The day after Tatsuya and the others returned from Nara, there was a new development in the search for Gongjin Zhou—but it hadn’t come about due to the Shiba family, nor the Kudou, nor the Kuroba, nor the Ninefold Temple, nor First High.

Instead, it had occurred within a high-class residential area in the heart of Tokyo. On those plush streets stood a mansion, blending in with the others, just as equally luxurious as those around it. Its owner, Kouichi Saegusa, had called to his study Saburou Nakura, his eldest daughter’s bodyguard and his current confidant.

“Do you remember a boy named Tatsuya Shiba?” he asked him after a half-baked greeting.

“An underclassman and friend of Lady Mayumi’s when she was in high school, correct?” he responded, in the most inoffensive way possible. Like his master, he remembered things other than that, of course, but he didn’t say them aloud.

Kouichi’s eyes turned onto Nakura. Because of those other things, the answer wasn’t a satisfactory one, but he didn’t vocally criticize him on that point. “That junior of Mayumi’s has made contact with the Kuroba twins.”

“The twins who attracted so much attention in this year’s Nines? The Yotsuba seem like they’re trying to steer the focus of those related to magic away from something by concentrating the spotlight on those siblings.”

“‘Something,’ eh…”

Kouichi’s tone made it sound like he knew, at the very least, what it was they were attempting to hide, but he didn’t say out loud what exactly that was.

“The Kuroba siblings visited Tatsuya Shiba’s house two weeks ago. And yesterday and the day before, Tatsuya Shiba visited the Kudou family. He apparently had a meeting with Sensei.”

“A personal talk with Retsu Kudou? That certainly doesn’t happen every day.”

Once again, Kouichi rolled his eyes to glare at him. “Nakura, cease your posturing.” This time, he did more than just give the man a look. “The Yotsuba have contacted Sensei through the Kuroba children. They cannot have any reason to request the Kudou’s assistance besides the incident the other day.”

Kouichi was aware of how the Kuroba team had let Gongjin Zhou slip away from capture in Yokohama Chinatown.

And the one who had reported that to him was Nakura.

Nakura hadn’t pointed out that the one who contacted the Kudou family was Tatsuya Shiba and not the Kuroba siblings. He knew, though Kouichi had never directly told him, what his master guessed was the relationship between the Yotsuba and Tatsuya Shiba.

“No matter how skilled the man may be, he cannot escape from the Yotsuba now that they have help from the Kudou.”

The man Kouichi referred to was Gongjin Zhou. At this point, Nakura figured Kouichi, who believed the Kudou and Yotsuba to have joined forces to search for him, was overthinking things. He had the evidence and factors to back it up, too. But he didn’t say that to Kouichi.

“I don’t mind if the Yotsuba kill him. But were they to capture him, it would almost certainly cause problems for this family.”

Without a word, Nakura bowed, expressing his agreement.

“We must not allow the Yotsuba to learn of the Saegusa’s connection to Zhou.”

On this point, Nakura’s thoughts differed from his master. He was sure the Yotsuba already knew they were accommodating the fugitive.

They probably had no proof, but the Yotsuba, and the Kuroba under their umbrella, didn’t need evidence—the Yotsuba lived in the shadows of society, same as the Saegusa. They thought differently than Kouichi, who liked to play with fire behind the scenes, though he ultimately didn’t live there. That was what Nakura thought, but because they were from different worlds, he’d decided he wouldn’t be able to convince his master verbally.

That was why he ultimately remained silent.

“You know where Zhou is, right?”

“I’m terribly sorry, but even I don’t currently know his location…”

Rage flashed onto Kouichi’s face.

Just before his master flew into a fit, Nakura finished his suspended remarks. “But I have a means of contacting him. I should be able to summon him here, too.”

Kouichi bit down and ground his teeth. He felt like Nakura had just played him. A moment later, though, he brushed it aside and regained his calm. His natural tendencies aside, he hadn’t come through so many hardships empty-handed.

“Then call him. And put an end to him.”

“Yes, of course.”

Nakura had no equivocations about agreeing to the order to kill someone. That was what he’d always been good at. Before gaining employment with the Saegusa, he’d worked a job not too different from that of a killer.

“If you need support, you can take as much as you want. No need to worry about home security.”

“No, I will be enough on my own.”

The flat response could either be taken as confidence or arrogance, and Kouichi frowned slightly. “He has the skill to break out of a Kuroba encirclement. And I believe you were the one who reported that to me, yes?”

Nakura maintained his expression even at that remark. “That’s exactly why. Forgive my rudeness, but the proficiency of those in this family would only lead to them dying pointlessly. I believe they’d be a hindrance, in fact.”

The comment was a scathing one, but no anger appeared on the man’s face. “All right. Feel free to do things your way.”

“I thank you.” Nakura bowed respectfully, even to the seemingly offhand order.

“Oh, and keep guarding Mayumi as you usually do.”

“Of course,” he answered, head still lowered, before leaving the study without meeting Kouichi’s gaze.

