Chapter 2

After the siblings finished up their usual dinner between the two of them, the phone rang as if it knew they were done.

In passing, as you are aware, most telephone instruments came with video these days. There had been silly debates among third-rate cultural circles that they weren’t so much telephones as televideos, but on the whole, even after the practical implementation of three-dimensional images, they were still just called “phones.”

Returning to the topic at hand.

Miyuki was currently cleaning up the kitchen after dinner.

One might expect manual labor such as dishwashing to be handed off to HARs, but there were no 3Hs (Humanoid Home Helpers, essentially servant robots) in this house, though they had finally started to become widespread. The two of them had both rejected the idea of annoying ceiling-attached manipulators being installed. Therefore, they needed to wash and dry the tableware themselves—with Miyuki claiming that skimping on such simple labor would make you atrophy.

Once again, returning to the topic at hand.

Tatsuya was the one to pick up the phone; in short, it was for him, and not a product of coincidence—at least, it shouldn’t have been.

“It’s good to hear from you again… Did you time this?”

“…I have no idea what you mean… It’s been a while, Specialist.”

Displayed on the screen was an old friend of his, with an evasive expression on his face.

“Yes, two months since the last real-time conversation. Still… Is this a private channel? You called me by rank. You have some nerve cutting into a civilian residence’s private line every time you want to talk.”

“It wasn’t easy, though, I’ll tell you. Specialist, don’t you think your security is a little too strict for a civilian residence?”

“Hackers these days are indiscriminate. There are plenty of things on our server that I wouldn’t want them seeing.”

“Seems like it. We almost tripped up the counterhacking just now.”

“That is what we call your just desserts. As long as you don’t try to access things too deeply, you won’t trigger the counterprogram.”

“It was a good lesson for our newbie operator, in any case.” The face on the screen, leathery as though from sunburn or gunpowder burns, twisted into an evil grin. Three years and he still hasn’t aged a bit, thought Tatsuya.

Then he briefly considered how despite the exhausting work that would come with his status and station, the man didn’t seem tired in the least. Tatsuya was reminded again that this man, Major Harunobu Kazama, commanding officer of the Independent Magic Battalion of the army’s 101st Brigade, wasn’t the sort of person who would take well to excessive wasting of time with pleasantries such as these.

“Major, what do you need from me today?”

“Yes, let’s leave the prefacing aside. First, we have some work for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We overhauled the Third Eye and made upgrades to several of its parts today. We need you to do the software update to match and run some performance tests.”

The brigade’s number, 101st, was pronounced “one-oh-first,” but it didn’t actually refer to a one hundred first brigade. It was an experimental group, separate from normal military compositions, that used magic equipment as their main armament. Within that brigade, the Independent Magic Battalion was the group tasked with carrying out tests for newly developed equipment. Its level of confidentiality was five or six stages above normal military secrets. Normally, a mere high school student would never have even known of their existence, let alone be involved in one.

Tatsuya, however, due to circumstances that could really only be chalked up to happenstance, was actually integrated as part of Kazama’s unit. “Understood, sir. I will be present first thing in the morning.”

“…No, it’s not quite pressing enough for you to take a day off from school.”

“Actually, sir, I was planning on going to the lab to run tests on the new device on my next day off.”

“Given my post, I don’t have much place to tell you this…but ever since you became a high school kid, you’ve been acting less and less like a student.”

“I don’t like to use this phrase, sir—but it can’t be helped.”

“I see… There’s no helping how busy either one of us is, is there? All right, then come to the usual place tomorrow morning. Unfortunately I won’t be able to meet you there, but I’ll tell Sanada about it.”

“Yes, sir.” Tatsuya saluted in a businesslike way, and Kazama answered it with his own. They weren’t formal military salutes, but he was an irregular member of the unit, so they didn’t need to be that strict.

“On to the next topic—from what I hear, you’ll be participating in the Nine School Competition this summer, too.”

“…Yes, sir.” He needed a split second of time to answer that, but from another point of view, only needing a split second in this case was worthy of praise. He’d been placed on the engineering team only three hours ago. He knew it would do him no good to ask the man where he got that information, so he suppressed his curiosity.

“It’ll take place in the southeastern area of the Fuji Maneuvering Ground. I suppose this applies for every year…but be careful, Tatsuya.”

The changes in Kazama’s conversations were always abrupt, but today they were especially so. The fact that he’d used his real name instead of his rank, his last name, or an alias meant he was giving him a warning as an old friend rather than as a superior officer. It was no trivial matter, however, to warn a civilian—and just a high school student, with no societal status—a piece of advice that came from information from military intelligence and counterintelligence networks. Tatsuya braced himself and waited for him to continue.

“There are some unsettling movements in said area. We’ve found traces of unlawful intruders there.”

“In a military maneuvering area?”

“The whole thing really is pathetic. In addition, East Asians thought to be members of an international crime syndicate have been spotted several times in the vicinity. That didn’t happen last year. Given the time, we think they have their sights set on the competition.”

Tatsuya was about to say, “For a silly high school competition?” but then thought better of it. They were just high school students, but they were all magical talents at the top of their generation gathering there to test their skills. If they set up explosives during the awards ceremony, for example, it would end up causing great damage to the number of capable people this country possessed.

