FRIENDSHIP, TRUST, AND LOLICON SUSPICIONS

The National Magic University Affiliated Third High School was on the outskirts of the city of Kanazawa, in the prefecture of Ishikawa. Ishikawa’s administrative system had seen a change, however, and was now technically a large administrative ward. Because of that, it was more accurately the “former Ishikawa prefecture,” but everyone, media included, referred to it using its old prefectural name. They were used to it—the same reason scholars believed the prefecture didn’t take the name Kagahan or Noto-no-Kuni. People were just used to calling it Ishikawa.

That aside…

In the reference room of Third High—which sat on the outskirts of Kanazawa, Ishikawa—Shinkurou Kichijouji took a break from typing his report and gave a big stretch. His neural assistance interface headset got in the way of his arms, though, so he removed that and leaned back for another stretch.

He’d been sitting in the same position for longer than he thought. With the crisp cracking of bones came a slight pain, and he winced.

Instead of going back to writing, he looked to the side. The reference room had no windows, since you could view highly secret documents here. To give the same refreshing effect as windows, however, the small private rooms each had a video display on the wall that resembled one, with the backdrop image varying for each booth. The “scenery” he could see from this one showed a bamboo forest in the mountains, swaying in the breeze. It was his favorite.

He was busy with composing his presentation for the thesis competition—the Magic Association of Japan’s All-High Magic Thesis Competition—that would take place at the end of October. He was a world-famous researcher of magic, so even though he was a freshman, he’d been chosen as Third High’s representative member for the event. He’d actually started getting it all together before summer vacation started. Now that the Nine School Competition was over, though, he could feel himself really getting absorbed in the task.

And he knew the reason why: to challenge the man he’d met at the Nine School Competition, Tatsuya Shiba.

Until this year’s competition, Kichijouji had never felt like he was inferior to anyone else his age when it came to magical theory. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so opposed to someone. Practical usage of magic was one thing, but in magic theory, he was confident there were only a handful of people in the entire world, not just the country, with the intelligence to equal him. He’d discovered a Cardinal Code, after all.

And that certainly wasn’t him having a swelled head. Even now, many new research results were announced every day in the magic world, but discoveries as big as Cardinal Codes happened once a year, if that. That was how rare and important Shinkurou Kichijouji’s accomplishments were.

But his confidence had been smashed to pieces at this year’s Nine School Competition. At least, that’s how he felt.

Theory only meant something when it was put into practice—a stance that had a lot of support in the magic research community. People took it as common sense, a fundamental rule. Especially in this country.

Kichijouji never had any doubts to that. Magic theory’s only purpose was to allow people to use magic in better ways. Without practice, theory couldn’t exist. If magic studies kept advancing as an academic subject, it could one day evolve into a purely theoretical field that elucidated the true essence of the mind. But modern magic studies weren’t at that stage yet.

When he’d seen the skills of that man, the First High freshman Tatsuya Shiba, he knew in his heart that he had lost in terms of applying theory to practice. He had no doubts that he’d been utterly bested—not in intelligence alone, nor in skill alone, but in using both in conjunction.

That was endlessly frustrating for Kichijouji.

His confidence in his intelligence and skill was what supported him. He would never beat them with strength, but they absolutely needed his help. He couldn’t let anyone take that away from him. That’s why he’d promised himself to avenge his defeat during the Nines at the thesis competition. He believed beating First High and taking the top spot at this event was the quickest way to getting his confidence back—a road he couldn’t avoid traveling.

Because of that, he’d been spending almost every day since the competition holed up in this reference room, striving to put together the presentation.

Speaking of things that had happened since the competition ended…

Ichijou has been acting a little weird lately

Occasionally, too often to be called “once in a while,” Kichijouji would overhear someone saying that.

He didn’t disagree. Masaki had been acting strange. Kichijouji thought so himself. He also knew it definitely wasn’t just them all imagining things, because he knew the reason Masaki had been acting weird.

…Still, it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it.

Masaki wouldn’t blame him, wouldn’t say Kichijouji was a bad friend. He had always been afflicted with a sickness—one that doctors said couldn’t be healed, one that hot spring therapy had no effect on.

Kichijouji knew. The sickness troubling Masaki Ichijou was love.

“Miyuki Shiba.”

That was the source of Masaki’s lovesickness.

The next in line to lead the Ichijou family having romance troubles was inconceivable. Because of his skills, looks, and family, girls flocked to him without any effort on his part. Not because he was an innocent, pure-hearted boy, or aloof to everyone, or a womanizer. Still, this was her, so he was convinced that Masaki could be so worried about his unrevealed, one-sided feelings. Even Kichijouji couldn’t lie and say his heart didn’t start pounding when he thought about her.

