Chapter 2

On January 8, the first day of the new semester, Tatsuya, Miyuki, and Minami arrived at the school half an hour earlier than usual.

This wasn’t because of an opening ceremony or anything of the sort. And although the three were all members of the student council, it wasn’t as though they needed to arrive early in order to perform some special function at the beginning of the term.

No, the reason they arrived early was due to a request from the school. The previous day, Tatsuya and Miyuki had each received a message requesting that they appear at the principal’s office before school started.

The e-mail had arrived just after noon. At the time, Miyuki had been at home, while Tatsuya was working at FLT. As a result, they hadn’t been able to discuss the summons until after dinner, whereupon they quickly arrived at a conclusion: It had to be about the Yotsuba announcement.

It would be an opportunity for them to explain themselves, along with some scolding for providing false information to the school and a remonstration that despite being engaged, they were still expected to maintain appropriate conduct—that sort of thing.

Their prediction was not incorrect.

In front of Tatsuya and Miyuki sat the vice principal, Yaosaka, and past him on the other side of a large, heavy desk was the principal, Azuma Momoyama. Minami, meanwhile, was in her own classroom, as the e-mail had only been addressed to Tatsuya and Miyuki.

“Now then, you’re saying that you never deliberately provided false information?”

“That is correct. It was what was recorded in the family registry, so I believed it myself.”

Momoyama’s face darkened into a slight frown, although it was unclear whether that was out of irritation at Tatsuya’s decision to speak in a rigid tone like he was delivering a military report or at his total lack of fear or nervousness.

Sensitive to the principal’s displeasure, Yaosaka nervously contributed to the questioning. “So you’re saying the family register itself was falsified? If it’s determined that your guardian willfully provided falsified application documents, your school records could be expunged.”

“I believe you have already received a letter from my father detailing his explanation and apology.”

“We have received that, yes. But are we really to believe this went unnoticed for seventeen years?”

“My father has no interest in me. Upon reflection, that may be because I was never his biological son.”

Yaosaka’s expression didn’t shift, not even at Tatsuya’s blunt statement. Such situations were not uncommon—whether in the past or present—which made Tatsuya’s story that much more believable.

“Principal, sir, I don’t believe there’s anything irregular in Mr. Shiba’s explanation here,” the vice principal went on.

Momoyama did not immediately reply.

“The public data, beginning with the family register, has already been corrected. Considering the family’s special circumstances, I don’t think there’s any need for punishment. What do you think, sir?”

“I understand the situation,” Principal Momoyama declared with a grave nod. “And indeed, you two are not responsible. No place of education should ever punish the innocent. However, do not forget that this was a serious error that could have resulted in the expunging of your entire school records. I will need to have a serious talk with your guardians about this.”

“Understood.” Tatsuya and Miyuki both executed neat bows.

“Now, as far as you two being engaged goes, I expect you to continue to uphold the morals of this school. Given your circumstances, I won’t oppose your cohabitation.”

The siblings bowed again to Momoyama.

Yaosaka added a final remonstration: “It was previously permitted because you were siblings, and the only reason that isn’t changing now is because you are engaged. See that you don’t forget that.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, their interrogation in the principal’s office was concluded.

The lecture ended earlier than they’d expected—but Tatsuya arrived at Class 2-E’s classroom a bit later than usual, which was probably why Erika had taken up a post in a window of the classroom that faced the hallway. “Hey, there he is!” she cried.

Hearing that Tatsuya hadn’t arrived yet, Leo had returned briefly to his own Class 2-F classroom, but as Tatsuya passed by, he stuck his head into the hall and called out to him. “Hey, Tatsuya. Been a while.”

Tatsuya paused. “Hey, Erika, Leo. It sure has.” He put Erika’s name first, since he had the vague feeling that if he didn’t, she’d pout.

“When did you get back to Tokyo?” she asked, which was when Tatsuya remembered that he’d promised to get in touch with her once he’d wrapped up other business.

“The fourth. Sorry I didn’t check in.”

Tatsuya didn’t forget things. More accurately, he simply failed to think of them in the first place. In this particular case, he hadn’t had a spare moment to remember his promise.

“Nah, it’s fine. I bet you were pretty busy, right?”

“You know he was—and it’s only going to get worse. No need to bother with us until things calm down a bit.”

Leo’s words took Tatsuya by surprise. It wouldn’t have been surprising for Erika to know the contents of the letter the Yotsuba family had sent to the Magic Association—the Chibas were one of the many Numbered families to whom the Yotsubas had directed the announcement.

But Leo was unconnected to the Japanese magic world. He’d inherited his magic ability from his grandfather, a refugee from Germany. He had no blood relation to any Japanese magicians, so he shouldn’t have had any line on information from the Magic Association of Japan nor connections that would pass its rumors on to him.

Had the news traveled so far already? Tatsuya would soon have his answer.

The moment he entered the classroom, the gazes of all his classmates focused on him, then quickly dispersed.

Tatsuya had a good guess what everybody was thinking, but he decided he might as well at least pretend things were normal. He took his seat next to Mizuki and greeted her. “Good morning.”

“Ah, er, um, good morning…” As he expected, she immediately looked away after replying. Her reaction told him everything he needed to know.

Tatsuya turned away and raised the terminal built into his desk.

Both Erika, with her elbow still propped in the window frame, and Leo, leaning against the glass in the hallway, watched their friend with interest.

Tatsuya glanced in their direction with an expression on his face that said don’t worry about it.

Mikihiko didn’t appear in Class E’s classroom that morning.

By the end of morning classes, Tatsuya’s classmates were still walking on eggshells.

Tatsuya had never been one for idle conversation, but this was the first time no one had said anything to him all morning. He was competent in a variety of subjects, so having a classmate ask him for help with one problem or another was a daily occurrence.

What bothered Tatsuya was that everyone’s glances carried no malice or hostility. If they’d been obviously ostracizing him, then he simply would have banished any consideration of their existence from his mind.