“An international crime syndicate, sir?”

So it wasn’t a terrorist organization in the same vein as Blanche, the group posing as an anti-magic government organization that Tatsuya had gotten aggressively involved with in April. A crime syndicate probably wouldn’t take action purely to cause such bloodshed. Still, terrorist organizations were one thing; a military man like Kazama should have been wholly unrelated to international crime groups. How had he figured out the syndicate’s identity?

“I had Mibu look into it. I believe you’ve already met?”

“The father of First High junior Sayaka Mibu, sir?”

“Yeah. After retiring from military service, he transferred to the COIA. He’s currently section manager of their foreign affairs department. Specifically, he’s assigned to foreign crime organizations.”

“That’s…surprising.” He wasn’t just saying that, either—he really was surprised.

For one thing, he was surprised that Kazama had just plainly exposed the true identity of someone working for an intelligence organization over the phone. He was also surprised at the fact that Kazama had leaked this information to ask for help from the Cabinet Office’s intelligence agency for what was, in a way, a military oversight—it was rumored that they were not on friendly terms with one another; relations between civil officials and military officers rarely were. But above all that, he was surprised at how the daughter of a foreign intelligence and counterintelligence manager had belonged to—or rather, been subcontracted to—a terrorist organization under the patronage of a foreign spy agency, and that for her father, a manager—though he didn’t know how much power he had—to have left it alone was an act of senseless noninterference.

“Separate divisions are responsible for crime syndicates and terrorist organizations, after all. Sectionalism is one of those incurable diseases of the state.” Kazama guessed his thoughts correctly, probably more out of his personal powers of insight (and not a small amount of sympathy) than the length of their acquaintanceship. “But you can always trust the information in a field you know well. In Mibu’s case, whether they were members of the Hong Kong crime syndicate No-Head Dragon. Its objectives are still unknown, but when we get additional information, I’ll contact you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I won’t see you tomorrow, but maybe we’ll be able to meet at Fuji.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, sir.”

“Me too… Whoops, looks like we’ve been talking for too long. The newbie is getting a little restless, so I’m hanging up.” The network police must have caught wind of their wiretapping. Tatsuya wasn’t sure whether to praise their technical skills or sigh at the lack of skills Kazama’s subordinates had. “Say hello to Master for me.”

“I will, sir.”

“Good-bye.” Before he could answer, the screen blinked off.

That means he wants me to tell Master, I think… Tatsuya sighed, thinking of their mutual master, for whom, in spite of having an official priesthood license, the term fake was quite fitting. How much of what he’d just heard was he supposed to reveal to the man?

From the other side of the living room door, which had been closed at some point, he heard Miyuki’s voice. “Tatsuya, if it is all right by you, would you like to have some tea…?”

She must have waited in the kitchen until their conversation was over so that she wouldn’t hear the details. In reality, Miyuki possessed a much higher position than Tatsuya, to the point where she was able to listen in on military and diplomatic secrets alike without any reservations. She had never made use of that position when around him, though.

Tatsuya went toward the kitchen without saying anything and opened the door before she had to repeat herself. Miyuki froze, her eyes wide. As expected, she carried a tray with a tea set and tea cakes on it. “…Please don’t surprise me like that. You could have just answered… You are quite unkind, Tatsuya, concealing your footsteps to get a good laugh out of scaring me.”

Miyuki tuned her face to the side sullenly. Tatsuya took the tray from her and apologized. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to be mean. I figured your hands were full, so I came right away. I can’t let my cute little sister carry something so heavy forever.”

“…I am fully and acutely aware that you are lying to me…but I will allow myself to be tricked this time.” She tried to keep a displeased face, but her expression was loosening. She felt easily placated—it had only taken a few silly words from his mouth. She didn’t particularly mind it, though.

“Black tea today?”

“Yes. I got some good second flush tea leaves and thought it would be nice to have once in a while.”

He nodded. As soon as he sat down at the table, he brought the cup to his nose and gave it a smell. “Muscatel? How unusual… Were these hard to find?”

“No, I really did just come across them by chance… But if you’re happy, that is the best reward I can have.”

He took a slow sip of the tea. When she saw him smile in satisfaction, she smiled sincerely as well.

“The black tea is great, but this shortbread is amazing, too. Did you make this yourself?”

“Yes, well… I do feel they are a bit mismatched.”

“No, I don’t mind it at all. They really are delicious.”

Miyuki looked down in embarrassment, but her brother reached for one piece of shortbread after another. She brought her face back up as if lured by his hands, then finally gave a sparkling smile.

Tatsuya didn’t bring up his talk with Kazama, and Miyuki didn’t ask him. His mouth was too busy eating the tea cakes his sister had made and tasting the black tea his sister had worked so hard to get anyway, and Miyuki simply spent teatime watching her brother’s satisfied expression.

Though it doesn’t need to be clearly stated again here, Miyuki was widely accepted as an honor student. Not only did she have natural talent; she never gave anything any less than her best. On top of being too helpful to her brother, she made a habit of staying up late every night studying.

It was almost midnight before she finally switched off her electrofluidic display (otherwise known as e-paper), stowed her desk, and stood.

