who commended Mikihiko was a senior who had been in his Monolith Code team—a British-Indian boy with uniquely blond hair and dark skin named Kerry Minakami.

“No… This belongs to more than just me. You both really supported me.”

He glanced toward Tatsuya, who was a short distance away, eating while surrounded by girls.

“Tatsuya helped out a lot, too, so…”

“Yeah. Shiba did a real bang-up job again this year as engineer. Hey, Shiba!”

As Tatsuya looked up and turned to them, Kerry beckoned him over with his hand. Tatsuya rose, holding his tray with half-eaten food on it. Seeing him leave the group of beautiful girls—his sister Miyuki first and foremost among them—and come over to their boys-only table…Mikihiko may or may not have found himself thinking a most uncharitable I won’t let you get all the good stuff to yourself…

“Come on, sit down.”

These words came from Sawaki, leading member of said boys-only group. Without committing the folly of purposely disobeying—he’d come with his tray in his hands, so he probably hadn’t been meaning to anyway—he said, “All right,” and sat in the seat he’d been directed to.

“Man, you did work today.”

“Actually, I couldn’t do enough yesterday, so I was thinking I’d like to recover from that a little.”

Tatsuya’s assignment to Mikihiko hadn’t been something decided on the spot. He’d been taking care of Mikihiko’s CAD from the beginning. Of course, speaking of from the beginning, they’d always predicted the possibility that Mirage Bat would overlap with Monolith Code matches. In full recognition of that unreasonable thought, Tatsuya had been chosen as both Honoka and Mikihiko’s assigned engineers.

“You can’t help what happened yesterday. We knew it going in.”

That was something everyone present understood, but Hattori was the one who actually said it, pointing to the conscientious and obstinate nature of his personality.

“That’s right. And even yesterday you did so much that a little slipup wouldn’t be any problem at all. There’s no doubt about it—you contributed to our victory today.”

“Now we’re sure to grab the overall win. Which means I’ll be able to face my upperclassmen with pride.”

Following Sawaki, Kerry looked relieved as he made his comment. He’d been chosen as a representative for the first time as a senior, so the tradition must have been weighing even heavier on his shoulders.

If anyone asked Tatsuya, he thought it was a rather premature thought. A turnabout was still possible depending on how tomorrow’s Cross-Country Steeplechase went.

But he didn’t point that out. Frankly speaking, he didn’t care about their placement or the points or the overall championship.

He would make sure tomorrow’s event ended safely.

No—he would crush all obstacles to tomorrow’s event ending, on the surface, safely.

Those were his feelings underneath the inoffensive reply he made.

Tatsuya had come to the hotel’s observation deck after dinner. The moon hadn’t yet ascended, but the skies were clear. Mount Fuji was dimly showing its outline in the starlight. In front of it was an abyss of darkness. He was looking down from the balcony at tomorrow’s Steeplechase, and the man-made forest for maneuvers put together behind it, which would be the stage for violence.

“How is it?” he asked the doll in the shape of a girl who waited next to him.

“No response. Estimated to still be in sleep.”

The one who answered him was the demon residing in the doll. Dubbed a parasite at the London conference, it was the pushion information life-form Tatsuya and the others called Pixie.

“We’ll just have to wait until tomorrow, then,” he said to himself, disappointment creeping into his words.

His face, however, showed no traces of discouragement. He certainly wanted to know where these Parasidolls were, these humanoid magical weapons who would be the main stars of the experiment being plotted for tomorrow. But he hadn’t brought Pixie along this time in the hope that he’d actually find them. Besides, if all he was going to do was have her search for the Parasidolls, he wouldn’t have needed to go up this high. She was essentially the same type of being, and as long as both she and the Parasidolls were in an active state, they’d be able to detect each other.

Ever since that night Miyuki had lectured him on him staking his life as a magician, Tatsuya had abandoned his thoughts of preemptively stopping the Kudou family’s experiment, which could bring grave harm upon the magic high schools’ students. This was perhaps just as his mysterious informant wanted, but he’d decided he’d figure out what to do on the day of—in other words tomorrow.

