February 6, the morning after the terrorist attack.

A fine mist of rain had been falling since before dawn and looked unlikely to abate, but Tatsuya left for Kyuuchouji temple as usual.

He received the usual rough welcome from the disciples.

But once he was face-to-face with Yakumo, Tatsuya took an action that was not at all usual.

“So you want me to teach you how to counter Qimen Dunjia, eh…?”

Tatsuya trained with Yakumo, but he wasn’t, strictly speaking, among his disciples.

Nor did Yakumo owe Tatsuya a favor.

Yakumo was merely acting as Tatsuya’s training dummy. Previously, this job had fallen to Kazama, but recently Tatsuya’s skill had become comparable with his, and sparring with Tatsuya was now good practice even for Yakumo.

He’d helped the young man develop the psionic bullet technique during the parasite incident because it wasn’t something he could ignore, and he’d helped during the Parasidoll incident for the same reason—their interests aligned.

Yakumo occasionally lent a hand during investigations. It was something like a hobby to him, and he enjoyed it.

The reason he lent out the underground installation beneath the temple, however, was simply because he had no use for it himself.

“Tatsuya. I’ve given you a variety of instruction over the years, but I’ve never taught you specific techniques. I thought you understood the reason for that.”

“I do understand. It’s because I’m not a disciple of Kyuuchouji temple,” Tatsuya replied, returning Yakumo’s cool gaze with an even, unconcerned one of his own. He had a thorough understanding of the nature of their relationship. He didn’t have to be told that he had no right to ask this of him. And yet, here he was because of an urgent need.

Tatsuya wouldn’t let a target escape once he’d found it. Maya had said as much, but Tatsuya knew perfectly well that she was overestimating him. In reality, his power alone hadn’t been enough to neutralize Gongjin Zhou. If it hadn’t been for Saburou Nakura’s seal, drawn with his own blood at the cost of his life, Tatsuya wouldn’t have been able to counter Zhou’s Qimen Dunjia, and Zhou would have escaped.

Neither Lina nor Maya had said it out loud, but it wasn’t hard to reach the conclusion that Gu Jie was the one behind Zhou. Raymond S. Clark had told Tatsuya directly—or, well, via a video recording—that Gu Jie was pulling the strings for Blanche and No-Head Dragon. So clearly Gongjin Zhou, who’d been closely connected to both Blanche and No-Head Dragon, was also Gu Jie’s subordinate.

The master was not always more powerful than the disciple. It was hardly rare for a disciple’s ability to outstrip their master’s. But to assume that Gu Jie couldn’t do something that Gongjin Zhou had done wasn’t just optimistic; it was downright naive. Tatsuya felt that at the very least, he needed to take some precautions.

Whether or not Yakumo understood Tatsuya’s position, his tone was not friendly. “Indeed. You’re neither an itinerant monk nor a shinobi. As a shinobi myself, you are ultimately an outsider. And I cannot teach secret techniques to an outsider.”

“If the technique weren’t magic, would it still be subject to nondisclosure?”

Yakumo smirked at the very modern phrase nondisclosure. But his expression soon regained its seriousness. “If it’s not a secret technique, then it’s exempt from that prohibition, yes, but…Tatsuya—are you suggesting that you want to learn a way to counter Qimen Dunjia that isn’t reliant on magic?”

Tatsuya met Yakumo’s piercing gaze without so much as a flinch. “As you know, master, my ability with magic is extremely uneven. Even if you were to teach me a high-level magic technique, I would unfortunately be unable to use it.”

“I doubt that very much. If we’re talking about techniques that adhere to the principles of modern magic, it’s true that you’re at a disadvantage. But in terms of your ability to control spirit, you’re at the level of a master, despite your age. If anything, I’d guess you’d have more aptitude for the ancient secret techniques rather than less.”

“I thought that the operating principles of modern and ancient magic were the same.”

“Ancient and modern magic techniques that rewrite phenomena are essentially similar. But from our perspective, there is more to technique than rewriting phenomena. Many of the esoteric methods hidden within our martial art do not involve rewriting phenomena but using spirit to create waves and flows—and control them, and interrupt them, even destroy them.”

“Master, this ‘spirit’ you’re talking about—are you referring to psions? ‘Waves’ could be psionic waves, and ‘flow’… Is that psionic conduction?”

“Turns out you have been studying. That’s basically correct,” said Yakumo, a strange light glittering in his narrowly opened eyes.

That moment, Tatsuya felt the strange sensation of being thrown into a formless space with no up or down—but which was nonetheless unlike a zero-gravity environment.

“For us, the technique of manipulating spirit is among our esoteric arts. And countering Qimen Dunjia is indeed something that can be done through manipulating spirit.”

Yakumo’s voice seemed to assault Tatsuya’s body from all directions. There was nothing to stand on and no way to attack or escape.

With no idea where his opponent was, evasion and defense were also impossible.

He could see Yakumo’s form. But without the ability to trust his senses, meaningful resistance was impossible.

His trust in Yakumo was irrelevant. The man across from him held absolute power over him, and Tatsuya had to force down the sense of doom welling up from inside him. He turned his attention inward, to his own body, to his own internality.

His blood continued to pump normally. It was very different compared to the feeling of free fall that came with flight magic. In opposition to gravity, his head was on top, and his feet were at the bottom. Using not nerve impulses but psionic signals, Tatsuya regained control and broke through the illusion of being trapped in directionless space.

The feeling of gravity’s effect on his limbs returned.

His feet were firmly planted on the ground, and he was looking up at the sky.

“Master, just now…”

“I didn’t teach you a thing. And I certainly didn’t expect you to break through that illusion entirely under your own power.” Yakumo’s face was the picture of innocence. He was practically whistling. “Even Kazama couldn’t break free on his first try.”

“Was that Qimen Dunjia?”

Yakumo seemed as though he wanted to divert the conversation into idle chitchat, but he answered Tatsuya’s bluntly posed question with a quick “It was not. Qimen Dunjia affects a group, an area. What you just saw was an illusion directed at just one person.” Yakumo’s smile turned mischievous. “Of course, casting an illusion on you was hard even for me, so I’m a little spent.”

Yakumo didn’t explain what he meant by “spent.” Tatsuya was about to ask, but his attention was pulled away from that by what the man said next.

“In a way, you could call that the rudimentary technique that comes before Qimen Dunjia.”

He said it as though it were an incidental detail, but Tatsuya realized that this was Yakumo’s answer to his request to be taught how to counter Qimen Dunjia.

He wasn’t sure exactly how the illusion had been put on him, but if it was the rudimentary version of Qimen Dunjia, then the countermeasure had to be something in the direction of what he’d just done. Now all he had to do was practice it.

“—Master, thank you very much.”

“Like I said, I didn’t teach you a thing. Now then, shall we start our training?” Yakumo insisted, moving on to their usual physical martial arts practice.

“Yes, I’m ready.” Bowing, Tatsuya assumed his usual ready stance.

Despite its somewhat unusual start, Tatsuya finished his daily training session with Yakumo and returned home.

After that, he went to school as usual. Yes, he had been assigned by Maya to track down the terrorist mastermind, but at the moment, he was still waiting for more information.

But his usual routine only lasted until lunch.

With the conclusion of Miyuki and Honoka’s cold war, Tatsuya and his friends had resumed gathering in the dining hall to have lunch together. Miyuki, Honoka, and Shizuku has staked out a table, and the rest of the group was assembling there.

Then, just as they were all starting to eat lunch, the dining hall’s large display switched to a broadcast of breaking news.

“‘Terrorists claim responsibility’?” Mikihiko murmured, his brow furrowing. As he did, the newscaster began to read the statement.

The gist of the pompous, overwrought prose was as follows:

—We are responsible for the recent attack on a Hakone hotel.

—This is our holy war, which we undertake in order to extinguish the evil power known as magic from the Earth.

—The target of this attack was the Ten Master Clans, who hold this nation’s magicians in their thrall.

—However, these contemptible individuals used innocent civilians as shields to make their escape.

—We will continue to fight to free humanity from these mutants who call themselves magicians.

—So long as the people of Japan refuse to purge these magicians from their midst, the number of casualties will rise.

The newscaster then moved on to detailing the damage and casualties that resulted from the attack.

Of eighty-nine guests using the hotel, there had been twenty-two fatalities, and another thirty-four had suffered light to heavy injuries.

Of the thirty-three uninjured guests, twenty-seven had been magicians.

The newscaster added that none of the casualties had been magicians—and suggested that if instead of escaping they’d prioritized saving lives, there might have been fewer victims.

“Why do we have to put other people’s lives before our own, huh?” spat Erika as she watched the screen, where a politician was now offering some comments to the newscaster. There wasn’t any point in complaining to the television, but apparently she wasn’t in any kind of mood to care.

“Sometimes, people have to put others’ lives first, because of their occupation or social standing. But yeah, it’s pretty annoying to see someone talking about that like it should be obviously unconditional,” Mikihiko agreed in an uncharacteristically strong voice, his obvious loathing also motivated by the nature of the commentary.

“Weren’t there almost fifty suicide bombers? How do they think we could’ve stopped that many? Do they think the Ten Master Clans are made up of invincible supermen?” Leo complained.

“It’s important to provide mutual aid during a disaster like that, but demanding that we put other people’s lives first is nothing more than forcibly imposing their conveniently heartwarming values on us. It doesn’t sound like magicians’ lives are included among the lives that should’ve been prioritized,” Tatsuya added sharply, unable to remain simply sarcastic this time.

Nobody seemed to have anything to add to that. They turned their attention back to the broadcast.

The politician was just condemning the terrorists. If he’d said anything openly critical about the Ten Master Clans, it would have been construed as supporting the terrorists.

But as the newscaster’s initial comments had suggested, the mood of misplaced self-righteousness would only increase. And magician-hating politicians would gleefully pounce on the opportunity. Tatsuya wasn’t the only one gloomily contemplating the prospect of something similar to the previous April happening again.

That evening, Tatsuya was invited to the Juumonji family’s estate.

Estate wasn’t quite the right word—it was more like a modern-style home that was slightly on the larger side. It was bigger than Tatsuya’s home but nothing compared with where Shizuku lived. The only thing really notable about it was its garden, which was so large it was hard to believe it was in Tokyo.

Tatsuya pushed the doorbell button at the front gate, and Katsuto came out personally to greet him. “Good of you to come. Let’s head inside,” he said.

Tatsuya had heard from Maya that Katsuto had already taken over leadership of the family. He couldn’t decide whether being received personally by the master of the house meant that he was being treated as an important guest or simply that their household was thinly staffed. He quickly decided the question was of no importance and set it aside.

“Thank you for having me over.”

Aside from its roominess, the entryway was not notably luxurious. And even its size was only roughly double that of the entryway in an average single-family home. There were no notably fancy furnishings, either. The only thing that caught Tatsuya’s eye was a pair of neatly aligned, youthfully styled ladies’ pumps.

If the publicly available data was to be trusted, the Juumonji family’s youngest generation consisted of Katsuto, a brother in his second year of middle school, another brother in his first year of middle school, and a sister in her fifth year of elementary school. Tatsuya wondered if there was another guest here. He had the feeling that he knew who it was, but he didn’t confront Katsuto with that deduction.

Tatsuya followed behind Katsuto, and eventually they came to a sitting room, where the exact woman Tatsuya had expected was sitting.

