Chapter 11

Everyone decided to leave the rookie championship party until the overall victory party.

One reason for this was that their three substitutes, who had entered Monolith Code and won both the event and the rookie competition, had sustained major physical damage and weren’t able to join in the hijinks. The main reason, though, was because they were too busy preparing for Mirage Bat tomorrow, the event on which their overall victory rode.

First High’s victory in the rookie competition had opened an even wider gap in total points between First and Third Highs. The difference was now four hundred points. Tomorrow’s Mirage Bat would distribute fifty points to first place, thirty to second, twenty to third, and ten to fourth. Monolith Code, which would have its qualifiers tomorrow and its finals on the last day, would give one hundred points to first place, sixty to second, and forty to third. Depending on their results in Mirage Bat tomorrow, First High could clinch the victory without having to wait for the final day.

The players and engineers were all completely devoted to putting the finishing touches on the costumes (or protective clothing, in Monolith Code’s case) and CAD adjustments. The members without anything to do were helping out in various ways.

Tatsuya purposely hadn’t repaired his right eardrum rupture and went to the infirmary to seek conventional medical treatment. Then he used his self-repair magic to completely heal it, and covered his ears with medical-use earmuffs before going to do some preparations for Miyuki for tomorrow.

He felt a little sorry for deceiving his team members—in particular his upperclassmen—who were worried about his right ear without knowing it had already healed. Unfortunately, there were things he needed to keep a secret. He decided to keep them unaware of his lack of a conscience by enduring having to wear hot, sticky earmuffs in the middle of summer—though he knew the price should have been much steeper.

Of course, even with the words complete devotion used, there was almost nothing they needed to struggle over the day before. Actually, perhaps it would be better to say that there was absolutely nothing.

Last night, suddenly having to wipe clean two people’s CADs—well, three people’s, if you included his own—and then adjust them from scratch had been an extremely rare, unprecedented event. Although the business had changed from the rookie competition to the main one, Miyuki was planned to enter the Mirage Bat event. Preparations for that had been proceeding without any oversights. Just because he got caught up with other, more unexpected happenings for the day didn’t mean that would affect this much.

“You shouldn’t push yourself, Tatsuya. Get some sleep, all right? You’ve been working like crazy ever since yesterday.”

“Miyuki, you should go to sleep as well. With you working so hard, this injured person will just keep pushing himself.”

Tatsuya, having efficiently completed a full check on Miyuki’s CAD, and Miyuki were half chased out of the place by Mayumi and Suzune, putting an end to the siblings’ activities for the day.

Meanwhile, however, there were others, driven against the wall, who couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

“First High’s victory is all but assured…”

“This is absurd! Are you telling us to give up? We would just be sitting here waiting to die!”

“If First High goes on to win, we’ll lose over one hundred million U.S. dollars.”

“With a loss like that, our deaths won’t be easy! HQ was already balking at how much money we’d lose if this plan failed and they lost. We were the ones who convinced them. We’ll be exploited by the organization even after we die—either as half-dead Generators if we’re lucky, and as Boosters if we don’t have the aptitude!”

The men around the table looked with disgusted eyes at the four men standing idly in the four corners of the room.

“We wouldn’t have been able to meet this term’s quota if not for this plan…but maybe we were too coercive.”

“This isn’t the time to be talking about that! …This has gone too far. We need to use any means necessary.”

“That’s right! We’ve been giving them all kinds of trouble since the beginning so that they’d lose the main event. There’s no reason to be hesitating now, even if it means being a bit violent. Even if the guests start having doubts, if we don’t leave any evidence, we can make any excuse we need. We have to be proactive now.”

“Send a message to our supporters. Order them to have all First High players forfeit in the middle of Mirage Bat tomorrow—by force.”

“They won’t die if they’re lucky. If they do…then it just means their luck ran out.”

Suppressed laughter and smiles filled with madness were traded among them, the symbols of their agreement.

In stark contrast to the good weather they’d been having, the ninth day of the competition was darkened by thick clouds that looked ready to unleash rain at any moment.

However, low sunlight well after sunrise was one of Mirage Bat’s few favorable conditions. For Miyuki and the others who would be in the event, this was actually good weather.

“A fine day for a Mirage Bat match…” said Tatsuya to himself, looking up at the sky, “but it also looks like a portent of trouble.”

Miyuki’s features clouded. “Is something else going to happen…?”

“I don’t know what they’re after, so… There’s no proof something will happen, but also no proof something won’t. Still, you needn’t worry, Miyuki. You alone I will protect, no matter what happens.”

There was no ulterior motive in Tatsuya’s words. For him, as long as he protected Miyuki, things were okay. At the core of his intentions, Tatsuya figured that even if other athletes were sacrificed, it was their own fault and no business of his.

But…perhaps he should have thanked the heavens that nobody was listening to their conversation. Had a third party been witness…if someone had seen Tatsuya looking up to the sky again—with Miyuki beside him, outside his vision, leaning in close, her face shyly downcast but smiling blissfully—the siblings might have given the surreal impression that one was attempting to destroy the other by means of self recrimination.

Miyuki was set for the second match of the day.

In reality, the first match would have been better to compete in because it would have given plenty of time to rest, but Tatsuya hadn’t expected everything to go their way. He decided to simply be thankful that she hadn’t been in the third match. The pair decided to watch the first match from the staff seats close to the event field. There would be forty-five minutes between the end of the first match and the start of the second, but it would be a waste of time to move down from the guest seating to the field.

He looked at the players from the other schools—they were all next to the field, too.

“Kobayakawa looks like she’s raring to go,” said Miyuki of her upperclassman, one of the players waiting for the start of the match atop a column sticking out of the lake’s surface.

Tatsuya agreed with her assessment. Mari had said Kobayakawa was moody, but faced with the possibility of assuring overall victory herself, letting her mind wander would certainly be the more difficult option. Whether she won or lost would depend on her opponents, but he thought that, at this rate, she’d be fine.

As the audience, their staff, and their teammates looked on, the starting signal sounded.

The rankings during the first period were hectic, a close battle with everyone constantly swapping spots, but when it ended, Kobayakawa was in the lead by a tiny amount.

Erika, who had been holding her breath without realizing it, sighed and relaxed, then she went to say something to Mizuki sitting next to her—when she blinked in surprise at her friend’s unusual appearance. “Mizuki…are you okay not wearing your glasses?”

Magicians with pushion-radiation sensitivity wore glasses with aura-cutting effects to prevent them from being caught up in the violent emotions that inhabited a place like this, due to the influence of energized pushions. In this situation, with the entire audience excited for one thing or another, her taking them off would have put a huge burden on her mind.

“To be honest…it’s a little hard, I guess.” Erika noticed that Mizuki’s hands, in her lap and holding her glasses, were shaking a little from time to time. “But I don’t think I should keep running away from my power.”

“I don’t think you’re running away…”

Erika had asked her a few times why she’d gone to a magic high school. Of course, Mizuki had said it was mainly to foster her magical qualities, which were rare. Specifically, she wanted to go to Magic University and become a magic engineer.

But at the same time, her goal was to study techniques to control her eyes, which saw too much. She had been getting the most instruction she could, at least as far as being a Course 2 student would allow her.

She was inexperienced, but she was always confronting her own power, so she wasn’t running away. And Erika thought that borrowing help from tools was the natural thing to do while one was still inexperienced.

Maybe that was why…

“Nothing good’s gonna come out of forcing yourself. I’m not gonna say nobody ever learns a skill in a single bound, but most who try hurt themselves. In your case, there’s a chance you could do something you can’t take back, isn’t there?”

…she started talking a little more strictly to her.

Still, Mizuki left her glasses on her lap. “Yeah…but I don’t think it’s right to ignore something I can see when I really need to see it… If I had been looking properly when Watanabe got hurt, maybe I would have been more of a help to Tatsuya and the others.”

“…So now you’re keeping watch in case something happens?”