Tatsuya was not a misanthrope, but at the same time, he didn’t particularly care about people—himself included.

The truth was that the only person he needed was Miyuki. He wasn’t very concerned about what became of everyone else. A pleasant life was simply easier to achieve with the help of others, and that was all. That being the case, in the absence of malice directed at him, Tatsuya preferred to maintain good relationships with the people around him.

But given the current circumstances, he determined that there was no rational action he could take.

“Mizuki, I’m going to the student council room. If anybody asks, tell them that’s where I am, would you?”

“Er, okay!” Mizuki said, startled at the sound of his voice. Scaring her would just have to be the price he paid to make it clear he wasn’t storming out of the classroom.

He’d told the truth when he said he was going to the student council room. But when he got there, he didn’t even make it through the door before pulling a U-turn.

Honoka and Shizuku were inside.

The door wasn’t open, and he wasn’t using Elemental Sight, but he could still tell when someone was on the other side of a single door. If they’d been like Tatsuya and deliberately minimized their presence—something that had become largely unconscious to him—maybe he wouldn’t have noticed, but as it was, regular students didn’t bother to hide. These two girls were no exception.

Honoka was on the student council, so it was not at all strange for her to be present. Shizuku was often in the room as well. But for both of them to be there on this particular day was unexpected.

Also unexpected was the fact that Miyuki wasn’t there.

So Tatsuya instantly turned on his heel and left.

Honoka and Shizuku were in the student council room to escape the curious gazes they were receiving in the dining hall. It was well-known around the school that they were both close to Miyuki, and more than a few of the junior girls knew all about Honoka’s crush on Tatsuya.

Miyuki had avoided the dining hall for the same reason—all the more so as she was the subject of the swirling rumors. As the student council president, she often ate in the student council room, and Tatsuya had assumed she would do so that day. He’d imagined that if anything, Honoka and Shizuku would want to avoid being in a room with Miyuki, but it was Miyuki who’d gone elsewhere apparently.

Especially given the dire pronouncements drilled into them by the principal and vice principal, Tatsuya had planned on avoiding eating lunch with his sister for the time being. That necessity had also occurred to Miyuki, since when he suggested it to her after they’d left the principal’s office, she’d agreed, albeit with a displeased expression.

Thus, they hadn’t arranged any particular rendezvous spot. But upon turning his attention inward for a moment, he soon realized exactly where she had to be. It wouldn’t have been hard to guess where she’d gone off to, either, but Tatsuya merely discerned her location, then headed in that direction.

He opened the door to the roof, and there was Miyuki.

There wasn’t any snow falling today, but the temperature was still barely above freezing. No other student would contemplate hanging out on the roof in such frigid weather. It was the perfect place to be alone.

“Ah, Tatsuya. I’ve been waiting.”

Well, not just alone—together, alone. Which had been what Miyuki wanted all along.

“If you’d contacted me, I would’ve come straight here, you know,” he offered.

She smiled softly. “I had no doubt whatsoever that you would know where to find me.”

The warmth of that smile suffused Tatsuya’s body. It wasn’t his imagination, either; it was Miyuki’s magic.

“You haven’t had lunch yet, have you? Come sit.” Miyuki gestured to her side. She was sitting on a bench that had room for three. He had planned on sitting next to her anyway, so he accepted her suggestion without hesitation.

Miyuki took two boxes—a larger and a smaller—out of the thermal pack that rested on her lap. The smaller she kept, and the larger she gave to Tatsuya. They were, of course, bento boxes.

“You made us lunch?”

“Yes, I did it while you were at your morning training. I figured we would need our own food today.”

Now that he thought about it, Minami had been carrying a rather large bag when the three of them had walked to school.

“Huh. Thanks, Miyuki.”

It occurred to Tatsuya that since she hadn’t told him about her lunch plans ahead of time, her effort could easily have gone to waste. But then he realized why she hadn’t—Miyuki had prepared the lunches because she’d anticipated that they wouldn’t want to eat in either the cafeteria or the student council room. And she hadn’t said anything about it because she hadn’t wanted to create a self-fulfilling prophecy. Tatsuya was sure of it.

“No need to thank me. But look—we can have lunch together after all.”

Tatsuya smiled uneasily at Miyuki’s barb. “If you’d told me you’d made lunch for us, I wouldn’t have suggested eating separately.”

“Hmm, I wonder.” Miyuki’s reply sounded dissatisfied, but she was obviously in good spirits. Regardless of the circumstances, she was clearly happy that they could eat together.

But Tatsuya could tell that to some extent, she was putting on a brave face.

“Yes, it is. Anyway, can I eat now?”

“Yes, by all means.”

Having received permission, Tatsuya took the lid off the bento box.

Miyuki smiled impishly and thrust her own chopsticks into Tatsuya’s open box. “In fact, there should be no problem with my feeding you, should there?”

Carefully balancing the bento box in her own lap so that it didn’t fall, Miyuki turned to face Tatsuya, bringing a piece of one of the fried side dishes in the lunch near his mouth.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replied calmly, carefully taking the bite so that his lips didn’t touch Miyuki’s chopsticks.

Miyuki’s face reddened as she watched him. She hastily recomposed herself, opening her own bento box, which gave her an excuse to look away from him.

She’d been hoisted by her own petard.

“You always make really good lunches, Miyuki,” Tatsuya said, glancing aside at her to make certain she’d heard. He decided keep his teasing to a minimum, although the line Aren’t you going to feed me any more? very nearly made it out. “It’s nice to be able to be alone with you, but being out under the winter sky like this just feels so chilly. If we can find an empty classroom somewhere, we should use it starting tomorrow.”

“Are you sure we should…be alone together again tomorrow?”

“I think that’d be best for a little while. Not when we have student council duties, of course.”

This of course flew directly in the face of what he’d said in the morning, but Miyuki didn’t argue. “I’ll try and find a room today, then,” she said resolutely, clenching her fist in determination.

“I’ll do the same, so don’t push yourself too hard,” Tatsuya offered with a smile, trying to calm his suddenly fiery sister.