“Good evening, Tatsuya. You’re right on time,” said Mayumi, looking over her shoulder from the sofa in front of him.

“It’s been a while, Mayumi. Since December, I believe.”

“Yes, that’s what—three months? Feels like a long time and yet hardly any time at all.”

“You’re going to make me nervous if you just keep standing there. Have a seat, Shiba,” Katsuto instructed.

Tatsuya sat as directed on the sofa next to Mayumi. It was, incidentally, a three-person sofa, and there was an empty seat between the two of them.

Katsuto sat opposite Tatsuya rather than his other guest.

Once the three were seated, they all glanced at one another as if to determine who would speak first, but just then there was a knock at the door of the sitting room.

A woman of about sixty emerged from the doorway. “Your tea,” she said, setting down a saucer in front of Tatsuya, then placing a teacup on it with a neat, practiced motion. She then refilled Mayumi and Katsuto’s teacups, bowed, and left the room.

“She’s very elegant,” Tatsuya noted, impressed. His sister’s bearing was just as beautiful, but the elegance gained from so many years of humble service was something that even Miyuki could not simply imitate.

“Shiba, Saegusa, I’m sorry to make you come all the way here today,” said Katsuto, not acknowledging Tatsuya’s murmured compliment. On a second glance, he seemed to be a bit embarrassed.

Tatsuya suddenly got the sense that Mayumi was about to burst out laughing beside him.

“Not at all. It’s not as though it was particularly far.”

The truth was that point to point, some thirty kilometers lay between Tatsuya’s residence and Katsuto’s home, but if they provoked Mayumi any further, the resulting awkwardness would fall entirely on them. Tatsuya did his level best to perform a serious mood.

Thanks to his efforts, Mayumi was able to regain her composure. “Well, now that Tatsuya’s here, Juumonji, are you going to tell us what this is about?”

At this, Katsuto’s mood also shifted. Tatsuya had never seen him look quite so tense.

“I need your help with a matter related to the recent terrorist attack.”

Katsuto’s request was what Tatsuya expected. But at the same time, it was surprising.

“The Yotsuba family head has also ordered me to assist, and I will be happy to cooperate,” Tatsuya stated, glancing aside at Mayumi.

Her face was solemn and unreadable as she gazed steadily back at Katsuto.

“But why are you asking Saegusa as well? I was told that the Saegusa family’s eldest son was tasked with joining the hunt for the terrorists.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t answer that question, Shiba,” Katsuto stated before turning to Mayumi. “Saegusa, what I’m asking of you is not a request from the Juumonji family to the Saegusa family. It’s a favor from one friend to another. You don’t need to concern yourself with our family circumstances. If you don’t want to, you can just refuse. I won’t be offended.”

Mayumi left a soft breath escape. The small sound had a note of frustration in it. “You’ve got it backward, Juumonji. Telling me it’s a favor from one friend to another makes it harder for me to refuse.”

“Oh, I see. Sorry.”

“You don’t look very sorry.”

“No, that really wasn’t what I meant…” Katsuto shrank under her dubious gaze. Tatsuya hadn’t had a chance to see the two act so familiar around each other before, and there was something refreshing about watching them behave like this.

Katsuto and Mayumi noticed Tatsuya watching them and simultaneously coughed to compose themselves.

“Anyway, what is it you want me to do, Juumonji? Saying ‘I need your help’ doesn’t help me decide anything. I can’t agree to do something that’s impossible for me.”

“I see your point,” Katsuto said, reaching for his tea and taking a sip in order to buy time to consider how to officially explain what he needed. “The search for the terrorist leader is being conducted in a somewhat unconventional fashion.”

“I know that. You are in command, but my older brother is the one directly managing the bulk of the resources, right? Not very efficient. This doesn’t feel like the right time for our families to be thinking about appearances.”

Evidently, Mayumi had interpreted the strange organization of the terrorist search to be a product of the Saegusa and Juumonji families playing politics with their shared responsibility for the Kanto region.

The real reason was something else entirely, but that wasn’t something that Katsuto could tell Mayumi. He couldn’t very well say, This is part of your father’s amends for his disloyalty.

“It’s true. If Tomokazu and I don’t coordinate closely, we won’t be able to avoid wasted effort. That’s why I want you, Saegusa, to act as a liaison between us,” Katsuto decided upon at last. “I have no intention of hiding the details of my investigation from Tomokazu, and I expect he doesn’t, either. But during its course, we’ll assuredly have to use secret techniques and classified information networks. I can’t risk passing along information obtained like that via outsiders. The nature of the information could very well lead someone to deduce how it was gathered.”

“I see. So you want me to be the go-between? That’s what you’re saying? Because you’ll be relaying things that can’t be revealed to a mere messenger.”

“Exactly. I don’t even mind if you exercise your discretion and censor information that would reveal Saegusa family secrets to me. All I want is for you to pass along anything necessary for the investigation.”

“Wow, you sound so official…” Mayumi was wearing a skeptical smile, but there was worry in her tone, too. Katsuto had said she could use her own judgment to filter out the information, but that meant there was a nonzero chance that she could filter out something important that ended up allowing their target to escape. It wasn’t something she could agree to lightly.

“…All right. I’ll do it. I have to admit I’m probably the best person for the job.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I mean, it’s a problem for my family, too.”

The truth was that the request for Mayumi to perform this duty had come from Kouichi. Kouichi hadn’t explained his reasoning, but Katsuto had the faint sense it was because doing so would increase the opportunities Mayumi and Tatsuya would have to interact.

It was true that there was a need for someone to coordinate communication. But cooperating with Kouichi’s somewhat underhanded plan pricked at Katsuto’s conscience. That was why he was being more circumspect than was necessary, but Mayumi gave no sign of having noticed any ulterior motives.

“So practically speaking, what should I do? Maybe I need to take some time off from school.”

“I was thinking I’d work that out with you after this,” said Katsuto, then turned to Tatsuya, who by this point was something of a third wheel. “I don’t mind you moving freely until we’ve found a useful lead, but I’d like to stay in close contact. As much as they can be, our meetings should be in person. When would be convenient for you? If possible, I’d like to meet daily to at least catch up on any progress that might’ve been made.”

This insistence on in-person meetings, like Mayumi’s appointment as communication coordinator, had come at Kouichi’s strong request. However, it was a perfectly reasonable precaution in and of itself.

Perhaps because of that, Tatsuya gave no indication of having noticed this little intrigue playing out. “Anytime is fine with me,” he said without any hesitation.

“All right,” said Katsuto, and returned his attention to Mayumi. “What about you, Saegusa?”

“I can’t promise that I’ll be available every single day, but generally I think that will be fine.”

“That’s more than enough. Where shall we meet?”

“If it were just me and Juumonji, I’d say somewhere close to the Magic University, but…” Mayumi looked over at Tatsuya to check his reaction.

“That’s no problem,” said Tatsuya, again without any hesitation. This wasn’t out of any deference to his seniors, but rather because the Magic University was also very convenient for him.

“But is there a suitable location near the university?”

It was easy enough to meet in person instead of communicating electronically, but they would still be wise to take precautions against eavesdropping. A civilian residence wouldn’t be secure enough.

“I’ll make those preparations. I’d like to start our intelligence briefings the day after tomorrow,” said Katsuto.

“Gotcha,” said Mayumi.

“Understood. Where should we assemble and when?” asked Tatsuya.

After a moment’s thought, Katsuto answered Tatsuya’s question with a time and place. “…All right, the day after tomorrow at 6:00 PM, in front of the main university gate.”

Tatsuya did a quick mental calculation. If he skipped his student council duties, Tatsuya could be home in time to head back out and make it there by 6:00 PM. He nodded. “Understood.”

Around the same time that Tatsuya, Mayumi, and Katsuto were meeting in the Juumonji home to decide on their plan, Gouki Ichijou was visiting a well-known and exclusive Japanese fine-dining restaurant near his home. In addition to the cuisine being excellent, the staff was exceedingly well trained, and the establishment was often used by politicians in the area for discreet meetings.

Gouki himself had used it to entertain politicians four or five times himself. Such activities weren’t his forte, but as the patriarch of one of the Ten Master Clans, they were an unavoidable part of his duties.

However, the individual he was entertaining this evening was no politician.

Sitting across from Gouki was the principal of Third High School, Chizuru Maeda.

“Ms. Maeda, thank you for making time in your busy schedule to—”

“Oh, come on—let’s just skip the formalities, please. It’s just you and me here.”

…Hearing her talk this way made it sound like she couldn’t possibly be a teacher, much less a principal, but this woman was unmistakably the principal of the National Magic University Third Affiliated High School where Masaki attended classes.

“…It’s hard to imagine they let you be a principal, Chizuru. Magic High School is a national-level organization, you know,” Gouki teased.

“Don’t be stupid, Gouki. Most of the time I hide this side of me, obviously,” Principal Maeda said, shamelessly unfazed by the teasing. “And Magic High School is an upper secondary school. Even if it’s national level, it’s not like an arm of the military,” she continued with a fierce grin.

Gouki hadn’t meant to imply that Magic High School and the Academy of Defense were the same thing, but he decided not to quibble. He was perfectly aware of Maeda’s complicated feelings about the military.

Principal Maeda had served in the Maritime Defense Force until her late twenties. Her final rank was first lieutenant. She’d had some sort of trouble with a superior (Gouki had been told it was coordinated sexual harassment) and had ended up retiring young. Afterward, she changed professions to become an educator and, at the age of forty, was selected as the principal for Third High—an unusual and singular career path.

She had also been one year ahead of Gouki while they’d attended Third High. During school, she’d been a holy terror, her talent allowing her to defeat a string of campus hotshots and shine as the most skilled student they had; Gouki himself had the dubious honor of having his nose broken by her once. She would always be something of a domineering upperclassman.

“Okay, Gouki, let’s hear what you have to say. You don’t invite me out like this often, so it’s gotta be important.”

“It’s a personal matter,” replied Gouki to Maeda’s opening jab. His tone was dignified and even a little bit defiant.

“Oh-ho…don’t tell me you want me to bump your kid’s grades up or something.”

“It may amount to something like that,” said Gouki.

Maeda’s eyes shone with a keen light as she nodded for Gouki to continue.

“I assume you heard about the terrorist attack in Hakone the other day.”

“I heard. Awful.”

“So you also know about the statement issued through the Magic Association?”

“Of course. But it’s not going to have much of an effect, right? Condemning the terrorists is such an obvious thing to do, and to anyone who already has an unfavorable view of magicians, it’s going to seem like we’re merely trying to shift the blame,” Maeda said, then added, “I mean, the actual blame shifting happened when they started faulting the magicians who were the target, but still.”

“We are under no illusions that condemning the terrorism will be enough to defuse the situation.”

“Now that you mention it, the statement did say something about cooperating to the fullest possible extent in capturing those responsible. So that wasn’t just lip service?”

Gouki nodded. “The Ichijou family has sent Masaki to aid in the search.”

Maeda didn’t suggest that was excessive. Instead, she simply said, “And?” in a manner that implied she knew where this was headed.

“With Mr. Juumonji coordinating the search and beginning from the scene of the attack in Hakone, it’s projected to take anywhere from a few weeks to over a month. I expect to have Masaki stay at a separate residence in Tokyo for the duration. He’ll have to be excused from a significant amount of school.”

