Chapter 4

Today was the day to submit the thesis, the presentation draft, and the presentation data to the school—but neither Suzune, Isori, nor Tatsuya liked procrastinating, so they’d already loaded the memory media for the submission the night before.

The reason they were still all here during lunch break was to go over things one last time. Not the contents, but just double-checking all the submission standards. After they split up and checked separate parts, Suzune would follow Haruka’s advice and give it to Tsuzura personally.

Once Isori finished doing his part of the work, he said, “I wonder if Ms. Ono said not to send it online because of what happened yesterday.”

“That could be,” acknowledged Tatsuya—who had already finished his work (he had the least, since he was a freshman)—quietly, so as not to disturb Suzune.

“After all, the easiest way to sneak into the school network is from inside the school.”

“Though it still wouldn’t be easy,” pointed out Tatsuya.

Isori shrugged as—with a few old-fashioned clacking keystrokes to the sound of the classic, mechanical keyboard Suzune used—she turned around.

“Was it really a student from here?” said Suzune, adding to the conversation as she finished her check and collected the submission.

“All we can say is probably,” said Tatsuya.

“You could get a school uniform if you really tried, I suppose,” added Isori.

Suzune thought for a moment. “…You and Chiyoda can look at the student register, right?”

With Isori a student council member and Kanon the disciplinary committee chairwoman, both had the authority to view the student record database. The school blocked any intrusive information that had to do with student privacy, of course, but they could still check portraits and full-body shots.

“Kanon is the only one who saw her face…” said Isori. “All she got was a glimpse, so she couldn’t make a composite photograph. There are almost three hundred female students here… If we can’t narrow that down to a certain extent, we can’t figure out who it was.”

Isori wasn’t speaking of possibilities. Kanon had actually tried this morning before eventually throwing in the towel.

“Besides, essentially all she did yesterday was run away because we chased her,” explained Tatsuya. “Even if we knew who she was, all we could do is keep an eye on her. And even that might make trouble.”

Suzune and Isori both knew that. The student hadn’t done anything wrong—though using a flash bang to get away wasn’t completely without its issues—so if they started watching her, they could end up being the stalkers.

At this stage, all they could do was take a passive, cautious position.

Once he returned to the classroom, Tatsuya found Erika in his seat.

She was the first one to notice him. “Oh, you’re early today,” she said, standing up right away. Staying there would have been a shameless act, so a moment after he sat down, she sat on the edge of his desk instead.

He wasn’t sure if it was a plus or a minus.

Still, as Erika said, there was a little bit of time left in today’s break. Instead of going onto his terminal right away, he turned to Mizuki, specifically because she seemed anxious, and asked, “What were you talking about?”

Erika, however, was the one to answer him. “She says she feels someone watching.”

“Watching?” he repeated to Mizuki.

Mizuki nodded hesitantly. “Ever since this morning, I’ve been feeling unpleasant, like someone is watching me. Something strange, gazing at me from the shadows…”

“Like a stalker or something?” he guessed, that being the most natural example.

“What? Nobody would ever stalk me,” said Mizuki, shaking her head as though the notion were nonsense. “It wasn’t looking at me in particular—it was more like it had this big net ready…”

Her choice of words was vague. Was it the anxiety getting to her? Either way, Tatsuya could decipher exactly what she hadn’t said: “The eyes were targeting not a single student, but more than one, or maybe teachers, or some kind of object in the school?”

“Y-yes…it might…just be my imagination, though.” The lack of confidence in her attitude was partly due to her personality, but she also had no proof, so there was nothing that could be done about that.

“No, I don’t think it was your imagination, Shibata,” said Mikihiko as he walked over, filled with enough confidence to make up for Mizuki’s lack. “The spirits in the school have been noisy since this morning. Someone’s performing an onmyoudou ritual.”

Since Erika was sitting on Tatsuya’s desk, Leo had been sitting facing forward instead of backward like he usually was, but he turned around at Mikihiko’s words. “You talking about spiritual beings? Like shikigami?”

Mikihiko nodded. “I can’t quite get a read on it, since it’s different from the techniques we use. But there’s definitely a caster somewhere searching for something.”

“But that’s not unusual, is it?” asked Erika.

She had a point, too. This was only a high school, but it had access terminals to Magic University, numerous precious books and documents, and many talented magicians teaching classes. They were constantly targeted by people after magic technology.