“So how was Class A?” Tatsuya broached the subject after they’d finished eating and replaced the lids on their bentos.

“It was rather awkward, which I suppose was unavoidable. Everyone was keeping their distance and watching me, and if I tried to talk to anyone, they were really vague and roundabout.”

“Yeah, nobody initiated a conversation with me, either.”

“Also, Honoka and Shizuku didn’t say hello to me.”

Hearing this, Tatsuya frowned. “…Were they angry?”

“Well, when I talked to them, they at least answered me, but…yes, I suppose they’re avoiding me, at the very least,” Miyuki muttered, downcast.

“Well, if they’re not giving us the silent treatment, then it’s probably okay, right? I think they’ll understand that we didn’t have any choice in the matter.”

“…I hope you’re right.” Miyuki smiled uncertainly.

“Try to assume it is. Even if it isn’t, there’s no point in worrying about it.” Tatsuya put his hand to Miyuki’s cheek.

Miyuki laid her hand upon Tatsuya’s and closed her eyes. “I’ll try.”

“Time might settle all this. It’s too early to start being pessimistic.”

“You’re right…but that goes for you, too, Tatsuya,” Miyuki said, peering at him mischievously. “Knowing you, I bet you’re thinking of just leaving your friends alone until time settles your problems, too, right? Well, I happen to think that sometimes it’s good to take the initiative.”

Tatsuya chuckled, chagrined, conceding the point. “You got me there.”

Upon returning home from school, Tatsuya called the Yotsuba head’s direct line.

Until last New Year’s Eve, Tatsuya hadn’t been allowed to call Maya’s direct line, but now she was—publicly, anyway—his mother. No one could object to him calling her.

Next to Tatsuya was a meek-looking Miyuki. Normally around this time, she would be busy preparing dinner, but she understood that there were other things that took priority. She’d left the evening’s dinner preparation to Minami.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. This is perfect timing for you to call, Tatsuya,” Maya said.

It was actually the second time he’d tried to call. On the first, Hayama had appeared on the visiphone’s screen. He’d instructed Tatsuya to call back in twenty minutes, which he had done. “Were you busy?” he asked.

“Let’s talk about why you’re calling, first,” Maya said. Tatsuya was very interested in what business Maya might have with him and Miyuki, but he obediently followed the woman’s lead.

“This morning, Miyuki and I were called to the principal’s office,” Tatsuya began and then related the rest of what had happened during the meeting.

“So Mr. Momoyama gave you a stern talking-to, eh…?” murmured Maya, an amused lilt in her voice. It sounded like she had some sort of personal acquaintance with him. “Well, anyway, thank you for the report. You and Miyuki don’t need to do anything for now.”

“Understood.” Tatsuya and Miyuki bowed to the visiphone’s camera.

“And now I have something to report to you,” began Maya as the two raised their heads.

Tatsuya listened attentively, realizing that this wasn’t going to be about a new mission or duty for him.

“We’ve received a formal notice of protest filed by the Ichijou family via the Magic Association.”

“Why would the Ichijou family protest?” Miyuki asked. Her facial expression was composed, but both Tatsuya and Maya could tell that beneath it was fierce indignation.

“It gives me no pleasure to explain,” Maya began, unruffled to be the bearer of bad news. Not only was she not sparing Miyuki’s feelings, she seemed almost amused at the girl’s defiance. “The Ichijou are protesting on the grounds that you are too closely related to marry. They insist that the genes of those with magical talent are valuable national assets and that we cannot risk harming the next generation by passing down any genetic abnormalities.”

“That’s—!” Miyuki raised her voice, but Tatsuya interrupted her.

“I’m sure that wasn’t all there was to it. Avoiding genetic disorders isn’t a concern limited to magicians. That’s why there are laws about that sort of thing.”

“That wasn’t the only reason, but it was certainly the most prominent one.”

“And by the same token, not even the Ten Master Clans have the right to protest a lawful engagement. No doubt the Ichijou family had something else they also wanted to say, correct?”

Maya nodded with a satisfied smile. “Got it in one. As clever as always, Tatsuya.”

For Tatsuya’s part, he took no particular pleasure in the praise. “So what did they have to say?”

“Well, actually…they proposed an engagement between their oldest son and Miyuki.”

“Refuse them!” Miyuki immediately cried out.

“Miyuki—,” Tatsuya began to rebuke, but Maya cut him off.

“It’s fine, Tatsuya,” she said gently. “Miyuki’s anger is understandable. I also think it’s untoward for them to respond to the announcement of your engagement with a proposal of their own.”

“So you’ll tell them we refuse…?” asked Miyuki hopefully.

But Maya’s reply was not so clearly affirmative: “Not right away, Miyuki. I’m not going to tell them anything immediately.”

“Won’t that weaken our position?” asked Tatsuya.

Maya nodded understandingly. “I don’t intend to delay forever. But you two don’t need to worry about this.”

“You’re telling us not to do anything rash.”

“Right you are. You two just keep getting along with each other the way you always have.”

“Aunt Maya…” murmured Miyuki, looking askance, embarrassed by what Maya’s emphasis of the words getting along meant.

“Understood,” Tatsuya said without batting an eye, giving the camera a polite bow.

There was no real change in the way Miyuki and Tatsuya’s classmates treated them on the second day of the new semester. Their fellow students kept their distance and watched them with undisguised curiosity. Still, it wasn’t the kind of problem that was going to improve in just a single day—although one day was more than enough time for it to get worse.

Miyuki had always been something of a campus icon. Her beauty and skill alone were enough to make her rather difficult to approach. Her recently revealed lineage only added to that. It was no surprise that even older students acted diffident around her.

On the other hand, there was Tatsuya, toward whom more than a few students harbored a secret fear.

Fear. Anxiety. Terror. The apprehension, the trepidation, the dread one felt toward an unnaturally powerful warrior.