She wasn’t that tired yet tonight. She knew from experience that if she went to bed in her excited state, she wouldn’t be able to get to sleep. It would be easier if she used a sound-sleeper (a device that placed you into a peaceful sleep), but her brother, for no clear reason, hated the machine that was now used by 70 percent of the country. Miyuki wasn’t about to use any technology that Tatsuya didn’t appreciate.

She decided to put on some more tea to take a break. Partly for her brother, who kept late hours, of course. He’d been really happy with the tea today—the rare leaves had been very hard to get, and she’d acquired the best kind, so the work was worth it. Just thinking of his smile would be enough to give her sweet dreams, but if she could see the real thing one more time and maybe get him to pet her head, she’d have no more to say.

As she went toward the kitchen, she spotted herself in a mirror and paused to think for a moment. Then she nodded, an impish smile on her face.

“Tatsuya, it’s Miyuki. I’ve brought some tea.”

“Oh, good timing. Come in.”

It was basically a matter of daily routine for Miyuki to bring him tea at this hour, but she had to stop and wonder for a bit about how his response implied he’d been waiting for her; usually he would just give her an apologetic word of thanks.

Still, if her brother was waiting for her, that made her all the happier. Eager to see what kind of face he’d make when he saw her, she entered the basement room Tatsuya used as a laboratory.

“I was just thinking of coming to get y—” The rest of his sentence was supplanted with silence. Feeling a devilish sort of satisfaction as Tatsuya turned in his chair and stared at her, she pinched the hem of her skirt with one hand—the other still holding the tray with the tea—and curtsied, bringing it up to show off her knees.

“…Oh, right. Is that the Faerie Dance costume?”

“Correct! I am glad you knew, Tatsuya.”

She wore a colorful, fluttering miniskirt made of layers of choice silk organdy, leggings of thin make that generously showed off her pretty leg curves, and short, tight boots. Squeezed around her waist was a vest with an open back, made of a glossy material that looked thinner than it was, with her chest blocked securely with a finely detailed object whose material had curves naturally, rather than sewn ones. Under her vest was a shirt that clung to her arms but was loose around the shoulders. It was the same pattern as her leggings. Actually, they might not have been leggings and a shirt, but rather a long-sleeved leotard. Without the vest, she would look like a female figure skater.

And clasping her long hair was a headband, wide as earmuffs, with wings attached to it.

There was no doubt that the clothing, combining air resistance and chest protection with beauty, was the costume for the most famous magical sporting competition ever used as part of the Nine School Competition: Mirage Bat, otherwise known as Faerie Dance.

“How do I look?”

Miyuki placed her tray on a side table, flashed a smile, and spun around. Her skirt floated up, and despite how short it was, it was indescribably elegant when matched with her fluttering, bouncing hair.

She came back around to face him and stopped turning, then took her skirt in both hands and curtsied. Tatsuya openly praised her. “Very cute. It looks really good on you. And punctual, too.”

“Thank…you?”

She had been 100 percent certain her brother would compliment her. She had only thought of one thing to say as she curtsied, and that one thing had been enough. But, not understanding the last phrase to come out of Tatsuya’s mouth, her planned thanks turned into an unplanned interrogative statement.

She stood up again and looked at Tatsuya; he was still sitting in his chair. As she was about to give him her usual look to ask what punctual was supposed to mean, she suddenly felt like something was out of place.

She quickly identified it—Tatsuya was sitting down, but his eyes were as high as they were when he stood next to her. Hastily she looked down, then gasped.

There should have been a chair under him—but there wasn’t.

Tatsuya had his right leg over his left, and was leaning forward with his right elbow on his right knee…sitting in midair.

“I wanted you to test out this device, too.” He slid through the air over to Miyuki without changing his pose. He stopped within arm’s distance, then sat up and uncrossed his legs, putting them to floor as though he were rising from a chair. When he did, his body naturally returned to the floor.

There was a slight pause as she stared at him agape. “…A flight spell… You perfected permanent gravity manipulation magic!” She took her brother’s hand with enough force that she was basically embracing it and cheered. “Congratulations!”

Tatsuya had been researching this spell for a long time. It was in the acceleration-weighting family, always the first of the four families and eight types to be named in normal magic. It was the most fundamental family of modern magic, developed out of simple psychokinesis. Permanent gravity manipulation magic—a flight spell—was theoretically possible through acceleration and weighting family magic, but despite modern magic suggesting from an early period that it was possible, it had never been realized, at least publicly, until today.

When they talked about flight magic in the student council room at lunch break today, the consensus, based in modern magic science, was that while it was theoretically possible, it was practically close to impossible.

But here, before Miyuki’s eyes, another one of the accepted opinions of modern magic science had been overturned. “You’ve done the impossible once again! I am so proud to be the sister of the one who accomplished it, and witness to a brilliant historical feat!”

Her grip on his right hand was so tight she might have hugged him at any moment; Tatsuya gently put his left hand on top of their hands. “Thanks, Miyuki. The goal wasn’t to actually fly in the sky—old magic already has their own flight spell—but this brings me yet another step closer to my objective.”

“Only very few magicians can use flight spells from old magic. It’s essentially a superpower. Couldn’t anyone use your flight spell if they supplied the required magic power?”

“That’s how I tried to make it. That’s why I want you to test it.”