“Usually, once they get stopped by the defensive spell along the outer walls, they don’t try to poke their noses in for the rest of the day,” said Mikihiko, refuting her claim gently, which made his voice sound more confident. “But today they seem to be trying again and again, no matter how many times the barrier blocks them. Someone probing us isn’t unusual, but I know I haven’t seen anything this persistent since I started school.”

“…Mikihiko, you said it was a different technique than yours, right?” said Tatsuya.

“Yes, why?” he asked, face tensing, a serious concern in his voice.

“Do you mean it wasn’t a Shinto technique? Or a different kind from Japan’s old magic?”

Presented again with such casual words on such a heavy topic, Mikihiko’s face tightened. “…I don’t think it’s a Japanese technique.”

“Huh?” prodded Leo, eyes wide. “Does that mean it’s a foreign spy or something?”

“I guess so, huh?” added Erika nonchalantly. Their words contrasted, but it didn’t seem like there was much difference in what they were thinking.

“They’re being rather bold,” muttered Tatsuya.

“They’re doing all they want. What are our police for, anyway?” This time, Erika went after the police. But the way she said this made it seem she was less angry over public authority negligence and more irritated at a relative’s lack of difference.

Meanwhile, Tatsuya and Mikihiko both thought, Huh?

At around the same time, Chief Inspector Chiba from the Kanagawa Police—more accurately, temporarily assigned to the Kanagawa Police by the Ministry of Police—would have sneezed up a storm, except for the fact that it would have been cliché.

“…What’s wrong, Chief? You’re getting all googly-eyed.”

Inspector Inagaki, who was poking around the areas near the Yokohama Wharf where the illegal entry occurred, eyed his superior’s actions dubiously.

“Err, I just felt a chill all of a sudden…”

“Are you all right? Don’t start feigning an illness. We’re too busy for that.”

“Err, feign an illness? That’s, uh…” There was a hint of criticism in Chiba’s voice as well, but Inagaki had been kidding and wasn’t at all bothered. “…Inagaki, I think you need to pay more attention to the whole ‘rank’ thing.”

Inagaki gave him a cold look. The words You’re one to talk were written all over his face, but he eventually said, “Anyway, are we finished asking questions? I don’t think walking around is going to get us any more witnesses.”

He was right. They’d been investigating the area for days, but they hadn’t gotten any proof at all regarding the illegal entrants. Chiba gave a cynical smile to his more-partner-than-subordinate. “They’re here,” he said. “They just don’t want to talk.”

“Chief, you don’t mean…?” The man’s lack of concern smelled like fire to Inagaki, who narrowed his eyes sharply.

“Hey, now. You’re scaring me.”

“You’re the scary one, Chief. What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry, no unlawful investigation here. But you know what they say—you have to set a thief to catch a thief. I was just thinking of asking around the thieves’ den.”

After hearing Chiba’s plan, Inagaki’s face soured. “…Backstage deals are unlawful investigations, too, you know.”

“I think we can allow it here. We don’t have the luxury of saying things like that anymore.”

“Well…I guess so.” Inagaki nodded bitterly.

Without giving more time to argue, Chiba got into their undercover police car that they had suitably left in a paid parking zone. After seeing his partner get into the passenger’s seat, he started off toward a high-class residential area that housed a large concentration of foreigners.

The undercover patrol car with Chief Inspector Chiba and Inspector Inagaki in it eventually arrived at a café parking lot in the middle of Yokohama’s Yamate Bluff. After Chiba stopped the engine, Inagaki gave him a bitter look.

“Chief…breaks are good every once in a while, but weren’t we going to this ‘den of thieves’ you mentioned?” said the subordinate, looking at Chiba as if to wonder why he was suddenly slacking off.

Chiba looked back and pretended to be offended. “This is the thieves’ den.”

“What?”

But his superior left the car. Inagaki went after him, walking up as Chiba locked the door with a remote control, and looked toward the café again.

It appeared to be a calm place, completely normal. It had a cabin-like design, and its windows had double slatted shutters—but they were all open. Nothing about it seemed “secret” in the slightest.

“Well, calling the bartender a thief would be rude,” said Chiba. “The bartender here has an amazing information network—and no criminal record, either.”

“…You mean they’re a big-shot? One we can’t get anything on?”

“Less a big-shot and more an artisan.” Chief Inspector Chiba gave a slight shrug and opened the door, on which the words Roter Wald were written.

It was already past lunchtime on a weekday, but the place was in a popular sightseeing spot, so there were quite a few patrons.

It wasn’t lively, however.