With Tatsuya’s direct connection to the Yotsuba clan now public, that feeling only grew. People were terrified to approach him, but their fear made it impossible for them to ignore him, too. This manifested in generally distant and standoffish treatment.

But the interest the young high school students held for them wasn’t just for those reasons. The scandals of the rich and famous have always been a subject of intense public interest. It would have been impossible to stop the prurient interest aroused by the story of these too-close siblings who were revealed to be cousins now engaged and cohabitating.

It was morning, before class started. Minami had just arrived in the Class 1-C classroom when she was immediately surrounded by a mass of students, most of whom were girls.

“I told you, nothing’s different with them.”

Minami had repeated this answer many times since the semester had started. Other variations of the answer included Nothing like that is happening, I’m not at liberty to say, and I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that.

“What? But they’re together all day!”

“Right, so when they have a day off…like, you know…”

A gleeful squeal arose from the crowd. By contrast, Minami sighed lightly. “As I said, Tatsuya and Miyuki are doing nothing of the sort.” She was perfectly aware that her honest answer was falling on deaf ears, but she didn’t want to risk a silence that would be interpreted as agreement.

Then, as though rewarding her patience, the next question was a change of subject:

“That reminds me, Sakurai, up through December you were calling Tatsuya and Miyuki ‘brother’ and ‘sister,’ weren’t you? Does that mean you’re part of the Yotsuba clan, too?”

The chatter from the classmates surrounding Minami came to an abrupt stop. They all seemed to hold their breath, watching Minami intently to see how she would answer.

“I formerly referred to Tatsuya and Miyuki that way at Tatsuya’s request. And the Yotsuba clan is, er, providing me support…”

Minami very nearly said the true answer, I serve the Yotsuba clan, but managed to change her wording at the last second. But her hesitation made it sound very much like she was hiding something.

“Really? Is that true?”

“Yes, really.”

Since the fact was that she was lying, her attempt to refute their skepticism was feeble. Of course, if she’d protested more vociferously, that also would’ve been taken as evidence that she was being deceptive.

“Huh, so the Yotsuba family does stuff like that, too.”

The work of a magician was dangerous. It wasn’t uncommon for the daughter of a magician who’d died in the line of duty to be taken in as a ward or assistant by another family. There were such students at First High—and even here in Class C, which explained why no one found Minami’s explanation of support questionable or suspicious.

“But the Yotsuba family supporting you doesn’t mean that you have no connection to them at all, does it?”

But that didn’t mean it was normal to ask someone in Minami’s position about every single little detail of her life. “Um, well…”

It was the arrival of the class leader who rescued the tongue-tied Minami from her classmates’ insensitive questions. “Okay, everybody, class is starting soon! We’ll get demerits if we’re not all in our seats!”

In response to Kasumi’s loud interruption, one of the girls checked the time on her terminal. “Saegusa, it’s not—”

Kasumi cut her off with a smile, repeating herself. “I said soon, didn’t I?”

“O-okay.”

Not so much convinced by Kasumi’s logic as overwhelmed by her smile, the girls surrounding Minami peeled off in twos and threes as they returned to their seats. Kasumi watched them go, her arms folded, then sniffed and headed for her own seat.

“Um—thank you, Saegusa,” said Minami from behind her.

Kasumi looked over her shoulder. “No problem. I hate that kind of thing,” she said with a quick wink.

The next break between classes passed without another human wall forming around Minami, but this was only because it was a practical skills class, and the need to move to another classroom meant there was no time for interrogation. She would not be so lucky during lunch. More than one or two of her classmates was planning on following her to the dining hall and questioning her very thoroughly.

At the bell signaling the end of morning classes, more than half the population of Class 1-C stood up.

But Kasumi was one step ahead of them. “Sakurai, you’re going to the student council room, right? Let’s go together.”

In a sense, it was natural. The seating order of the freshmen was split by gender, then alphabetically. Kasumi’s last name was Saegusa, and Minami’s was Sakurai, which put Kasumi’s seat directly in front of Minami’s. It wasn’t strange at all that Kasumi would be the first to reach Minami.

Minami’s eyes went round in surprise. Her shock was understandable—in the nine months she’d sat behind Kasumi, this was the first time the girl in front of her had ever invited her to do anything.

For her part, Kasumi had never had anything against Minami—she’d just vaguely avoided her since Minami was a relative of Tatsuya’s. And then today, this. Minami wasn’t the only surprised one.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

At Kasumi’s urging, Minami hastily grabbed the bag containing her bento box and stood.

“Um, Saegusa—” Minami’s voice had a questioning tone to it as she matched Kasumi’s stride. The two were climbing the stairs that would take them to the student council room.

“What’s up?” replied Kasumi, having instantly caught onto Minami’s uncertainty.

“I just wanted to thank you again for this morning. But—why did you save me?”

Minami didn’t think Kasumi hated her, but neither did she imagine that the girl particularly liked her. And that wasn’t just a baseless assumption. It was plain fact that the two girls hadn’t shared more than the absolute minimum interaction. Minami herself hadn’t taken any initiative to become friendly with Kasumi, either, which was all the more reason she was surprised that Kasumi had come to her rescue today.

“I told you—I hate that kind of thing.” The smile Kasumi directed at Minami was a bit awkward. Minami guessed that it was because they weren’t at all close or intimate, but the truth was Kasumi was a bit embarrassed about being so frankly told that she’d saved someone. “I know how it feels to be in that situation. Even if they’re just asking out of honest curiosity, it’s really insensitive to the person getting badgered.”

“That’s true.” Minami hadn’t been hurt by insensitive questioning so much as she’d been put in the awkward situation of being unable to answer because of her position, but in either case, the problem was the lack of empathy, so her agreement with Kasumi’s statement was genuine.

“I mean, I’ve been through a decent amount of that crap myself.” Kasumi suddenly relaxed, letting down her guard in a way she rarely did at school. Perhaps she’d sensed Minami’s own empathy.