Tatsuya hadn’t obtained any concrete results regarding the search for Gongjin Zhou during his visit to Nara, but he’d met with an elder in Japan’s magic world who—though having declared his retirement—still possessed a lot of influence, and he’d gotten his cooperation.

A large group of magicians had attacked them with an ambush, but they’d turned the tables and captured them. The intelligence department had snatched them away, but it wouldn’t be that much of a struggle to secretly make use of whatever clues the department got from the captives.

Although he’d spent his Saturday jam-packed full of events, once he got to school the following weekday, a different sort of business awaited him. Today at last, Isori came to him for help, and Tatsuya was roped into creating, in the lecture hall, the experimental apparatus that would reproduce the effects of spell-assisting seals using a projector.

“…Then the problem is how much of an error margin the seal will tolerate. Am I understanding correctly?”

“Yeah. How far can the form be distorted and still produce the spell-assisting effects? That’s one of the main themes of our thesis.”

“Would you be able to show me the experimental data you’ve gotten so far?”

“Sure—here it is.”

Watching Tatsuya as he spoke to Isori were Miyuki (looking on in pride) and Honoka (gazing in rapt admiration).

“Honoka, Miyuki, I’m going back on patrol.”

Shizuku’s voice from the side made Honoka snap back to reality. “Oh—okay. Do your best!”

“Thanks for your work, Shizuku.”

“Yep. I’ll see you two later.”

As Honoka watched her go, Miyuki said, “We should be returning as well.”

After timing their farewell to Tatsuya so as not to get in his way, both of them headed back to the student council room. On the way, Miyuki asked Honoka if anything had changed.

“You haven’t felt like any strange people are following you around or watching you, right?”

“No, I’m fine. Uncle Ushio is worried for me, too. He actually went through the trouble of arranging people from a security company.”

“A magician security company?”

“Yeah… Morisaki’s family’s, actually.”

Miyuki’s look changed slightly upon hearing those words. Nobody could blame her. The security company run by the Morisaki family was rated highly by regular society and magicians alike. She knew that, but it was hard to overcome first impressions.

“Well, er, if Uncle Ushio decided on them, I’m sure it will be okay.”

“…You’re right. Shizuku’s father picked them out, so you shouldn’t have any problems.”

For some reason, it felt a little like a wet blanket had been thrown on them. Eventually, Honoka asked an uneasy question to get rid of that:

“Miyuki… How long should I stay at Shizuku’s house?”

Miyuki blinked, as though she hadn’t expected this question. “Did Shizuku’s family say something to you?”

“No, nothing like that! Uncle Ushio and Aunt Benio and all the people working for her family treat me way better than I have any right to—” Then she looked surprised, realizing she’d unintentionally shouted.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything like that.”

“No, um, it was my fault, Miyuki! The way I said it was confusing!” Honoka’s show of determination stopped her classmate from trying to take the blame any further. “Umm, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just wondering how long I’d have to have a bodyguard…”

Honoka’s unease was understandable. Though she was the daughter of a magician family created in a laboratory, she’d never gotten any training that placed her in the middle of combat.

Miyuki didn’t misunderstand that by taking herself as the standard. “At longest, I think it’ll only be until the Thesis Competition is over.”

Honoka probably hadn’t expected a clear answer in return—she stared back at Miyuki in confusion.

“It’s okay. Nothing scary will happen,” answered Miyuki with a gentle smile, the kind a person might give when reassuring a small child.

Honoka went red in the face and looked down.

They hadn’t been aware of this until last Saturday, but Mizuki and Mikihiko’s houses were unexpectedly near each other.

Mizuki’s was one station from the center of Atsugi.

Mikihiko’s was at the foot of the Tanzawa Mountains in Isehara.

They weren’t exactly close geographically speaking, but since a major cabinet line ran from Atsugi to Isehara, it was only five minutes between Mizuki’s closest station and Mikihiko’s.

“Umm, Yoshida, really, this is as far as I need.”

“No, because then what would be the point?”

Because of the Thesis Competition prep, they’d left school right before the gates closed. Since the theme Isori chose for this year needed more computer graphics–type work than device assembly, the art club Mizuki belonged to was in full swing. She personally was best at analog watercolor painting, but she was also quite skilled when it came to CG, it being a necessary illustrating skill these days.

Because of that, she was one of the last to be able to leave. Still, that meant Mikihiko’s title of disciplinary committee chairman could remain intact while he showed her home.

It was already October, almost ten days in. The autumnal equinox had long since come and gone, and the fall sun was quick to set. The impetuous stars had begun to twinkle in the sky. Yes, this was a well-traveled city area, and yes, they would be taking a commuter straight from the station-front to her house, but it wouldn’t count as bringing a girl home if he said Okay, see you tomorrow at the station. Mikihiko was correct on that front.

And Mizuki wasn’t unhappy about Mikihiko bringing her to her house, per se. But once the two of them got in the commuter alone, she never knew what to talk about. Neither of them were exactly conversationalists, so they’d discovered on Saturday and Monday that during the cabinet ride, they’d run out of topics.