“I would be glad to!” she replied, eyes glittering, nodding deeply.

After receiving an explanation on the spell, Miyuki looked down to her left hand, at the CAD that had just been adjusted. It was the same portable terminal-shaped CAD that Miyuki always used. It was even smaller than her miniaturized one, though, and it fit snugly in the palm of her little hand.

The shape was the only thing similar about them. This one was a specialized type. She wasn’t accustomed to using them, but operating one was exceedingly simple. All it had was an on-off button. Once you turned it on, it would automatically absorb psions from the user and continue to process activation programs until its battery ran out. They were violent things, in a way. However, there was a limit on how many psions they used. The fundamental design concept was to devise ways to minimize the burden on the user.

“Starting,” she said, gulping with uncontainable nervousness. Her mouth was too dry to swallow any moisture. She wanted to give herself a pat on the back for not letting her hands shake.

Even if she failed this test, her brother wouldn’t blame her. Instead, he would probably redo all the settings for this “flight device” from square one. She would hate herself for making her brother go through that because of her own lacking power.

She switched on the CAD.

She knew it had begun absorbing psions from her body even if she couldn’t feel it. Still, it was absorbing such a minuscule amount that she wouldn’t notice unless she really paid attention. It was barely enough to use up the flow of excess psions she emitted on a daily basis.

By the time she realized it, the activation program had already been copied into her magic calculation region. Tatsuya had told her beforehand, but she was still surprised at just how tiny the sequence was. She inputted variables into the sequence and constructed a magic sequence.

Normally, magicians were unaware of this process occurring. They would create a clear vision in their mind of the reality-altering effect by using language, numbers, or images, then send it to their unconscious region. The magic calculation region’s role was to convert this image into input data for the magic sequence. The variable portion of an activation program indicated what the magician had to envision especially strongly. Magicians could be aware of the activation program read into their bodies, as well as the magic sequence constructed in their minds. The process of creating the magic sequence, however, was a semiautomatic process that took place without the person willing it. If it wasn’t, then there was no way a human could create enough information bodies to alter a physical phenomenon with his or her normal data-processing capabilities.

Miyuki envisioned herself floating up to the ceiling.

As soon as she did, gravity freed her from its fetters. Her five senses lost important information and brought about a slight panic as she suddenly felt that her body had disappeared. But there was enough joy in her heart to make up for it.

To think flying in the air could bring such a feeling of liberation! She grew a little jealous of astronauts for being able to experience the same joy before her. At the same time, though, she felt sorry for them—the only way they could feel this was if they were wearing a heavy space suit. Then she realized she wanted to fly through the sky, not this cramped basement room.

“How is it? The activation program chain isn’t a burden for you?”

Her brother’s voice snapped her back to reality. She felt embarrassed for losing herself in bliss during such an important experiment. But this wasn’t the time to be occupied with thoughts of self-hate. Get it together, Miyuki, she scolded herself, then answered, “I feel fine. No headaches or fatigue, either.”

“That’s great. Next, try moving slowly, parallel to the ground. Once you get used to it, could you gradually raise your speed and fly as you’d like?”

“Yes.”

She envisioned herself moving slowly and horizontally as her brother said. The super-tiny activation program was automatically expanded and copied, and a magic sequence to alter gravity’s vector horizontally was constructed.

The trick to this flight device was that it executed magic from activation programs continuously being processed. It was programmed so that the previous variable values would be carried over as long as the magician didn’t read a new mental image into his or her calculation region. Loop Cast worked by adding typeless magic information that would copy itself and paste it inside the magic calculation region at the final stages of its compilation into a magic sequence, thus allowing the same activation program to be used again without the magician needing to use his or her CAD; but this flight device constructed the same magic sequence continuously from the same activation program, inputting the same variable automatically. Taurus Silver’s famous Loop Cast System and the flight device Tatsuya had created were counterparts.

“Does the magic feel intermittent at all?”

“No. The time recorder is functioning perfectly, as expected from your skill.”

Essentially, this system’s function was to accurately record the time of the magic’s execution while it was active. Digital processing like that was unsuited for humans, and one of the pieces that required a machine’s abilities to supplement. This system would have been completely impossible to create if the creator was concerned only with flying through magic ability alone.

Miyuki steadily increased her speed as directed. She made full use of the limited basement space, turning, spinning, and somersaulting freely through the air. Her skirt fluttered, and her hair waved. Her stretching and bending movements exposed her graceful curves.

At some point, Tatsuya forgot he was supposed to be observing; it was as if he was entranced by the unexpected nymph’s dance.

Four Leaves Technology, or FLT for short, had its CAD development center quite far away from their residence—two hours by public transportation (you could actually get there in one with an electric motorcycle, but it was raining today, so they used public transportation). Tatsuya was familiar with the path there, but the more he got used to it, the more the length of the trip bothered him.

“Miyuki…?”

“Yes? What is it, Tatsuya?”

“…Actually, never mind. It’s nothing.”

“Yes…?”

Whenever he went to this laboratory, rather than the lab room in the main building, Miyuki was usually with him. She would have been just as used to it, but despite the poor weather, her mood was sunny like they were going for a picnic, and Tatsuya had found himself unable not to ask why.