“And you’re asking me to treat this not as an absence but as a scheduled holiday?”

“Yes. The work of the Ten Master Clans is not public service. It is, if anything, a personal matter, and I recognize that it’s a lot to ask. But in order for my son to be able to devote himself to this without worrying about his future, I am making this unreasonable request.”

“It is a big ask,” Maeda said coolly to Gouki’s bowed head. “Just because he’s from an important family doesn’t mean I can grant him favors like that. If anything, my job is to stamp out instances of special treatment whenever I find them.”

“…I understand.” Gouki did not press further. Maeda was not an inflexible person; in fact, Gouki knew her to be exceedingly empathetic. But he also knew that once she’d settled on something, she never went back on her word. “It was a foolish request. Please forget it.”

“No, I can appreciate your position. And I do see the necessity of sending your son to Tokyo. So while I can’t excuse his absence, I can make a request with Mr. Momoyama.”

Not understanding why Momoyama’s name had come up, Gouki’s expression was muddled. “Huh? Mr. Momoyama as in Principal Momoyama, the principal of First High?”

“That’s right.”

“What sort of request?”

“To have your son admitted there.”

Maeda didn’t deliberately cut her explanation short. Rather, the pace of Gouki’s follow-up questions was so rapid that she didn’t have time to elaborate.

“Now, hold on,” she said, raising a hand to forestall any further time-wasting interrogation from him. “I’m not saying I’ll have him transferred. All I mean is that I’ll make it possible for him to keep up with his theoretical studies at First High. Personalized instruction via terminal is standard these days and not just in magic high schools. Schools using the same magic curriculum can exchange academic records via the Magic University system, so I expect he’ll be able to continue his classes at Third High using First High’s facilities. His practicum and physical education classes won’t be possible, of course, but I don’t think a month of absences in those areas will hurt him too much.”

“So you’re saying you’ll let my son attend First High for the duration of his duties? As something like an auditor?”

“It’s not like he’s going to be investigating full-time like some kind of detective, right?” Gouki nodded, and Maeda continued, “It would probably be less trouble for him if we could get permission to let him study at home, but we’re not allowed to transmit academic data from the magic high school system outside of the university network. I know the environment and social situation might be rough for him, but with the general education and theoretical magic curriculum available at First High, the absence on his record shouldn’t have any adverse effects.”

Gouki’s expression finally started to show acceptance.

“You’ve already worked out where he’s going to live, right? I’ll make arrangements for him to start at First High next Monday, and he can finish out this week at his current school. Time wise, how does a month sound? Running through March 9. And of course, if the case is solved before then, I’ll make sure he can come back whenever he needs to.”

“Thank you so much, Chizuru. I truly appreciate it.”

From a parent’s perspective, this was even better than having Masaki excused from class. Gouki had absolutely no complaints, and his bow to Maeda was a deep one.

Maeda proceeded to keep Gouki out until the wee hours, where she drank him under the table.

The denouncement of Hague, as many magicians had suspected, only stirred up public opinion. The media was flooded with castigation for magicians. It was admittedly worse because of the recency of the event, but the recipients of the torrent of public anger had little cause for optimism, knowing that the media was much quicker to take up the banner of outrage than it was to call for calm.

The students at First High were also obviously agitated. Despite knowing there was nothing they could do, students filled the halls, checking the news between classes. In whispers and grumbles, they complained to one another about the biased media coverage.

Reactions to the news among the students of First High were broadly divided into three groups. The largest group was outraged that magicians, and not the terrorists, were being cast as the villains of the incident. Many of these students were boys. Another group, mostly girls, was more worried about the rising tide of hostility toward magicians. And the final group was frustrated with people who had numbers in their family names.

Even once classes ended, the news coverage continued broadcasting in the student council room. Normally, they didn’t even so much as play quiet music there, in order to avoid interfering with their work—and also because their music tastes differed—but today everyone was unavoidably concerned about what was going on. Predictably, productivity had plummeted.

Tatsuya would be taking a break from the student council beginning the next day, and his successor didn’t need any extra work. Tatsuya was therefore silently grinding away at the mountain of in-progress tasks. Without this, the student council’s duties would probably back up with an entire day’s worth of work.

What stopped him was overhearing a conversation he couldn’t ignore. The speaker who caught his attention was not the former student council treasurer, Kei Isori, who’d been invited to attend a meeting on next month’s graduation party, but rather Kanon Chiyoda, who’d tagged along.

“Wait, Chiyoda, are you saying we’re in the wrong?”

Tatsuya looked up to see Izumi, the vice president—who along with Miyuki, the president, was participating in the council meeting—protesting whatever it was Kanon had said. Izumi’s question was as restrained and polite as ever, but she couldn’t hide her displeasure.

Tatsuya’s only relation to Izumi was as her senior, being a year ahead of her in school, and even though they both served on the student council, they weren’t particularly close. He didn’t feel as though he was in any position to chide her, but even if Miyuki had said the same thing, Tatsuya probably wouldn’t have spoken up. What Kanon had said was more than enough to incur Izumi’s wrath.

Kanon had said, “What a pain… Thanks to the Ten Master Clans screwing up, we’re all paying the price.”

It was a thoughtless remark tossed out during the post-meeting chatter, in response to the exceptionally harsh anti-magician tone of the current news broadcast. But she wasn’t the only magician who felt that way. It was a complaint often raised against the most powerful Numbered families.

“I mean, obviously the terrorists are the bad guys here, but it’s just a fact that the Ten haven’t handled things well, either.”

Kanon wasn’t the only one complaining. Tatsuya could hear similar statements coming from some of her nearby classmates. The fact that she wasn’t alone in her sentiment was emboldening her. On top of that, she knew she was going against the grain, which only made her dig her heels in deeper.

Izumi wasn’t losing her cool, just as she hadn’t while confronting the police detectives at the scene of the attack. “So what are you saying they did wrong?” she asked with a polite tone and a composed, chilly expression.

On the other hand, Kanon was getting worked up. She correctly interpreted Izumi’s attitude as contempt. “Of all the other people who happened to be in the same place as them, they didn’t bother to save even one civilian! Is anyone really surprised they’re getting blamed?”

Kanon hadn’t started ranting. At most, she’d only raised her voice a bit. But letting herself be more strident might have been a better way to handle this argument. In retrospect, if she’d used her position as a more senior student as a shield, she might have avoided the argument that ensued.

“‘Civilian’? What do you mean by ‘civilian’?” Izumi asked.

Kanon wasn’t immediately able to answer. “What does that have to do with…?”

“Do you mean a citizen? Or do you mean someone who’s not a public servant? Because in that case, the heads of the Ten Master Clans aren’t military or government employees, which makes them civilians as well, doesn’t it?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m just wondering why some ‘civilians’ are responsible for putting the safety of other ‘civilians’ above their own, that’s all…”

Izumi casually covered her mouth with her left hand.

Kanon felt her ridicule. “Why you…!” She pushed back away from the desk, the legs of her chair screeching against the floor as she stood.

“Kanon, calm down!” Isori hissed, standing and putting his hand on her shoulder.

Opposite the two, Miyuki had been silently listening to their exchange, and she finally spoke up. “Hey, Izumi, I’m sorry but could you go buy everybody something hot to drink? Here’s some money.” She held out the student council’s money card.

The student council room had a pantry equipped with a hot water dispenser, a pot, and a coffee maker. There were also tea leaves and coffee beans in the room. Generally speaking, there was no need to leave the room to get something to drink.

In other words, Miyuki was encouraging Izumi to go cool off.

“All right…” Izumi stood with a glum expression. Being scolded by her beloved Miyuki had instantly doused her anger.

“I’ll help,” said Minami, standing.

“Yes, please do,” Miyuki instructed.

Minami bowed to Miyuki, then walked over to Izumi and took her hand.

Izumi and Minami disappeared out of the door and down the hall.

After confirming they were gone, Isori turned to face Kanon. “…Okay, that was your fault, Kanon. Even if the Ten’s family heads had the opportunity to save the people who ended up as casualties, they weren’t obligated to. It’s wrong to demand virtue be mandatory.”

“But…” Kanon started grudgingly, but one look from Isori cut her off.

“I mean, if somebody’s fallen right in front of you, I think it’s morally questionable to just walk past them. But if you’re in a life-threatening situation and you have to escape, I can’t say I think you should have to go around looking for other people to help when you don’t even know where they are. Being in the Ten Master Clans doesn’t make you immortal.”

“I…I guess so.”

“We don’t even expect firefighters to plunge headfirst into a deadly fire with no regard for their own lives. Going into a situation like that without a thought for their own safety in order to save someone is admirable and courageous, but forcing them to do it and saying ‘It’s your duty to risk your life and go in there,’ is nasty and ridiculous, in my opinion. I feel like that’s something only their chief, who’s responsible for their lives and is sharing that risk, can order them to do.”

Kanon looked away from Isori and down at the floor.

“And I think it’s inexcusable to condemn people after the fact for failing to meet an obligation they never had in the first place. I don’t want you to do things like that, Kanon. If someone attacked your father like that, you’d be just as angry, wouldn’t you?”

“…Yeah.” Kanon nodded, wilting under Isori’s gentle questioning.

“I’m glad you understand. Now, you’ll have to apologize to Saegusa once she gets back.”

Kanon nodded again.

Kanon apologized to Izumi when she returned to the student council room, and Izumi in turn apologized to Kanon for her chilly attitude. Things had been successfully patched up between them, but this was because they were already on speaking terms, and Isori had been present as a reasonable moderator.

Most non-magicians had very little personal interaction with magicians. Out in the world, there was no one to act as a mediator between magicians and the rest of the population. The fact was that the casualties of the attack had been entirely non-magicians, and there was nothing for that resentment to do except build.

There were some who defended magicians. But their voices were too quiet. No matter how reasonable their arguments, if they did not reach the intended ears, they accomplished nothing.

Given the circumstances, it seemed that magicians could do little but endure the injustice. This realization was difficult for the hot-blooded younger generation to accept.

Among these youths was Takuma Shippou, head of the Shippou, who had recently been added to the Ten Master Clans.

He was only sixteen—just the age when no matter what the nature of young people’s frustration or anger with society was, lacking any means to put up a fight, many would throw their pent-up energy into an activity like sports, music, or writing. Of them, a few would explode into misguided violence.

However, Takuma had an idea of where to find someone who could, in fact, provide him with a means to resist. Unfortunately, from his perspective, this was a relationship that was very much in the past tense. Still, he had no choice but to rely on her.

Until the previous spring, it should have been an equitable relationship. Although he had in fact been quite one-sidedly on the receiving end of all the help, his pride had managed to soldier on uninjured.

But now his pride was the last thing on his mind. The position among the Ten Master Clans he’d so dearly hoped to gain now existed only to protect the rights of magicians. Takuma felt this very strongly.

If it was in service of actions he felt were worthy of the Ten Master Clans, Takuma would prostrate himself at the woman’s feet. With his mind made up, he paid a visit to the apartment where the actress Maki Sawamura lived.

He’d been prepared to be turned away at the door, but contrary to his expectations, Maki smoothly invited him in.

“Good evening. It’s been quite a while, Takuma.”

“Uh, hi, Maki. Yeah, it has.”