“Yes, and…I think Miyuki will be fine. I mean, Tatsuya would never let anything happen to her. But I don’t think he has enough energy to go around for the other players today. He did so much work yesterday. And if—”

“—another player is a victim, Tatsuya wouldn’t pretend not to see. Well, I guess not… He seems coldhearted and unfeeling, but he’s actually a big softie.”

“Tatsuya is really nice, and he cares about his friends!”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” But sometimes I feel like if someone isn’t his friend, he would stay ruthless to the end. She kept that thought to herself while attempting to calm Mizuki, who was gesturing with her hands to display her irritation.

Then Mikihiko, who had overheard their conversation from Mizuki’s opposite side, interrupted them. “I understand you’re worried about Shibata, Erika, but if Tatsuya’s right and they are using spirit magic to sabotage, then her eyes would be the most useful thing to have. For now, I’ve constructed a barrier around us that mitigates some of the stimulation from the pushion radiation, so I don’t think she’ll suffer from any aftereffects.”

Mikihiko’s words, which were a little more passionate than they needed to be (at least, when speaking to Erika) made the redhead give him a teasing grin. “Is that right? You’ll protect her, huh? Then if something happens to her, you’ll have to take responsibility, got that? You know, the kind of responsibility a boy has to a girl, all right?”

“Wh-what?! This isn’t the time for stuff like that!” Mikihiko argued, blushing and even forgetting his usual objection at her nickname for him.

Meanwhile, Mizuki’s face was completely flushed. She was in no state to argue.

“…You’re a really evil woman, you know that?”

And Erika, for her part, was unconcerned, refusing to comment on the sigh-mixed criticism coming from the second young man occupying the seat next to her.

As Leo, ignored, and Erika, feigning ignorance, conducted their usual lively dialogue, they heard the siren for the second period to begin. They both made faces that said they weren’t done yet but still clammed up so that they wouldn’t bother the players or the rest of the audience.

And then, not long after the second period began, it happened.

A green ball of light appeared in midair; Kobayakawa and one other player jumped for it at the same time. Unfortunately, her opponent was slightly faster in reaching the three-foot range of priority on the ball. Kobayakawa used a spell to cut her jumping momentum. Her body stopped mid-leap.

Then, just as she was putting together a spell to return herself to her original footing, she noticed another player was already there. Without panicking, she switched her magic program to land on the nearest open foothold. The movement spell would slowly glide her through the air diagonally, straight toward the foothold, without a care for gravity.

However, when her body should have descended diagonally…gravity took hold, and she began plunging straight down.

The entire audience could see her contorted expression as she realized that she was falling.

Shock.

Panic.

Fear.

The spell that should have supported her body wouldn’t activate.

Magic had supported her for her entire life, and now it had suddenly betrayed her. The fact made her forget to even struggle as she plummeted toward the lake’s surface. It was water, but she was still about thirty feet in the air. If she didn’t land properly, it could be fatal. And Kobayakawa didn’t show any signs of trying to break her fall.

But fortunately, this sporting event was designed with several safety measures in mind. When it became clear she had lost control and fallen, countermeasures were, of course, taken. A tournament committee member rose and fired a deceleration spell. It was likely less than a second between the time she started falling and the committee member’s spell stopping her.

Even so, she had already crossed half the distance to the water’s surface.

It had been enough time—and enough of a journey—to crush her spirit.

The clock was stopped, and Tatsuya watched with a pained expression as his upperclassman was carried off on a stretcher.

The dominant reason that boys and girls who study magic lose their ability is perilous experience caused by a magical failure and the subsequent distrust in the art. Magic was the power to trick the world. Magic itself was a false power that lay beyond the world’s logic. Even so, if you could see the magic with your eyes, like Tatsuya himself could, it didn’t matter if it was a false power—you could believe that it was right there.

But most magicians (in training) couldn’t see magic. It was a vague, cloudy power. Even if they could see psions, they couldn’t see how the magic worked on the inside. They could only know of it in theory.

Is the magic I’m using really coming from inside me?

This question was the problem—no, the doubt—that nearly all magicians faced during the course of their magical studies. And when directly confronted with the absence of magical effects when a spell failed to activate, or with a dangerous situation they thought they’d avoided with magic, that doubt could sometimes turn into belief:

I guess magic really doesn’t exist.

Magicians possessed by this belief could never use magic again.

Magic was built on that frail, insecure, delicate mental balance.

…Kobayakawa might be all done for, Tatsuya said to himself, bringing the white-faced Miyuki’s shoulder toward him to encourage her. The moment she was caught by gravity, the moment she became aware of that, Kobayakawa’s face had been painted over with terror. He could easily say she was a stranger, but losing such a precious talent was still a lonely thing to think about.

Then, as if to cut off his emotions, the communication terminal in his breast pocket vibrated. Miyuki, who was pressed right up against him, looked up with questioning eyes. Tatsuya flipped open the fold-up voice communication unit and put it to his ear.

“Tatsuya, this is Mikihiko. Can you talk right now?”

“…Yeah, I’m fine.”

He made sure that the unit’s sound wave interference muffler was on via the light on it but still lowered his voice to reply.

“About the accident—unfortunately, I didn’t see any signs of a spell.”

“I see…”

“I’m sorry. You were counting on me, and I couldn’t do anything…”

“It’s all right. I didn’t catch anything, either.”

“But Shibata says she has something to tell you.”

“Mizuki? Did she have her glasses off?” Tatsuya’s voice was mixed with surprise—and not the fake kind.

But Mikihiko didn’t answer the question directly. “Tatsuya, it’s Mizuki.”

“Mizuki, did you see something?” And are you all right? were the next words waiting in his throat, but he decided saying that would be rude to Mizuki, considering the spirit of her actions. She used her own magical sight of her own volition, and as someone who lived in that same world of magic, he decided the proper answer was to ask what the results were.

“Yes, well…Kobayakawa’s right arm… I think I saw some lights inside it—or spirits—suddenly kind of burst out of it.”

“I see… So you did see something. Those spirits that burst out, they dispersed?”

“Umm…yes, that’s what it looked like. It was kind of like how old electrical appliances make a few sparks and then stop…”

“I get it. I see, I see… So that’s how it is.” Tatsuya now felt like he’d seen the inner workings of what the enemy had done, if only indistinctly.

She must have known over the voice communication that he had nodded. “Umm, Tatsuya…?” came the voice from the receiver, hesitant but also with a little bit of anticipation.

“You did great, Mizuki. That bit of info helped a lot.”

“Thank you!”

Tatsuya’s answer had preempted what Mizuki had wanted to ask and what she’d wanted to hear; she responded with a springing voice.

Unfortunately, First High was forced to forfeit the match midway through.

After coming out of First High’s tent, rank with an air of depression, Tatsuya headed for the tournament committee tent, where they did the checks on the CADs. He had left Miyuki in the players’ waiting room—it was part of the tent but still a room, he supposed—to come here.

Judging by their actions thus far, he didn’t think the enemy would interfere two matches in a row; they wouldn’t use any directly violent approaches on the players. But on the other hand, the players needed to concentrate before the match began; it wasn’t time meant for being bothered by miscellaneous matters like device checks. That was what he explained to Miyuki to stop her from coming with him.

The CAD regulation checking was a process that had been repeated many times over in the last few days; they were supposed to begin and end without incident. However, that optimistic belief had all but vanished from his mind the moment the CAD was placed on the inspection equipment.

It had been an entirely impulsive act. The official had taken the CAD from his hands and set it on the inspection device. And then, at the very same moment he began to work the controls…

…by the time he was aware of having detected something strange…

…his hands…

…had already dragged the man from the other side of the table and slammed him into the ground.

There was a scream.

And then, an angry roar came running at him—or more accurately, the roaring member from one of the security personnel.

Though the sounds reached his ears, they didn’t reach his mind. An intent to kill radiated from him, entirely absent of any mercy. The footsteps stopped, and the clamor gave way to quiet.

This was the only “real” expression left to him.

“…You’ve been underestimating me.”

There was a cry of pain, probably a physiological reaction to increased pressure on the man’s pinned-down chest from Tatsuya’s knee.