The two of them alone, in a small car, without anything to say. For Mizuki, who had a very low threshold for embarrassment, this was a major mental burden on her—no, an ordeal.

They were currently at a loose end already while waiting in front of the station for their turn in a commuter, but the silence wasn’t an issue because they weren’t yet in a closed space.

“By the way, Shibata, you usually do watercolor painting, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yes.”

Nevertheless, Mikihiko had thought of something to talk about and couldn’t wait until they were in the car. Still, Mizuki would never think What an inconsiderate boy he is.

“That’s right. I like the gentler coloring of watercolors, so… These days you can get a lot more colors in computer graphics, but I’m one of those people who still wants to physically paint with a brush.”

It was Mizuki’s personality to try her best to answer anything asked of her.

“And you’re still really good at CG—it’s amazing.”

“Oh, no—I still have a long way to go, even with watercolors.”

Mizuki’s face was fairly red now as she tried to act modest, pleading wordlessly for him not to praise her any further. Unfortunately, Mikihiko didn’t have the experience to glean that from her expression alone.

“But your president said the same thing. That you have a really good sense for diagrams. Come to think of it, you had good grades in magic geometry, didn’t you?”

“Um, yes. That’s the only reason I get good scores on tests.” Mizuki gave a joking smile.

“Ah-ha-ha. I’m the same way. I manage to hang on to a high rank thanks to magic history and linguistics of magic. I’m just awful when it comes to magic engineering.”

“Well, you were always better with talismans… Oh—now that I think about it, you didn’t choose magic geometry as an elective. Why not?”

“Magic pharmaceuticals was more helpful for my spells, I guess. I do actually plan on studying magic geometry for real at some point, too.”

“Oh, so that’s why you see Mr. Tsuzura sometimes.”

“Well, it’s more like he’s calling me, but…”

These two always thought they had nothing to talk about, but given the chance, their conversations tended to be lively like this.

Still, no matter how much fun he had talking to Mizuki, Mikihiko never stopped being vigilant of their surroundings.

Even now, he could clearly sense the presence of a shikigami watching them. While taking care to keep the conversation going, he sent out a searching spell.

The spell didn’t reach across space but across meaning. Out of all the gazes focusing on Mizuki, he projected those with magical wave motion into his mind. Not all of the attention on her bore her malice or ill will; in fact, most of them were favorable or amorous. She didn’t stand out very much next to Miyuki or Erika, but despite her impression of plainness, she was certainly cuter than your average girl. And because her body had matured now that she was a junior, her physical beauty drew the eye as well.

Most of that noise was reflected because of the “magical wave motion” condition, but a few did pass through the filter and reached Mikihiko’s mind, putting him on edge in a few different ways. Even as he worked hard to tackle that, he continued searching for magicians and magical presences targeting Mizuki and him.

Fujibayashi had once called Mikihiko the child prodigy who’s grown up. One year of frustration before he’d met Tatsuya. One year of introspection after meeting him and getting mixed up in all sorts of dramatic events. The density of his growth over these two years rivaled ten or twenty years for the average person. The year since meeting Tatsuya especially let him develop as a magician.

As they were talking, their turn came. The commuter in front of them opened its doors automatically, waiting for them to board. Mikihiko let Mizuki get in first, turned to glance around, then used a Return spell, an ancient magic to banish a shikigami back to its user.

Everything with a front had to have a back. This time, though, the front and back weren’t just some abstract, metaphorical notion—but a structure’s back door and doorstep.

It may be an odd expression, calling a multiuse building’s entrance a doorstep, but in any case, back roads formed in the gaps of back-to-back buildings in shopping districts, opposite the front entrances decorated for visitors, even today. Garbage from each building went through a special underground tube to be automatically collected, and automatic cleaning machines, purchased on a region-by-region basis, traveled the streets, meaning there was no filth to be seen or odor to be smelled. Still, there were naturally places streetlights wouldn’t reach.

“Damn that little brat!”

On one such street, lurking in the dim light, a man who appeared to be around forty held down his hand and swore.

Blood was dripping from between the fingers of his left hand as it covered his right.

“He just Returned my shiki demon. I thought the second son of the Yoshida didn’t have his powers anymore!”

He showed no sign of ceasing his audience-free monologue—maybe he had a habit of talking to himself.

“And I can’t believe he’d Return it so violently… I was just watching him, that’s all.”

The blood loss seemed to be lasting longer than he thought it would; the man took out not a handkerchief but a scrap of paper—a talisman.

“Offering my own blood? Don’t make me laugh,” he said, placing the talisman on his wound and chanting an incantation. Considering how his final activation verse was Kyuu-Kyuu-Nyo-Ritsu-Ryou, he must have been either an onmyouji or a mainland mage.

“You’ll pay for this, you Yoshida brat. And my blood doesn’t come cheap.”