It was only 9:00 PM, but Maki was already dressed for a late evening’s relaxation. Specifically, she wore a calf-length bathrobe, under which he glimpsed the lace-trimmed hem of a negligee.

“Sorry, were you about to go to bed? I can come back another time,” Takuma said, preparing to leave without so much as sitting down.

“Wait, Takuma. I don’t mind, so come have a seat, won’t you?” said Maki from her sofa.

Thus invited, Takuma sat across the table from Maki.

The distance between the two of them was farther than it had been when Takuma had visited this apartment the previous spring.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Ah, don’t trouble yourself, please.” All too conscious of having arrived unannounced, Takuma demurred, trying to spare her the trouble of serving him anything.

Hearing his answer, Maki’s eyes widened. “…So is coffee okay?”

“Sure, thanks. Sorry.”

Maya pushed an unobtrusive button on the armrest of her sofa. “Coffee, please,” she said. Sitting directly across from her, Takuma couldn’t be sure, but apparently there was a microphone hidden somewhere.

“I’m surprised you knew I was off work today, Takuma.”

“Uh, no, I had no idea. If you weren’t here, I was going to leave a message on the intercom and try again later.”

“Really?” Maya asked skeptically. As ever, there wasn’t the slightest hint of artifice in the movements of her face or the sound of her voice, and Takuma had no idea whether she was being sincere or wearing a mask. “If you were going to go to all that trouble, you could have just called ahead.”

Takuma flashed a somewhat hapless smile. “It was just…hard to call somehow. If I’m being honest, I turned around quite a few times before I finally made it here.”

She didn’t ask why it was hard to call. Technically, they’d had an amicable breakup. She’d played her part in it beautifully. But Takuma had his pride, and even Maki could understand why he wouldn’t want to call the girl who had dumped him. “And it still didn’t occur to you that it might be a waste of your time?” she asked instead.

“Since I’m asking a favor of you, I was prepared to walk as many times as it took,” he stated seriously.

Just then, the living room door opened.

A woman slightly older than Maki, carrying a tray, approached Takuma from his side. With a practiced, elegant motion, she set a saucer down on the table in front of him, then placed a cup of coffee on the saucer.

“Thanks,” said Maki.

The woman bowed wordlessly and left the room.

“…She wasn’t a 3H, was she?” asked Takuma.

“Nope,” Maki said, letting a smile slip. “She’s my new housekeeper. You know perfectly well I hate 3Hs.”

“Oh, I remember. That’s why I was surprised.” It was just a bit of incidental small talk, but it brought to Takuma’s mind a vivid memory of Maki saying, Having a 3H look at me is like having a surveillance camera stuck in my face. It makes my skin crawl.

There was a time when Takuma wouldn’t have paid attention to such incidental details. His memory had always been good, so he’d been able to keep track of things like this all along, but so long as it didn’t affect him, he hadn’t concerned himself with the likes and dislikes of others.

Now it was Maki’s turn to look seriously at Takuma.

Takuma suddenly felt uneasy under her gaze and averted his eyes.

This meant that when Maki spoke, he didn’t catch the expression on her face.

“Takuma…you really have changed.”

There was a note of praise in Maki’s voice that made him flush bashfully. “Y-yeah, I guess, maybe a little,” Takuma murmured, still looking away and reminding himself that she was an actress, and she could sound however she wanted to.

“No, more than a little.”

But even as he kept looking away, Maki’s voice had a strange way of penetrating his consciousness.

“Boys grow up so quickly at your age… You’re not quite an adult yet, but that’s part of the appeal…”

Maki hadn’t moved from her place on the sofa opposite him, but the sweet scent of her skin seemed to be wafting toward him.

“Whatever shall I do? I’ve been told not to lay a hand on you, but…just once couldn’t hurt…”

Her amorous sigh seemed to be right at his ear, despite the distance between them.

“Maki, I have a favor to ask!” said Takuma with sudden vigor, as though trying to dispel the illusion.

“A favor…?”

With his field of view taken up entirely by the floor, Takuma couldn’t see it, but Maki’s expression was one of total astonishment. No trace of her enticing demeanor remained.

Previously, their relationship had been one in which Maki had granted a variety of requests from Takuma, so it wasn’t terribly strange for Takuma to be asking something of her. It was Takuma’s deeply bowed head that Maki found so surprising.

Takuma had interpreted this not as receiving a handout from her but as her investing in him. Whatever her true thoughts on the matter, she had said as much to him.

Perhaps that was why whenever Takuma had previously asked something of her, he’d done so with only the minimum of humility. It was the logic of youth to want to avoid showing weakness precisely because the relationship was so one-sided.

And yet now he had no qualms about bowing so deeply his upper body was parallel with the floor. It was so different from the Takuma who Maki had known that for a moment she wondered if he was doing some sort of stretch.

“First, you can sit up, Takuma.”

Maki had not forgotten Tatsuya’s threat. She’d welcomed Takuma into her home, but she’d planned only to toy with him a bit and send him home feeling good. She had no interest in inviting a scandal, but she had reckoned that neither Tatsuya Shiba nor those backing him would bother coming after her for a little bit of mischief.

But seeing Takuma’s bearing, she had changed her mind. “What do you want me to do?”

Men didn’t have a monopoly on disregarding risk and making decisions based on gut feelings. Maki wanted to help Takuma, who seemed like a different person compared to the boy he’d been only a little more than six months earlier. A warm desire to embrace him welled up in her, as though she were an older sister regarding her rascally younger brother who was desperately trying to grow up.

Maki’s kind smile was a far more favorable reaction than Takuma had anticipated, and he was completely taken off guard. He composed himself and spoke, his enthusiasm coloring his voice with grim determination.

“I assume you’ve heard about the terrorist attack the day before yesterday.”

“The one in Hakone? It sounded like they were hit pretty hard.”

“Yeah. Despite magicians being the ones targeted, it’s turning the tide of public opinion against us.”

“But there was a reason they were targeted, right? Innocent bystanders got caught up in the violence, so you can’t blame people for being upset.”

Maki did not discriminate against magicians. On the contrary, she actively made efforts to get along very well with magicians. The point she was making was, if anything, what she imagined ordinary people in the world to be thinking.

Takuma either understood that or simply endured it, but in any case, he showed no anger at Maki’s comment. “What you’re saying is probably right. That’s just the nature of human emotion. But we can’t afford to let our kind be cast as the villains. If we don’t stop this soon, it won’t be long before we lose the ability to uphold the human rights of magicians at all. Eventually, we might even see witch hunts and have people call it justice.”

Maki didn’t suggest he was overthinking things. In fact, she thought it was a reasonable prediction. “Okay. Am I right in thinking that you’re asking more for my father’s help than mine?”

Takuma flinched; she’d had hit the bull’s-eye. Maki’s father was the president of a holding company that owned several large media companies, including a television network.

But his hesitation did not last more than a second. “I know it’s presumptuous. Even I think so. There’s no upside for your father in allying himself to magicians. Given the current environment, it’s decidedly unwise. Even so…please!”

If he had been in a Japanese-style room, he’d have had his forehead pressed down against the tatami mat.

“You’re the only person I could think of to ask for help, Maki…”

It struck Maki as convenient that neither of them could see the other’s face in that moment.

She found her chest swelling with affection for this boy almost ten years younger than her.

But she was an A-list actress. She didn’t need to cover up her emotions with anything as blatant as a cough or a throat clearing. “All right, Takuma. I’ll do it.”

“Maki…!” Takuma looked up, his face overjoyed.

“But eventually, you’ll have to pay me back.”

“Of course, I’ll do anything I can!”

In the near future—three years to be precise, in 2100, the final year of the twenty-first century—Takuma would come to deeply regret those words, but he would not break his promise. This is the secret story behind the dashing silver screen debut of a certain Magic University student-turned-actor.

Late that night, two individuals went to the police morgue where the bodies of the people who’d actually carried out the terrorist attack were being stored.

One visitor was a middle-aged man wearing a trench coat along with a fedora pulled low over his face, who—if one was inclined to be generous—looked something like a detective. The other wore a newsboy cap and large sunglasses with a muffler covering the lower half of their face, keeping their features totally obscured. They were tall for a woman but short for a man. Their body was completely hidden in an overbroad wool coat, hiding their build. It was impossible to tell just by looking that she was a young woman of twenty.

The lone coroner remaining in the facility at that late hour let them in. He traded places with them, leaving the morgue. He wasn’t being controlled, nor was he being threatened. The coroner had been bribed by the man in the fedora—Mitsugu Kuroba.

Mitsugu looked at the body bag in one corner of the room, then at the corpses laid out on the beds. This was where all the attackers had been brought—every body that was determined to have been one of the suicide bombers. Owing to the nature of suicide bombing, there weren’t many intact corpses, but a few of them had suffered relatively little damage. These were the ones on the beds before him.

For Mitsugu and his companion’s purposes, all they needed was the cranium. A cleanly severed head was just fine, and even if it was missing a brain, there wouldn’t be a problem. As long as there was something recognizable as a head, it would be a worthwhile clue.

“Yoshimi,” Mitsugu whispered to the woman with him.

Underneath her cap, sunglasses, and muffler, Yoshimi nodded and touched the forehead of one corpse with a leather-gloved hand.

A faint psionic glow appeared around the point of contact between hand and forehead. It was similar to the light emitted from a CAD when a program activated. The core principle of what was actually happening was the same—the injection of homogenous psionic waves with neither meaning nor distortion, then the reading of the psionic signals that bounced back. In some respects, the corpse was acting as a CAD, and the psionic information bodies that remained within it were like an activation program.

The woman called Yoshimi was practicing psychometry. She was a psychometrist by trade, skilled in reading the traces of psionic information that could linger in the human body.

In modern magic theory, psions were the particles that gave ideas and will form, and pushions could be conceptualized as the particles that formed the emotions that in turn gave rise to thoughts and intent.

Of course, that was only a hypothesis.

Very little about the nature of pushions was understood with complete certainty.

That said, there were observations of the human mind affecting psions.

Magic programs were also psionic information bodies. So even if someone’s physical body were subjected to external magical interference, that person’s active and passive psychoactivity would immediately distort and disperse the now-useless program.

But corpses felt nothing and thought nothing. Which meant that any psionic information bodies that remained within them—and any magic programs that had been written into them—would linger for much longer than they would in a living body, preserved with a low amount of degradation.

The Yotsuba family had developed a technique to read the psionic information bodies contained within a dead body—a corpse’s memories—and the Kuroba family used this in its espionage activities.

“Yoshimi.”

“It’s still good,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric wrapped around her face. She moved on to the next corpse.

“Don’t go in too deep. You won’t be able to find your way back out.”

Seemingly unconcerned, Yoshimi proceeded from one corpse to the next, retrieving more information.

Then, just as she stood back from the sixth dead body, she exhaled a sigh. “I found it.”

“Good. Now let’s get out of here.”

Mitsugu pulled Yoshimi’s gloves off her hands. She then reached into her coat pocket and produced a new pair of gloves, which she put on.

With his companion in tow, Mitsugu left the morgue. Somewhere along the way, Yoshimi’s gloves disappeared from his hands.

It went without saying that the Ten Master Clans weren’t the only ones looking for the terrorists. A large-scale attack taking place within a stone’s throw of the capital was a terrible blow to the pride of law enforcement and more than enough impetus to drive the top brass insane with rage.