As the committee member Tatsuya had slammed down moaned in anguish, his mouth and cheeks began spasming at the terrible air of ferocity radiating off Tatsuya—his teeth unable to chatter, his mouth unable even to close.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you altering something Miyuki would be carrying?”

The third parties here wouldn’t have known about his family affairs. Still, though they knew nothing about that, they definitely understood one thing.

That sinister smile.

The committee member on the receiving end of the one-sided act of violence knew he’d touched something he never should have. He’d incurred the wrath of a dragon.

Without looking at any of the people around him, Tatsuya coldly asked a question of the inspector he was holding down. “What did you slip into Miyuki’s CAD with the inspection device? I’m sure it wasn’t just a virus.”

The committee member’s face stiffened even further. The fear and despair on it didn’t belong to a person who had merely seen Death himself. It was the look of a criminal whose sins had been exposed to an agent of Hell.

“I see. You could modify the software end of a CAD like this, too. CADs following tournament regulations can’t refuse a request for access from the inspection device, after all.”

The closest of the group of security personnel that had run up to him to subdue him heard his lowly spoken words and gasped. The man’s expression toward the CAD inspector Tatsuya was holding down changed; he was no longer looking at a victim but at a perpetrator.

“But I’m sure not all the accidents in this tournament were your doing, were they?”

The eyes of the man under Tatsuya’s knee began to well up with tears, and he weakly shook his head several times.

“I see. Don’t want to talk?”

As if showing off to the man, Tatsuya put his right fingers in a straight line and tensed his hand. He pointed his fingertips at the man like the crooked neck of a snake. Then, his right hand slowly approached the pinned man’s throat.

None of those watching could take their eyes off him, and all were thinking the same thing. All imagining the same thing. This boy’s fingers would easily pierce the pitiful criminal’s neck skin, gouge out his throat, and hold a ceremony of merciless judgment for him in a pool of blood…

“What seems to be the problem?”

But the unavoidable cataclysm was, in fact, avoided—by the gentle voice of an old man. Not an intimidating or severe one. It was like a spring wind. It was like a calm, soft wave sweeping through the murder in the room.

“…Your Excellency Kudou.” His ferocity settling as though an evil spirit was leaving his body, Tatsuya took his hand away, moved his knee, and stood up to greet the old man. “I truly apologize for showing such an unsightly display, sir.”

“You’re…Shiba, from First High. You did splendidly in yesterday’s match. Anyway, what seems to be the problem here?”

Feeling Tatsuya’s ferocity quelled, some began to move to subdue him for his violent outburst, but those in front who heard his next words stopped their colleagues.

“The CAD from a player belonging to my school had been illegally sabotaged, sir, so I subdued the offender and was about to question him as to who is backing him.”

“I see.”

Everyone present, everyone who had been frozen by Tatsuya’s bloodlust, knew instinctively those words were a lie. Tatsuya would not have stopped at a simple questioning.

But the old Kudou didn’t press Tatsuya on his intent. Instead, he only nodded. “Is this the CAD that was illegally sabotaged?”

“Yes, sir.”

The old magician, once renowned as the highest and trickiest of them all, took the CAD from the inspection device, brought it up to his eyes, looked at it closely, and nodded again. “…You’re right—it has been contaminated. I’ve seen this before. This is Electron Goldworm, one used by a magician from Guangdong in the East China Sea Island Theater.”

After speaking, he shot a cold glare at the man who was still on the floor. The man squealed and crawled backward, unable to stand.

“Electron Goldworm is an SB spell that invades electronic devices through their physical wires. It’s used to nullify high-end weapons.”

SB spell referred to the nickname for magic that used autonomous non-physical beings (spiritual beings) such as spirits. In a somehow nostalgic tone, digging deep into his memory, Kudou began explaining the workings of the spell.

“Rather than altering the program itself, it interferes with output electrical signals. That means that, regardless of the operating system or the presence of anti-virus programs, it can cause electrical devices to malfunction for a long period of time. Our forces struggled quite a lot until we learned of the nature of Electron Goldworm… Did you know what it was already?”

“No, sir,” answered Tatsuya without gesturing, maintaining an at-ease posture and behavior. “I’ve never heard of the term Electron Goldworm before, sir. However, I knew immediately that something like a virus had gotten into the system space I created.”

“I see,” said the old man, smiling pleasantly. But by the time his eyes moved to the prosecuted inspector, his smile had become the kind a hardened veteran magician gave when looking down upon an enemy. “So, just where on earth did you acquire the Electron Goldworm spell?”

The agent gave a cry and tried to flee the area on all fours, but the security officers who had assembled to subdue Tatsuya now restrained him instead.

“In any case, Shiba, you may get back to the stadium now. And use a spare CAD. With the circumstances, you don’t need to have it checked again… Correct, Chairman?”

The old official—though years younger than Kudou—standing nearby quickly nodded.

“Someone committing illegal sabotage operations slipped into the administration committee. Such a scandal is unprecedented. I’m going to have a long talk with you after this.”

The tournament committee chairman looked like he was about to faint but croaked out an affirmation. Kudou looked away from him and his followers, then gave Tatsuya another cheerful expression. “Tatsuya Shiba, I would like to hear your story sometime as well.”

“Yes, sir. When the opportunity presents itself…”

“Hmm, yes. I will look forward to the opportunity, then.”

Such was the first direct meeting between Tatsuya and Kudou.

Upon returning to First High’s tent, Tatsuya sensed that the stares on him and the emotions behind them had changed subtly but certainly.

Perhaps he could say that they were back to normal.

It was subtle because they were trying to hide it. But they were guilty of changing the way they looked at him; these were wavering minds, he could see it in their eyes.

Tatsuya was, by all means, still a dull person. He simply had certain emotional inclinations. It was just that those emotions to which he was more inclined were actually ones he felt extremely sharply.

He was dull when it came to goodwill.

But he was sharp and sensitive to malice.

The eyes directed at him right now were ones he was well acquainted with. They were things people felt toward strange, unknown, different beings: confusion, fear, and avoidance.

“Tatsuya…”

And the one girl not trying to avoid him greeted him with a dark expression and even darker voice.

That one pair of eyes, though, gave his heart great pain. “Sorry for worrying you,” he murmured.

“Don’t be sorry!” she cried, shaking her head firmly, her tied hair coming slightly undone. “You got mad at someone over me, didn’t you?”

“That was fast. You’ve already heard what happened?”

He reached out with a hand to brush back the hair in her face. Miyuki, ashamed and downcast, still steadily answered her brother’s question. “No. But whenever you get really mad, it’s…always over me…” Despite her steady reply, she was slowly starting to tear up.

Tatsuya put his hand to her cheek and gently lifted her face. “…You’re right. You’re the only thing I can get seriously mad about. But, Miyuki, all older brothers get mad over their little sisters. It’s the only normal thing still left inside me. You don’t have to feel sad about it.” He used his free right hand to take out a handkerchief, then used it to gently wipe the tears around his sister’s eyes. “Besides…if you start crying now, you’ll ruin all the lovely makeup. This is your big moment in the spotlight, you know.”

“Oh, come on, Tatsuya…I’m not the only one in this match! That’s called being biased,” said Miyuki, giving a wry smile—but still a smile, and it outshone anyone else’s. At least, that was how Tatsuya felt about it.

He also felt relief and satisfaction at seeing her smile again. He moved his hand from her cheek to her shoulder and then, when he looked up toward the tent they were about to enter, he once again noticed a change in the stares—and this time it was not a strange difference.

They were no longer hesitant, scared eyes peeking out of the shadows. Now they were just awkward stares, clearly fed up with this whole act and yet unable to look away.

“Oh my, Tatsuya.” Mayumi greeted him with a conspicuously halfhearted gaze and a somewhat cold voice, as though saying that even at times like these, the student president had to represent the students. “When the tournament HQ told me a student had suddenly gotten violent with them, I had absolutely no clue what was going on…but I suppose it was just the sister complex in you throwing a fit over someone trying to make a move on your oh-so-precious sibling.”

He felt extremely reluctant toward that expression, but as a damp, lukewarm wind—the kind right before a typhoon—blew in, Tatsuya understood that he was at an overwhelming disadvantage in terms of army strength.