As it was, it was clear that his mystery informant wasn’t looking for him to stop the experiment before it happened, given they hadn’t sent him any additional information that would aid him in that endeavor.

Instead, Tatsuya had come to look at tomorrow’s stage, sunken in darkness as it was, on nothing more than a whim. If pressed, it was to try and distract himself a little from his anger at the Kudou family and the unknown informant for manipulating him. Basically shouting, You just wait until tomorrow! Having Pixie search for the Parasidolls had been a mere afterthought.

“Tatsuya.”

This observation room wasn’t barred to visitors at night. But he was still surprised someone aside from him was curious enough to come visit this top-floor balcony, considering it was the middle of the night, and no lights were on, nor was the air-conditioning.

“Master, here to enjoy the cool air?”

Of course, when it comes to curiosity, Yakumo has me beat by a long shot.

When he’d considered someone aside from him being curious, he hadn’t been thinking of him.

“Me? Well, something like that. The night breeze feels better than air-conditioning. But I think the young lady over there needs you for something, don’t you? I think it’s about time you said something to her.”

Told to do so, Tatsuya didn’t exactly shrug…but let off an air that was similar, before turning away from the balcony.

The figure visible through the dark was a woman older than him but still young by society’s standards. She seemed different from usual, because she wasn’t wearing the usual affected smile on her beautiful visage but rather a stiff, stressed expression.

“As I thought, that message came from you, Lieutenant?”

Tatsuya addressed her without any preface, almost as though continuing a conversation they’d been having.

The hint of a pained smile loosened Fujibayashi’s face a little. “How did you know?”

“Probabilities, ma’am. Out of all my acquaintances, you’re the most likely one to wield such advanced technology.”

“But maybe it wasn’t an acquaintance.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything to consider that possibility, ma’am.”

“I suppose not…”

Though it had slightly loosened, Fujibayashi’s face was still drawn back. Was it because of tension or guilt or something entirely different? Tatsuya wasn’t yet possessed of the keen insight to see.

It was best to ask about things he didn’t know, and it was the only road that led to resolution. And so, without any reservations or hesitation, Tatsuya asked her.

“You sent the warning when I was on the street in front of old Lab Nine, too, right? What were you wanting to make me do, ma’am?”

“What, indeed… What did I want you to do…?”

Tatsuya stared lasers through Fujibayashi’s eyes. But he couldn’t find any signs that she was evading the question.

“Tatsuya, why don’t we move somewhere else?”

Whatever the circumstances were, they must have been intricate enough that even magically blocking hidden cameras and bugs wasn’t assuring enough.

“If you say so, ma’am…”

Several things about this incident made him unable to declare either Fujibayashi or the Independent Magic Battalion allies. His mind was not absent of concern for traps, but neither was it that serious.

“Would you mind sitting in as well, Master?”

“Sure.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Understood, ma’am. Please lead the way.”

With both their acknowledgments in hand, Tatsuya agreed with Fujibayashi’s proposal.

The place Fujibayashi brought Tatsuya and Yakumo to was the inside of a vehicle, similar to the camping car Tatsuya was using as a work vehicle. It was parked in a lot a short distance away from the one assigned for Nine School Competition use, and nobody else was inside.

“Master, no communication signals detected.”

With the help of Ushiyama and the others, they’d upgraded Pixie as much as her 3H body would allow. Her sensors hadn’t picked up on anything suspicious.

“Tatsuya, have a seat. You can feel free to sit down as well, Sensei.”

After gesturing for them to sit on a simple sofa, Fujibayashi looked at Pixie thoughtfully but didn’t say anything, instead heading into the vehicle’s kitchen.

She must have not wanted to take up much of their time. She brought back out three glasses filled with black liquid on a tray. After setting the glasses on the table, she ignored Pixie, who was still standing, and sat down across from the two.

“You want me to explain from the beginning?”

Without urging them to drink, she suddenly spoke up to Tatsuya. Perhaps her casual word choice indicated her stance of speaking to him specifically.

“That would be fine, ma’am. But before we get into any details, I’d like to confirm a few things, if you don’t mind.”