The case fell not to the Kanagawa regional police department (known as the Kanagawa Prefectural Police—not the regional police or former prefectural police) but instead to the Ministry of Police’s Wide-Area Special Investigation Team (nicknamed the “Japanese FBI”). Normally, the case would’ve gone to the regional law enforcement, but the national-level search team had summoned investigators to the southern Kanto region and poured all their manpower into getting the investigation rolling.

Inspector Toshikazu Chiba just happened to be standing by at headquarters, so without waiting for the mid-transfer detectives to assemble, he immediately commenced his investigation. He had felt as much outrage at the attack as anyone, and in a rare occurrence, his urgency showed as he made his rounds.

And yet the investigation ran into snags immediately.

“What do you mean, every single one of the attackers is dead?” Toshikazu grumbled, sitting in an unmarked patrol car.

“Well, things like that happen when you’re dealing with suicide bombers,” said Toshikazu’s driver, Assistant Inspector Inagaki, in an attempt to mollify him. But the truth was that Inagaki also found it strange, so his voice didn’t have much conviction in it.

“The ones who actually blew themselves up being dead, I can understand. But don’t you think it strange that even the bombers with no evidence of being near any explosions all wound up in the morgue? Some bodies have barely a scratch on them.”

“And the autopsy results put the time of death as at least a day before the actual attack. Adding in the possibility of refrigerated preservation of the corpses, they could’ve been dead for up to ten days prior to the attack… Do you think the bodies walked in carrying the explosives themselves?”

“I wish I could laugh that off as something out of a schlocky horror movie…” Toshikazu muttered with a beleaguered smirk.

“You’re thinking there was some kind of corpse-reanimation magic used, aren’t you, Inspector?” Inagaki asked.

Toshikazu nodded reluctantly, then realized Inagaki, who was driving, wouldn’t be able to see the gesture and added, “Yeah, I am. I hate to say it, but…given the circumstances, it’s the most logical guess.”

The luxury of relegating magic to the realm of fiction when pursuing investigations had died the previous century. Magic was now a factor that law enforcement investigators couldn’t ignore, and Toshikazu himself was in fact a magician. Denying magic would entail denying his own existence.

That said, as a user of modern magic, he couldn’t help but find the prospect of corpse-manipulation techniques very fishy.

“Do you think we’re gonna need to talk to a specialist?”

“Oh, you have a necromancy guy on speed dial?” Toshikazu scowled at Inagaki’s suggestion. Even if there was a magician somewhere with expertise in corpse manipulation, there would be unavoidable ethical issues involved. They wouldn’t exactly be able to just hang a sign up advertising their services. “But yeah, we’re way out of our depth here. It’d sure help to have somebody to walk us through the possibilities.”

“Searching the Ministry of Police’s database for necromancy only turned up hits for postmortem divination, too.” Despite being the one to make the suggestion, Inagaki seemed aware that finding someone with expertise in this area wouldn’t be easy.

As his subordinate sighed, Toshikazu dropped his objections. “Yeah… But it’s not like we have any hot leads. So we might as well try. Take us to Roter Wald, Inagaki.”

“The information broker, huh? Copy that,” Inagaki sighed defeatedly, heading the car to Yokohama.

Roter Wald was a café with a forest cottage design nestled in a residential Yokohama neighborhood. Upon entering the tranquil little establishment, Toshikazu automatically scanned the interior, looking for someone.

Who am I looking for? he immediately thought. He remembered the time just before the Yokohama Incident that had shaken all of Japan—and eventually the entire world. Then, as now, he’d come to this café looking for leads on illegal immigration, and he remembered the woman he’d met: Kyouko Fujibayashi.

He hadn’t seen her since they’d parted ways in front of Sakuragi Station during the Yokohama Incident. They hadn’t been romantically involved; they were merely cooperating in the course of their respective duties. But Toshikazu’s feelings did not end there.

Afterward, Toshikazu had been relegated to the cleanup investigations into any lingering illegal immigrants and had no time to contact Fujibayashi. Just when he thought the fallout might have been tapering off, the vampire incident happened, and his hands were immediately full with the resulting investigation. He’d been mostly away from the Kanto region since the previous spring, and it had given him little opportunity to think about her.

Coming again to this café—the place where they’d first met—was what brought her to mind again. What was he, some kind of sentimental romantic? Or was he just wondering what might have been? Toshikazu shook his head ruefully as he took a seat at the counter. Such musings were unusual for him.

As Inagaki came into the edge of his field of view and sat down beside him, Toshikazu ordered. “Two coffees.”

It would’ve been a mistake to try to lean on the proprietor.

As he waited for his coffee, Toshikazu idly looked around the inside of the café. As always, it was busy with patrons but not completely full.

Toshikazu turned back to the counter before his gaze attracted any suspicion.

When he looked over his shoulder at the sound of the cowbell attached to the café’s front door, it wasn’t out of vigilance or suspicion. It was merely the physical reflex of someone who had nothing better to do.

He immediately stood—which was also a largely unconscious act. Toshikazu was no longer off guard.

“Hello there, Inspector,” said a beautiful woman approximately his age as she took in his face, her eyes wide.

“Ms. Fujibayashi…”

The one who’d come through the café’s door was none other than the woman in his memory, Kyouko Fujibayashi.

“It’s been a while, Inspector Chiba. Is this seat taken?” asked Fujibayashi, looking just as he remembered her. Her makeup was deliberately understated, but closer attention revealed a face that was nonetheless carefully composed.

“Ah, please sit!” Toshikazu nodded, completely failing to notice Inagaki’s scowl.

Fujibayashi smiled and sat down.

Toshikazu realized he was suddenly feeling unaccountably nervous. It didn’t occur to him, though, that his nerves were not really “unaccountable” at all.

“A coffee for me, please,” Fujibayashi told the proprietor, placing the same order as Toshikazu had and laying her coat on the empty seat next to her. “You haven’t changed a bit, Inspector.”

“I’m just stubborn, that’s all.” Toshikazu felt his voice about to crack.

“How modest of you,” she quipped, with a meticulously constructed smile.

Toshikazu felt his smile tense slightly. “So, Ms. Fujibayashi, are you off work today?”

Just because she was dressed casually didn’t mean she was off duty, given her line of work. Toshikazu knew as much, but he didn’t want to directly ask her if she was on a mission here in public, where he didn’t know who might overhear.

“I am. But the coffee here is so delicious—so.” She shrugged. The proprietor happened to be looking her way at that moment and gave her a slight bow, acknowledging the compliment.

If Toshikazu had said the same thing, the proprietor probably wouldn’t have given him any reaction at all. Evidently, despite living nowhere near the shop, Fujibayashi was a regular.

“And you, Inspector? Are you off duty?”

“Well, you know… That actually reminds me, Ms. Fujibayashi, you know quite a bit about ancient magic, right?” Toshikazu was more than a little flustered, but he hadn’t forgotten about the investigation, and it was the detective part of his brain that recalled this particular aspect of the woman in front of him.

“I suppose I know a thing or two about it, yes,” she said, peering at him curiously.

“If you have time, there’s something I’d like to know a little more about.”

Just then, the proprietor’s voice cut in. “Here you are,” he said, placing coffee cups in front of Toshikazu and Inagaki.

“I don’t mind. But first, Inspector, don’t you have something to discuss with the proprietor?”

Toshikazu suddenly remembered the reason why he’d come to this café in the first place.

Unfortunately, it seemed he wouldn’t be able to claim he hadn’t neglected his job.

Toshikazu had written his request—“I need to find someone with expertise in corpse-manipulation magic”—on a slip of paper and passed it to the proprietor, who had returned the slip with his answer written on it. After thoroughly memorizing it, he returned the slip to the proprietor. Judging by the proprietor’s slight smile, Toshikazu inferred that this had been the right thing to do.

It seemed that Fujibayashi really had come just for the coffee, and she exchanged some small talk with the proprietor.

“Here’s for the bill. I’m also taking care of these two. I don’t need any change.” Before Fujibayashi could object, Toshikazu slipped the proprietor a high-denomination money card. Inagaki stood a beat late, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise when he saw the amount. It was well above the going rate for such information.

“I believe I may have a bit too much here,” the proprietor said with a mild frown.

“Keep it on my tab for next time, then,” Toshikazu replied.

The proprietor didn’t attempt to force the issue. “I look forward to your next visit,” he said with a slight bow.

After exiting Roter Wald, at Fujibayashi’s invitation, Toshikazu joined her in her car. Inagaki followed them in the unmarked patrol car.

“So, Inspector, is what you want to talk about something related to the Hakone terrorist attack?” Fujibayashi asked as soon as they were underway, immediately cutting to the point.

“…Indeed,” he said, setting aside all his conversational preparations, silently grateful that he wasn’t going to have to go through the effort. “There are some very odd details surrounding it.”

“Odd?”

Although Fujibayashi kept her hand on the gearshift, the car was currently driving autonomously. There was nothing dangerous about her looking over to Toshikazu in the passenger’s seat. Nonetheless, Toshikazu’s deeply internalized police training made him feel a certain chill at the gesture, despite knowing there was no danger.

It might have shown on his face. Fujibayashi immediately turned back to the road.

“Yes. None of the actual attackers are alive.”

“…Are you sure they didn’t escape?” she suggested quite reasonably.

“No, that much is certain,” he stated firmly. “They were concentrated only at the hotel that was the target, and the traffic cameras all around the area continued to function perfectly after the attack.”

“So you’re saying none of the traffic cameras recorded any attackers escaping the site of the bombing after it was over?”

“Correct. All the attackers were caught on camera as they infiltrated the hotel. And they’ve all been identified. There’s one body that wasn’t found, but we can say with absolute certainty that none of the terrorists fled the scene.”

“The perpetrators were caught on camera, but you still weren’t able to prevent the attack?”

Toshikazu was stuck for an answer, but undaunted, he quickly offered a rebuttal. “The explosives they used didn’t trip our sensors. They looked like ordinary people going about their day, and there was no reason to stop them from entering a hotel that was open for business.”

“…So you’re saying that if the Ten Master Clans had used the Magic Association’s meeting facilities or booked the entire hotel, this attack wouldn’t have happened?”

“Well, putting aside whether it was preventable or not, the number of casualties probably could have been lowered.”

Fujibayashi was connected to the Kudou family, which up until the day of the Master Clans Council had been one of the Ten Master Clans. Toshikazu’s point might have been correct, but it made the atmosphere unavoidably awkward.

Toshikazu moved on to the matter at hand in an attempt to clear the air. “Actually, there’s another mysterious point… To make a long story short, the evidence suggests the attackers were already dead at the time of the incident.”

“I see… So that’s why you’re going to talk to the Dollmakers.”

“Dollmakers?”

Toshikazu thought he was heading to the home of a magic researcher who specialized in necromancy. He had no thought of calling on a dollmaker or puppeteer.

“The individual you’re trying to contact is not simply a magic researcher but a practitioner of an ancient magical technique called a ‘Dollmaker.’ He’s rumored to use forbidden magic to turn dead bodies into puppets, and the Magic Association has marked him as a person of interest.”