Kasumi seemed not to have noticed her own ease. Minami’s ears pricked up at the sudden shift in her tone, but her well-practiced composure as a servant kept her from reacting in a way Kasumi would have noticed.

Saturday, January 12. The first weekend after the beginning of the new semester.

Saturday classes were limited to mornings, but the dining hall was open for the students participating in extracurricular activities. Erika, Leo, and Mizuki had their clubs, and it was Mikihiko’s turn on the discipline committee, so they all met in the dining hall in preparation for the afternoon’s activities.

The number of people in their lunch party had dropped by half compared to the previous month. Tatsuya, Miyuki, and Honoka were on the student council, so they just went to the student council room to eat—which was all well and good, but per the intelligence Erika had gotten from Shizuku, Tatsuya and Miyuki had actually been sneaking off to some other undisclosed location to eat since the beginning of the semester.

But it wasn’t just the group’s dwindling numbers that contributed to the lack of conversation during lunch. A larger factor was Erika—normally quite the conversationalist—who was radiating irritation from every pore on her body.

Mikihiko quickly finished eating and tried to leave, undoubtedly in a hurry to be absolutely anywhere else.

“Now just wait a second, Miki,” said Erika, catching him right as he was standing up and preventing his escape.

“What? Why?” he asked, trying to hide his dismay at being thwarted with a prickly tone.

Naturally, Erika would not be cowed by one snappish reply. “Wait until Mizuki finishes eating.”

Mikihiko and Erika’s exchange was visibly unsettling Mizuki. Eventually, she put her chopsticks down with a full one-third of her plate’s contents uneaten.

The four were sitting at a table, with Erika next to Mizuki and directly across from Leo.

Erika looked diagonally across at Mikihiko, then leaned toward him threateningly, her voice raised. “What’s your problem, Miki?!”

“What’s my problem?” Mikihiko shot back, not exactly smoothly.

“Oh, so you’re gonna make me say it out loud? Fine, I’ll say it!” Erika slammed her palm down onto the table. The sharp, sudden noise drew some attention, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I wanna know why you’re avoiding Tatsuya!”

There was a moment of silence. Every gaze in the dining hall was on Erika and Mikihiko. Erika continued to ignore the attention, and Mikihiko was too busy fending her off to notice it.

“I’m not…avoiding him.”

“Oh, you’re gonna deny it now?”

Mikihiko flinched at Erika’s accusing look.

“Even this idiot can tell you’ve been avoiding Tatsuya.” Erika’s eyes flicked over to Leo.

“Whoa, whoa, why am I the idiot?! But also, Mikihiko—our resident hothead here has a point—Ow!” Leo suddenly yelped. “Geez! What do you have in your shoes?”

Erika had kicked Leo’s shin under the table. “They’re not steel toed—don’t worry.”

The acrimonious mood around the table lifted slightly and not just for Mikihiko or Mizuki.

Erika sighed. “Fine. I don’t even have the energy for this anymore,” she said, taking the opportunity to back off before retreat became impossible. “Whatever. Look, Miki—I don’t know why you’re avoiding Tatsuya, and I don’t particularly care. But just because it turns out he’s a Yotsuba doesn’t mean you can treat him like this. That’s not what friends do.”

Erika gave him a pointed look. If she’d just been trying to start a fight, Mikihiko could’ve kept pushing back. But the seriousness in Erika’s gaze made it impossible for him to disguise the guilt he obviously carried over his treatment of Tatsuya.

“…It’s not because he’s a Yotsuba. Well, I mean, that’s only one of the reasons. I’m mad at him for not talking about any of this.”

Mikihiko’s downcast eyes weren’t just angry—there was frustration in them as well.

Erika found herself meeting Leo’s eyes.

“C’mon, Mikihiko. That’s not exactly fair, is it?” said Leo patiently. “It’s not like Tatsuya hid this from us because he wanted to, right? You’ve got plenty of tradition riding on your shoulders, too, so you should know that as well as anyone.”

“Miki,” said Erika pointedly, showing no reaction to what Leo had said. “Suppose you’d learned the truth from Tatsuya himself. What would you have done, then?”

Mikihiko was speechless. Or rather, he couldn’t find the words to articulate what he wanted to say.

Erika seized the advantage and fired off another shot. “If Tatsuya had told you that he was a direct descendant of the Yotsuba line, would you really have just left it at Oh, is that so? Would you have treated him no differently? Seeing the way you’re acting now, I find that hard to believe.”

Mikihiko had no answer. He couldn’t even muster a convenient lie as a deflection.

“The truth is, Miki, you’re just terrified of the Yotsuba name.”

“…And what about you, Erika?” Mikihiko muttered sullenly, finally summoning some bravado.

But it was a foolish question. No one as open about her own faults as Erika was could be intimidated like that. “Of course I’m terrified of them,” she said. “He’s one of the Yotsubas. If I didn’t feel anything, I wouldn’t be brave—I’d be a moron. It’s not something you can pretend you didn’t hear.”

“So how can you keep treating him the same way?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Erika snapped, using exactly the same tone with which she’d admitted her own fear. “The Yotsuba clan is scary. It’s creepy not knowing what they might pull. But Tatsuya is my friend. Even if I don’t trust the Yotsubas, I trust Tatsuya. Even if there’s a lot he has to hide from us.” She pressed forward, looking into Mikihiko’s eyes as she made her point. “And I’ll bet there’s a dozen or more things you keep secret from us, too.”

“That’s…”

“Don’t deny it. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“…”

“And I have my own secrets. Lots of them. Things I don’t want anyone to know, things I don’t ever plan on telling anyone else about.”

Mikihiko looked away uneasily. He had an inkling of what Erika didn’t want anyone to know about.

“So he didn’t confide his secret to you? So what? You’re not his wife—of course he didn’t.”

Mikihiko slumped, dejected. He had no more excuses left. “Why…why is everything so easy for you guys? Erika? Leo? Why is it so straightforward?”

Outside of Mikihiko’s view, Erika glanced at Leo.