Without showing any signs of caution, Tatsuya brought the glass to his lips. He’d just been thirsty.

“Sure.”

Fujibayashi didn’t feel surprise at how he drank the iced coffee without hesitation. She knew he could do component identification on physical matter far more accurately than she could, and besides, poison would only affect him for a moment.

“Firstly, I’d like to ask about why you never sent a follow-up leak with more detailed information after that first message, ma’am. Are you under surveillance?”

Starting with the thing I least wanted to be asked, thought Fujibayashi. But that wasn’t a reason for her not to answer right now.

“Yes.”

“Then secondly, did Major Kazama or possibly General Saeki want you to contact me, ma’am? Or was this something His Excellency Kudou intended?”

“…It was the major’s orders. I’m not under watch by my grandfather.”

If she wasn’t under watch, did that mean she was completely unrelated to the Kudou family in this railroading experiment or that she was so trusted they had no need to?

“May I have a word as well, young lady?”

Before Tatsuya could ask, Yakumo interrupted. Tatsuya, at least, didn’t think calling her “young lady” was appropriate. However, Fujibayashi nodded with an unoffended smile, not seeming to have been bothered.

“Please go ahead.”

“What sort of position has the Fujibayashi family taken?”

However, she couldn’t maintain her poker face at his actual question. She frowned—not because she wished he hadn’t asked but because she, too, was concerned about the Fujibayashi’s position.

“A neutral one.”

“Does that mean you’d rather be in opposition, but you can’t publicly go against what the Kudou family does?”

“…”

“The current Fujibayashi head’s wife is the current Kudou patriarch’s younger sister. With regards to the magicians of Nine and the Traditionalists opposing one another, that relation has led the Fujibayashi to stand on the side of the Nine magicians, despite being of the ancient variety. Were you to part from the Kudou now, the Fujibayashi would be left isolated in Japan’s magic world… Is that right?”

Expression had vanished from Fujibayashi’s face, probably to prevent him from reading too deep. But her smile was gone, too—and one could only say those efforts had failed.

“But that’s not what I want you to tell me. What does the Fujibayashi family think of their use of immortalists from the mainland?”

A sharp light shone from Yakumo’s eyes, which were always detached, never displaying any emotion, be it happiness, anger, sadness, or enjoyment.

“I can answer that question—we do not regard it favorably. My father has repeatedly urged Uncle Makoto to reconsider inviting the defecting immortalists into old Lab Nine.”

This time, even while she winced under the glow in his eyes, she gave a clear answer. Certainly, the marriage had been why the Fujibayashi treated the Kudou as allies. But the reason they’d chosen a path of opposition against the Traditionalists rather than mediate between them and the Numbers of Nine was because they saw danger in welcoming foreign magicians in too deeply.

“The technology the defectors had was certainly useful. By using the spell they provided, the Parasidolls’ psionic consumption had been reduced down to thirty percent at most. But both my father and I still believe the invitation was a mistake.”

“Master, I apologize, but let’s go in order.”

With Tatsuya’s short remark, the tension strung between Yakumo and Fujibayashi dissipated. Yakumo’s face returned to its normal impassive thin smile.

“Lieutenant Fujibayashi.” In exchange, Tatsuya gave her a constructed, insidious smile, forcing Fujibayashi to experience a different sort of tension.

“I’ve had to put up with a lot of annoyance and irritation during this incident, ma’am. I knew the gist of it—magical weapon testing was being planned against magic high school students during the competition—but I hadn’t the faintest idea what on earth was going on behind the scenes. And to be honest, I still don’t. My informant was being quite stingy with information, after all.”

“Umm… Tatsuya, that’s…”

Fujibayashi’s face appeared to draw back ever so slightly.

Calmed by the sight, Tatsuya got rid of his sadistic grin.

“Still, it’s not very difficult if you just ignore whatever the puppet masters backstage want.”

Miyuki had been the one to make him realize that, but it didn’t have anything to do with this, so he didn’t note it.

“First, the anti-GAA hard-liners in the JGDF changed the competition events to be more warlike.”

Nobody argued with this.