Whether it was because of the store’s atmosphere or the bartender’s personality, the patrons were all drinking from their cups quietly. The average age of the people there was high. Perhaps the idea of lots of tourists was a misconception—maybe the establishment had a lot of regulars.

Chiba sat down on the second bar seat from the end (Inagaki took the first), waited for the bartender to turn to them, then ordered two coffee blends.

The bartender here had the spirit of a craftsman. He’d never cut corners on visible jobs or invisible ones, and Chiba knew that well. He also knew he couldn’t make any conversation until the coffee came out. As he waited idly, he casually looked around the store.

Next to them on the bar was a half-empty coffee cup. The bartender hadn’t taken it back yet, so the person whose drink it was must have only been away temporarily. Such great coffee, letting it go to waste if it gets cold, Chiba thought idly. But the person sitting two seats over was only gone for a few moments, and soon came back while the chief was watching the cup.

The one who sat down was a young woman the about same age as him.

He turned back and sized her up out of the corner of his eye. At a glance, she wasn’t what many would call a “beauty.” Her clothing was average—a blouse and a skirt. But looking closer revealed good-looking features and a nice figure. It felt to Chiba that she was purposely wearing makeup that made her look plain.

After observing her that much, Chiba silently returned his gaze forward.

He mustn’t be scolded as incompetent.

The simple fact that he was trying not to stand out meant he couldn’t do any police questioning, either. And he realized what he was trying to do basically amounted to hitting on her.

Inagaki gave him a dubious, painful stare. The bartender, as silent as his sullen exterior would imply, poured their coffee without a word.

Chiba simply waited for his drink to come out.

Suddenly, he heard a low giggle. Moving only his eyes, he looked to see, as he had expected, that the woman was looking down, her shoulders moving.

“…I’m sorry. I thought you’d talk to me at some point, but you just kept staring right in front of you. Are you bad with women, noble son of the Chiba?”

Chief Inspector Chiba was dumbfounded. But not because he was surprised she’d guessed his identity right.

It wasn’t a secret he was the eldest child of the Chiba clan. But neither had he been aggressively putting his face in public. His younger brother was more recognizable, wasn’t he? The only ones who could tell that he was Toshikazu Chiba by looking at him were criminals, those in the police force, or people in very specific circles.

Namely those who lived in the world of combat magic.

“And you are…?”

“Pleased to meet you, Chief Toshikazu Chiba. My name is Kyouko Fujibayashi.”

This time, Chiba was dumbfounded out of pure surprise.

Daughter of the Fujibayashi family, distinguished for its old magic…and the granddaughter of Retsu Kudou, elder in Japan’s magic world. And here she was, giving him a worry-free smile.

Their group of eight hadn’t stepped out of the school gate together in a while.

“Tatsuya, are you done with your Thesis-Comp preparations?”

Though it had been a while for all eight of them, Honoka left school with Miyuki every day because of student council work—meaning she took this route home with Tatsuya every day as well. But for some reason, this was the first thing she asked today.

“For now, I guess,” he said. “The small things are still left, like rehearsals, making the models for the presentation, tuning spells for the demonstration—things like that.”

“Sounds like a lot of work…” said Erika. “Oh, Mizuki, I heard you guys are helping make the models.” Erika was neither a member of the student council nor in a position on the club committee, but she seemed oddly informed. She peered at Mizuki, who had her hair in a ponytail today.

“Oh, yes, the juniors are,” said Mizuki. “I’m not doing anything, though…”

“We left all the model-making to Isori, so naturally the juniors would be the center of it,” added Tatsuya.

“Huh…? Then what are you doing, Tatsuya?” asked Leo, a question that could be considered part of the natural flow of the conversation.

“I’m adjusting the demonstration spells.”

“…I feel like that’s backward,” said Shizuku, saying what was on everyone’s mind.

“Really?” asked Tatsuya, tilting his head in confusion. “When it comes to making things, I think Isori is several levels better than me.”

“Well…Kei does seem more like an ‘alchemist’ than a ‘mage,’” agreed Erika with a wry grin. “Maybe he’s the right person for the job.”

“Alchemist? Like in RPGs?” asked Shizuku, puzzled.