So he snuck away to the workroom set aside for the engineers. This way, Tatsuya avoided the other members from First High hating him and isolating him. But whether or not that was really what he wanted… Well, if you had asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you.

The sky had been cloudy since before dawn. Now, as 9:30 and the start of the second match neared, it showed no signs of recovery.

“Good weather today… I hope it continues until tonight.”

“Apparently it’s supposed to clear up this evening.”

“The starlight could get in the way a lot, too…but I suppose it’s better than rain.”

Azusa, listening to the siblings speak as though victory in the qualifiers was assured, somehow didn’t feel the conversation to be a careless one.

In general, the power gap between freshmen and juniors was larger than the one between juniors and seniors. That was because professional education in magic only really got under way starting with high school. So even if there was no rookie competition, there would be few cases of freshmen entering the main competition. Normally, if someone was reassigned from the rookie competition to the main one during the events, they would have trouble even making it out of the qualifiers, to say nothing of placing high up.

However… Common sense doesn’t apply to Miyuki, does it? she thought. Especially since Tatsuya’s with her.

Azusa’s timidity aside, everyone knew she was a magician (in training) ranked at the top of her grade. Just the fact that someone so shy would be chosen for First High’s student council was a sort of paradoxical proof of her ability.

As far as Azusa could tell, Miyuki had the skills to seriously aim for first place. Alone, her strength towered above the rest. But she had her brother giving her his full support, too. Even if Mari, the one initially picked as the favorite to win, was in peak condition and entering with her, Azusa wasn’t sure even she could beat her.

She kept her onlooker’s criticism to herself. She’d been assigned as an engineer for the third match, so she was currently doing the final checks on her player’s CAD a little bit early.

The main competition’s Monolith Code and Mirage Bat were the final events for the boys and girls, respectively, in the Nine School Competition, and the staff of every school was currently fully engaged. First High had come up to the event with one engineer for every player. So during this event only, the Shiba siblings were rivals to Azusa. Perhaps more accurately, as another engineer, Tatsuya was her rival.

But…even before starting, she couldn’t think about winning or losing. It had stopped even feeling like a competition to her.

What happened before… When she was informed by tournament HQ that Tatsuya had assaulted a committee member, she was less shocked than scared.

She didn’t find it surprising. Somewhere in her mind, she could see him doing it. She hadn’t known him for very long or very personally, but she thought he wasn’t the sort of guy to resort to violence for no reason. At the same time, though, she felt that if he did have a reason, he wouldn’t hesitate at all.

Someone with no hesitation when it came to violence—that scared her.

Of course, Azusa wasn’t naive. She knew magic had been developed for military purposes, and that a large percentage of magic’s practical application still lay in war strength and as a deterring force. But whether it was military power or police force, it was still violence inherent in the administration. Responsibility as to its usage was split among many: those who determined it, those who ordered it, those who executed it, and those who oversaw it.

But she was sure he had decided it and executed it on his own, and bore the responsibility for it. That probably would have held true even if the other party had died. Even if it turned him into a killer.

His mind was cold and hard as steel, and it terrified her.

Upon hearing the details from him, her fear changed to surprise. He explained that he’d caught someone red-handed, illegally modifying a CAD and arrested him. The tearful, crumpled look on Hirakawa’s face, the senior who had been assigned to Kobayakawa, was burned into Azusa’s eyelids. It was easy to imagine how hard it must have been, and even easier to empathize: She hadn’t realized the CAD had been tampered with. Because of that, her player was involved in an accident. And now, one of her most brilliant classmates might never be the same. But compared to that, he had… If Azusa had been in Hirakawa’s place, she probably would have run away crying.

It was the undeniable truth that Tatsuya was a Course 2 student—the opposite of an honor student. An irregular. His practical exam grades were just barely keeping him afloat. There were never more than five students who failed a practical skills exam right after enrolling, so it was only natural people thought of his grades as “bad” as opposed to just “not very good.”

But in reality, if you looked at his ability to respond to the kinds of situations magicians would actually find themselves in—instead of some measure of situational “true strength” measured by tests—you would think exactly the opposite.

For development, for analysis, and for adjustment work…and last but not least, for combat…

…his power level was above what most would consider first class.

If magic wasn’t graded on pure ability and instead by the circumstances in which it was put to practical use, then he’d probably be the highest-honor student you could find. Which meant…

All these grades we’re getting… What are they for? What does it mean to be in Course 1? Is there even a reason to separate Course 1 and Course 2?

That was how Azusa had started to think after seeing Tatsuya up close during the Nine School Competition. And it confused her. It made her anxious. She’d taken her values, her worldview, for granted, never doubting them. Suddenly they were uncertain and unreliable.

Azusa didn’t possess the sort of ostentatious elitism others had in being proud of being a Bloom and looking down on the Course 2 Weeds. At least, not consciously. That wasn’t to say she had no pride in the fact that her magical abilities were excellent, thus making her a great magic student at the school.

True, her future as a magician and as a magic engineer was still deeply shrouded in fog, but her confidence in her abilities gave her the courage to find that future. It was a precious partner to her. Even if she didn’t realize it, the fact was this: Her confidence as a magician was pushing her forward.

Magic wasn’t the only thing this applied to, either. Young people had big hopes and dreams—and big doubts to match. Their pride and confidence made up for their lack of experience and past accomplishments.

For Azusa, and for other honor students at magic high schools like her, magic was what created that pride, what produced that confidence. More specifically, it was her grades in magic that produced her confidence. But whenever she saw Tatsuya, her pride and her confidence started seeming unfounded.

Her test results when she was a freshman were undoubtedly higher than his, but she didn’t think she could ever beat him. Not as a combat magician, not as a magic engineer, and not as a magic scholar. Even that particular rare magical skill she possessed, one she secretly thought was the only thing that Mayumi and Mari couldn’t match…when she came up against Tatsuya, even that lost all meaning.

But still, Azusa never thought herself the type to worry so much over a sense of inferiority. And she was already over 90 percent certain that Tatsuya was him.

If he is, then of course I can’t match him.

If he is, then the very act of feeling inferior is presumptuous of me.

That was what Azusa told herself.

But nobody else knows yet… Others didn’t know, so they would be thinking about this issue more. They would be feeling it more—especially the other freshmen. They would ask themselves what their grades even meant, if it came to be that a Course 2 student fared better than them.

“Ah-chan, don’t torment yourself too much, okay?”

Suddenly a voice addressed her from behind. Surprised, Azusa sprang up and turned around to find Mayumi directing a dry smile toward her.

“The boy’s special.” Despite her choice of words, her tone of voice was warm. “I’m sure other kids can’t accept it…but one of the things you have to learn in high school is to accept things even if you don’t like them. It’s a fact that Course 2 students lag behind Course 1 students in magical ability. And it’s also a fact that Tatsuya is at a higher level than us.”

“What? But…”

Azusa was dumbstruck at the surprising words. She knew Tatsuya was several levels higher than her—even if he was him, she couldn’t deny being personally disappointed by it. But Mayumi was at a really high level, and that was the standard. Azusa didn’t think she was that much worse than Tatsuya.

“I don’t lose in every respect, though,” said Mayumi, taking a guess at her confusion and giving another wry grin. “In terms of overall magic ability, I’m better. In a magic firefight, as long as I have distance, I’d have the advantage, too.”

But then she paused, sighing. Thinking of his strength seemed to exhaust her. “But there are definitely areas he beats me in. It may not mean much, but I can’t even come near him in terms of anything CAD related. And it hurts me to say this, but he just knows more about magic than I do. He’s making all the upperclassmen look bad, though,” she added airily. “Everyone has things they’re good and bad at. Nobody can beat someone else in absolutely everything. When I say Tatsuya’s at a higher level, I mean that I can’t even come near him in terms of magic engineering knowledge and skill.”

Mayumi turned a firm, steady stare on Azusa, as if peering deep into her eyes. “But in exchange, both of our results in practical magic are way higher than his. So you don’t need to be so pessimistic about it. It isn’t like practical magic exams are meaningless. Test grades by themselves may not fully determine someone’s worth, but they are still a part of it.”