“Next, taking advantage of that, the Kudou family planned to do performance testing on their Parasidolls.”

“Though my grandfather was the one who suggested it—my uncle apparently opposed it at first.”

“Then was it His Excellency Kudou who decided to use the defecting immortalists, ma’am?”

“…No, that was something my uncle did.”

“I see. Let’s call the person currying favor with the current Kudou family head and manipulating the defecting immortalists ‘X.’ X wanted to make the Parasidolls go out of control and fatally wound the competitors. Perhaps they hadn’t considered going so far as killing them, but they wanted to deal enough damage to affect their lives as magicians. X’s ultimate goal would then be to prematurely end the supply of magicians possibly linked to this nation’s combat power in the future and, by doing so, create a great obstacle to Japan’s national power.”

“Yes, we believe so as well. That’s why I’m here.”

“…To do what, ma’am?”

Fujibayashi didn’t look away from Tatsuya’s gaze, filled with distrust and suspicion.

“Tatsuya, we hereby request your help in stopping the Parasidolls from going berserk.”

Rather than standing and saluting, she remained on the sofa, placing her hands together in her lap and bowing deeply—calling him Tatsuya, not Specialist.

“My help, ma’am?”

“Yes. It isn’t an order. What we’re asking of you isn’t something we can order you to do as a mission. It’s a request for help.”

After looking up, Fujibayashi stood up from the sofa. Tatsuya followed suit, gathering it to be a wordless command to come with her. She moved to what, depending on your perspective, looked like a coffin, large enough to fit a mature man inside. With Tatsuya watching from the side, she opened its lid.

The hinges must have been spring-loaded, because just a little lift of the “coffin” lid caused it to automatically rise after that. Inside was something ultramarine, something that looked like thick coveralls—a MOVAL suit.

“While unofficial, the Kudou of the Ten Master Clans will be doing the Parasidoll performance testing at the JDF’s charge. If we interfere with that, it would equate to internal strife in the JDF, a personal battle between the military and the Ten Master Clans.”

“Are you asking me to be an illegal saboteur, ma’am?”

Tatsuya’s voice was hard and cold. They were essentially saying that even if his identity was revealed, they wouldn’t cover for him, and one could say it was much more serious than that.

“I doubt there’s anything I can say that will dissuade you from interpreting it like that.”

Tatsuya’s glare grew even more severe, but Fujibayashi dauntlessly met his eyes. She may have been feigning confidence, but she didn’t seem to be rattled one bit.

“…All right, then.”

At the end of their short staredown, Tatsuya was the one who broke first. He’d already been planning to deal with the Parasidolls on his own. Frankly, he was grateful he’d be able to use one of the new MOVAL suits with better stealth capabilities.

“Thanks. You can use this vehicle as you see fit. Here’s the key.”

Tatsuya took the wireless controller from Fujibayashi.

“Press the button here when you’re done with it. It’ll self-destruct after five minutes but only on the inside.”

Fujibayashi pointed to one part of the wall, which consisted of what indeed looked like that mechanism—a square box in yellow and black stripes, with a red button prominently sticking out in the middle.

“What about the MOVAL suit, ma’am? I doubt you’d want it to go up in flames when the vehicle self-destructs.”

“If you put it back in its box, it’ll block the flames entirely. We’ve tested it.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

Tatsuya nodded to her, casting a subdued look at the self-destruct button and said, as if to himself, “I’ll go along with this because we happen to have a common interest, but I’ll ask you to repay this debt one day, ma’am.”

Her face going blue at Tatsuya’s comment, Fujibayashi said goodbye as though she was running away. She shoved the vehicle and the MOVAL suit alike onto Tatsuya and headed for the hotel. Yakumo was with her, having randomly said, “Just figured.” When the big boxy object had fully blended in with the dark, Yakumo spoke to her.

“Young lady, was that really an order from Kazama?”

“…What do you mean by that? Also, would you mind not calling me young lady?” responded Fujibayashi, face hard, without looking at him.