“What would that make Tatsuya?” pondered Mizuki, her comment suddenly…

“A mad scientist, of course!” (Erika) “Those aren’t in RPGs.” (Shizuku) “Then maybe a hermit sage far away in the mountains that teaches you secret moves.” (Erika) “He’d be a pretty good physical fighter for a sage.” (Leo) “Maybe an evil magician secretly plotting to take over the world?” (Erika) “Why not just call him a demon king, then?” (Mikihiko) “Nah, he’d be like the last boss after you beat the demon king. The one who comes out and says he was totally the mastermind behind everything.” (Leo) “Why isn’t anyone suggesting he’d be a hero type?” (Honoka) “It’s fine, Honoka. I wouldn’t make a good disciple of justice.” (Tatsuya) “Might makes right, Tatsuya.” (Miyuki) “Wow. Straight from the mouth of the demon king’s little sister.” (Erika)

…leading to a lively conversation.

Even as they walked down the road making noise and having fun like other students did, Tatsuya never forgot to keep an eye out. When they came to the entrance to the road leading to the café they frequented, he turned around, careful not to look at the one he sensed tailing them.

“Want to stop by for a bit?” suggested Tatsuya, deciding to wait their shadow out with a detour.

“I’m in!”

“You’ll probably be busy again tomorrow, after all.”

“Yeah, let’s go get tea for a little while.”

Erika, Leo, and Mikihiko all agreed, each seeming a little too assertive—but the three of them probably had their own things to think about. Without mentioning how unnatural it was, Tatsuya opened the door to Café Einebrise.

Unfortunately, their usual two side-by-side tables with four seats each weren’t open, so the eight of them split up between the bar and the closest table. At the bar were Tatsuya, Miyuki, Honoka, and Mizuki. (In order of seating, it was Mizuki, Miyuki, Tatsuya, Honoka.) At the table were Erika and Shizuku near the bar, and Leo and Mikihiko facing them.

…From an outsider’s point of view, it would have looked like Tatsuya was being waited on by several beautiful girls in some kind of jealousy-inducing harem.

“Hey, welcome. You sure are a go-getter, aren’t you, Tatsuya?”

Actually, not only outsiders; even the manager, who knew enough about their relationships, still came at him with sarcasm from over the bar.

“I’m sure you’d be a go-getter, too, if you shaved your beard,” countered Tatsuya, purposely using the dead (?) term back at him.

“He’s right,” followed up Mizuki in her usual breezy (?) lack of reserve. “The beard isn’t doing you any favors. It makes you look old.”

“O-old…? No mercy today, Mizuki?” groaned the manager, stroking his gray beard—not a messy one, for he took good care of it. It was gray, but it didn’t age the man as much as she said. In fact, he looked young. He could have been thirty, or even a little younger.

Gray hair, both on the head and face, was a genetic predisposition. The manager was one-quarter North German. (The shop’s name meant “gentle breeze” in German, too, and it had been Leo feeling an affinity for it that led to everyone else frequenting it.)

Still, the only characteristic his ethnicity gave him was his hair color; his eyes were dark, and his visage was slender and Asian. He was a man of delicate, handsome features yet seemed to have some kind of complex about his face. He always kept his mustache and beard neat in an attempt to look manly—and it worked.

The group’s consensus was that the beard didn’t suit him, but the taste of his coffee made up for that and more. All eight of them naturally ordered it.

“Wow, you’re going to be in the Magic Thesis Competition?” said the manager as he boiled water in the coffeemaker siphon and after hearing why he hadn’t seen them in a while. “And you’re only a freshman. That’s amazing, isn’t it?”

That wasn’t entirely flattery. The manager had no talent for magic himself, but he did run a shop on the way to a magic high school, so he knew quite a bit about the world magicians lived in. Even Tatsuya often heard recent news from him that he hadn’t known about during the spare moments in which they had conversations.

“This year it’s Yokohama’s turn to host, right? My family lives there. Is it at the international assembly hall like it usually is? That’s right next to my old house.”

The manager continued to talk, even while pouring their coffee, which had accumulated in the flask.

“Where in Yokohama is it?” asked Mizuki as she took a tray of four coffees from the manager, having stood up to carry it to the table in the waitress’s stead.

“It’s a café named Roter Wald, midway across Yamate Bluff.”

“Your parents run a café, too?”

“Yeah. If you have time, give them a visit. Taste my father’s coffee and decide which one of ours is better. And don’t hold back—let me know!”

“Nice try, Mr. Salesman,” broke in Shizuku, who was bringing the tray back for Mizuki, causing laughs on both sides of the bar.

When Tatsuya was down to a third of his coffee, Erika downed the rest of her drink, returned the cup quietly to the coaster, and smoothly rose. When she did things like that, it couldn’t hide her upbringing.

“Erika?” asked Mizuki, looking up.