He hesitated, though, because he realized it was a strange question.

Miyuki looked at him confused, of course, but eventually went back to her radiant mind-set. If they hadn’t already been inside the lab building, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had actually started to whistle or sing.

This was the R & D center of the company, for which its technological prowess was its selling point, and, in some ways, the core of all of FLT. The security was strict enough to match, not being left to machine monitoring but stationing an almost excessive number of human personnel policing it.

None of them called out to stop Tatsuya, though. He even bypassed the reception desk, proceeding ever farther down the windowless hallways.

At last, they arrived at a room where one of the walls was glass. On the other side of it was a semibasement atrium, wide enough to be an aircraft hangar. Opposite that was another observation room like this one.

This was the CAD testing block.

The room was filled with over ten scientists and researchers, restlessly moving to and fro, discussing among themselves, and operating measuring instruments.

Despite the busy work everyone was doing, somebody called out a moment after he entered. “Oh, Prince Shiba!”

Unusually—actually, this was probably the only place it would happen—it wasn’t Miyuki being welcomed with attention and respect, but Tatsuya. At first, the title prince had been meaningless banter aimed to make fun of the fact that he used his position as one of the top director’s sons to come and go as he pleased. Now, though, they used it as an honorable title toward the next company head.

Tatsuya would have preferred them to stop using the embarrassing nickname, but he knew they were doing it out of friendliness now. He decided not to say, “Please, stop.” Instead, he said, “Excuse me for disturbing you. Where might Foreman Ushiyama be?” Tatsuya asked the white-clothed researcher who had just called to him as Miyuki stood respectfully behind him. She was happy at the reverent eyes on Tatsuya, as though they were on her, and she gave a charming smile and pulled one set of them after another away from him—there were virtually no men able to ignore her smile—it was close to an obstruction of business, in fact.

His reply came from the back of the crowd of people. “Did you call, monsieur?”

“Excuse me, Foreman. I apologize for asking you to come while you were so busy.”

“Oh, don’t apologize, monsieur.” The scientist named Ushiyama turned to Tatsuya as he gave the man a well-mannered bow. He made a pained face and shook his head. “I’m all for modesty, but we’re all your underlings here, y’know? Going overboard like that’s gonna cause you some discipline issues.”

“No, my father is the one who employs all of you—you aren’t my subordinates…”

“You’re such a card. You, the world-famous Monsieur Silver. We all think it an honor to work under you.” All the scientists and researchers present within earshot nodded.

This was Four Leaves Technology’s CAD R & D Section 3—the section that had developed the internationally renowned Silver model, widely known as the product representing FLT’s current technological prowess. Section 3 was composed of those pushed out of engineering divisions—it was where the company sent its nuisances. However, it had come to be very influential within the company due to the worldwide popularity of the Silver model.

The scientists and researchers here, therefore, were understandably very loyal and earnest to Tatsuya, the Silver part of Taurus Silver, who had been the central figure in the model’s development.

“Still, the one in charge here, in both name and reality, is you, Monsieur Taurus. You throw a tantrum whenever people want to make you manager. Section 3 hasn’t had a manager or assistant manager for a long time now.”

“Please, stop with the monsieur and the Taurus—they ain’t right for me. I’m just a techie. All I do is mess with products from time to time to make your fantastic, genius ideas a little easier to use. I’m the one most against my name being with yours on this stuff. I’m not that shameless. They were just like, Prince Shiba is a minor and a student; we can’t have only his name on the development credits and everything, so they just tacked on my name to make it look better.”

“…If you didn’t have engineering skills, Ushiyama, you wouldn’t have made loop casting real. I don’t know much about the hardware side of things. Besides, skills and theory don’t mean anything if someone doesn’t put it together as a product.”

“Oh, come on, stop it. You’re so logical I can barely talk to you.” Ushiyama scratched his head and waved the white flag. “Anyway, let’s get down to business. You didn’t just come here to see my pretty face, did you?”

Tatsuya’s super-serious expression broke and an evil grin crossed his face. “Okay, Ushiyama. Here you go—today’s prototype.”

Consciously modifying his words and actions to be more familiar, he held out the portable terminal-shaped CAD. Ushiyama stared intently at it for about ten seconds. This prototype CAD, T-17, was one Ushiyama had lent to Tatsuya for a certain purpose. If the software insertion was complete for this prototype, then that could only mean…

“Wait… Is this the flight device?” he said, his fingers trembling a little as he plucked the CAD from Tatsuya’s hands.

“Yes. I’ve programmed the activation program for a permanent gravity control spell into the prototype hardware you made for me. It’s simple to overwrite things on its system, so it was very easy to do.”

“Did you test it?”

“As always, Miyuki and I tested it, but we’re not exactly normal magicians.”

He could hear gasps—and not just one or two, either. Everyone who had heard what he said was breathlessly staring at the object in Ushiyama’s hands.

Finally, with a quiet but smooth tone, Ushiyama asked one of the researchers, “…Tetsu, how many T-17s do we have on hand?”

“Ten,” came the reply.