“That’s…”

“If you want someone to tell you about techniques to control a corpse, he’ll certainly be able to. Publicly he is a researcher, after all.” Fujibayashi turned to regard Toshikazu again. “However, Inspector, please be cautious. I have been told that Kazukiyo Oumi the Dollmaker has not inconsiderable ties to the magicians from Dahan.”

Toshikazu nodded in reply to the warning, his face tense.

Friday, February 8, 5:57 PM. As instructed by Katsuto, Tatsuya arrived at the front gate of Magic University.

After returning home briefly, Tatsuya made his way to the university’s public transit stop, dressed in a comfortable half coat over a tailored jacket. It was widely accepted that students at Magic University tended to look a bit more mature than the people who attended other colleges, but dressed like this, he didn’t stand out, since he often seemed older than he was, too.

“Hi, Tatsuya.”

It was a little less than five minutes past the meeting time when Mayumi emerged from the campus gate and greeted Tatsuya. She was casually dressed, wearing a duffle coat and knee-length skirt, paired with thick tights and high boots. Between her style and the thin tote bag hanging from her shoulder, she practically radiated college-girl energy.

She undoubtedly would’ve been annoyed to hear it, but next to Tatsuya’s buttoned-up appearance, he looked like the elder of the two.

“Sorry, have you been waiting long?” she asked with a breathless smile.

“You’re within the margin of error. Don’t worry about it,” answered Tatsuya honestly.

Her smile instantly fell into a pout. “C’mon…you’re supposed to say, ‘No, I just got here myself.’”

Evidently, she’d expected the standard response from him. Tatsuya didn’t understand the purpose of her request, but he was certainly willing to accommodate it in the spirit of service.

“I just got here myself,” he said.

This didn’t seem to improve her mood at all, and she glared at him glumly.

Unflustered and unconcerned, Tatsuya continued the conversation as though nothing had happened. “Incidentally, is Juumonji not with you?”

Mayumi huffed a performative sigh. “…He’s gone ahead to a place where we can talk. He told me where to go, so just come with me.”

Then, either satisfied or resigned, she started walking, gesturing for him to come along with her.

Tatsuya briskly drew along her right side.

Mayumi switched the tote bag from her right shoulder to her left.

She started to reach out with her hand several times, but in the end, she continued walking without taking Tatsuya’s arm.

After just over ten minutes of walking, their destination turned out to be a modestly fashionable-looking single-family residence. Its most prominent detail was a single round table surrounded by four chairs on a roofed terrace.

However, upon entering, it turned out the first floor was a small restaurant. The reason it didn’t have a sign was either because Katsuto had rented out the entire establishment or perhaps because the owners preferred to only serve regulars and people their regulars vouched for.

Just as Tatsuya was considering the matter, Mayumi cleared things up with the actual answer. “This is an invite-only establishment. Plus, apparently Juumonji reserved the whole place, so we won’t have to worry about the eyes and ears of other customers.”

Apparently, he’d been right with both guesses.

The exterior notwithstanding, their shoes remained on since it was a restaurant. Mayumi’s booted heels made a pleasant click with each step she took.

“Sorry to make you wait, Juumonji,” she said.

“It’s fine. I just got here.”

Tatsuya didn’t show it on his face, but he was impressed with Katsuto’s reply. He’d said just what Mayumi wanted to hear. How had he gotten it right? Perhaps because he’d known her for so long.

“Have a seat,” Katsuto said.

Tatsuya did so, betraying no hint of his thoughts as he sat across from the man.

Mayumi sat next to Tatsuya on the same side of the table. Presumably, this was simply because they’d walked up to the table side by side, rather than any kind of message about them being together.

Tatsuya’s conversation with Mari was still fresh in his memory, so he couldn’t honestly claim to be completely unaware of Mayumi. But as to the question of whether he could see Mayumi in that way, well—no, he could not.

Tatsuya had accepted Miyuki’s feelings and become her fiancé. But that did not mean he returned those feelings.

To him, Miyuki was still his sister.

He could not conceive how their relationship could be a romantic one.

Even if he’d decided how to answer her feelings, his heart had yet to reach that point.

Tatsuya’s capacity for considering romance at all was already completely maxed out with just Miyuki. If he tried to make room for Mayumi, too, it would start affecting his work. So he had already decided not to count her as an option in that regard.

He was honestly very grateful that so far Mayumi had continued to treat him as she always had.

From the way Mari had talked to him earlier, she must have already egged Mayumi on quite a bit. Even if Mayumi hadn’t thought much about Tatsuya before that, her friend’s urging could certainly have had an effect. Someone’s intense encouragement would be all the more convincing when they were close to you. Tatsuya understood such things not as a matter of passion but in the context of coercion and conciliation. However, the psychological principles involved were the same.

So Tatsuya was on guard, but fortunately Mayumi hadn’t shown any outward indication of having been obviously influenced. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but neither did she. They were on even footing.

“So just to get things started, have either of you learned anything?” Katsuto started abruptly.

Tatsuya and Mayumi exchanged a glance. Mayumi decided to speak first. “Unfortunately, at the moment I don’t have any promising leads. The terrorist came to Japan from America on a freighter and made landfall at Yokosuka Port, but beyond that we don’t know anything. And even that much is mere deduction.”

“I obtained some information from the USNA,” Tatsuya stated simply.

Mayumi looked shocked, and even Katsuto seemed surprised.

“From America? And exactly what sort of connection gave you that info?”

The international movements of high-level magicians were very strictly regulated. As a result, if they weren’t attached to a governmental agency, it was near impossible for a magician to build up a good information network that reached overseas. Within the Ten Master Clans, the Mitsuya family was known to have unusually good information thanks to their arms-trading partners, but neither Katsuto nor Mayumi had ever heard anything about the Yotsuba family having an overseas information source.

“Well, you know. This and that,” Tatsuya said evasively.

“…I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry,” Mayumi replied with an embarrassed little bow. Even when you were talking to a fellow member of the Ten Master Clans, it wasn’t exactly admirable to demand they reveal something they were obviously keeping a secret.

Tatsuya acknowledged this with a short “It’s fine” and then went on. “According to what I’ve learned, the terrorist ringleader is a former Dahanese magician named Gu Jie. His English name is Gide Hague. He appears to be a man in his fifties, with dark skin and white hair. Unfortunately, the reliability of this is unknown.”

Maya had already been informed that Tatsuya was sharing the information about Gu Jie with Katsuto and Mayumi. Tatsuya hadn’t asked permission; it had been Maya who instructed him to share it with the Saegusa family to aid in the search.

“Even if it’s not conclusive, given our lack of any other leads, it’s excellent information. Saegusa—”

“Right.” Mayumi nodded as Katsuto’s gaze met hers. “We can use this description to run a search for any foreigners who’ve entered the country within the last two weeks matching it.”

“It seems pretty likely he smuggled himself in, though.”

“That’s probably true,” Mayumi agreed. “But when people move, they always leave tracks. If we shake out the area between Yokosuka and Hakone, we should be able to find some leads. We’ll get the police to help us.”

The magician family with the greatest amount of influence over the police was the Chiba family, nearly half of whom were said to serve on the force (mostly in the anti-riot squads) as magician inspectors, but in the Kanto region’s investigations division, it was the Saegusa family who predominated.

And even if they hadn’t, this had been a huge incident. The police wouldn’t need outside encouragement to be pursuing the criminals to the absolute extent of their ability. They would be hungry for any leads, no matter how minor.

Katsuto didn’t need to have something so obvious explained to him. “Okay. Saegusa, you head up that end. Shiba, you keep tracking down leads.”

“Sure thing,” she replied.

“Understood,” Tatsuya agreed.

The three met one another’s eyes and nodded.

“Do either of you have any suggestions? Or anything you want to ask me?”

Tatsuya and Minami both answered in the negative.

Katsuto nodded. “What are you two doing for dinner?” he went on. “If you want to eat, I’ll have something prepared right away.”

“I’m sorry—I have plans at home,” Tatsuya said first, turning the offer down.

“…I’ll pass today, too,” Mayumi added with a brief glance at Tatsuya. “Might take you up on that tomorrow, though,” she finished apologetically.

“All right. So does this time tomorrow work?”

“Fine by me,” said Mayumi.

“For me as well,” said Tatsuya. “If anything changes, I’ll contact you.”

The “anything” Tatsuya was envisioning was the possibility that his search might run late into the night.

Katsuto either understood that or was hesitant to butt into Tatsuya’s personal life, but in either case, he didn’t push for details. “Sure. I have another meeting after this, so Shiba—would you escort Saegusa home?” he said—not necessarily as a quid pro quo, but still.

“Huh?! No, no, you don’t have to!” she protested, flustered. They were currently opposite the train station as seen from the university. If any of her acquaintances saw her walking alone with Tatsuya at this hour, it would be perfect fodder for rumors.

“It’s already dark outside. I’m not doubting your ability to handle yourself, Saegusa, but we have no idea where our terrorists are hiding right now. I can’t let a woman walk around alone when there’s every reason to think we might be targeted.”

It was hard to refute the point that individuals might be targets for the terrorists. And besides, pushing back too stubbornly seemed to make her that much more conscious of Tatsuya, which only exacerbated her embarrassment.

“I’ll escort you home, Saegusa.”

Backed into a corner, Mayumi finally relented to Tatsuya’s offer. “…All right, thanks. We’ll see you tomorrow, Juumonji.”

“Right. Take care.”

Mayumi and Tatsuya left the restaurant together.

It was about a ten-minute walk from the restaurant to the university and another ten minutes from the university to the cabinet station. Night had fallen, and there was neither moon nor starlight, but thanks to the streetlights, they could still see where they were going. Nonetheless, visibility was still poorer than it was during the day, and as a result, Mayumi’s walking pace was a little bit slower.

The darkness was no impediment for Tatsuya, but he didn’t go striding ahead through the gloom or try to drag Mayumi along by the hand. He simply matched her pace and continued to walk alongside her.

No words were exchanged. The silence was clearly awkward for Mayumi, but Tatsuya didn’t have anything to talk about, either.

“Oh—” Just as they were passing by the entrance to the university, Mayumi suddenly spoke. “It’s snowing.”

Mayumi stopped and looked up at the sky. As if her voice had been their cue, snowflakes started to flutter down from the clouds overhead, which were faintly glowing from the city’s illumination.

Tatsuya produced separately an umbrella and then its handle from within a dedicated pocket inside his coat. Thanks to improvements in materials, it was slim and light enough not to be burdensome while stored, but if the grip was as thin as the shaft, it would be difficult to hold, and so the handle had to be stored separately and attached when the umbrella was opened. (With most umbrellas, the switch to open it was actually on the grip itself.)

Tatsuya opened the umbrella and looked over to Mayumi, who was still gazing up into the sky as snow continued to fall.

“I would recommend using an umbrella, Saegusa,” Tatsuya said.

Mayumi looked over her shoulder at him with an awkward smile. “…I don’t have one on me.” Her smile remained as her eyes glanced this way and that.

Tatsuya had to consciously suppress a sigh. He couldn’t believe there were still people who failed to be prepared for the weather, despite the accuracy of modern weather forecasting. “What, you didn’t look at the forecast before leaving your house…?”

“I was really rushing, so…” Mayumi answered, her expression so sheepish it looked like she was about to face-palm.

Tatsuya held out his umbrella. “You can use mine.”