“Come on, it’s over. With your skills, old man, he’ll just turn the tables on you again.”

Aghast, the man turned toward the voice. He was no amateur. He always put up a bounded field that would block perception when he got to work on any of his “jobs.” He hadn’t forgotten the circle, either, that would warn him if anyone did approach. And yet he’d been taken entirely by surprise.

Without a word, the man removed a new talisman. No amateur would ever randomly stumble into his bounded field. Considering what the person had just said, they were doubtlessly an enemy.

But the man would never fire his spell.

“Hey, your back is wide open.”

Another young man had crept up behind the man, who had already turned around, and reaped his consciousness. Delivering an impact hard enough to knock someone out actually came with an unignorable possibility of lasting effects. But they didn’t seem to hesitate in the slightest.

“This pitiful excuse for a magician doesn’t even make for good training. Are you sure they needed bodyguards?”

“Don’t be like that. Enduring idleness is just another part of our training.”

The two young men who exchanged looks had very similar builds and features. The resemblance wasn’t natural, though—it was the similarity of those who had eaten from the same pot, who had overcome the same hellish experiences.

And above all, both their heads were equally shorn, down to a smooth shine.

During the downtime between first and second period the next day, Tatsuya visited the disciplinary committee HQ on a call from Mikihiko.

“Oh—Tatsuya. Sorry for calling you here.”

Having arrived first, Mikihiko watched for the moment Tatsuya entered the room and did something on the console at his hands.

The door locked, and on the front, it showed an “In Meeting” display.

“Don’t worry about it. What did you need all of a sudden?”

“We don’t have time, so I’ll be short. On our way home yesterday, Shibata was targeted,” he told Tatsuya, his eyes harsh.

Tatsuya pretended to be surprised. “Mizuki? She wasn’t acting like it at all.”

“She didn’t notice. We were just being watched from a distance by shikigami, and I broke all their spells.”

“I see,” said Tatsuya, making sure to sound relieved.

Mikihiko gazed at him, and then criticism came to his eyes. “Just like you predicted, Tatsuya.”

“Yeah. Thanks for sticking with her.”

“It’s just so strange.”

Tatsuya feigned incomprehension at what Mikihiko was saying and listened to the incriminating words that came next.

“Why do people like that need to be going after Shibata? They weren’t just some thugs. I couldn’t call them first-rate, but it seemed like they were used to criminal acts.”

“You mean they were professional criminals?”

“They certainly weren’t reputable magicians.” For a moment, Mikihiko had trouble speaking, but he didn’t stay silent. “Why would they be after Shibata? If their goal is the Thesis Competition, they would go after Isori, or Nakajou, or Minakami. Tatsuya, you’re hiding something from us, aren’t you?! That modified shikigami activation sequence you showed me before—you didn’t just randomly run across it. It has to do with you guys being attacked and Mizuki being targeted, doesn’t it?!”

No answer came from Tatsuya.

Mikihiko was the first one to look away. “Tatsuya… You always turn it down, saying you don’t need it, but I feel indebted toward you. You’re the one I have to thank for regaining my confidence and strength as a magician.”

Tatsuya tried to argue, but Mikihiko cut him off and continued.

“I wouldn’t do anything to disadvantage you. If you told me to help, I’d do anything I could. And if you wanted to keep something a secret, I’d never tell a soul.”

Mikihiko once again gave him a desperate look. The light in his eyes made it seem like he was somehow backed into a corner. “But if I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t have any way to protect Shibata!”

That was almost like confessing to Tatsuya that he had special feelings for Mizuki, but Tatsuya didn’t try to use that to divert the conversation—though Mikihiko was too worked up to notice.

“I can’t give you any details.”

“Tatsuya!” Naturally, Mikihiko pressed him.

“A foreign magician who guided enemy saboteurs here during the Yokohama Incident last year is being protected by the Traditionalists. I’m chasing him down.”

But at the fragment of truth that came from Tatsuya next, Mikihiko lost both his words and the color in his face.

“Sorry. That’s as much as I can tell you.”

“Oh, right… You’re in the—”

Right before saying army, Mikihiko abruptly clammed up. It wasn’t something he could ever say aloud, even inside a soundproofed field.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “And thanks for talking to me.”

He was under the completely wrong impression. Just as Tatsuya had led him.

And Tatsuya didn’t feel any guilt about that, either. It was still too early for the truth behind this incident, and his connection to the Yotsuba, to be known. Right now, it was still too dangerous for anyone to know. It was still too early to pull in Mikihiko as a collaborator.

“Tatsuya, you said the Traditionalists, right?”

“Yeah. I at least know that they’re protecting the target.”

“…Then I think I can help you. After school—no, that won’t work. Can we talk tonight? I’ll bring Shibata home, then come back to school.”

“All right.”

Maya hadn’t exactly given him a deadline, and from Tatsuya’s point of view, the whole thing wasn’t that much of a rush. He didn’t have a personal agenda against Gongjin Zhou, either. Frankly speaking, leaving it all alone wouldn’t have pained him in the slightest.