“Well,” Leo said, “for me, it’s because I’ve never had anything to do with the Yotsuba family. I have no idea how scary their magicians are. But I know Tatsuya. I know exactly how scary he is, but I also know that I can totally trust him.” He smiled a little sheepishly. “I mean, that’s my call. I might be wrong. And if it turns out I am, I can live with that. Tatsuya’s my friend. It’d be stupid to change that just because I might’ve been wrong.”

“Leo…you’re incredible, you know that?”

Mikihiko wasn’t the only one openly staring at Leo. Erika was just as stunned. When she noticed Mikihiko look over to her, she had to hurry to reestablish her composure.

“Is that how it is for you, too, Erika?” asked Mikihiko.

“No, not exactly. It’s not like I accepted it right away…but I didn’t drag it out over three or four days.”

She’d learned of Tatsuya’s circumstances the previous February. Perhaps realized was a better word, but in any case, the shock was the same. But whatever her differing circumstances, she’d recovered from the psychological shock in under a day.

If she hadn’t found the revelation so deeply unsettling, she wouldn’t have had so much to say about Mikihiko’s attitude. But because she’d overcome it herself, she couldn’t stand to watch Mikihiko dithering around and dragging it out.

“…Okay.” Mikihiko closed his eyes and was still. It was not the stillness of calm but of intense conflict. “Fine,” he said to Erika, opening his eyes. “I think of Tatsuya as a friend, too. So I’ll try. Next Monday, I’ll treat him like before.” There was something almost relieved in his expression.

Erika smiled, satisfied, and looked over to Mizuki next to her. “That goes for you, too, Mizuki.”

“Huh?!” Mizuki’s reaction came less from the surprise of being suddenly addressed than it did from the shattering of her quiet relief at having been spared the brunt of Erika’s frustration.

“I want you to stop keeping Miyuki and Tatsuya at arm’s length. Miki said he’s going to try, so that means you can do it, too. Right?”

“Okay…”

Erika pushed against Mizuki’s noncommittal answer. “You can do it too, right?”

“Y-yes. Fine! I’ll do it!”

“I’ll be giving it a shot, too, Shibata. We’re in it together,” Mikihiko said encouragingly to Mizuki.

“…Right! We’re in it together.” Mizuki nodded brightly.

The truth was, Erika’s real aim in confronting Mikihiko in front of Mizuki was to get Mizuki heading in the right direction. Erika knew that confronting Mizuki alone about it wouldn’t have gone well, but in pushing Mikihiko to promise to repair his friendship with Tatsuya, she had planned to motivate Mizuki to do likewise.

And it had all gone exactly as she’d planned—but she had to look away, unable to stand it as the two (psychologically) clasped their hands together in insufferably mutual encouragement.

Thanks to Erika’s persuasion (with an assist from Leo), Mikihiko and Mizuki had decided to set aside their bad feelings toward Tatsuya and Miyuki.

However, Honoka’s feelings would not be so easily changed.

She had already decided how she would approach Tatsuya henceforth. But her decision had yet to be translated into action, and she hadn’t decided how she planned to interact with Miyuki.

Honoka considered Miyuki a friend. And yet, she was also Honoka’s greatest rival in love—and she was already two or three steps ahead.

Thanks to Shizuku’s counsel, Honoka no longer felt stung by having been misled by Tatsuya and Miyuki. She’d realized that they themselves had been misled, too.

But she still couldn’t smile and laugh with them the way she had so naturally before. Honoka’s obvious discomfort had prompted Miyuki to be rather awkwardly careful around her, which created a vicious cycle of unease.

Even now, Honoka was heading for the club activities management room in order to escape the student council room. Honoka was the treasurer of the student council. Her job was to take applications for additional funds from each extracurricular club and discuss them with the club management section. There wasn’t anything at all odd about her visiting the club activities management room—but even if nobody else found it strange, Honoka herself knew that she was doing it to avoid the awkwardness of being in a room with Miyuki, and this awareness gnawed at her constantly.

The current president of the club management committee was Igarashi, who was also the captain of the boys’ section of the same club Honoka was in. Honoka had known him since their first year of high school. He was a boy whose personality was somewhere in the vague space between kind and timid. The phrase capable of neither harm nor good applied, though while he occasionally did manage some helpful things, he wasn’t the sort of boy who had it in him to cause any trouble.

He wasn’t Honoka’s type, but his weak personality generally put her at ease. She figured he would be a good person to talk to when she needed a break from feeling so depressed.

Honoka spoke into the intercom next to the door. “This is Mitsui from the student council.”

“Come on in,” came the answer—not from the intercom speaker but from inside the room as the door opened.

The student who let her in was Takuma Shippou, a freshman in the club management section. Despite being a prominent member of the entering freshman class, Takuma’s reputation among his classmates hadn’t initially been good, but on a certain day near the end of April, he’d made a dramatic turnaround.

He was no less assertive than before, but his pushiness had vanished. Even as he continued to pursue leadership roles, he kept his self-righteousness well under control and viewed things in a more holistic fashion.

His easily roused emotions were still part of his personality, but when his mistakes were pointed out to him, he quickly acknowledged them and apologized.

Above all, his efforts to actually grow and change were obvious to everybody, and he had earned the trust and sympathy of his classmates.

All of this had led to him being the obvious selection to lead the nine members of the freshman boys’ team representing First High in the Nine School Competition.

Thereafter, he continued to extend his influence but without ever growing arrogant. Lately, even junior and senior students were beginning to notice his constant effort.

Honoka herself had once taken a dim view of Takuma after his early aggression toward Tatsuya. But now she didn’t have a particularly poor impression of him. She acknowledged him as one of the more capable underclassmen.

“I have an appointment with Igarashi,” Honoka said.

“With the president? He just got called away.”

Honoka had contacted Igarashi just before she’d left the student council room to tell him she was on her way, but he’d apparently been summoned to deal with some sudden problem. The previous president, Hattori, had instituted a duty rotation system that was supposed to avoid the problems of too much power concentrated at the top, but Igarashi demonstrated the downside of this when someone too easygoing inherited the position.