That was how incredibly good-looking she was. She was so pretty that if someone told him she wasn’t a real person, but a 3-D image that had taken the form of the ultimate desire of all young men using over-technology, he’d believe them. Despite not needing a picture to clearly see her in his mind’s eye, he’d started thinking of her as a dream or a product of his fantasies more than once or twice.

Kichijouji didn’t feel romantic love toward her, and even he was brought to this state. Masaki falling in love with her and turning uncharacteristically shy was understandable.

In Kichijouji’s case, she was too high a flower for him to reach, so to speak. Instead, she inspired awe within him. Because of that (probably), he didn’t have to worry about hopeless, unrequited love. Unfortunately, the fact that Masaki actually had a chance to reach her level made his lovesickness all the more serious.

The name Miyuki Shiba held special meaning for Kichijouji, even outside of Masaki’s love, though. She was Tatsuya Shiba’s younger sister.

The sister of the target of his hostility was taking a hold on his friend’s heart.

The inner workings of Kichijouji’s own heart were more complex than he knew.

“George!”

With the sun far in the west and the gates about to be closed, as Kichijouji was leaving school he turned around at a voice addressing him from behind. “Masaki?”

He didn’t need to turn around to know whose voice it was; he said his name as he swiveled.

“You going home, right? Let’s go walk home together.”

“Sure, if you’re okay with it.”

By “it,” Kichijouji meant “not stopping anywhere”; he went straight back to his dormitory almost every day. Masaki, however, liked to stop at other places on his way back. Not all of them were for fun—though he did that a lot, too. As the eldest son of the Ichijou, he was always having to run around doing errands and jobs.

“Yeah, I don’t have anything scheduled today,” he assured him. “Oh, George. You should come over. It’s been a while.”

“Huh? This is sudden. I won’t cause trouble?” Kichijouji asked, displaying a downright sensible reaction to his friend’s abrupt ideas.

But Masaki laughed it away cheerfully. “You don’t have to act like a stranger. And the rest of my family loves it when you come over.”

“Really? All right, I’ll come over.”

Kichijouji lived by himself; Masaki was inviting him purely out of the goodness of his heart. But Kichijouji had a reason he couldn’t free himself from the Ichijou family’s goodwill.

And anyway, he liked visiting their house. If Masaki was going straight home, Kichijouji didn’t have to worry about his friend’s commitments getting in the way. He nodded at the invitation without showing much hesitation.

Masaki’s house was only thirty minutes from school on foot. Not to say his commute took thirty minutes but that it took thirty minutes to walk.

Third High and the Ichijou residence being within walking distance of each other was pure coincidence. There was no hidden reason for it of the sort one sometimes heard, like the Ichijou family having established Third High or one of them being its principal. After all, like the other magic high schools, it had been created as an affiliate of the National Magic University. It was up to competent authorities to decide where they’d be built. The Ichijou family, despite its standing as one of the Ten Master Clans, were no more than civilians to the public, so they hadn’t any chance to get a good word in—the clans’ influence wasn’t something to be used for matters of that nature.

Masaki and Kichijouji went through the thirty-minute trek home in twenty-five without much hurry. Although the season with the longest days was behind them, it would take some time yet today before the twilight sky was covered in purple. Kichijouji noted to himself the others in his family probably hadn’t returned yet. So when someone addressed him from the front yard not a moment after going through the gate, he was a little surprised.

“Huh? Oh, welcome, Shinkurou!” came the energetic, high-pitched soprano—or rather, simply a child’s voice.

“Good afternoon, Akane. Please excuse my intrusion,” said Kichijouji with a smile.

She was Akane Ichijou, Masaki’s younger sister. She was in sixth grade, and she and Masaki had another sister, even younger. Kichijouji hadn’t gotten much chance to talk to that one much—she was in third grade—but Akane had been attached to him since they were little. She would always come to see him at least once whenever he visited their house, if she was around. He didn’t know how serious she was, but she’d made it clear that she would do him the favor of being his bride in the future.

When he’d first heard that, Kichijouji found himself at a loss for the third time in his still-short life. Akane was Masaki’s sister, after all—she was sure to be beautiful in the future. But her declaration of marriage had come when she was only in fourth grade. Kichijouji himself had only been in his second year of middle school, and the word marriage didn’t seem very real to him. Nevertheless, he didn’t hate the girl, and when he considered his debt toward the Ichijou, it meant he couldn’t treat her any more coldly. At the time, he had no idea how he was supposed to deal with it.