But he decided if that was what it took to placate Mikihiko, then he was fine with that.

Seven PM. As one would expect, even the Thesis Competition work was winding down at this point. Despite only male students sticking around, staying any later than this would be considered a problem for peacekeeping and discipline.

That usually left Isori, the competition team leader, in charge of anything after the gates closed, as he was previously a student council member. Normally, however, either the student council president or their representative was supposed to oversee things. When Tatsuya remained in the school, nobody gave him so much as a second look.

Since he’d had no free time of late, homework had been piling up pretty high—a report for a general-ed class, for example. After calling up his curriculum on a student council room terminal, he shot through all the accumulated things he had to submit.

Right after he finished his physics report, a chime went off, signaling a visitor to the student council room.

“Pixie, could you?”

“Yes, Master.”

Tatsuya ordered Pixie to respond to it—the girl had become the student council room’s exclusive maid. She’d received orders in advance to let Mikihiko through if he came.

“Sorry for the wait, Tatsuya.”

After sitting in a seat recommended to him by Pixie, Mikihiko started off with an acceptable greeting.

“Don’t be. I just got to a good break point,” answered Tatsuya.

Mikihiko gave him a doubtful look. Tatsuya hadn’t done anything with his terminal after he came in. The list of reports on its monitor was visible from where Mikihiko sat.

But if he made any unnecessary comments now, his sense of tension would break.

“This might sound sudden, but let’s pick up from this morning.”

He abruptly got to the point, not necessarily because he wanted to preserve the mood but because he didn’t want to let his own thoughts dull.

“I want to confirm one thing. Tatsuya, you’re certain your target is being protected by the Traditionalists, right?”

“The info comes from a trustworthy source.”

“I see…” Mikihiko thought about this but only for a few short moments. “First, I want to make my position clear. Those calling themselves the Traditionalists are, for better or worse, a very large faction of ancient magicians. You could break ancient magicians up into the Traditionalists, the factions supporting them, and the factions opposing them.”

“Really? My master said magicians inheriting real traditions hated them.”

He hadn’t actually gotten that fact from Yakumo, but he’d decided it was better to leave it at that and not invite unneeded suspicion.

“They do. But on the flip side, a lot of civilian magicians who feel like rankings and precepts are constraining have sympathy for the Traditionalists, who band together regardless of their schools.”

“Which group does your family belong to?”

Before, Mikihiko had said he would make his position clear. That must have meant he’d clearly tell Tatsuya whether he, or perhaps the Yoshida, were cooperative with or hostile toward the Traditionalists.

“The Yoshida family broke free of a certain religious discipline a long time ago. And we worship the kami, too, in order to discover a magic that will lead to godhood.”

That was a trait of magicians cooperative with the Traditionalists.

“And that’s why the Yoshida family stands against the Traditionalists.”

Mikihiko’s answer, however, was a curveball.

“The Traditionalists who were part of old Lab Nine think about magic in a fundamentally different way than the Yoshida. What we aim for is only magic to achieve divinity. Their doctrine that everything is acceptable as long as they can increase their power—we would never be able to align with them.”

Tatsuya couldn’t tell from the information he’d heard now whether that remark was Mikihiko’s personal feelings or values instilled in him by his parents. But even if it was borrowed, he certainly seemed to have a lot of respect for his own thoughts on it.

“Which is why this time, all that other stuff aside, you can rely on me. And if you wanted, I think I could give you my full assistance as a member of the Yoshida, too.”

“Wait, that’s… If I ask the Yoshida for help, I’d need to tell them everything.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

When it came to what Tatsuya couldn’t talk about, he and Mikihiko had two different things in mind, but Tatsuya was the only one who knew that.

“All right. Then we’ll try my second plan. I thought up a way where you don’t have to provide too many details,” said Mikihiko, giving a mean-spirited grin, one that didn’t exactly suit him. “I don’t know whether I should call it unfortunate or fortunate, but the Traditionalists’ main base is in Kyoto, where the Thesis Competition is being held this year.”

The information Mikihiko was so proud to give was at odds with what he’d heard from Fujibayashi and Minoru in Nara, but he didn’t have any way to discern which was correct.

“That’s what it seems like.”

Instead, he decided to hear Mikihiko out under the assumption both were true.

“We’d planned to dispatch a security team to begin with, to inspect the situation there, but I’m thinking I’ll go with them.”

“And?”

“Tatsuya, this is why you decided to be part of the security team, isn’t it?”

Mikihiko answered Tatsuya’s question with one of his own.

Instead of pressing for an answer, Tatsuya answered Mikihiko’s. “That’s right.”

“Then you can move about the city however you wish. Because you can say you’re taking a very broad look around the venue so that nothing like last year happens again.”

“Well, I appreciate it. Anyway, what about you?”

“I’ll be the decoy. I think I’ll use flashy search shiki from the new International Conference Hall and rub all the Traditionalists the wrong way with it.”