Azusa, still speechless, digested her words.

“And by the way…” This time, she heaved a real sigh. “Thinking that you’re better than others makes it hard to bear not winning at everything. You’ll forget that the distinction between Course 1 and Course 2 students is really just for convenience in putting together practical magic classes, which just happens to be based on your grades on the practical magic exams.”

Azusa unwittingly opened her eyes wide. The unexpected truth in her words was such a shock that her mind was going blank. She wasn’t forgetting anything. This was actually the first she’d ever heard of the course separation being just for practicum purposes.

“I suppose the uniforms aren’t helping… At first it was all just because, when we increased the student count, they didn’t have time to embroider them all…”

“What? Is that true?”

“Wait, you didn’t know that?”

No, she’d never heard the inside story. Now she was speechless for another reason. A different kind of shock.

“Right, well, I suppose it’s not well-known…” murmured Mayumi while Azusa just continued shaking her head no. “Did you know that a long time ago, First High had only one hundred students per class? They said we needed more magicians to rank with other countries, so First High’s student body was the first one they increased. But the government jumped the gun. Instead of just putting more students here at the start of the following year, they accepted applications midway through it.

“But they couldn’t suddenly increase the number of teachers midway through the year. We had even fewer magic teachers at the time than we do now. As a last resort, they decided to have the newly admitted freshmen focus solely on learning theory, then start them on practical application in their second year. That’s where the Course 2 system came from.

“Unfortunately, thanks to the sudden influx of Course 2 students, the school made a mistake ordering the uniforms. The freshmen who entered that year had to make do with uniforms without the First High emblem on it, but that led to some misunderstandings nobody saw coming… The Course 2 system was just a temporary measure until they advanced to their second year. They were just extra students they’d let enroll to bring the numbers up. But then people decided they were substitutes. And in the end, they couldn’t get enough teachers to match the unreasonable increase. Which brings us to the current system, where that little misunderstanding is now the official stance.

“And the truth is, they just left the uniforms alone after that, like it was the plan all along. Like they were covering up for their hastiness. When you think about it, it seems like it would be harder to make two different kinds of uniforms… The sewing is all done by an automated factory, so even though you still need different sizes, it would be cheaper just to make one design.”

Azusa’s mouth was hanging open. Mayumi’s explanation truly had been jaw dropping. She couldn’t believe that the whole Blooms and Weeds business, which had fostered such frequent, malicious, serious antagonism, had originated from something so stupid.

We can’t let Miyuki know about this, she thought—she was too afraid of what might happen if they did.

Mayumi must have been thinking the same thing. “…Keep this a secret from Miyuki, all right?”

Azusa immediately nodded in agreement.

Not knowing that she’d been labeled a dangerous individual by two of her upperclassmen in the student council, Miyuki stood on the Mirage Bat field in high spirits, waiting for the match to begin. She was in a good mood because this was the first time since the Nine School Competition had begun that her brother had allotted time just for her, and looked after her alone.

Normally, when they went home, they were the only two living there; she had plenty of time to spend with him alone. But that couldn’t happen with their competition lodging. She certainly wasn’t living in frustration (or at least, that’s how she felt), but the length of time since this had happened contributed to her current happiness.

Her brother was watching her from the booth where the staff waited in the wings. Looking only at her. She felt like she could fly into the sky even without borrowing magic’s power.

For now, she didn’t care about the lecherous eyes on her costume, which accentuated her body’s lines. She didn’t have to try very hard to filter out all the stares except for Tatsuya’s, tossing the rest in the trash. There’s an expression about imagining the audience as potatoes—or onions or carrots—that’s fundamental advice given to people who struggle with social anxiety, though it’s largely ineffective. (People with the mental wherewithal to replace a crowd with potatoes don’t have anxiety in the first place.) But right now, for Miyuki, everyone aside from Tatsuya was just a potato.

She knew her brother appreciated people with good posture, so the way she stood there was perfect as well. She looked the very definition of a beauty, standing like a dancer waiting for the music to start. Her pose caused the young men in the stands to feel short of breath, and made their hearts throb so much that they might have needed to be carried out on stretchers before the match even began.

Though probably not because of the electricity in the crowd urging them on, the siren to signal the match’s start went off a few seconds earlier than planned.

Miyuki’s body floated lightly into the air.

Each Mirage Bat player had two different costumes prepared. One was a midday costume, vividly colored so that they wouldn’t get lost in the strong sunlight. The other was a nighttime costume, brightly colored so they would reflect light. Both were worn so that players wouldn’t collide with one another—an unwritten rule based on prior experience.

The main color on Miyuki’s clothing was a deep magenta. With one wrong step, it could have looked like a crude, unrefined color scheme. But when Miyuki wore it, it lent her an air of nobility. Her thick makeup, which also blocked ultraviolet rays, did nothing to damage that dignity. Her delicate body was still in the middle of its development, but her long, thin, straight limbs and the contrasting elegant curves of her chest and waist, rather than inspire some sort of basic sexual feeling, instead radiated the allure of a flowering tree in bloom.

She was truly as beautiful as a flower.

Though she leaped up toward the targets as fiercely as the others, she was the only one to whom the adjective light could be applied.

The audience’s eyes were glued to her. If this event were graded on the beauty of one’s performance, no one would have complained about her coming in first.

But this was the main competition, and the main event at that. The Nine School Competition wouldn’t be so easy.

“Miyuki’s trailing behind…?” muttered Mizuki in disbelief as the first period ended, letting out a held breath.

“The Second High player at the top…she might not be an IS [innately specialized] magician, but she must be extremely good at jumping techniques…”

“That’s not all! She was planning out where she jumped so that she could block where Miyuki was going. Maybe she’s not only good at jumping, but she’s actually a Mirage Bat specialist?”

Mikihiko and Erika, sharing Mizuki’s surprise, each offered their own thoughts.

“The Second High player was the other favorite to win, like Watanabe was…”

“With how much Miyuki stood out, it’s no wonder they’re keeping an eye on her. The seniors’ pride is on the line, too.”

Honoka and Shizuku expressed their agreement from a different viewpoint; they were in the general seats today, cheering them on.

“I don’t think she’s finished just yet,” said Leo at the end, his cheerfulness blowing away the pessimistic air.

Miyuki recovered in the next period, and by the end of it, she stood atop the rankings. But the point differential was tiny. She still had energy left, but the others would have been pacing themselves as well in preparation for the third period. Nobody knew yet how the match would turn out.

Though she was being limited in terms of how many magic variations she could use, Tatsuya was still surprised that there were magicians at a high school level who could compete equally with Miyuki.

“This country is so small, yet so large…” he said to nobody in particular as he stood in front of Miyuki, who had taken a seat to catch her breath. His eyes weren’t on her—they were on Second High’s booth.

…But then, he felt a sudden tug at his sleeve. He looked down to see Miyuki stand up from her chair, and look him in the eyes with a strong light in her own.

“Tatsuya, would you allow me to use it?”

Her eyes, her voice, and the fingers holding his sleeve all radiated her desire to win. She wasn’t just a doll that people looked at because she was pretty or cute. Her face was now filled with a fierce determination, which Tatsuya liked seeing more than all the other expressions she had in her arsenal.

His lips naturally parted, and his eyes narrowed with warmth. “…Sure. Everything will be as you desire.”

Originally, this was going to be their ultimate weapon for the final match.

But Tatsuya smiled and nodded, forgetting every calculation they had done.

“Huh? Miyuki’s using a different broom.”

Erika immediately noticed the change as Miyuki stood on the field for the last period. She had been using her regular, portable, terminal-shaped CAD before, but now she had a bracelet one on her right arm.

“But it looks like she’s holding a CAD in her left hand, too…” indicated Mikihiko, looking closely.

Everyone tilted their heads in confusion at him, except for Honoka, who nodded in admiration. “Yeah…I guess she’s using it early…”

“It?” asked Shizuku.