She hadn’t come up to him to declare her love that bluntly in the past year or so, but sometimes she did mention it. Kichijouji didn’t get confused about it anymore, maybe because they were steadily “filling the moat between them,” as it were—growing more familiar with each other. Though he didn’t realize it himself.

Anyway, Masaki wouldn’t forgive any lolicon-related behavior from him (meaning Masaki wouldn’t let him try anything while she was still a child), so whether the moat was being filled or the water drained from underneath, the conclusion would have to wait until the future.

She seemed to have just come outside to do some chores, so they parted ways. Still, Kichijouji never went home before they treated him to dinner, so they’d probably meet again later.

The residence’s owner and Masaki’s father, Gouki Ichijou, the current head of the Ichijou family, hadn’t returned home yet. In the twenty-eight families with the potential to become part of the Ten Master Clans, the leading magicians of each held many assets, either as not-too-famous executives, or investors—all in order to maintain the necessary personal combat strength. There were some publicly prominent local figures who had real control of things by more discreetly being the “shareholder of a shareholder of a shareholder…” in big international corporations, but the arms of the Ichijou family weren’t that widespread. The official family business of the Ichijou was an ocean floor resource mining company that operated in the Sea of Japan. Kichijouji knew that, as long as nothing out of the ordinary happened, Gouki would be back for dinner.

On the other hand, Masaki’s mother was a full-time homemaker, but she was absent at the moment as well. She’d probably gone shopping. In this age, daily essentials, including food, could be procured through online shopping, but there were a lot of women—especially homemakers—who liked to actually look at products before buying them. Nevertheless, they wouldn’t bring them home after buying them. They’d have them delivered instead. Kichijouji felt like it was basically the same as buying it online, but maybe that was just his viewpoint on it as a man.

Meanwhile, the Ichijou residence was a mansion ten times the size of an average single-family home, but the family had no live-in servants, no maids of any kind. For family gatherings and events where magician-related guests were invited over, they dealt with this by getting people in from local inns and cookeries they were on friendly terms with. Even their yards, which needed to be cared for with an expert’s hands, were tended to by a landscaper they called at regular intervals. In contrast to servant-filled families in the Ten Master Clans, like the Saegusa and the Itsuwa, the Ichijou liked to let machines do the things they could. The entire place had home automation installed.

They hadn’t planned on any particular guests today. The two male high school students walked down an empty hallway, not having to pass by anyone else, on their way straight to Masaki’s room.

That room was Western-style, six tatami mats large in the traditional measurement, or about one hundred square feet. Compared to the conventionally accepted room size, it wasn’t very big. Yet, in the modern style of upper-class construction, the bed and wardrobe could be folded into the wall, so even the hundred square feet gave them enough room.

Kichijouji, thoroughly familiar with his friend’s room and feeling no need for restraint, took out the long, thin table from the wall opposite to the one the bed was folded up into, then sat down on one of the matching chairs.

Masaki’s room had a small, fixed refrigerator, and he took out two cups of chilled tea blends. He placed one in front of Kichijouji, then sat across from him with the other in his hand.

“How goes the report, George?” asked Masaki as he took his seat.

“Thanks, it’s going well,” he replied with a modest smile, confidence flickering across his face. “What about you? I hear you’ve been crazy over your stuff.”

Aside from the aforementioned rumors, Kichijouji had heard from others that Masaki had been focused on some pretty hard training after the Nines had ended. And he could understand why—just as Kichijouji felt a sense of defeat at Tatsuya Shiba in regards to CAD application and adjustment, Masaki had probably felt such regret about his defeat in Monolith Code that he wanted to clear his name.

“I’m getting there,” replied Masaki to Kichijouji’s question, which he’d worked hard to make come off as casual. “Not going to see results that quickly with this.”

Masaki’s voice was cheerier than Kichijouji thought it would be—he didn’t sense any anxiety or tension. “I guess you’re right,” he replied lightly, nodding in relief.

There was an electronic beep, and a moment later Masaki let out a groan, like he’d just crawled out of the pits of the earth.

“George…it’s time.”

“But it’s almost over. You want to use up all your time halfway through?” asked Kichijouji, looking over their back-to-back monitors.

Masaki nodded helplessly.

The real-time strategy game they’d been playing on their screens paused. All the motion and change in the image of the urban district froze as though time had stopped, and Masaki switched to a bird’s-eye view. Engrossed, he stared at the monitor.

Kichijouji wanted to smile—his friend, ever one to hate losing, worried a lot even over games like this. He had to consciously stop his lips from turning up. Of course, he hadn’t needed to; Masaki still had his eyes glued to the screen, clearly unable to spare any attention to other matters.