“I get it.” Finally understanding, Tatsuya grinned.

“If the Traditionalists lash out, we’ll have a justification for self-defense. And then it won’t be your job—it’ll be the Yoshida family’s fight.”

“What about the power discrepancy?”

“None of us would ever lose on one-on-one skill. And if the Traditionalists put in enough people to overwhelm the Yoshida, the other schools wouldn’t remain silent. What’s important is having them make the first move. The ancient schools are all very keen on pretexts. If we make the first move, they’ll stick to observing, but if they do, they’re sure to come in to arbitrate.”

Tatsuya ran a quick mental simulation of what would happen in that case. His fear was ancient magicians getting into flash magic shoot-outs, turning city streets into battlefields. If the police and JDF had their hands full putting it down, Gongjin Zhou would escape in the chaos.

But if the Traditionalists struck first and the ancient schools came in to arbitrate, he’d have an excuse to investigate the Traditionalists’ interior. Tatsuya could see that going very well for him.

“What if they don’t make a move?”

“Then my shiki will find your target, Tatsuya. He’s a Taoist from China, right? The wave motion of his psions would be different. After you put me through all that work, telling apart psionic waves is basically my special skill now. I’m confident no ancient magicians could hold a candle to me.”

“That’s some big talk.”

Tatsuya grinned but didn’t deny his boasting. Ancient magicians would tell magic apart. They didn’t customarily view psionic waves themselves like modern magicians did. This was because it was meaningless to observe psionic waves that weren’t spells. Psionic wave observation was a modern magic technique created during the process of researching technical usage methods of psions. And almost no modern magicians had the skill to gain practical observation data to reproduce the level of precision that, for example, the Stars had used when detecting the parasites on one’s own.

Mikihiko’s brag had enough evidence behind it.

“What about Mizuki?”

Mikihiko’s face, brimming with confidence, suddenly darkened. Tatsuya was amused by the ease of that change, but he knew, at least, that this wasn’t the right place to laugh.

“…It’s too dangerous to bring Shibata with us.”

“In that case, I’ll arrange for a bodyguard.”

“Would you do that?”

“Of course. I’m the one who got you guys caught up in this to begin with.”

Mikihiko breathed a sigh of relief—probably because he thought Tatsuya would arrange for a bodyguard from the JDF.

In reality, pupils of Yakumo’s were already protecting Mizuki, but just in case, he planned to dispatch a different group of magicians from what Mikihiko thought.

“When will you say something?”

“As disciplinary committee chairman, I’d have to lay the groundwork with the school… Probably Friday.”

“All right. I’ll tell Miyuki, too, so the student council can make things work.”

“…Wait, aren’t you part of the student council? You should do it yourself.”

Tatsuya didn’t answer that; he just grinned mischievously.

Mikihiko gave a pained smile and rose from his seat.

Thursday night, October 11, 2096, at a certain point in Kyoto.

The skies were jet-black, the thick cloud cover ready to rain at any moment.

Even the park, a place of recreation for the people during the day, nearly emptied in the middle of the night. And tonight, specifically, it was host to only two silhouettes. One stood by the river, and the other walked downstream to get to him.

“Lord Nakura, have I made you wait?” Gongjin Zhou asked as he approached.

“No, you’re right on time, Mr. Zhou,” Nakura replied, looking up to give a suitably friendly greeting.

They stood at a distance just wide enough that if they both reached out a hand, they wouldn’t connect.

“It’s been two months,” Zhou commented.

“Yes, and it seems like ages,” Nakura countered Zhou’s opening jab with a straight punch. “I would have liked to visit you, but I didn’t know where you currently take up residence. Please excuse this rudeness on my part.”

“I was surprised at the suddenness of the incident that forced you to relocate. Had I known before, I would have passed it on for you.”

“No, I don’t intend to ask you to go to such lengths. The enemy being who they are, it was inevitable, even if they didn’t know in advance what I was attempting to do.”

Nakura pointed out that Zhou had run from the Kuroba with his tail between his legs, and Zhou remarked cynically that the Yotsuba’s inside information was too much for the Saegusa family to handle. The comments were mean-spirited; they traded looks, Nakura’s steady and Zhou’s a graceful smile—though this sort of exchange was par for the course.

“Now then, Lord Nakura, what business might you have with me today?” asked Zhou without dropping his smile—as though he didn’t know how to make any other expression. He wasn’t impatient, though; the situation just didn’t call for a protracted conversation.

“Mr. Zhou, were you aware the Kudou have joined forces with the Yotsuba?”

Zhou’s eyebrow twitched. It didn’t lead to his smile vanishing just yet, though. “I was not… All for me?”

“We believe the Yotsuba family discovered that the Traditionalists were protecting you and requested the Kudou’s cooperation, as they’re hostile toward the Traditionalists.”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…” Suddenly, Zhou started to laugh loudly. “It seems I’ve certainly moved up in the world. I’m being targeted not only by the Yotsuba, led by the current world’s strongest, but also the Kudou, once the world’s trickiest.”