“Huh? Oh no, I couldn’t,” Mayumi said. “It’s just snow not rain, and it’s not even coming down that hard…”

“Exactly. It’s just a little bit of snow, so I’ll be fine without my umbrella. You should use it.”

“But—”

“If you happen to catch a cold, Juumonji will definitely punch me.”

Mayumi couldn’t help but giggle at Tatsuya’s overserious face as he held the umbrella out. “I don’t think that would be enough to make Juumonji resort to violence,” she said, and instead of taking the umbrella, she drew closer to Tatsuya and curled her left arm around his right, bringing their shoulders close enough to touch.

“Shall we both use it, then?”

An oncoming car passed by on Tatsuya’s left. The car’s headlights momentarily illuminated Mayumi’s happy face.

Her smile was as innocent as a child’s.

“…All right,” Tatsuya said.

Still smiling, Mayumi let go of Tatsuya’s arm.

Tatsuya tilted the umbrella over to the right, in her direction.

Tatsuya saw Mayumi off at the cabinet station. He had planned to accompany her all the way to her door, but upon hearing Mayumi’s threat/warning—“Oh, you want to come to my home? You’re going to get quite a welcome, then,”—he had no choice but to back down.

When he got back home, Miyuki was there to greet him in the entryway as always. As she helped him out of his half coat, she furrowed her brow at the slight whiff of Mayumi’s perfume that she caught on it, but she said nothing, not even making a joke of pouting about it.

Despite her intentions, Miyuki was finding herself unable to simply act as she always had, back when she had only been his younger sister.

When she had only been his sister, all she’d cared about was that Tatsuya didn’t resent her.

But now Miyuki realized she’d never really felt a true sense of crisis about the issue back then.

What if he hates me? The mere thought made her chest hurt. She had a vision of lashing out at him in a fit of jealousy, angering him, ruining her affection for him—and that made her blood run cold.

As his sister, even if he disliked her, they weren’t strangers. They still had the bond of brother and sister.

But an engagement could be severed by exasperation or disgust.

Finally having gotten Tatsuya only to lose her position as his fiancée—the possibility was an unbearable nightmare. It wasn’t just difficult to bear; she knew she would be unable to stand it. When the anxious thought that she might not get him occurred to her, it made it that much more difficult to let go of him. If he were ever to cast her aside, Miyuki was quite sincerely certain that she would be unable to go on living.

Tatsuya had turned to let her remove his coat, and once it was done, he turned back around to face her. “Anything happen while I was out?” he asked.

“There was a message from Mr. Hayama,” Miyuki replied. “I’d like to talk about it over dinner. Will that be all right?”

She flashed him a smile that gave no hint of the anxiety boiling in her heart.

Minami joined them at the dinner table, while Miyuki explained the content of Hayama’s message.

“Kamakura, huh?”

“Yes. Apparently, there’s a safe house Gongjin Zhou purchased under an assumed name in the western hills of Kamakura, and that’s where Gu Jie is hiding out.”

“And they’re that certain…” Tatsuya wondered how they’d managed to zero in on the location. But more than that, he wondered why they hadn’t moved to capture him if they were so certain about the location.

“Is there something bothering you about it, Tatsuya?” asked Miyuki, noticing the concerned expression on his face.

Tatsuya didn’t mention the questions that had come to mind. If he had, Miyuki would undoubtedly hear it as a criticism—Why didn’t you ask about those details?—even though it wasn’t one.

“No, I was just thinking about what kinds of preparations we’ll need to make,” he said instead.

Tatsuya was incredibly attuned to the changes in his sister’s expression, and so he noticed. What was it that she was so afraid of? But there was nothing he could do about it in that moment, because he was still unable to whisper in her ear the words he knew she truly wanted to hear.

“I’ll ask Hayama later how we’ll need to prepare,” Tatsuya decided, setting aside the topic.

Just then, Gu Jie was leaving the safe house in Kamakura.

About an hour earlier, he’d picked up via Hlidskjalf a transmission that the individual responsible for planning the terrorist attack in Hakone was hiding in Kamakura. The precise address was off, but it was close. If he lingered, the noose would close around him, and he’d be unable to escape. Gu Jie knew he didn’t have much time left, but he had no intention of carrying out a suicide bombing personally.

Not even Hlidskjalf could tell him how his pursuers had managed to close in on his location so quickly. That part hadn’t been included in the intercepted data, which caused him considerable concern. If he didn’t know what was in his opponent’s hand, he couldn’t prepare a counter.

If he spent some time sifting through Mitsugu Kuroba’s communication history, maybe there would be a reference to the answer hidden somewhere in the past. But if he narrowed the search terms down too much, he would likely give away the fact that he himself was a Hlidskjalf operator.

No, Gu Jie thought. Even if the other Hlidskjalf operators knew that he was one of them, it wouldn’t cause him much real trouble. He wasn’t going to be around much longer. But if intelligence officials were tipped off about him by another operator, Gu Jie realized that the Yotsubas themselves might be considerably damaged in the process.

But there was no time to lose. His top priority was getting away from the current location without being noticed. When he’d first searched the safe house, he’d done everything he could to cover his tracks. After taking some measures to make tracing him that much more difficult, he set out on the snow-dusted road carrying the absolute minimum of supplies with him. Using every one of his five senses and more, he took in the area around him but detected no observers.

“I’ll leave the hospitality for the next guests to you,” Gu Jie said to the puppet he’d just made and headed for the next safe house.

The West Coast of America, February 8, 7:00 AM local time. After a modest breakfast, Raymond S. Clark turned on his Hlidskjalf terminal and began to investigate the Hakone terrorist attack.

He wasn’t “investigating” in the sense of searching for the truth behind what had occurred. He’d known that since the attack—and even before, from his observation of the preparations for it. What Raymond wanted to know was what the hero who would bring the incident to its resolution was doing.

Without an incident, there could be no hero.

This was why he never provided the relevant authorities with any information that could prevent things from coming to a head. It wasn’t any fun to watch the villain escape and the case get wrapped up, unsolved.

So whenever the investigation was bogged down, he provided some leads or manipulated information in order to help the hero. Somehow, giving the hero the hint needed to catch the villain just when he was on the verge of escaping made Raymond feel important. It was his favorite game.

In Hlidskjalf, Raymond checked the events of the previous day and furrowed his brow.

Events were not playing out the way he would’ve liked them to. As far as Raymond was concerned, the villain’s use of Hlidskjalf to obtain information that let him elude the hero’s pursuit was against the rules.

Of course, all he knew was that Gide Hague had used Hlidskjalf and discovered that the Yotsubas had found his location. He didn’t yet know if that had resulted in his fleeing the safe house. But the fact that Hague had used the information network to get intel that he would otherwise never have had was itself difficult for Raymond to forgive.

Raymond thought of Hlidskjalf as a tool for a scriptwriter or director. It was meant to be used by people working behind the scenes in order to set the stage. A character in the play using it introduced a tremendous information imbalance into the mix, which could ruin the entire drama. To the audience and the backstage staff alike, it was an unforgivable breach of conduct.

While Hague himself had been a backstage figure, there had been no problem with his use of the program, of course. But now that he was personally standing on the stage, he could no longer be allowed access to this tool that could upset the plot so easily.

As Raymond’s introduction of himself as the Seven Sages implied, Hlidskjalf had seven operators. But Raymond was the only one among them who used the name Seven Sages. And as the only Seven Sages, he decided to send a request to Hlidskjalf’s administrator, who only he knew, for the deletion of Hague’s account.

Saturday, February 9, before dawn.

With at least two hours to go before the sun rose, Tatsuya set off for Kamakura on his electric motorcycle.

His trusty bike got him to the western hills of Kamakura before 5:00 AM, and he soon arrived at the vacation house where Gu Jie was supposedly hiding.

Standing there, wearing large sunglasses despite the predawn gloom with a muffler covering the lower half of their face, was an indistinct figure, tall for a woman but short for a man.

Their thick coat made it impossible to glean any clues about their gender. Of course, Tatsuya couldn’t have cared less what her gender was.

Tatsuya took the glove off his right hand and thrust it into his jacket pocket; then with his left hand, he took out his portable terminal and turned its screen toward her. She likewise bared her right hand to the cold air and held up her own terminal.

At the same time, each touched the screen of the other’s terminal with their index finger.

The scanners behind the displays engaged, reading their fingerprints.

Roughly simultaneously, they each nodded and returned their terminals to their pockets, then re-gloved their hands.

“Show me, please,” Tatsuya commanded.

“This way,” Yoshimi said with a nod, leading the way. Tatsuya left his bike and followed.

Yoshimi stopped in front of a vacation house. There didn’t seem to be anybody around, but Tatsuya knew that the area was surrounded by Yotsuba family forces. The way they’d hidden themselves wasn’t like the Kuroba household troops, though. Tatsuya wasn’t sure which branch family they were from. He didn’t sense Yuuka Tsukuba or Katsushige Shibata, so perhaps it was the Mashiba, Shiiba, Mugura, or Shizuka families.

Not that it mattered at the moment. And his questions from last night were answered, in any case.

It had been the Kuroba family that found the safe house, but for whatever reason, another family had ended up with the job of actually taking control of the attack site. It would have taken time to make that switch, Tatsuya deduced.

Gu Jie was supposedly able to magically control corpses—and not by manipulating the spiritual being within it but rather by direct control of the body after death.

Illusions created via mental interference wouldn’t work on such corpses, nor would their insensate, pain-immune bodies be affected by the Poison Wasp technique that Mitsugu Kuroba and his subordinates specialized in. Moving away from the Kuroba family when it came to executing the combat operation was a sensible management choice.

One Kuroba agent remained—Yoshimi, presumably in case of Gu Jie’s escape, as her presence would let them quickly recover any leads.

“Here? I seem to remember a different address,” Tatsuya noted.

“Wrong address,” came Yoshimi’s muffled voice. Her terseness was deliberate. Tatsuya had heard she always took care to leave as little trace of her own presence as possible. Whether that was a standard attitude for an espionage agent or a taboo passed down among those who specialized in her type of magic, he wasn’t sure. Still, she wasn’t someone he’d be working closely with, so he decided to put it out of his mind.

Tatsuya drew his Trident and peered into the safe house using Elemental Sight.

He could make out three humanoid shapes.

They weren’t corpses. They were living humans.

However, they weren’t ordinary humans—

“All units, heat-resistant anti-magic shields!” Tatsuya shouted as he pulled the trigger on his gun-shaped CAD, Trident.

The magic program targeting him and Yoshimi dispersed.

The safe house went up in flames the same moment.

Tatsuya activated Leap and jumped back and away from the conflagration. Yoshimi had jumped even farther back, and without looking behind him, Tatsuya spoke to her in a loud, clear tone.

“Gu Jie’s not here. There are three Generators in the house.”

An ambush had been laid—three strengthened magicians, Generators. Which meant that details about their raid had been leaked.

But neither Tatsuya nor Yoshimi wasted time with questions about how that had happened or whether there was a mole.

The only thing Yoshimi said was, “Leave all three bodies intact, please.” If Tatsuya used Mist Dispersion on them, there’d be no leads left to investigate.

But this also meant there was no particular need to keep them alive, which considerably simplified the difficulty of the combat. Tatsuya, never particularly inclined to grant killers many exceptions, was grateful for this latitude.

“Stay back. I’ll handle this alone,” he said.