Honoka’s face was a mixture of aspiration and bitterness as she answered. “Tatsuya made something secret just for Miyuki to use. A secret weapon, and Miyuki’s the only one who can master it. Every single person here, and not one fewer, is going to be surprised… I’m sure of it.”

Before Shizuku could ask what it was, the third period siren rang.

The bracelet on Miyuki’s right wrist was a spare. The real thing was the specialized, portable, terminal-shaped CAD she gripped in her left hand. Its controls were simple: just an On/Off switch. Her finger hovered above the switch, and when the period began, she quickly pressed it.

An extremely small activation program expanded. It booted up, and continued to boot up over and over without pause. And then her body floated lightly into the air.

The Second High player moved to block her path. She was going to intersect with her from below and to the left. Miyuki’s opponent was faster at ascending. At this rate, Miyuki would run into her, rather than the other way around. Miyuki accelerated her own flight speed and avoided it.

After seeing Miyuki bat away one of the light orbs, turn around, and stop in midair, the audience stirred.

Her magic power had accelerated her even further—in the middle of the jump.

The audience’s surprised praise was for the amount of power she would have needed to do such a thing, within the bounds of common sense.

But after Miyuki stopped again in midair, she didn’t descend to a foothold. Instead, she continued her elegant glide down the sylphic ice rink built in the sky. When the crowd saw her find the next target and move toward it, their cheers fell dead silent.

Two, three, four…

The other athletes needed to keep going up and down those thirty feet of height. Miyuki only had to move horizontally. It was never a competition.

After collecting her fifth point in a row, the frozen voices in the crowd began to thaw, little by little.

“Flight magic…?” murmured someone.

Even the other players were standing there, looking overhead, stunned. The murmur had been naught more than a whisper. But without the sounds of the players taking off and landing, they echoed eerily in the silent stadium.

Miyuki, swinging her stick, looked just as gallant as a Valkyrie—and just as elegant.

“Taurus Silver’s…?”

The whispers continued.

“That’s not possible…”

“That just got announced last month…”

The wave began to ripple through the stands.

“But that’s…”

“That has to be the flight magic…”

All eyes present there, without a single exception, were on the girl dancing through the sky.

It was the dance of an angel, unfolding in the sky above the lake.

Her arms went out to her sides to keep her balance. Her legs spread out to change her posture. It looked like she was dancing hand in hand with the wind.

This revolution of modern magic, this miraculous performance of what some called impossible, were most befitting of this beautiful girl… Everyone, no matter their age, no matter their gender, whether friend or enemy, looked up to the sky dancer, entranced.

Everyone there had been taken—not by modern magic, not by old magic, but by the magic of astonishment and emotion.

The signal came to end the match, and until she returned to the ground, their spell of rapture continued.

—In the Mirage Bat qualifiers, on field one, in the second match, Miyuki had won her way into the finals by a large margin.

It wasn’t until the players left the field that the audience finally snapped out of their trance.

There was no order in which they needed to leave the field. They began to file out in order of whoever was closest to the gate when the match ended. Miyuki, who had landed near the middle of the lake, was the third of the four to exit. After curtsying toward First High’s cheering section, she fluttered upward and glided toward the gate with the smoothness of skating on ice.

The graceful act caused the audience to erupt into applause.

One could see various guests frantically using their communication terminals. Some were practically frothing into their microphones, shouting, even sounding angry because of the excitement. Some were so unstrung that they were repeating the same thing into them and annoying whomever they were talking to. Some were frenetically typing on virtual keyboards, scratching their heads from time to time. Some were single-mindedly wielding pen devices on optical recognition panels… Everyone, in all kinds of ways, was trying to communicate the surprise they felt to those who hadn’t been around to feel it.

Among them was one man, oddly expressionless as he looked at a message being displayed on his HMD. But basically nobody paid any attention to him.

“We got a message from Number Seventeen. The target in the second match advanced out of the qualifiers.”

“…Whoever it was, they saw through the Electron Goldworm. This was the proper result…but this is bad.”

“That’s not all. The target apparently used flight magic.”

“Impossible!”

“It would be absolutely wonderful if she’d used up all her energy with that…but that’s asking for too much.”

“I don’t think we have the leeway to be picky about how we do this anymore. What do you think?”

“I agree. A hundred deaths should suffice. We need to stop the competition itself.”

“If we do, we’ll only get our bets back. We won’t lose anything, but it’s still within tolerable limits.”

“Won’t the guests know something’s up? Even leaving our business aside, those weapons brokers are a pain in the ass, since they have thick lines into a lot of countries.”

“We can say whatever we want to the guests. Right now, we need to be more worried about sanctions against our organization than merchants of death.”

“You’re right… Is Number Seventeen enough to carry it out?”

“It would take more than a decent amount of skill to match a Generator. We couldn’t get any weapons in with it, but Seventeen is tailored for high speeds. If we disable its limiters and have it go berserk, it could slaughter one or two hundred with its bare hands.”

“No objections, I presume…? All right, disable its limiters.”

The wave of excitement eventually subsided, and as the audience, clustered in the grandstand in groups of two or three, waited for the next match, he sluggishly rose.

His exposed eyes reinforced an impression of impassivity. It wasn’t that he was expressionless, though. That would imply a capacity to emote. He seemed lacking in the very concept of expression—he had an entirely, completely inorganic facade.

Suddenly, the man’s body shook—an instantly activated self-acceleration spell. Before the magicians nearby noticed the spell, the man attacked another man who happened to be passing by. He brought his fingers, curved like claws, down toward his defenseless back.

—And then, unbeknownst to everyone, the incident was brought outside the stands.

By the time the man, Generator Number Seventeen, assessed the situation, he was already ten feet off the ground.

The first person he’d attacked after receiving his directive of slaughter had actually dodged his attack, despite his back being turned. This was even though he did it so fast that human perception wouldn’t have been able to keep up, even if he’d attacked head-on.

The magician was able to move with speed beyond the possible limits of his physical strength by using a self-acceleration spell. But the only thing the spell accelerated was his movement—it didn’t boost his sense organs’ biochemical reaction speed, or his sensory nerves’ transmission speed, or his cerebrum’s information processing speed.

Human bodies were made to have much higher perception speed than movement speed. Because of that, one could still control speed that surpassed one’s physical limits. But on the other hand, one couldn’t control their physical movement when it exceeded the limits of their speed of perception. That meant even magicians had their limits. There was no limit to how much one could accelerate oneself in terms of magic, but there was a usage restriction on how fast one’s brain could keep up with it.

Consequently, his speed, boosted by chemically strengthened perception speed, was not something a normal human—a physically normal human, regardless of magical talent—should have been able to keep up with.

And yet, in actuality, his descending arms had been stopped. And then, with them as a fulcrum, the force of his own falling arms had sent Number Seventeen’s body hurtling into the sky. The moment his body, spinning like he’d been struck with an iron bar, spun and turned upside down, a fierce impact assailed Seventeen and he was blown over the grandstand fence and out of the stadium.

A movement spell with its acceleration process purposely omitted. The impact made him lose consciousness partway through, and when he came to, he was just about to slam into the ground from a parabolic arc sixty-five feet in the sky.

Normally, this situation would cause a man to freeze in terror or panic, unable to do anything about his fall. But this man was a Generator. A specimen whose will and emotion had been stolen through brain surgery and the administration of magically created drugs. His thought processes were controlled and pushed in a specific direction, so he had none of the various mental operations that would disturb the activation of magic—commonly referred to as idle thoughts.

He was a biological weapon built to use magic in a stable way in the middle of combat. A magician remodeled as a tool to generate magic. And a tool knew neither fear nor panic.

Calmly, or more accurately, emotionlessly, Number Seventeen triggered an inertia-canceling spell. Decelerating at this point would make damage unavoidable—it would be like suddenly slamming on the brakes. Decreasing his inertia instead was the result of calculations performed in the span of a moment; it would lessen the damage from impact.

The magical drugs weren’t just to regulate his will, emotion, and perception. They were also for the purpose of heightening his physical faculties. Using his legs as springs, and even using his abdominal muscles, dorsal muscles, and arms to assist, he absorbed all the damage from the fall.