“I’m going to pick some flowers,” she replied, casually striding farther into the store.

“Oh,” said Leo a moment later, putting a hand on his pocket and getting up. “Sorry, got a call.” He walked out front.

Tatsuya moved his eyes away from Leo’s surprisingly polite act and looked at Mikihiko. He had a notebook (a small sketchbook, actually) open in his hands. “…Mikihiko, what are you doing?”

“Oh, well, I figured I should take a few notes so I don’t forget…” he said, not stopping his calligraphy pen to talk.

“Don’t go overboard; they’ll find us out,” said Tatsuya, narrowing his eyes at him. “Keep it simple.” He looked behind Mikihiko—not at his hands—then brought his cup to his lips, back to the bar, like nothing was wrong.

“Hey, mister, you want to have a little fun with me?”

Few people used this side street, but the sun hadn’t even set yet. When the man heard that, he nearly dropped his take-out drink. He turned around to see a girl in a ponytail, one whom he wouldn’t have hesitated or been underhanded to describe as pretty, at the entrance to the little road. The alley led to the back door of the café he’d been watching, and she stood within it, her hands behind her back and a smile on her face.

But as soon as he saw her, he grew impatient for a different reason. “What are you saying?” he said. “You should treat yourself better than that.”

“Huh? All I said was ‘a little fun.’ I wonder what you thought I meant…” The girl quirked her head to the side, her smile guilt-free.

He knew it—she was with the man he’d been tracking. “It’s not nice to tease adults. Go back home, will you? And don’t take any detours.” He couldn’t stop from mentally breaking out in a cold sweat, but he put his professional face on and continued to play the adult walking away after a child’s prank upset him. “It’ll get dark soon. There’s no guarantee you won’t be attacked by someone if you stay in a deserted road like this,” he finished, turning his back to the girl.

But he couldn’t take the next step.

“…Attacked—like by this guy, maybe?”

When he turned around, he found a well-built boy who had left the café, pounding his black glove–covered fists together, grinning.

“When you say ‘attacked,’ I assume you meant magically.”

Sensing danger behind the amused response, the man turned around again. The girl was in a combat stance now, holding a retractable police baton. Casually, she thrust out that hand.

In that moment, he felt an irresistible pressure coming from her. The kind where if he lost concentration even for a second, his knees would shake and he’d collapse…and he knew what this pressure was called.

The will to fight.

Not the will to kill someone, though—pure waves of simple fighting spirit.

“Scary… You’re really something when it comes to this stuff,” said the voice from behind him. He couldn’t be sure, since he couldn’t look over his shoulder, but he knew the boy there was baring his teeth and grinning.

“Help me, somebody! I’m being robbed!” shouted the man, deciding that if he wasn’t going to be able to flee, it didn’t matter how his backup plan made him look.

He was just as confident in his own strength. No matter how dexterous they might have been, he wouldn’t go down without a fight against a couple of fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds. Unfortunately, his current mission was the sort where he had to avoid any risks; having them turn hostile was bad for the plan.

“Whoa. No shame…”

“No, no. He was really quick to make that choice. I think that’s good, don’t you?”

The girl and the boy seemed subdued by his chosen method. Still, the girl kept her baton up, and the boy straightened and held up his fists.

…And nobody came to answer his cry for help.

“Oh, forgot to say…” said the boy. “It’s no use calling for help. Nobody’s gonna get close right now.”

“They can’t get close,” said the girl. “We put up a barrier using our awareness as the pivot—and you can’t get out of it without knocking us out, either.”

The man realized he hadn’t seen any other pedestrians for some time.

And he was made to realize another fact:

Only one option remained.

Belatedly, he tossed his drink cup aside and assumed an upright posture. Leaving his thin jacket on, he brought his arms up high, as if to guard his head—then wheeled around to Leo, bending his left arm out to a right angle and bringing it down to his stomach.

“Huh… The Hitman style from boxing, eh? Thought you’d at least have a weapon.”

“Just because he didn’t take one out doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one, stupid,” advised Erika, not wasting a moment, causing the man to tsk.

But he didn’t show any more impatience. He didn’t have time.

The middle-aged man who had given the pitiful shriek was now fighting intensely, and he quickly closed in on Leo. From his low position, the man bent his arm and flicked it at Leo like a whip. Bullet-like punches flew at the boy; the smooth, continuous string of attacks spoke volumes—this man was a wolf, not a sheep.