Ushiyama’s eyes shot open. “You moron! That’s all?! Why didn’t you get more of them?! What’s that? No, we can order them later. Do a full copy on as many as you can with the prince’s system! Hiro, get all the testers in here! What? They’re off today?! Who the hell cares?! Tie ’em up with rope and drag them here if you have to! All you other idiots, stop what you’re doing and get the precise instruments up and running! Do you understand? A flight spell! This will change the history of modern magic!”

There must have been a phone line connecting the rooms; those in the opposite survey room as well, all working on their day off, began to raise a stir and move at once.

The indoor CAD testing ground was as wide and high as a large gymnasium. Communication cables hung from the ceiling, connecting to the vest each tester wore.

The cables doubled as their lifelines. They already knew this spell would make them fly. Those in this test laboratory had experience testing spells that put them in the air, but all the other workings here were different. This wasn’t jumping or falling deceleration—it was unknown territory.

The testers’ faces were pale with nervousness. New types of magic were always no more than variations on well-known spells, but they never knew how much of a risk they posed. Magicians had actually ended up dying before because of the slightest bug in a magic sequence. But this was a world-first type of magic (as far as they knew) with an entirely new scheme. There was no being too careful in this case.

With the flooring swapped out for buffered materials and verification that the hanging cables were working, the experiment could finally get under way.

“Let’s start the trial!”

At the signal of Ushiyama, who had taken refuge in the observation room—not for the safety of the spectators, but of the testers—the test began.

They couldn’t make out the testers’ faces from above; they were hidden in the shadows of their helmets. They did, however, see the lead tester—in his twenties, but already with a career long enough to be called a veteran—gritting his teeth.

He didn’t hesitate to flip the CAD switch, though.

“Liftoff confirmed.”

Before they even visually saw it, those at the measuring devices started throwing status reports back and forth. “No increase in ground pressure due to recoil detected.” “Measurement error for upward acceleration within acceptable bounds.” “CAD functioning stably.”

The testers’ bodies slowly rose. They could now distinctly make out that their feet were not on the floor. The cables loosened, indicating they weren’t being pulled up. Aside from the sounds of the observation devices and voices giving measurement reports, there wasn’t even a rustling of clothes in the observation room. Everyone was frozen in place, their eyes fixed on the scene before them and the values displayed by the measuring devices.

“Upward acceleration decrease…zero. Ascending at uniform velocity.”

The testers slowly floated up, their bodies coming to eye level about ten feet up, same as those in the observation room.

“Upward acceleration now slowing… Upward velocity zero. Stopping confirmed.”

Up until now, this was all within the realm of possibility for floating spells.

“Horizontal acceleration detected.”

Someone, everyone, gasped and caught their breaths.

“Acceleration stopped. Now moving horizontally at three feet per second.”

They could see the testers moving through the air at a clear speed before they heard the observation reports.

“He moved…”

“They’re flying…”

The incredulous mumbles lent a sense of reality to what they were seeing.

“Tester One to survey room. I’m walking on air… No… I’m flying in the sky. I am free…”

And after the unexpected transmission came in over the speakers, all of the restrained surprise and amazement burst.

“We did it!”

“Success!”

“Congratulations, Prince!”

The survey personnel all started to give cheers of joy. The testers arced along random flight paths. Amid the congratulations of the manic staff, Tatsuya stood, he alone unaffected by the craze, accepting it with a calm, observing face.

“Are all of you morons…?”

Ushiyama looked down at the testers, appalled, as they lay on the ground in heaps, their magic used up.

The test had gone way over the allotted time, and all nine testers had run fresh out of magic power. It wasn’t because they couldn’t get good measurements—it was because the testers wouldn’t stop. By their wish, they switched the wired cables doubling as lifelines for wireless ones, and they ended up starting an unplanned game of tag among themselves; this was the result.

“Of course you couldn’t use permanent magic for that long!”

Most of modern magic consisted of instantaneous or short-lived spells. Most that were used continuously specified a length of activation time; there were few magicians who habitually used magic that they needed to keep activating over and over again. For example, while the High-Frequency Blade was a permanent spell, it actually had to be reactivated by the user each time he or she struck. Even the very technique of continuously executing a spell had been the sole possession of a select few magicians until recently; it had only gained its citizenship after the creation of the Loop Cast System, which automatically copied activation programs to the magic calculation region in order to continuously construct magic sequences.

“You morons are paying for the damages, got it? And no overtime, either.”

Fortunately, none of the testers’ magic power stores were dried up so much it would leave lasting effects. It had ended as a harmless joke, so Ushiyama sneered and crushed the voices of opposition. Then he walked over to Tatsuya, who was busy going over the test results.

“Something in particular catch your eye?” he asked.

Tatsuya turned around; his expression was far from satisfied. “Well, there’s plenty more that I’d like…but I still think the burden of continuously processing the activation programs is too heavy.”

For whatever reason, Ushiyama nodded in understanding, then looked between Tatsuya and Miyuki, who was standing to the back. “Compared to the prince and princess, those magicians barely have any psions.”

When measured on a modern scale of magic power, Tatsuya was no more than a dunce magic user. But the scale used for that had been born at the advent of magic, and had changed over the years.

For example, they didn’t know as much about activation programs thirty years ago. Constructing magic sequences from them had been incomparably slow compared to today’s speeds. Magic sequences were less efficient, and constructing the ones with practical use needed many times more psions than today. At the time, the amount of psions a person’s mind-body (referring to both the body and the mind as one) possessed was seen as a more important scale of a magician’s power than the speed at which he or she constructed magic sequences. On that scale, Tatsuya and Miyuki had top-class amounts of psions.