And in this game’s case, while it was a “game like this,” it didn’t deserve to be taken as “just a game.” This simulation had been written by the Magic University’s Military Club Tactical Research Room, and it was incredibly precise. A few more optimizations in the algorithm and the divisions of the National Defense Force for magicians could use it to simulate city-based combat for training.

“…That was a really evil trick, ambushing me there. And you actually used a rope instead of magic…”

Maybe Masaki’s complaints were just him talking to himself, but Kichijouji answered him immediately. “The spot I ambushed you in isn’t the problem. Masaki, you just saw someone use this tactic: drawing the enemy’s attention away with magic and then moving in without using any.”

He still spoke as if it were casual conversation, but Masaki’s reaction was an extreme one: His eyes stretched wide-open and he clenched his teeth. “Right, him…”

“Yes. The tactic he used in the match against Second High in the rookies’ Monolith Code.”

Neither of them had to ask; the “him” Masaki said and the “him” Kichijouji mentioned were one and the same: First High’s freshman Tatsuya Shiba. Masaki nodded as Kichijouji opened the game’s menu and selected the suspend option; he’d realized his opponent’s attention wasn’t on the game anymore. An option appeared on Masaki’s monitor asking if he wanted to save and quit. After pressing YES, he lowered the screen in front of him and then looked at his friend again, who had also shut his laptop-type information terminal.

Kichijouji was the first to speak. “For better or worse, I think you take the simple approach too much.”

“That hurts,” said Masaki with a chagrined smile and a shake of his head.

“I know you probably don’t want me to tell you this, but I want you to listen anyway,” said Kichijouji, his face a little tense.

The smile on Masaki’s lips disappeared. “I try not to be that petty. What is it?”

“Right. Sorry,” said Kichijouji, his tension loosening, contrary to Masaki. “Taking the simple road isn’t a bad thing. It’s the one prepared the best, and it’ll take you to your destination the fastest. Plus, even if I told you to start using more tricks and surprises, I don’t think your personality would let you.”

“You’re probably right about that,” said Masaki, his pained smile returning.

This time, Kichijouji didn’t rebuke him for it, instead smiling along with him. “It’s okay. That’s just how you are.” As he smiled, he narrowed his eyes even further. Depending on who you asked, they might have said he was beaming.

“Is that praise I’m hearing?” responded Masaki jokingly, either not noticing it, noticing it but not touching upon it, or interpreting it another way.

“Don’t worry, it was basically praise.”

“Wait, ‘basically’?”

They both gave a laugh at the same time, as if they had planned for it.

“I think what you have to learn isn’t how to use tricks, but what to do when someone uses them against you.”

“…You’re not just talking about this simulation, are you?” asked Masaki, both his tone and eyes inquisitive.

Kichijouji nodded briskly. “No, I’m not just talking about the simulation. And if you’ll let me be so bold…” he said, pausing a moment after seeming to brace himself. “If all you’re doing is frantically training, you might end up meeting the same fate in next year’s Nines.”

It took a short period of silence for Masaki to realize what he was implying. Then he said, “You mean I’m going about this the wrong way?”

“I wouldn’t say it was pointless,” answered Kichijouji, indirectly, though not allowing any room for misunderstanding. “Whenever you train yourself, your ability gets more solid. It’ll work itself into your flesh and blood.”

But Masaki wasn’t fooled by the surface agreement. He instinctively knew that what Kichijouji really wanted to say, he was about to say.

“But victory isn’t decided by strength alone.”

Even though he’d braced himself, it was hard to hear that from Kichijouji.

“Masaki, I still think you’re stronger than Tatsuya Shiba.”

“But I lost,” said Masaki flatly, sounding like he was saying it to himself more than anything else.

“That’s why. It’s not just you, Masaki. I lost to the old magic user from the Yoshida family, too. In terms of speed, I was way above him. And we lost as a team to First High, too. Sure, part of it was that their abilities were greater than we anticipated, but…” On the other hand, Kichijouji’s voice was careful, as though going over conclusions he’d drawn after long, hard thought. “I think we lost bigger when it came to strategy. And depending on how you looked at it, more important than us getting caught in their trap, we self-destructed.”

Masaki gave Kichijouji a dubious look. “I don’t think you made a mistake in your strategy, though…” He wasn’t trying to be comforting—that was what he really thought.

But Kichijouji shook his head. “No, I did mess up with the strategy. In hindsight, I think I was too attached to strategies.”

“…I don’t really get it.”

“What I mean is that we shouldn’t have been so keen to use strategy at all. We should have just fought like we usually do, instead of coming up with ways to control how they acted.” Kichijouji stopped and observed Masaki’s expression. He still didn’t understand, so he sighed inwardly, continuing his explanation. “You didn’t need to get so close to him, Masaki.”