Yoshimi nodded and leaped backward again. At the same time, the branch family forces slowly closing in around the perimeter halted their advance.

From within the burning safe house came a magical attack—Blaze. There was no expansion of the activation sequence.

These Generators must be specialized to a near-psychic level, Tatsuya surmised as he dismantled the Blaze program that had been aimed at his allies, who were hiding in the bushes and buildings surrounding them.

Regardless of the predawn hour, the fire department would undoubtedly come to respond to an inferno of this size. Since they were mostly vacation homes, a majority of them were fortunately unoccupied, but there was no doubt that residents in the neighborhood would soon start to notice the disturbance.

There wasn’t much time to lose.

After all, Tatsuya’s Dismantle couldn’t extinguish natural flame.

Plus, dismantling the building’s material would simply expose all the flammable material at once, resulting in an explosion of flame. It was possible the sudden combustion would exhaust all the available oxygen in the area, extinguishing the fire, but the resulting shock wave might cause serious damage to the surrounding buildings. And Tatsuya himself wasn’t exactly immune to a sudden absence of oxygen.

So what he targeted was not the entire building. He aimed Dismantle at the house’s support pillars.

The burning safe house collapsed in on itself as though crushed from above.

The flames rising from the ruined roof immediately ceased.

This was nothing to be surprised at—a magician who specialized in creating fire would also be proficient in extinguishing it. Whoever had been casting magic from within the house had probably been wearing flame-retardant clothing, but evidently it wasn’t so effective as to withstand lengthy direct exposure to an intense blaze, to say nothing of radiant or convective heat.

Three human figures pushed their way out of the rubble and stood.

The Generators, all wearing flame-retardant clothing, cast Blaze at Tatsuya simultaneously.

Magic programs surrounded him, their light reflecting in his eyes.

Tatsuya instantly projected psions out from his body.

Even uncompressed, the activated psions easily blew away the programs, operating on the same principle as Program Demolition. It was an ad hoc technique that only someone with a psion count as high as Tatsuya could execute.

Without missing a beat, Tatsuya fired three dismantling spells with his CAD in rapid succession.

The event influence radius that the Generators had been expanding collapsed.

The information reinforcement armor that had been protecting the Generators themselves was blown off—

—and fist-sized holes opened up in their chests.

Blood, however, didn’t seep from the wounds.

Tatsuya pulled the trigger two more times.

The three Generators fell backward, their hearts gone.

His CAD still held at the ready, Tatsuya approached the rubble, stopping just a step short of it.

As he looked down at the corpses, Yoshimi came up from behind him. Despite the bulky silhouette of her oversized coat, her movements were surprisingly agile.

It wasn’t just her, either. The previously hidden members of the branch family also began to emerge from their hiding places.

The siren of an approaching fire truck was audible in the distance. The fire had been reduced to ashes, but that wasn’t going to make the firefighters pull a U-turn. They would need to vacate the scene quickly.

Yoshimi moved ahead of Tatsuya, stepping over the rubble—which was not only no longer on fire but also not even warm—and approached the bodies. The combat unit, after posting lookouts, also surrounded the corpses.

From within, the bodies of the felled Generators emanated a faint psionic light. It was the initiation of a delayed-activation program. Probably a technique that used the death of its target as an activation key.

Tatsuya brought his right hand up, holding his CAD ready.

The literally heartless Generators leaped to their feet, launching themselves at the nearest person. Their sole target was Yoshimi.

—A magic technique that turned a corpse into a puppet: Necromancy.

Yoshimi reflexively recoiled, stumbling over the rubble.

Her evasion magic wouldn’t activate in time.

Tatsuya leveled his CAD at the corpses closing in on her and pulled the trigger.

—A magic technique that dismantled information bodies: Program Dispersion.

The psionic light emanating from the Generators faded.

The three Generators, their hands still outstretched in aggression, collapsed into the rubble.

The puppets were once again corpses.

“Th-thank you.” As she looked over her shoulder, Yoshimi’s face was still obscured by her muffler and glasses, but her voice betrayed a mixture of relief and gratitude.

“It should be all right now,” said Tatsuya.

Yoshimi nodded. “Carry them out,” she ordered the combat unit.

Leaving Yoshimi and the unit to finish their work, Tatsuya headed for his bike.

Although Gu Jie had completely eluded the initial pursuit, Tatsuya was still ahead of anybody else in chasing down the terrorist mastermind.

Inspector Toshikazu Chiba, likewise engaged in the hunt for the terrorists, was still running around looking for a lead and had yet to find so much as a trace of the man responsible.

Proceeding from the principle that an investigation began at the scene of the crime, Toshikazu had headed to Hakone, where he received a phone call that made his eyes go wide even as he held the speaker to his ear.

“Hello, is this Inspector Chiba? This is Fujibayashi.”

Her voice was unmistakable.

It was more or less unthinkable that someone had hijacked the communications infrastructure to impersonate her, but the fact of her calling was so unexpected that the thought occurred to him, nonetheless.

“I’m sorry to call you during work.”

“It’s fine. I’m always happy to get a call from you, Ms. Fujibayashi. What can I do for you?” said Toshikazu, moving away from the group of investigators. When Inagaki approached out of curiosity, Toshikazu shooed him away with a gesture.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I need you to ‘do’ anything… I’m just worried about yesterday.”

“And that’s why you went to the trouble of calling?” Despite the overall unfavorable circumstances, Toshikazu could feel his heart leap.

“Yes. After your meeting with the Dollmaker, did anything…odd happen?”

“Anything odd…? Well, I ended up pretty exhausted after hearing a bunch of geeky trivia about necromancy that didn’t help my investigation at all.”

“No, not like that, I mean… Did your head hurt, or did you feel sleepy, or look pale—anything like that?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Toshikazu in his usual easygoing voice, inwardly scolding himself for feeling like a schoolboy talking to his crush.

“I see…” Her relief was palpable on the other end of the call.

Toshikazu was unaware of the smile on his own face. He also didn’t hear Inagaki’s murmur of “What’s going on with him? Creepy.”

“Were you worried about me?” asked Toshikazu.

“…I was worried. But it looks like I didn’t need to be.”

Fujibayashi’s voice sounded a little bashful, which made Toshikazu’s smile even more pronounced.

“Well then, Inspector, I’ll be praying for your quick success in your efforts to apprehend the mastermind of this terrorist attack.”

“Thank you very much. Good luck to you as well, Second Lieutenant Fujibayashi.”

The call ended, and Toshikazu rejoined the other investigators, at which point Inagaki met him with an exhausted expression.

“Inagaki, what’s wrong? You don’t look well.”

“I just had to exert considerable effort. Don’t worry about it,” he replied, rubbing his temples as though his head ached.

“Well, don’t push yourself,” Toshikazu said breezily, walking off with a chuckle and thinking nothing at all of his partner’s gesture.

Her call with Toshikazu concluded, Fujibayashi looked to the female noncommissioned officer who sat in front of her, watching a monitor.

“There’s no sign of interference with his consciousness,” said the officer to Kazama, looking up and announcing the results of her analysis.

She was a specialist in psychological analysis and an expert in detecting and removing brainwashing from enlisted men and officers. To answer the question put to her, she could use vocal pitch and inflection, talking speed, breath interval, ocular movements, pulse and body temperature fluctuations, all to determine the presence or absence of subconscious suggestion. Even in situations like this one, where she had access to only the vocal transmission data, military-grade acoustic analysis equipment could derive a pulse rate from that. For a specialist, that was enough to ascertain the absence of being under the influence of mental suggestion.

“Kazukiyo Oumi is clear?” Kazama asked before nodding to the specialist. “Good work. You’re dismissed.”

The specialist stood, saluted, then pushed the cart carrying her equipment out of the room.

“I’m sorry you have to do such dirty work, Fujibayashi.”

“It’s fine… But, Commander, wasn’t it dangerous? Even if the Chiba family is an authority in modern magic, their techniques do lean in the direction of physical control. Their resistance to mental interference is an unknown quantity.”

The truth was that Toshikazu had been sent to the Dollmaker at Major General Saeki’s direction. But it wasn’t because she was targeting him. Rather, since the inspector was searching for anyone with a background in corpse-manipulation magic in the course of the Hakone terrorist investigation, in order to guide that search toward magicians suspected of being escaped remnants from the Kunlun Institute, Kazama’s people had seeded lists of such suspects with information brokers to camouflage their source and nature.

Roter Wald was one example. The proprietor wasn’t cooperating with Kazama in any real sense. The broker Toshikazu had been introduced to was completely random. Fujibayashi had been patronizing Roter Wald for a few days in order to follow through on the ruse, but it had been completely by chance that the proprietor had made the introduction to Kazukiyo Oumi.

So it wasn’t as simple as Fujibayashi having used Toshikazu as a stooge, but nonetheless her conscience nagged at her.

“If we’re going to go to such roundabout extremes to smoke out collaborators, perhaps we should also be participating in the terrorist attack investigation.”

“Lieutenant. This unit—no, this entire brigade—is not participating in the Hakone investigation. This comes directly from General Saeki.”

“Yes, sir…”

“It is absolutely imperative that the 101^st Brigade avoid any appearance of supporting the Ten Master Clans.”

“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

The National Defense Force’s 101^st Brigade that General Saeki instituted had been founded to oppose the military potential that magicians—led by the Ten Master Clans—represented. Saeki was viewed as the political rival of the grand old dean of the Ten Master Clans, the retired General Kudou, and even if he himself didn’t particularly consider himself such, it was simply reality that a considerable portion of Saeki’s base of support within the military was composed of anti–Ten Master Clans, anti–Retsu Kudou elements.

However, behind the scenes, the 101^st Brigade had a cooperative relationship with the Yotsuba family, which had assumed a leadership role among the Clans. If that relationship were to come to light—well, there would be room for spin, but it would preclude the possibility of further discreet cooperation with the Ten Master Clans.

“Good work, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.” Fujibayashi saluted Kazama and left the room.

Fujibayashi returned to the cramped office that was given her as part of her duties as battalion adjutant. It was her private room, situated next to the battalion commander Kazama’s office.

She sat down at her desk and considered the phone call she’d just had. The battalion hadn’t specified the intelligence that had been provided to the information broker, and a broker at the level of Roten Wald’s proprietor could easily bypass any pressure projected by the National Defense Force. Even without her intervention, Toshikazu would have found his way to the Dollmaker. And yet Fujibayashi could not clear her conscience so easily.

Upon rationally considering all the details, one could just as easily say that Fujibayashi had actually been providing Toshikazu support, given the real concern of brainwashing. But it was also true that the battalion had intercepted his phone calls and used him to their own end. Her guilt lingered.

As she thought back on the phone conversation, Fujibayashi couldn’t help but let a giggle slip.

Toshikazu had called her Second Lieutenant Fujibayashi. He obviously didn’t know about her promotion.

Although the military and the police were different organizations, they were alike in that promotions were announced in their official updates. If Toshikazu had been interested, he certainly could have found out. All he’d have to do was register his interest with a search agent.

Last autumn, I got the feeling that he was coming on to me pretty strong, but…I guess he wasn’t that serious.

But I was being pretty suggestive with him, too, so…maybe that goes both ways.

Fujibayashi considered this and decided to laugh the matter off.

She decided that the flicker of genuine loneliness she felt was simply her imagination.