Zhou laughed in amusement. It was neither desperation nor the madness of a cornered beast. From the beginning, he had been quietly insane—that was the sort of impression his laughing gave.

“The Kudou have long since been at odds with them—I’m sure they’ve fully investigated the Traditionalists. We doubt it will be long before they discover your hiding place, Mr. Zhou,” remarked Nakura uninterestedly, unmoved by the metamorphosis.

Zhou calmed himself and responded sarcastically, “I see, yes indeed. I’ve stayed with everyone in the Traditionalists for close to two months now, but perhaps it’s time to make myself scarce. Now then, are you—or rather, the Saegusa family—offering to provide me a new hiding place?”

“Yes.” Nakura nodded.

Zhou looked at him dubiously—that must not have been the answer he was expecting.

“I will speak directly. The Saegusa cannot tolerate you falling into the Yotsuba’s hands, Mr. Zhou. We must not let them know of the connection between you and us.”

“And you will give me a place to which to abscond?”

“Yes,” confirmed Nakura to Zhou’s question, which expressed it not as a hiding place, but somewhere to run away to. “I will bring you somewhere the Yotsuba’s hands will never reach.”

“Ah… As for the name of this place—”

With a casual motion, Zhou reached into his pocket.

In the blink of an eye, a portable terminal-type CAD was gripped in Nakura’s hand.

“—I do hope it isn’t Hades!”

“No, it is a place called burn in hell!”

Both of them leaped backward at the same time. Zhou produced a paper strip—a lingpai, or command token—with a black luster from his pocket, and Nakura expanded an activation sequence from his CAD.

Zhou probably had the spell waiting from the start, because their spells triggered at the same time.

From Zhou’s token sprang a quadrupedal beast, completely black—probably a compound form made to look like a dog. The black dog leaped off the ground, then shot in a line toward Nakura’s windpipe.

Dozens of clear needles pierced its shadowy body from below.

Nakura’s feet were over the shoreline. The needles that had penetrated the Shadow Beast had been fired from the river.

“Water needles…” In the darkness, Zhou’s eyes saw the clear needles for what they really were. “How careless of me. It was a mistake to designate a riverside meeting place. It seems you have the terrain advantage.”

“And you’re using a spell to create animal compound forms using shadows as a medium.”

“Yes. I’m ashamed to tell you its name, as it is quite artless, but my master called it Shadow Beast. He was quite proud, despite its age, of it being a hybrid spell—western sorcery integrated with immortalism.”

“Western sorcery… The hellhound, then. I must have mistaken the time. I should have at least made sure the moon would be out.”

They weren’t leisurely exchanging lectures about their spells. Even as they spoke, the token Zhou held was spewing forth Shadow Beasts, and Nakura was intercepting them with water needles.

Zhou didn’t seem to be putting together a new spell. That meant the lingpai in his hand had probably been loaded with a great many Shadow Beasts. It had already produced over ten, yet it showed no signs of running out. Casting so many layers of magic on a single small token spoke to his bottomless reserve of strength.

“Still, I find I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

But Zhou was the first one to ask a question.

Nakura’s expression didn’t change as he mechanically shot down all the illusory beasts Zhou was creating. Even his voice as he replied was practically devoid of emotion.

“Lab Seven’s research theme was colony-control magic. Magic that can simultaneously manipulate over a hundred objects at the very least. Far more than the number you’re controlling now. Could it be you’re holding back on me?”

“Funny. Against you, I wouldn’t be able to hold back,” answered Nakura in a voice that sounded surprised. The fact that his voice held more emotion than his remark drew Zhou’s attention. “Mr. Zhou, do you know the term Extra Numbers?”

More needles flew at Zhou. In the dark, they were almost imperceptible to the human eye, but Zhou sidestepped to easily avoid them.

His speed was likely more than could be achieved with muscle power alone. Did Chinese ancient magic have spells with the same effects as self-acceleration spells?

“I do know it. I hear it refers to magician families who were granted numbers in the magician development institutes but later had them stripped away.”

Needles flew one after another. Zhou was busy dodging them, unable to time his Shadow Beast production. The attacker had become the defender.

“Then do you know the reason those numbers were stripped away?”

“I’m afraid not. Actually, I do know it happened if those people didn’t exhibit the desired abilities.”

The needles turned into a pelting downpour. Zhou pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket.

The white handkerchief grew in size until it covered his whole body, protecting him from the shower of needles.

Nakura stopped his attacks.

Zhou let the cloth down, showing his face.

“I am one of those magicians who didn’t have those desired abilities at Lab Seven.”

“Oh—excuse my rudeness, then.”

Zhou unleashed a Shadow Beast.

Nakura used his CAD to barely shoot it down in time.

Zhou lowered the hand holding the lingpai.

Nakura, fingers still on his CAD, resumed his account of his experiences regarding the Extra Numbers.

“The basic form of colony-control magic is to prepare what you’ll use as bullets in advance, then control them.”