And although Kichijouji sighed to himself, he was helping Masaki out—making up for something he lacked—and that gave him a joy that even he didn’t notice.

“Think about your original style, Masaki. If you stuck to shooting at him from a distance, he wouldn’t have gotten so close to you. There were no obstacles on the grasslands stage, so you didn’t have to worry about someone jumping out and surprising you, right? I think I was being too careful about him.”

Masaki nodded at the self-effacing words, not offering any comfort.

For Kichijouji, that was the response he’d hoped for—and expected. “My strategic mistake caused our loss. But there is something I want you to think about, too.”

“Whoops, my turn now, eh?” Masaki made a show of bending over backward in distress.

Kichijouji smirked, too, now acting tough. “You followed the plan, but you could have avoided that sonic attack at the end if you’d been a little warier of him using tricks. When he got into close-combat range, you decided to intercept him, but you could have jumped up or something to get more distance, and the outcome would have been different.”

“That really hurts… Basically you’re telling me not to be a foolhardy warrior, and to know when to retreat, right?”

Their theatrics had been defense mechanisms, ones that wouldn’t let the mood between them get too serious. It worked, to an extent.

“Not really. Like I said before, you’re not meant for tricks. I think what you need to learn isn’t how to use tricks, but how to respond when someone uses tricks against you.”

“Like what, in particular?” he asked, constructively requesting a prescription rather than letting himself be depressed by the harsh words or shooting back a nasty response. That was how they’d been doing things for a long time now.

“I think you should train your decision-making ability: like whether you should pull back for the moment and observe, barrel on through with brute force, or stall for time and ask your adviser. And you need the senses to notice when something’s up, too.”

Masaki made a sour face as he thought about the advice. The fact that he was making that face probably meant he knew what Kichijouji was talking about. The warning had been cutting, but Kichijouji had no doubt Masaki was a big enough person to accept it gracefully.

“So, instead of torturing your body, train your mind for now. I’ll look for some tactical simulations for you—ones that are closer to real combat than video games like this.”

“Urgh…” groaned Masaki, sounding fairly serious in his distaste for the idea. Kichijouji couldn’t help but laugh.

“You sound like you’re having fun, Shinkurou. What were you talking about?”

Right when Kichijouji let the laugh slip, there was a knock at the door. It was Akane, and she entered the room.

“Akane…how many times have I told you to wait for an answer before opening the door?” said her brother, candidly advising her.

“But it’s just Shinkurou, so it’s okay. If you brought a girl here, even I would wait.” Without a hint of shyness, Akane walked over to the table where the two sat facing each other.

“Look, Akane…”

“What? I guess you didn’t want this drink, then.”

Masaki’s sour face became even more acrid, and he fell quiet. As Kichijouji watched the heartwarming exchange between the siblings, Akane placed two glasses with iced coffee and one with iced cocoa on the table.

There’s one extra? asked Masaki silently.

In response to her brother’s question, Akane crafted a wide, innocent smile and took a seat right down on a chair next to Kichijouji—one he’d deftly pulled out from the under-table storage space while Akane was placing the glasses on the table. This kind of thing happened on a daily basis in this house.

As soon as she sat down, she turned herself to look at Kichijouji. “So, Shinkurou, what were you laughing about? Did my brother do something really dumb again?”

“Hey, Akane, you can’t talk about your brother like that…” complained Masaki with an exceedingly complete sourpuss face. She was clearly trying to leave him out.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she replied, her answer truly insolent. “I was asking Shinkurou.”

Masaki casted about for words, but despite his efforts, he couldn’t find any.

Akane left about five minutes later, satisfied with her bout of playing with Kichijouji for the moment.

The two high school boys exchanged worn smiles at having been pushed around by a grade school girl. Maybe it meant she was a woman despite her size.

“…Sorry for the trouble,” apologized Masaki honestly, his shoulders drooping.

“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha…” Kichijouji answered with an empty laugh. “Well, I mean, at least she’s energetic, right?” he added, trying to work out some kind of acceptable words of comfort.

“As her brother, I wish she’d be energetic in a more obedient way.”

Masaki’s whining didn’t stop there. Instead, it escalated as he muttered things to himself, like, “I mean, just look at his sister in comparison,” “Can’t believe she’s that guy’s sister,” “I’m jealous,” “It’s not fair,” and “I’ll never forgive him!”

Kichijouji decided he needed to get his course corrected before it got bad. “Okay, okay. I think Akane is fine.”

Unfortunately…

“George, you…”

…Kichijouji left out the most important part.