“Impressive that you made it in time from that stage.”

Number Seventeen, both arms and both legs on the ground, looked up. And there he saw the man who had launched him here.

“Who are you? …No, you don’t need to answer that. I’m sure you can’t anyway.”

Muraji Yanagi, captain in the Independent Magic Battalion, twisted his lips into a disdainful smile as he watched Number Seventeen on all fours like some kind of beast.

“Your physical abilities can’t be purely magical. Are you an enhanced human?” asked Yanagi, his voice a blend of scorn and admiration. His opponent had flown over the grandstand fence, launched as high as a medium-size building, and fallen—and yet had still kept his combat stance.

“Yanagi, you’re the one who said he didn’t need to answer. And I think you’re insulting him. You’re also the one who jumped down from the same height, and your hands aren’t even on the ground.”

Number Seventeen moved like a four-legged beast to check behind him. Unbeknownst to him, another captain in the Independent Magic Battalion, Shigeru Sanada, had positioned himself there to block his escape route. If he still wanted to flee, it might have been possible. In terms of pure acceleration, Generator Number Seventeen was better than the two Independent Magic Battalion members.

But the directive he’d been given was to massacre the guests. Without any will or emotion, the only input on his movement decisions came from orders from the organization. In deference to those orders, Number Seventeen once again attacked Yanagi—one of the guests.

Before he could launch into an attack, Yanagi thrust his right hand out. Despite his clearly superior speed, Number Seventeen couldn’t escape that hand—he was already charging, his posture low. As if being sucked in, his head rammed into Yanagi’s palm.

Yanagi and Number Seventeen clashed.

The Generator bounced off without touching Yanagi’s body and was slammed back into his starting position.

“It was a rhetorical question anyway,” said Yanagi nonchalantly. “I was talking to myself.”

“I’ll let you off the hook, then. Still, I’m impressed every time I see that. Was that an application of Capsize?”

Predicting the enemy’s movement vector, then using martial arts and magic in unison to draw that vector in, amplify it, or reverse it—that was the combat style Yanagi excelled in, and the skill that had thrown and repelled Number Seventeen.

“How many times do I need to tell you it’s not Capsize? It was Turnaround. Capsize is the official technique, and Turnaround is the hidden one. And it wasn’t quite an application, either. I just copy the stuff. The real Turnaround doesn’t need magic.”

“That goes against the very meaning of our existence. I’m going to tell on you to our CO.”

“…Would you cut the nonsense and help me capture this guy?”

“Hmm…I suppose so. But Fujibayashi already has Lightning Rod nice and ready.”

As Sanada spoke, there was a clicking of heels as Kyouko Fujibayashi, second lieutenant in the Independent Magic Battalion, showed herself. “…You two really get along, don’t you?”

Her rear staff uniform included a tight skirt, and was not at all meant for fighting in. Normally that would present the perfect prey: an ideal opportunity to turn the situation.

But Number Seventeen just twitched and jerked. He wasn’t in much of a state to oppose her—a whole bunch of slender, hair like needles were stabbing into him, sending electrical currents into his body. Of course, both the thrown needles and the unleashed lightning were Fujibayashi’s spells.

“Fujibayashi, I thought you had better eyes than that.”

“Maybe it’s more of a sensitivity problem than an eyesight one. Do you want me to introduce you to a good counselor?”

“See? You’re practically finishing each other’s sentences.”

With Number Seventeen in the middle, Yanagi and Sanada exchanged glances—and grimaces.

Unaware of the dangerous act playing out behind the scenes, Tatsuya was having a leisurely early lunch in his hotel room.

After the match, while Miyuki was taking a shower, the tournament committee told him rather forcefully that they needed to inspect the CAD used for the flight magic. But he was guilty of nothing. He had a brief, mischievous thought about dropping Kudou’s name to press their buttons, but it passed. Amusing himself by bullying weaklings from the safety of another’s influence would be disgraceful, so he obediently handed over the CAD.

Other than that, he hadn’t been caught up in any particularly strange uproar. He felt a lot of rather distant stares on him and his sister, but as long as onlookers didn’t caused them direct harm, leaving them alone was the best option. Tatsuya had decided to leave the CAD with the committee and retreat to a private space.

Of course, even if he’d been aware that Sanada and Yanagi were acting in secret to prevent a mass slaughter, he would have done the same. Bluntly speaking, Tatsuya didn’t care how many guests—about whom he knew nothing—could have died.

And even if upperclassmen from his own school became victims, it would have inspired in him little more feeling than that it was unfortunate. Because of that, he had opted against assertive action.

Miyuki would look sad hearing that, though, so he wasn’t saying any of it or even giving the appearance of thinking it. Of course, that meant right now: Though it probably didn’t need to be said again, Miyuki was standing in front of him, gallantly being too helpful.

“One of your virtues is that you always have your personal life in perfect order, but sometimes I feel like if you were a little messier, it would be more worth it for me to look after you.”

Miyuki was in a good mood today. She was smiling, almost humming, as she seemed to enjoy wiping off the table. It was probably the recoil from not looking after him for the week.

“Miyuki, is there anything you want me to do?”

So when he had asked that at the end of their meal, the words were just a way to fill the silence, and didn’t mean anything in particular.

“Something I want you to do, Tatsuya?”

However, Miyuki’s reaction was unexpectedly strong. Her eyes widened and she smiled broadly as she thought about it. Tatsuya suddenly knew something was up but felt like he’d already gone too far to retreat.

His little sister made various gestures as she thought, like putting a finger to her chin and tilting her head, but suddenly she flushed as though she’d thought of something. She looked up at his face from the seat next to him.

“…All right, say it,” he said with a somewhat wry smile, but gently.

Nervously, Miyuki began. “Earlier, you instructed me to rest a little after lunch, before the finals…”

“Right. You don’t have to go to sleep right now, but you should make sure to get some sleep. And if not, you can just lie in bed. And don’t tell me you don’t want to—you have to rest your body.”

“No, I will do what you told me to, of course, but…well…”

“Hmm?”

“Well…I was wondering if you could…be with me…”

She must have been embarrassed to say that; her face went red and she looked down.

“…You sure are spoiled, Miyuki.”

“…Is that a no? I want you to spoil me.”

“…No, it’s fine. I can’t sing you any lullabies, though.”

Mayumi stared at Tatsuya with upturned eyes, then hit him with both hands in the chest.

Her white skin, all the way to her ears visible beneath her black hair, flushed crimson.

Despite being siblings, they were also young adults, so they obviously didn’t want to use the same bed. Thankfully, though he was using this room as a single, it was actually a twin. Most of the equipment taking up the space had been brought over to the grounds at this point. He quickly brought the bed out of the wall and set it up so that Miyuki could use it to sleep. It was an almost entirely automatic process, so they didn’t need to call for room service. (This wasn’t a normal hotel, so they might not have even come anyway.)

He brought over a chair and sat down next to the bed she’d nestled into. He returned Miyuki’s smile—which was an embarrassed one even by his measure—and gently stroked her hair.

Within a minute, she had departed for the land of Hypnos.

Four hours passed after Miyuki fell asleep, but Tatsuya remained at her bedside.

He was being faithful in granting her request that he be there. Being alone as he did this didn’t trouble him.

The young woman slept soundly. Her face was completely peaceful. When he considered that it was a sign of trust, he began to feel a little tickled and proud.

They were siblings, but they’d only really started living together three years ago. Those three years were the only ones during which they lived like actual brother and sister. Before that, before that summer three years earlier, they almost never exchanged words, even though they lived in the same house. His bond with her was something their mother never would have allowed; she had forbidden even a sibling-like relationship between them. The decision had probably come from the Yotsuba as a whole.

Tatsuya wasn’t about to start complaining about that or anything. His mind no longer possessed such faculties. He did feel inconvenienced, though, by the lack of any memory of being close to blood relatives at a young age. If he was unhappy about anything, it was that.

He had no memories of being very little and crying, or having a tantrum, or falling down, or wetting his pants—nothing that would have embarrassed him in front of an immediate family member. To him, Miyuki was always just a pretty girl who was one year younger. He couldn’t see it any other way except in an objective light. That’s why he always knew just how good-looking she was.