“Oh, excuse me. Here’s what I’m thinking, Miss Fujibayashi. Maybe you didn’t need to make Tatsuya do something like that. Just so you don’t misunderstand me, I’m referring to how, perhaps, the Parasidolls won’t go berserk.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

“Well, it is part of your job…” said Yakumo, feigning ignorance, in a way that could be taken as either criticizing or comforting. “All weapons have safeties on them. Retsu Kudou doesn’t seem like one who would ever neglect that… By the way, Miss Fujibayashi, here’s something you might not know. There exists a technique in esoteric Buddhism, as well, for employing dolls as puppets. Although they are merely imitation doctrine-children used as a replacement by acolytes who can’t summon a true doctrine-child for lack of virtue.”

“No… I didn’t know that, but I can imagine so.”

Fujibayashi answered carefully to the sudden change in topic. Though she shot him a sidelong gaze, she couldn’t read Yakumo’s expression at all. And she knew the dark wasn’t the only reason.

“I recently paid a visit to the head temple for the first time in a while. I asked an expert, one versed in the ways, about this. He told me he’d already gotten to the point where he could call down true doctrine-children and that he didn’t use imitations anymore.”

Yakumo let out a reminiscent smile there, as though there had been trouble.

“But apparently, no caster forgets to define a target to defend and a target to attack. And when the puppet breaks that definition, they punish it. He said they prevent the being moving the puppet from doing anything else bad—and that that sealing technique was included in one big controlling spell.”

Yakumo turned around. Empty eyes and a mouth split like a crescent moon. His face was the vision of a doll possessed by a demon, and Fujibayashi nearly cried out—no, she tried to shriek and couldn’t.

At some point, she had fallen into Yakumo’s spell.

“The Parasidolls have a similar spell on them, don’t they? One to prevent them from attacking noncombatants, for example. They’d be useless as self-operating weapons otherwise.”

“…That’s correct.”

Fujibayashi hadn’t lost her consciousness or her will.

“Even if the immortalists tried to make the Parasidolls attack high school students, the original spell wouldn’t allow it. As soon as they tried to go berserk, the control spell would switch to a sealing spell that would stop the parasites.”

“That is what I’ve heard.”

But she couldn’t hide. She couldn’t lie.

“To cause the Parasidolls to go berserk, one would need to undo the spell binding the parasites to their mechanical dolls, then bind the now-free parasite in the mechanical doll once again. While the parasites are bound to their mechanical dolls, they will have no effect.”

“I don’t know.”

“I see… Has testing not made it that far yet?”

Yakumo looked away from Fujibayashi.

She dropped to her knees, exhausted.

He then spoke to the darkness.

“You heard her, Kazama. Did you know that?”

The darkness formed the shape of a man. Kazama appeared under one of the faint streetlights leading from the parking lot to the hotel.

“Know what?”

“That Tatsuya didn’t have to cross such a dangerous bridge.”

“No, I did not.”

Fujibayashi looked up at Kazama’s face in shock, perhaps unaware she’d been under direct observation. Without sparing a glance for her, Kazama answered his master’s question with—what looked like—a pensive expression.

“You hadn’t asked this young lady here?”

“No.”

Kazama was an ancient magician himself. He would have known one or two things about puppeteering techniques, at least. He would have had to have known about the safeties built into the spells. And if he purposely hadn’t asked about that, then…

“Hmm… It looks like you had a reason you wanted Tatsuya to go crazy on them, didn’t you?”

“Haven’t you kept it quiet from him, too, Master?”

By returning the question with a question, Kazama indirectly affirmed Yakumo’s response.

“Not to defend myself, but the commander has no knowledge of this. She is well versed in magic usage but only in modern magic—she’s essentially an amateur when it comes to ancient magic.”

“Yes, and I’d thought that’s why she had you as her aide…”

“Why didn’t you stop Tatsuya, Master?”

It seemed Kazama planned on not answering things that weren’t convenient for him.

“Because it wouldn’t have been good to do that.”

Yakumo didn’t mind that, either. From the start, he hadn’t intended to blame Kazama for anything.

“Miss Fujibayashi, returning to our previous conversation.”

If Yakumo had felt there would be no danger, he would have said that to Tatsuya.