“If you’re fine with it, then I’m not going to say anything uncouth about it, but…”

“Huh?” When Masaki looked at him with a mix of horror and caution, Kichijouji finally realized what he’d said—or hadn’t said.

“…but please, at least wait until she’s out of elementary school to go out with her.”

“Uh, well…” That’s not it, he tried to say in his defense. What he’d meant to say was “I think Akane is fine the way she is.”

“Look, I trust you, George. I know you’re not a lolicon.”

Unfortunately, those next words got caught in his throat and didn’t make it out—in that instant, he thought that maybe it would be interpreted as him rejecting Akane, and possibly even as rejecting the relationship he had with the Ichijou family as a whole, including Masaki.

Kichijouji had chosen to keep things calm between him and Masaki over clearing up any misunderstandings.

Subconsciously.

Without knowing it himself.

“Of course not! I’m not a lolicon!”

Because he didn’t know why he couldn’t reconstruct the words he couldn’t speak before. Instead, he could only make a rebuttal that brought the conversation far away from where he wanted it. Now he had no choice but to endure Masaki’s detached gaze. The gap created a huge active fault, but he didn’t have time to consider how big an earthquake it could cause in the future—but still, this was a private conversation happening between them, so maybe that was exaggerating. Right now, he didn’t have the time to seek out a future he couldn’t see.

Eventually, unable to endure it anymore, Kichijouji changed the topic in desperation. “What about you, Masaki?! Did you get anywhere with her?”

One is always sorry after the fact. Repentance always came too late. As soon as the topic-changing words left his mouth, Kichijouji felt immense regret. Crap…!

“If you mean her, no, I haven’t,” answered Masaki, his voice aligned with his expression—not a poker face, but a stone-faced look of impassivity, as he gave his answer: He hadn’t gotten anywhere.

“…Why not?” Stop, said a voice in his mind. The voice of Kichijouji’s reason. His tongue and lips, however, weren’t stopped by his inhibitions. “Didn’t you get her number?”

“I didn’t ask how to contact her.”

“But why?! Masaki, you danced with her, didn’t you? It seemed like she liked you just fine.”

“Oh, I know she doesn’t hate me. But I couldn’t.”

Masaki sounded like he was restraining himself, and even Kichijouji felt the pressure. It was suffocating. “But why?!”

“She’s his sister. Until I avenge my defeat, I don’t feel like requesting a relationship.”

She wouldn’t care about that, thought Kichijouji, but he couldn’t say it. It seemed like an incredibly irresponsible and rash promise to make. Even if it were true, Masaki was the one who was bothered by this, so there wouldn’t have been a point. That stupid pride of his, he thought. But he didn’t laugh about it. What was Masaki without pride in times like this?

His next words flowed out smoothly from within him, without any hesitation or calculation.

“I’ll help you, Masaki. Or rather, we’ll avenge that defeat together.”

“Yeah. I’ll be relying on you.”

Masaki’s father, Gouki, would be coming home late today because of a sudden dinner engagement with a business partner.

Of course, that meant his other dinner plans were canceled. So instead, the Ichijou dinner table was surrounded by the five of them: Masaki; his mother, Midori; Akane; his even younger sister, Ruri; and Kichijouji. Kichijouji sat facing Masaki, with Akane next to him and Ruri next to Masaki. The end of the table, with a view of all four of them, was Midori’s seat.

The mood around the table was the same as always. Akane energetically talked to Kichijouji, while Ruri silently ate her food across from her. Masaki glanced at the youngest Ichijou from time to time to check on her, and Midori smiled as she watched all the children.

It had been about three weeks since Kichijouji had last come over for dinner. Of course, ten of those days (two weeks, counting everything) had been taken up by the Nine School Competition, so it hadn’t actually been all that long.

Midori seemed to think differently. “It’s been a while since you came, Kichijouji. Have you been busy?”

“Yeah! You should come over to play more often,” agreed Akane immediately.

Kichijouji wasn’t foolish enough to disagree, given the circumstances.

“You just want him to play with you, don’t you?” Masaki grumbled.

“Big brother, don’t tell me you’re jealous! It’s okay. I won’t take Shinkurou from you.”

“Stupid. We’re not like that,” he flatly denied.

Kichijouji almost said something but prudently stopped himself.

“Hey, don’t call me stupid!” Akane retorted. “Hmph! You’d better enjoy it while you can. Friendship is nothing in the face of love!”

“L-love?! Akane, you’ve got a long way to go until that! Maybe get out of elementary school first!”

“Did you just make fun of me because I’m in elementary school?! Maybe you should stop being so lazy! You’re in high school and don’t even have a girlfriend!”

“Akane, you little… You didn’t just go there!”

“Both of you are noisy.”