Nakura expanded an activation sequence.

Zhou readied his white cloth.

“But that didn’t seem useful in real combat to me. Battles do not only occur when you happen to be carrying cumbersome mediums. When one has an assistance tool called a CAD that was specifically developed to be something you could have on you at all times, must we carry unnecessary baggage?”

“As a follower of the ancient immortalist arts who cannot use magic without convenient spell tools to act as mediums, your commentary stings. Still, I don’t believe all CADs are things you can wear on you at all times, either. Some are modeled after large handguns, for example.”

“Ah, handgun-shaped specialized CADs. I don’t believe those are practical for combat, either.”

Nakura and Zhou, both maintaining a magic-ready state, eyed each other for an opening. Or maybe this conversation exchanged between them was itself a gamble to create that opening.

“In any case, I couldn’t appreciate the institute’s direction. That was why I arranged their colony-control magic to be usable at any time. It meant I couldn’t target more than a hundred things to control at once, but in exchange, I formulated techniques for giving form to liquid and using it as bullets.”

“How unfortunate.”

“As a result, I was stripped of my number.”

At this time, the order of their speaking had reversed. The one who planned this was Gongjin Zhou. And by that, Nakura was robbed of a shard of his awareness.

Zhou hurled his lingpai forward.

Taken by surprise, Nakura launched his needles at Zhou—not in a barrage, but in an arcing path.

A Shadow Beast burst out of the token in midair.

Nakura built up a new spell to intercept it.

The white cloth flapped and fell. Behind it, Gongjin Zhou was gone.

The Shadow Beast, hit by the water needles, turned into a shadow and melted into the night. The crowd of arcing water needles laced the empty air.

After falling onto the water’s surface, the lingpai spewed out a black shadow.

Nakura, catching that out of the corner of his eye, cast a jumping spell. By the skin of his teeth, he escaped the jaws launching out of the water spray.

Landing on the opposite shore, Nakura gathered himself, preparing for the next attack. But as he stared across the river into the darkness, a black horn pierced through his gut from behind.

The horn that stabbed through Nakura’s gut melted into a tar-like goop, then blew away on the night winds flowing across the water’s surface. Support lost, he fell, faceup.

He heard footsteps tramping through the river gravel in front of his head. Struggling, he looked, and the first thing he saw was the white cloth that had hidden his foe. From beyond it, the man was now walking toward him. He wasn’t unharmed, either; there were holes in the left shoulder and right side of his expensive-looking three-piece suit, stained with blood.

“It seems…it was not…an illusion…that fooled me.”

Nakura realized what had happened without it being explained. He thought he’d jumped to the opposite bank in his effort to get away from Zhou, but he’d actually jumped toward this bank and landed, turning his back to the enemy.

“Yes. It was always I who was fighting you.”

“Deceiving…directions… Is this…the immortalist art…of Qimen…Dunjia…?”

Nakura’s voice stopped and started and was hard to make out, but Zhou understood it without issue. “Yes. And I must say, it’s been a long time since I shed this much blood. In my experience, Saburou Nakura, you are more skilled than Mitsugu Kuroba.”

“Ha…ha-ha… Such…an honor…”

Zhou knelt down next to Nakura and spoke to him gently. “We once had drinks together. Do you have any last requests?”

“Requests…well… Perhaps one thing…”

“What is it?”

“Please…”

“Yes?”

“Die with me!”

Nakura’s shout was a rallying cry of his final strength.

Perhaps it was an incantation—literal curse words.

Nakura’s body exploded from the chest, his blood turning into needles.

Zhou covered his face reflexively; in a moment, he pulled his arms away and scowled at the red needles that covered them. “It was a final request. I would have been happy to oblige you.”

He groped around for the needle that had slipped through his arms and stabbed his ear, then pulled it out.

The needle melted back into blood, leaving a small scar on his earlobe. Sighing, he took out another lingpai from his jacket pocket.

The blood needles hit their event alteration time limit and all melted at once, at which point Zhou chanted a short spell.

The stabbing wounds on his skin began to disappear, like a clip of time-lapse photography (or high-speed playback).

“Unfortunately, it would take more than this level of magic to kill me.”

Zhou stood up, looked at his clothes, and sighed. He’d predicted Nakura would come at him with something—likely something close to a suicide attack. He had only able to cover his face with his arms because he was on his guard from the previous needle attacks.

“This won’t be much use anymore. It may be nighttime, but I would only draw attention looking like this.”

But he hadn’t fully predicted the attack would use Nakura’s own blood. Looking down at his clothes stained in a dead man’s blood, he sighed again.

Zhou took out the handkerchief in his pocket, which he’d returned to its place at some point.

No, not returned it—it was clearly a different one than the first.

The handkerchief wasn’t white but black.

He opened the dark-colored handkerchief, and a shadow spread wide to cover his body.

The black cloth, which had changed into a handkerchief, merged with the shadow, and then only Nakura’s corpse was left.