Honoka muttered to herself that this had better be a coincidence. Despite not being in any state to be worrying about other people, she couldn’t help it when her own sensitivity got the better of her like this. In this sense, she was in no position to cast aspersions on Igarashi.

Honoka was about to turn around and leave when a question from Takuma stopped her short. “Was it something urgent?” Takuma asked.

“Yes, but since he’s not here, I figured I’d check back later.”

Takuma seemed to be on communications duty and was wearing a wireless headset. It was a model that included brain wave–assist functionality.

“Wait just a moment,” he said, returning the receiver to his ear and turning to face the terminal built into the tabletop. “This is Shippou at HQ. …I have Mitsui from the student council here. …Yes, understood. I’ll tell her.”

Takuma slipped the headset off his ears again and stood, facing Honoka. “The president says he’ll return shortly and asks that you wait.”

“Shortly? Like how long?”

“He didn’t say specifically, but based on past examples, I would guess around five minutes.”

It would take almost five minutes just to go back to the student council room. Honoka didn’t want to be there in the first place, so she decided to wait after all.

But as she stood there doing nothing, she couldn’t keep her mind from drifting to all the other things she had to do. Still, the student council room’s been pretty empty recently. I bet there’s a lot of data processing work piling up…

It was simply her nature.

It’d go by in a flash if I could just get Tatsuya to help…but I can’t ask him with things as awkward as they are now. But Miyuki’s supposed to be in charge of task delegation, so she’ll probably ask him to do it even if I don’t say anything…but won’t that make me seem totally unnecessary?! Honoka turned pale at her own wandering thoughts.

“Um, Mitsui…are you feeling all right?” It was the obvious question to ask, given her appearance. Even for the formerly haughty Takuma.

But the un-self-aware Honoka had no idea why she was being asked such a question. “Huh?!” she exclaimed. Upon the interruption of the near-fantastical thoughts her mind had drifted to, she forgot entirely what she’d been thinking about. Her face remained slightly pale but only because it took a few moments to regain its color. “Uh, nothing! It’s nothing!”

Any outside observer would have clocked this as a bluff, as did Takuma. He even came to his own conclusion about its cause.

“Um, Mitsui, look…”

“Yes?”

“Well…I’m perfectly aware that this is none of my business, but about Shiba, have you—”

A nervous Honoka tried to cut Takuma off. “Stop right there, Shippou. Just what have you gotten into your head?”

But even if he’d gotten the wrong idea about Honoka feeling unwell, he certainly wasn’t mistaken about the reason for her agitation.

Which was why Honoka was so nervous. She didn’t want to hear whatever Takuma was about to say.

But then he said it.

“I really think you should give up on Shiba.”

“Stop!”

“If you keep this up, you’re just going to get hurt!”

Takuma had changed his heart and improved his attitude, but his fundamental ambition was still there. As a magician with high aspirations, his desire to make Honoka an ally—and, if things went well, thereby become part of Shizuku’s inner circle—was still very much intact.

But more than that, he was simply attracted to her.

It had happened the day Takuma got into trouble with Kasumi and ended up squaring off against the Saegusa sisters. Honoka had been the only one to show him any kindness, even when he’d been lashing out at anyone and everyone. Although strictly speaking, all she’d done was lean over Takuma after Tomitsuka had knocked him down and ask, “Can you stand?”—but she hadn’t lent him her hand to help him to his feet or anything like that.

In his memory, the moment had become more beautiful, although the affection he had for her hadn’t gone so far as to become full-blown love. They didn’t have many chances to talk, after all.

And then today, by coincidence, Honoka had appeared right in front of him, tormented by her own feelings of unrequited love. It had sent Takuma right off the rails.

“Mitsui, the truth is, I—I—”

Honoka squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands over her ears.

Takuma began to reach out toward her hands but got no further.

“Shippou, what are you doing…?” Igarashi’s voice stopped Takuma before he spiraled out of control. The president had returned.

Igarashi wasn’t alone. Out from behind him stepped Shizuku, who came around to face Honoka, pulling her into a close embrace.

“Shizuku…?”

“That’s right,” said Shizuku, as though it meant everything was going to be okay now. She stroked Honoka’s back over and over. The stiffness began to melt out of Honoka’s body.

Still holding her, Shizuku looked back over her shoulder, glaring at Takuma coldly. “What was it you were about to say?” The temperature of her voice matched her eyes.

“I mean…” The phrase Takuma had planned on finishing his sentence with was I’m worried about you!

“Taking advantage of somebody in a moment of weakness? You’re the worst.” Shizuku’s accusation wasn’t entirely on the mark—but it wasn’t totally unjustified, either.

There was nothing Takuma could say in response to that, and he knew it.

“Let’s go, Honoka.” Shizuku led Honoka out of the club management room.

Takuma didn’t say anything to try to stop them.

Igarashi, who’d been ditched right to his face, just stood there, stunned speechless.

That day, Honoka didn’t return to her own apartment. She and Shizuku left school separately from Tatsuya and Miyuki as usual, but the moment they arrived at the train station, Shizuku practically ordered Honoka to stay the night at her place.

It wasn’t an invitation. This was a mandatory sleepover.

Honoka certainly didn’t mind staying over at Shizuku’s home. She was perfectly aware of her own tendency to agonize over things endlessly, and she suspected that if she were left alone, she would only sink further into despair, so she was grateful for the offer.

They ate dinner with Shizuku’s parents (who returned home atypically early) for the first time in quite a while, then as usual bathed together, where they chattered on about neutral, superficial topics.

However, the room Shizuku took Honoka to after bathing was not the usual one.

Honoka had her own bedroom in the Kitayama home. It was supposedly a guest room, but for all intents and purposes, it was Honoka’s bedroom. It was decorated to her tastes, and the closet was even fully appointed with clothes—including underwear—that fit her.