“Ruri! That’s not very nice to say to your big sister!”

“All right, all right,” called their mother finally. “Masaki, Akane, Ruri, settle down a little. Dinner is supposed to be enjoyable, remember?”

Kichijouji couldn’t find it in him to interrupt such a homey conversation. Careful not to let his expression come off as jealous, and making sure nobody saw through his insincere grin, he watched the Ichijou family with a pleased smile.

Of course, he only retained his position as an outsider until the next thing came out of Akane’s mouth.

“I got it! Shinkurou should come live here.”

“Oh, Akane, that’s a good idea,” followed up Midori, not allowing Kichijouji a chance to get a word in.

“Yeah, I know! This house has tons of empty rooms. Come on, Shinkurou, get yourself out of that dormitory and come live here.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly put you through all that…”

That wasn’t simple reservation on his part—it was what he really thought. Well, it was still him being reserved, but it was sincere, not fake or for show.

“Shinkurou, you needn’t feel so hesitant about it.”

His honesty only made it worse for him when Midori added this.

Because, in truth, he didn’t have any qualms with going to live with the Ichijou family. In fact, he struggled much more with how to turn them down because of how attractive the prospect was.

If Masaki hadn’t come in to help him, Akane and Midori might have won him over.

“Mom…” he began, “Akane’s one thing, but you’re making George uncomfortable. We talked about this two years ago, remember?”

Yes—talk of him moving in had come up two years ago as well. He had refused, and decided to keep living in a dormitory. He would have forgotten if it wasn’t for Masaki defending him.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ichijou.” He wouldn’t call her Auntie—he’d been thoroughly warned away from that already—and the name “Mrs. Ichijou” flowed smoothly from his mouth. “I wouldn’t feel good about imposing any more on you, and there’s a lot of convenient things about living in a laboratory dorm.”

The latter part wasn’t a lie, either. The Kanazawa Magical Physics Institute, built where the site of the old First Lab used to be, was the research facility Kichijouji belonged to, and the place he’d discovered a Cardinal Code. It was separate from Third High, but the dorm was built on the same plot of land—extremely convenient for not having to sleep on the floor in the office if experiments ran late. But that reason was tacked on after the fact and only supplemented the more important part: that he would feel bad imposing on them any more than he was now.

“Really? …If you change your mind, you can move in with us whenever you want. It’s no trouble for us at all.”

Seeing that Kichijouji’s attitude on the matter was unyielding as usual, Midori didn’t press any more. Akane didn’t look very happy, but she let it go with a sullen look, maybe realizing that pushing him more would upset him.

Relieved that Midori and Akane had backed down, Kichijouji also felt guilty that he was bothering the Ichijous, whom he owed his life to. However, there was also a psychological reason tying his hands and preventing him from taking up Midori and Akane’s goodwill offer.

Three years ago, at the same time the Great Asian Alliance invaded Okinawa, the Federal Soviet Republics marched onto Sado. The Soviets still denied any involvement in the invasion, but there were no doubts that the attacking contingent had been from their nation.

The invasion force had been a small-scale one. Even so, it was enough force to transgress upon the island of Sado. Kichijouji, who lived there at the time, lost his parents in the battle and became a war orphan.

His parents had both been magical scientists. At the time, there was an experimental facility on the island built into a deserted mine. It was for the purpose of exploring the nature of psions, and his mother and father had worked there.

Some said the Soviet invasion force’s goal had been that facility. It took the brunt of the surprise attack, and over half the scientists had lost their lives, embroiled in the battle between the invaders and the defense garrison.

The tragedy only took a day. At 10:00 AM, they received reports of an unknown militant force conducting a surprise attack. Kichijouji couldn’t get in touch with his parents, and that day, guided by faculty from his middle school, he evacuated to a nearby shelter.

He was already an adult at the time: Even while he prayed for his parents’ safety, he could still make realistic, pessimistic assumptions.

But he was also still a child at the time: He could do nothing but shake powerlessly, forgetting that he possessed a weapon called magic.

As he sat in that shelter, curled up, trying to bear the terror, a team of militia members commanded by the Ichijou had saved him…

Saving him from that hopeless peril wasn’t the only thing they did, however.

It had been on the recommendation of Masaki’s father, Gouki, that he had gotten into a magical science laboratory as an apprentice scientist, despite being in his first year of middle school. After losing both of his parents in one stroke and not having any other relatives, he would have had no choice but to stay in an infamous magician orphanage if not for the Ichijou family giving him a place to live and a means to make his livelihood. This was objective fact, not a mental bias on his part.