Now, with advancements in activation and magic sequences as well as in CADs, lack of psions was seldom a direct problem with executing magic. Aside from spells that released psions themselves, such as ones categorized as typeless, there wasn’t usually much point in having a lot of psions, except maybe to brag.

However, nothing changed the fact that both expanding activation programs and constructing magic sequences consumed psions. If you repeated the process a hundred or a thousand times over, magicians would feel the burden even if each individual cost was small.

“We need to optimize the CAD’s automatic psion absorption scheme more…”

“…I’ll think of something for that. If we deal with it on the hardware end instead of the software end, we can reduce the load a bit.” He thought for a moment, then said, “We should probably put the time recorder on its own circuits.”

Tatsuya gave a broad grin, as though that was exactly what he had been thinking. “I actually wanted to ask you about that very thing.”

“Well, well—what an honor.”

They traded knowing smirks.

Though they uncovered several aspects of the hardware that could be improved, the actual usage of the spell had borne satisfying results. The biggest takeaway of the day was discovering that it was fully possible for the flight spell to be used with store-bought CADs by average magicians.

Once they got the test results in order, they would announce the flight spell under the name Taurus Silver, which would likely happen by the end of next week. With something of this scale, they wanted to do it as fast as they could, even if it meant cutting corners. The impact between being the first in the world to do something and the second was completely different. The very first would have huge publicity just for being the first.

Other than that, they decided on a redesign of the flight spell–specific CAD and slated its production for September (the month they reported half-year accounts).

With those two items decided on, the briefing session ended. Tatsuya rejoined Miyuki, who had been waiting for him in the tea lounge, and they started on their way home.

Ushiyama, now pressed with urgent business, scratched his head apologetically—he had essentially come to kick them out. “Sorry. I put in a word with the department manager, but…” The man was worried over the fact that during the course of the experiment, and even when it succeeded, the siblings’ father—the development manager of FLT who supervised all its R & D centers—never showed his face.

“Please, don’t worry about it. Today’s a holiday, so even if he turned up, he’d be at the main offices.”

Inside, though, Tatsuya found it easier not to face him, and Miyuki actively didn’t want to see him. Ushiyama wasn’t about to say that, though. Not only did their father have an important role at FLT, but he was also their biggest shareholder, and Ushiyama knew that. It wouldn’t be good to expose the shame of the owner’s family to his employees, even if the technicians did have the true craftsman’s spirit at heart.

Once Tatsuya deflected his intent with a publicly acceptable answer, Ushiyama’s expression grew increasingly uncomfortable. “…No, actually, the manager is here in this building today…”

Miyuki’s eyebrows shot up; Tatsuya could clearly tell even though his back was turned to her. He, however, felt rather relieved. This meant they’d nearly avoided a mishap. “The directory probably doesn’t have the kind of time to come on-site. I certainly don’t believe he is neglecting the research division,” he added, averting the conversation and twisting it into consoling Ushiyama instead.

“Well, I know that… He did practically double our budget.”

He felt bad for Ushiyama being overly ashamed, but there were things even Tatsuya would rather not discuss.

Unfortunately, nothing is ever that easy. Upon nearly making it to the laboratory’s entrance after leaving Ushiyama, they ran straight into the one they wanted to avoid; they were only a few steps away from the entrance hall, too.

“Oh, hello, Miss Miyuki. It has been quite some time.”

First to break the ice was neither parent nor children, who all looked at each other in silence, but the fourth person present among them. He was an old friend of both Tatsuya’s and Miyuki’s, and though they’d known each other for a long time, they weren’t particularly close.

“It’s nice to see you, Mr. Aoki. Yes, it has been a rather long time since we last talked. Of course, I am not the only person here at the moment. And you, Father—you’re looking well. Thank you for the phone call the other day. However, if you’ll permit me to say so, I do not believe it would be a bad thing to speak to your son every once in a while.”

The smooth, sweet tone of her voice was thick with rose thorns. Those she was speaking to, however, had thick skin that those thorns couldn’t penetrate.

“If I may have a word, miss. As a steward of the Yotsuba family, and one entrusted with managing part of the family assets, asking me to show etiquette toward a mere bodyguard would go against the order of the family.”

“He is my brother!” Miyuki did her best to keep her voice calm, but Tatsuya, at least, realized she was quickly approaching her limit.

“With all due respect, Miss Miyuki, you are the one who everyone hopes will take the seat at the head of the Yotsuba. Your position is wholly different from that bodyguard.”

Just before Miyuki broke into hysterics, Tatsuya cut in with a calm voice. “Oh, Mr. Aoki, I’m aware it would be rude to interrupt, but you are saying some unkind things.” His tone was thoroughly level. The blatantly rude words and behavior hadn’t affected his mind at all.

That’s just how his mind was put together.

Tatsuya was more concerned with avoiding Miyuki getting angry and hurting someone in his place.

“It matters not,” said Aoki. “You are Lady Miya’s son, after all, if only a lowly bodyguard. A few missteps in terms of courteous conduct are to be expected.”