Yet, Honoka rarely used the room. When she stayed over at the Kitayama home, she normally stayed in Shizuku’s room, sleeping with Shizuku in her bed. But today, Shizuku led Honoka to her room.

Honoka obediently entered and sat on the bed, and her previously happy face immediately sank into a droop of sadness and pain.

Shizuku sat in front of her, kneeling on a carpet.

Honoka’s head was obviously higher, since she was sitting on the bed. Her downcast face met Shizuku’s upturned gaze head-on.

“Honoka.”

“I know.” Honoka averted her eyes by looking even further down. “You probably think I’m pathetic,” she said, her voice teetering on the verge of sobs and her lips quivering. “Even though there’s nothing to feel sorry for.”

“Well, there’s that face you’re making.”

“What…?” Honoka looked up.

Shizuku’s gaze continued to fix on Honoka. “You’ve had that face all week.”

“‘That face’…?”

“The face of a pitiful girl.”

Honoka covered her mouth with her hand, shocked. “No…”

“Shippou was in the right, back there,” continued Shizuku with brutal honesty. “Everyone’s been watching you from a distance. They see how miserable you’ve been.”

“I never asked for that! I don’t want anyone’s pity!”

“What you want isn’t relevant. People pity others for their own reasons.” Shizuku reached up and forced Honoka’s wandering eyes to meet her own. “By pitying someone else, they reassure themselves that they’re different.”

“I’m…I’m not pitiful!”

“I know.” Shizuku nodded to Honoka’s agony, looking steadily into her eyes. “I know that you’re not. But not everyone does.” Shizuku’s gaze didn’t waver. “They don’t know how determined you are. They don’t know how strong you are.”

Honoka signaled recognition with her eyes.

“And that’s because you’re not showing them with your actions and attitude.”

Shizuku pulled away from Honoka and stood. She towered over her.

“Honoka. On Monday—”

Honoka held her breath nervously.

“—I want you to show me that you’re not this pathetic girl.”

Without waiting for an answer one way or another, Shizuku left the room.

On Sunday, January 13, Tatsuya went to the FLT research facility where he worked. Despite it not being a workday, there seemed to be just as many people at R & D Section 3, the CAD development center, as usual.

As its name suggested, the facility focused on CAD development, but Tatsuya was not currently being employed in either novel CAD research or CAD-specific software development.

He was working on the design, generation capacity, and model plan for nonmilitary use of the stellar reactor.

The company had no idea Tatsuya was attempting to build such a thing, because Tatsuya had never reported it. This was possible because he wasn’t an employee of FLT, but rather a contracted researcher, so he was largely given free rein as long as he kept to his confidentiality agreement.

Because he had his own office in R & D Section 3, if he wanted to work on something in secret, he could easily hide his activities. Tatsuya hadn’t even talked to Ushiyama, his partner in Taurus Silver, about this.

But that didn’t mean the section staff’s treatment of him had changed.

“Ah, good morning, Prince.”

“Prince, good morning.”

As he headed for his office, various FLT staffers greeted Tatsuya. They were already fully aware of his connection to the Yotsuba family, because on his first workday of the year, he’d assembled the staff and announced it to them himself.

Nonetheless, the attitude of everyone who called him Prince didn’t change. R & D Section 3 was a ragtag band of misfits to begin with, and they had little respect for authority, so their reaction to learning he was a magician in the Yotsuba family was mostly So what? In any case, Tatsuya was thankful that nobody was being excessively deferential. It let him give his full attention to assembling the planning documents.

The construction planning was for a nonmilitary application of magic—a project called ESCAPES: Extract both useful and harmful Substances from the Coastal Area of the Pacific using Electricity generated by a Stellar reactor. It was meant to be the escape hatch for magicians who’d been originally created as weapons.

It had also originally been meant to be Tatsuya’s livelihood after he made his escape from the Yotsuba family. His motivations were slightly different now that he had been acknowledged as a core member of that family, but the importance of the project as a nonmilitary application for magic hadn’t changed. The energy from a magically operated nuclear fusion reactor would be a stable source of electricity and fuel and could supply a variety of mineral resources as a by-product, bringing stability to the industrial world. And in doing so, it would guarantee the livelihood of nonmilitary magicians. That was the fundamental thought process behind the project.

With the rise of renewables like solar, wind, and biomass, modern industry had had to adapt to energy availability that varied from year to year based on climate and weather. This was preferable to a society that was dependent on fossil fuels and nuclear fission, of course, both from the perspective of sustainable development and the protection of an environment that made human life possible. However, it was undeniable that energy and fuel availability had become less stable. The national project to develop a system of orbital photovoltaic platforms to supply non-weather-variable energy was another reaction to this reality.

The scheme Tatsuya envisioned had four main parts: First, the stellar reactor would generate electricity and heat. Then, hydrogen gas would be produced via electrolysis. Next, fresh water would be created via reverse osmosis. And finally, both useful and harmful substances would be extracted from the remaining concentrated seawater.

Of course, while Tatsuya had a deep mastery of magic technology, his understanding of industrial engineering remained at the high school level. For technologies outside the stellar furnace itself, he would have to rely on the help of specialists. Nothing in the production of hydrogen, the extraction of fresh water, or the recovery of trace elements from seawater was impossible with magic, but relying on magicians for all that would be too heavy a burden. Treating magicians as mere parts in the machine ran counter to the goal of this project, and it was never Tatsuya’s aim to design a production system composed only of magicians.

It ought to be the Magic Association that approaches the nonmagic community about this. The association’s name will make it easier to find partners than the Yotsuba name would, and it’ll avoid objections from the association itself. The difficulty will be making the specific arrangements, I suppose.

The overall concept was finished. Tatsuya anticipated that the systems surrounding the stellar reactor could be drafted inside three months and specified within six. Beyond that, he recognized he wouldn’t be able to proceed alone.

This timeline might be a bit too aggressive, considering that I’m still a high school student…

People might not be willing to work with him because of his youth. At the moment, that was Tatsuya’s greatest source of concern.