Despite having paid back his debt not long after going there by blossoming his rare natural talent into the amazing accomplishment of discovering a Cardinal Code, Kichijouji had never forgotten what they’d done for him. He didn’t consider his debts to them paid at all.

He treated repaying the Ichijou family as a lifelong mission.

So becoming a part of the Ichijou, even just boarding with them, felt like more than he deserved.

Kichijouji brightened Akane’s mood by promising to come to the house to tutor her once a week. The deal was much worse for him in terms of what he would gain, but he had absolutely no qualms with it. In fact, he was unconsciously happy to have a reason to visit so regularly.

After dinner, once he retrieved his possessions from Masaki’s room, he stood at the front door, bowing his head—

“Thank you very much for the meal.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m sorry my cooking never gets better.”

“No, not at all. I love your cooking, Mrs. Ichijou.”

“Oh, my. Well, thank you.”

—because Midori didn’t seem to want to release him from this battle of courtesy.

“Mom, you should go back. Akane and Ruri are waiting, aren’t they?”

His younger sisters were busy cleaning up after dinner. Others might have thought washing dishes was the job of a HAR, or home automation robot, but Midori had said she would find it too embarrassing to present her daughters for marriage when they couldn’t even do that much. She made the sisters do the cooking, laundry, and tidying on a daily rotation.

“My, you’re right. Come over again soon, Shinkurou.”

“Okay. I did promise Akane, after all.”

Since they couldn’t come to the front door to see him off, after Kichijouji had said good-bye to the sisters in the dining room (though cafeteria would have been more appropriate a word), Akane had made absolutely sure he remembered his promise to tutor her. Midori gave a somewhat pained smile to this response and retreated into the house.

“Sorry for holding you up so late,” apologized Masaki, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“I don’t mind. We’re on break anyway,” said Kichijouji, smiling and shaking his head. “I’ll be by myself anyway back at the dorm, so I had fun.”

“Right. That makes me feel better about it.”

Kichijouji had his hands full with the thesis competition and a report for the laboratory, and Masaki knew he didn’t have any free time even though they were on summer vacation. He’d invited him over anyway, knowing that. Kichijouji saying it had been fun actually did set Masaki quite a bit more at ease.

“I’ll come again on Saturday.”

“…You know, you don’t have to worry about what Akane said.”

“No, I can’t just ignore her,” said Kichijouji, letting a grin slip out. It seemed like friends fighting over an elementary school girl. “Tutoring Akane isn’t the only thing. I have to play against you in the simulations, too.”

Masaki’s lips turned into a frown as he remembered the thorough beatdown he’d been handed during today’s game. Kichijouji knew that just by looking at him. Nevertheless, he didn’t try to press the issue any further and instead decided to finally get home.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted by Masaki. “Hey, George, I’ve been thinking.”

“What is it? No need to be so polite.”

“Well, I wasn’t really trying to be…” As he made this preface, Masaki’s expression was certainly not one to expect jokes from. “All that before—basically, it’s a problem with me judging the situation, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Advance, retreat, or maintain the situation… Immediate decisions like that are made on a personal combat level. I don’t think tactical simulations have much to do with it.”

“That’s not true. In terms of seizing opportunities, there’s no fundamental difference between group tactics and individual tactics.”

“But still, snap decisions are reflexive and instinctive, right? That would mean doing more sparring would be better for training my tactical eye on an individual level…”

“Masaki…we lost to First High in Monolith Code because we didn’t know how to go about our individual battles inside a broader tactical picture. Training your tactical eye on a group level is something you can’t ignore.”

“But if we’re talking group tactics, wouldn’t that mean getting the advice of a talented adviser is more important?”

“Well…that’s why they call it an adviser,” agreed Kichijouji hesitantly.

Strangely, Masaki gave a clear smile. “Then there’s no problem. I have a talented adviser right here, and his name is George.”

The surprise attack did serious damage to Kichijouji. For him, the words were a sweet attack of the greatest variety. It took almost all his mental strength to tighten up his face before it broke into a full smile. “…You can’t flatter me, Masaki. It’s the general’s job to decide on strategies his staff officers offer.”

“I wasn’t trying to be flattering…” Masaki muttered to himself as they said good-bye and Kichijouji turned around to leave.

His poker face was almost at its limit.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem like Masaki had noticed.

If he had, it would have been embarrassing, and there was no doubt that Kichijouji wouldn’t have been able to think this next thing.

Masaki, I’ll become the best adviser you could ask for. I won’t advise anyone else. So you have to become the best general I could ask for.

Ever since the Nines, he’d been thinking about his rival and his younger sister, the one Masaki had feelings for. But now they weren’t on his mind. Right now, he was simply happy the person he was so indebted to, Masaki Ichijou, needed him.