At the same time, the feelings swelling from the deepest parts of his mind recognized her as his little sister. His one and only true emotion left was ordering his consciousness to shower her with brotherly love. No memories, only feelings. Sometimes he thought that this is what it would be like to have amnesia. He knew, though, that he certainly didn’t have that condition.

His feelings were unconditional precisely because his memories didn’t present them with any conditions. That was why he was so blindly, intensely, and severely devoted to her. For all his other emotions, like anger and hatred, they failed to reach the surface; meanwhile, his love for Miyuki was entirely without hesitation, and that manifested itself as strange acts.

Tatsuya hadn’t realized that. He couldn’t step on the brakes, because he did things as a result of cold, hard calculation, not out of impulse. If he calculated that something was necessary, he didn’t determine if it was worth doing, which was normally the next thing one would consider. He could think in terms of benefits and drawbacks, but not in terms of humanity.

He picked up the portable terminal on the nightstand. He called up the long encrypted message Fujibayashi had sent him again. There she’d revealed the truth behind the Mirage Bat sabotage, as well as the details of the attempted mass murder of guests that happened after the second match of the qualifiers.

He found that altogether impossible to forgive. Plotting to drag Miyuki down to the ground deserved certain death.

After placing the terminal in his pocket, he stood from the chair and leaned over the bed. He gently stroked Miyuki’s hair and placed his hand on hers.

“Miyuki?”

No answer. She didn’t seem to be awake. Yet in her sleep, Miyuki turned to the side and brought his hand to her cheek.

Tatsuya’s lips parted into a smile at how happy her face looked. Behind that smile, Tatsuya decided he needed to protect that peaceful face. He didn’t resolve himself to attempt it—he decided it would be so.

The final match, unlike the afternoon ones, would be held under a full starry sky. The waxing moon was overpowering the starlight. Distinguishing the glowing spheres from below wouldn’t be very easy under these conditions.

“How do you feel?”

“Perfect, Tatsuya. I’m fully ready to go, so I’d like to use the flight magic from the start…”

“That’s fine. Fly to your heart’s content.”

“Yes!”

Miyuki leaped energetically onto the field as Tatsuya saw her off with a thumbs-up.

“Miyuki seemed like she was in a good mood,” said Azusa to Tatsuya as they stood in the support staff’s booth. They were watching Miyuki assume her starting position atop a foothold above the lake. Unfortunately, the player Azusa had been assigned to had lost her qualifier.

The finals would feature one student each from First, Second, Third, Fifth, Sixth, and Ninth Highs. No school had been able to send more than one player here. This being the final girls’ event, it became a stage for each school to show their pride.

Right now, the prominent female members were all here, save for Mari, who was recuperating in the hospital under strict watch. Since Third High sent only one player to the final match as well, Miyuki would assure First High’s overall victory if she placed third or higher. This was the time to do their best cheering.

“I’m glad she’s going into the match happy,” said Mayumi with a smile from the other side of Azusa. “Tatsuya must have given her some good care and attention.” She probably didn’t mean anything about that, but her smile still looked like it meant something. Maybe there was something she didn’t want Tatsuya to know.

“By the way, I don’t believe Miyuki used a capsule,” mentioned Suzune. “Did she get enough rest?”

The casual question almost made Tatsuya’s poker face dissolve. “She slept for five hours, so I believe she got enough.”

“I see. She must have slept very well. Did she sleep in a hotel bed?”

Tatsuya couldn’t find the next words to say. He had to start being suspicious now. Were they asking because they knew how much of a bull’s-eye these questions were?

“Oh, it’s starting!”

Fortunately for him, everyone’s attention turned to the field before the silence got weird.

This time, he was truly thankful for that innocent personality of Azusa’s.

The stadium light reflected off the surface of the lake and the players’ pale costumes alike, making the girls clearly visible high above the water. Among them, Miyuki and her pink costume drew more stares—and it wasn’t only because she’d unveiled her marvelous feat of flight magic in the qualifiers.

Amid the wavering, flickering lights, she looked so ephemeral that the audience couldn’t take their eyes off her; if they looked away for a moment, she might have simply disappeared.

Mirage Bat was also known as the Faerie Dance. Comparing girls to faerie creatures was overused, standard rhetoric, but right now, nobody would complain of any cliché if someone described Miyuki as being faerie-like.

The crowd’s murmuring quieted like a receding wave. The event committee didn’t need to persist in waving their silencing message boards.

With the people holding their breaths in anticipation, the final Mirage Bat match began.

As soon as the signal went off, the six girls all took off into the sky at once.

They hadn’t jumped up. None of the six came back down to a foothold.

“Flight magic?! The other schools now, too?!” cried Azusa, her voice cracking.

“The Nine School Competition never ceases to amaze,” said Tatsuya, impressed. “They’ve made the flight magic activation program their own in a mere six or seven hours.”

He wasn’t really surprised. The tournament committee had probably leaked the program to the other schools—probably under the guise of responding to suspicions that it wasn’t fair play. He had left the CAD with them knowing that this was a possibility.

“The schools are all using the exact program Taurus Silver unveiled, with no changes,” said Suzune, looking into the sky and frowning.

“…This is crazy,” muttered Mayumi, annoyed. “You can’t master this technique without practicing it first. I can’t believe they’d place victory over the safety of their players…”

Tatsuya’s voice, though, was relaxed, as though he was eager to see what the other schools could show them. “I think they’ll be fine. If they’re using the exact technique, then the safety function will kick in if worse comes to worst.”

The six girls danced through the air.

It was, by all accounts, a dance of faeries.

The fluttering dance in the night sky captivated the audience with fascination.

But as they slowly regained their calm, they were quickly surprised by how the match was progressing—it was unexpected.

They were all flying in the air. In terms of their level of using the flight magic, there wasn’t much of a difference between any of them. But only the First High player was actually racking up points. The other players just couldn’t keep up with her.

She was nimble, smooth, and elegant…

…as she turned, slid, rose, and fell through the air…

…and her free and lovely dance caused some to join her and others to yield the way.

At some point, the faeries dancing had turned into a ballet with one prima ballerina and five in a corps de ballet.

When the first girl shook and lost her balance in midair, there were screams from the audience. But when they saw her descend slowly and gently, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. Since there had just been a falling accident in the qualifiers, the tournament committee might have been even more relieved than the crowd, actually.

This was all thanks to the safety function in the flight magic. If the rate of psions being supplied from the caster fell below half, the variables included in the activation program beforehand would automatically switch into a 1-G soft-landing mode.

In First High’s booth, Tatsuya sighed in relief as well. It looked like they hadn’t done anything strange to the program. Oddly enough, with all the attention on the Nine School Competition stage, it had proven to the public that it was actually safe.

He grinned cruelly (evilly, perhaps) to himself. He’d have to take full advantage of that. As he looked on, he saw another girl drop out of the faeries’ stage.

Those two were the only ones to drop out of the first period. They forfeited the match afterward. In the second period, another dropped out. By the final period, there were only three left.

Now, as long as Miyuki didn’t forfeit the match, First High would win the overall championship. The most surefire tactic at this point would be for her to wait on one of the footholds and do nothing.

But nobody in First High’s booth suggested such a surefire strategy.

First place had a huge lead right now. And it was, of course, Miyuki who held the spot. The overall victory was certainly important, but not a single person from First High believed she should sacrifice a personal victory for it.

With cheers of encouragement and trust at her back, Miyuki flew into the sky again in the last period. She didn’t need to look to know that her brother saw her clearly through it all. She knew her wings would never break as long as she had that.

In the air, she spread her unbreakable, translucent wings as she frolicked among the multicolored lights.

Eventually…

…the other two players went down to a foothold and dropped to their knees, trying to catch their breaths.

The night sky was now the stage for a solo performance, and Miyuki danced her faerie dance.

The final orb of light vanished before her outstretched arms.

There was a moment of silence.

A single stop-motion frame.

The siren to signal the end of the match was drowned out by thunderous applause.