“That’s the general theory. In this very specific case, it’s possible things won’t go that well.”

Yakumo, who had sworn not to meddle in earthly matters, had involved himself in this incident until the end because its effects could possibly reach beyond that.

“…What do you mean?”

“Retsu Kudou probably adheres to the same preconceptions. It isn’t just him—perhaps all the elderly at old Lab Nine are content with that same ‘common’ sense.”

Yakumo himself was getting to an age where others might start calling him elderly, but he was using the term to refer to the old generation of Nines.

“I’m sure you’ve gotten detailed reports from Tatsuya regarding the parasites’ properties, hmm?”

Kazama and Fujibayashi silently nodded at the question.

“The parasites were attracted here from a dimension not of this world by strongly pure ideas, and they came by passing through a small hole torn in the dimensional fabric. They fused with people who possessed strongly pure ideas and are energized by those strongly pure ideas.”

Yakumo repeated the phrase strongly pure ideas several times. Fujibayashi was the quicker to realize what it meant.

“Wait… Sensei, you’re not saying—?!”

“Strongly pure ideas. And here at the Nine School Competition, with the championship riding on tomorrow’s final schedule… Is there any place less brimming with them?”

“Are you saying the spell binding the parasites will malfunction…?” managed Kazama with a groan.

“They may go berserk. They may not. I don’t think we can say for sure that they will not, at least.”

Yakumo’s answer was an awfully irresponsible, incredibly earnest one.

“And the Parasidolls that go berserk will ultimately be destroyed, and the parasites, released from their mechanical bodies, may be drawn to the boys and girls and their strongly pure ideas.”

Neither Kazama nor Fujibayashi could argue with the worst-case scenario Yakumo offered. Even if Retsu Kudou had been here, he might have simply gone pale and been unable to object.

“So I think, as a result, giving Tatsuya that combat uniform was the right move. And your judgment, Kazama—that if Tatsuya personally crushes the Parasidolls, it would make the military abandon the foolish use of demons for its own purposes—will probably also go well. Therefore, I will keep this incident to myself for you. In exchange, I’d like you to tell me something.”

Yakumo turned to Kazama and demanded he provide information in exchange for not telling Saeki of this cover-up.

“What is it?”

“Who sent the mainland immortalists to the Kudou family?”

Even if Kazama had wanted to answer, he didn’t know. The one who did answer was Fujibayashi.

“…A young man named Gongjin Zhou from Yokohama Chinatown.”

“Gongjin Zhou from Yokohama Chinatown. I see. I’ve been hearing that name an awful lot lately.”

“You know who he is, Master?” Kazama asked.

Yakumo didn’t answer the question. “Anyway, I’ve asked what I wanted to know, so I’ll be on my way. Like I promised, I’ll keep this information hiding and the rest of this dodgy business to myself.”

Yakumo took a step off the lighted path. And just like that, he was gone.

After Yakumo had left, Fujibayashi finally stood up.

“Commander, I—”

“We’re going, Lieutenant. We don’t want Tatsuya to see us here.”

Cutting off Fujibayashi as she was about to say something, Kazama began walking toward the hotel.

Perhaps fearing criticism from Tatsuya right on the heels of Yakumo, Fujibayashi followed meekly behind her superior officer to what would surely be a punishment.

“Lieutenant.”

With his back to her, without checking to see if she was there, he spoke to her.

“Yes, Commander?”

“It seems His Excellency Kudou has fooled you as well.”

“What?” Fujibayashi almost tripped while walking.

“There was a possibility the Parasidolls would go out of control. But he told you there was no such possibility. Is that right?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

Though even she couldn’t figure out what Kazama was getting at right away, now that he’d said all that, she had a guess.

“You tried to confirm the veracity of that information on your own. Not reporting it immediately was a blunder, but in the end, you brought no false information. As a result, you prevented mistaken orders from being delivered.”

Kazama was telling her he’d overlook the fact that she’d been on the Kudou family’s side.

“Lieutenant—good work.”

“No, I— Thank you, sir.”

As Kazama continued to walk without stopping, Fujibayashi paused and bowed to him deeply.