Thus, he didn’t have the time to respond to the man’s haughty attitude.

“I believe you mentioned all the Yotsuba’s servants wishing for Miyuki to be the next leader, but is that not rather unfair toward the other candidates?”

He couldn’t have his sister shouldering all the malice directed toward him, so he pressed the man without giving her the opportunity to interrupt. He needed to make the man yield.

“Our aunt has still not named a successor, correct?” Tatsuya noted. “Or have you heard from her that an official decision has been made?”

The steward was sharp and able, and that was plain to see; he was an elegant gentleman in the prime of his life, more suited for the title of lawyer than steward—and yet he wasn’t sure how to respond to the points made by this sixteen-year-old boy.

“If our aunt has indeed made that decision already, Miyuki would need to make many preparations, so I would prefer it if you gave her that word at your earliest opportunity.”

His unmodulated, monotone voice got an answer from Aoki. “…Lady Maya has yet to say anything,” he said with a bitter face.

Tatsuya widened his eyes theatrically. “Well, this is a surprise! Did the steward ranking fourth among the Yotsuba just suggest his personal speculation to one of the candidates for the next family head regarding inheritance? I have to wonder which of us is truly causing an issue with order.”

He sighed, again in an affected way, and Aoki’s face reddened as he glared. He didn’t have the means to produce a logical argument any longer, judged Tatsuya, and he was about to announce his victory and leave…

…but his judgment had been naive. “…It is not speculation. As I am employed in the same household, I gain insight to her thoughts. I don’t need to be a telepath to know when a like-minded person thinks the same way.”

It was an evasive, muttered answer, abandoning all logic and reason. However, the man had prepared a poison that shouldn’t have been used at the very end of things.

“I don’t expect a fake magician without a mind to understand.”

A moment after Aoki uttered those words, all of a sudden, the air on the walls condensed into frost. The heating system groaned, trying to return the rapidly lowering temperature to normal. A wave of cold gathered around Miyuki’s feet.

However, Tatsuya held out his left index finger, and with the squeal of a magnetic tape quickly rewinding—an auditory illusion only those who could sense magic could hear—it all disappeared.

His sister’s hands were white, having gone beyond red or blue, as he took one of them in his, then turned a piercing glare on Aoki. “The one who created that fake magician without a mind was my mother, Miya Shiba, the older sister of the current Yotsuba family head, Maya Yotsuba, maiden name Miya Yotsuba. The very one who planned her human magician experiment in which she’d use forbidden outer magic—mental structure interference—to format the sections of my unconscious relating to strong emotions and responsible for the strongest thoughts, then implant an emulator to perform magic calculations—it was Maya Yotsuba just after she became the current leader, and Miya Shiba, after it was revealed her six-year-old son had no magical talent, carried the experiment out. This means that by calling me, the subject of the experiment, a fake, you are slandering the magic experiment conducted by the current family head and her older sister as having produced a counterfeit article. Do I understand you correctly?”

Gently embracing his beloved sister’s shoulders as she shed tears in his place, he dug into Aoki, the one who had made her cry, with his words, as deep and as mercilessly as he could.

“……”

“Tatsuya, stop it.”

As Aoki stiffened and found himself unable to come up with anything to say, his father, Tatsurou Shiba, who had been silent up until now, stopped him from going any further.

“You will not speak poorly of your mother.”

His words, however, were completely and utterly absurd and off the mark. They were likely spoken out of self-preservation, so as not to damage the well-being of the family. This company was invested in and founded by the Yotsuba in secret. Despite being the largest shareholder inheriting his late wife’s shares, the Yotsuba still had substantial sovereignty, so Tatsuya could somewhat understand his father feeling subject, but…

Tatsuya unintentionally let out a laugh.

“Tatsuya, I cannot say I don’t understand your hatred toward your mother, but…”

And his father didn’t even pay attention to his inappropriate laughter.

Tatsuya strongly felt that walking away now would be beneficial for the mental health of both sides. Before that, though, he felt the need to get one last word in. “Dad, you’re wrong. I don’t hate my mother.”

“I-I see.”

That was all he said.

He didn’t need to say the rest of it out loud.

Tatsuya’s mind no longer had the ability to hate.

Fierce anger, strong sadness, powerful jealousy, grudge, hatred, excessive want of food, excessive sexual desire, the desire to sleep in excess…and feelings of romantic love.

He would never lose himself in anger.

He would never suffer heartache.

He would never burn with envy.

He neither bore grudges nor felt hatred.

He would never have his heart stolen by the opposite sex.

He felt the need to eat, but never in excess.

He felt sexual desires, but never reveled in them.

He felt the need to sleep, but never to lounge in inactivity.

The part of him containing the strongest emotions and desires had been erased from his mind via a special magic that only his mother out of everyone else in the world had the ability to perform.

He didn’t hate his mother.

He wasn’t angry at her, either.

He couldn’t really get angry at her, and he couldn’t really bear a grudge toward her.

The one and only strong emotion left to him was a passion purposely excluded: to abide by the will of the Yotsuba clan to which he had been assigned.

Not, of course, out of familial attachment to his father.

Tatsuya left without saying good-bye, still holding Miyuki’s shoulders as she sobbed.