But neither Leo nor Erika felt surprise. Erika had gained powerful insight through training, and Leo had the instincts he’d been born with. They’d already figured out the man was really a wolf—or rather, a highly trained hunting dog.

What was really admirable was his speed. His power. And above all, how he displayed swiftness beyond physical boundaries yet showed no magical aftereffects whatsoever.

He threw dozens of punches in less than ten seconds, rattling the two guarding arms without giving time for counterattack.

And when they finally broke through Leo’s guard, one punch hit him in the face.

With a pop like a balloon, Leo careened backward.

Not sparing the time to watch his achievement, the man pivoted on his heel. By the time he’d turned around, he’d already hurled a throwing dagger at Erika, using the force of his spin.

There was a dry, metallic clack.

Erika had knocked the dagger away with her baton. As her weapon moved from inside to outside, it created a hole in her defense. The man immediately reached out for a left straight at her face…

…before dodging the baton as it flew back faster than his fist. He pulled back, but not his fist—instead, he pulled his whole body back in a leap. But a moment later…

“Gah!”

…he took a shoulder tackle counterattack to the back and crashed face-first into the road.

“…Wow, that stings. This guy’s no ordinary human. Didn’t feel like a machine, either, so…chemical enhancement?” muttered Leo, who had performed the tackle from behind, rubbing his punched jaw and looking to the road with a merciless stare.

“…Yeah, well, you’re weird, too. That punch hit you square in the face, didn’t it?” answered Erika, more cautious about the man groaning and trying to get himself off the ground then her ally, Leo.

“Well, about a quarter of that is because I’m a magician with roots in a research lab. Not gonna lie and say my genes are a hundred percent natural,” said Leo with a painful grin to Erika’s sharp gaze, cruelly kicking the crawling man in the gut.

“Gurgh!”

“Behave. We’re not gonna take your life. We just want to know why you’ve been tailing us,” said Leo as he lifted one leg from the road. Erika, in the corner of his eye, looked exasperated at the somewhat indecent violence.

But the question had been clear. “…Wait… All right, I surrender… I’m not…your en’my an’way… Stomping at me for this…’s a little much…”

“Yeah, right. If you’d punched someone else, they’d have died, you know.”

“That goes…for you, too…” As the man coughed between words, he got up. “If my body wasn’t enhanced, that kick would have crushed an organ or two.”

The man’s talking became more fluid, as though the pain had waned, though he was still sitting on the road.

“If I didn’t think you were enhanced, I wouldn’t have done it.” Leo’s words weren’t repentant in the slightest. “And if you’re not our enemy, then give us the short version. We can’t exactly leave the barrier up forever.”

“Fine. I’d rather not draw attention, either.” The man heaved a resigned sigh.

“Then why not introduce yourself first? I’m sure you know our names already.”

“Jirou Marshal.” The man didn’t give Leo a yes or no, instead replying with a name that could have been real or fake. “I can’t go into too much detail about who I am, but I’m not with any government agency, domestic or foreign. And, as I already stated, I’m not an enemy of yours.”

“Which means you’re an unlawful agent.”

Once again, the man didn’t say yes or no to Erika’s conclusion.

“…And?” prompted Leo, rankled. “You won’t give us the truth if we asked who you are and where you’re from anyway, so tell us what you’re after, and what the situation is.”

“My job is to keep watch over magic high school students to make sure cutting-edge magic technology isn’t stolen by the East, and if any high tech that could be a military threat to the East is leaked, to deal with it,” explained the man who called himself Jirou in a businesslike tone.

The East was a term used two World Wars ago, and Leo and Erika knew that USNA intelligence and military operatives alike used it often, even today. But that didn’t prove right away that this man was related to the USNA. He could have been purposely using local terms to mislead them about his origin.

“I bet your employer, at least, isn’t related to Japan. Otherwise, why on earth would you be going through all this?” demanded Leo.

The man shook his head and sighed. “I knew Japan’s peacetime complacency was fixed, but to hear even teenagers asking that…” he said. “The world’s military balance isn’t just a problem of one country. If Japan’s practical technology finds itself in the East, it could damage the West’s advantage. Both the Federal Soviet Republics, which has placed importance on improving magic programs themselves, and the Great Asian Alliance, which is diverting its resources toward reviving magic of previous generations over modern magic development, are very quickly starting to use Japan’s electronics-based magic engineering technology for military applications. It’s not just Japan, though—the USNA and various western European nations are both experiencing an increase in spies targeting magic engineering tech. Your school is one of the East’s targets, too.”

“Peacetime complacency? How many decades ago is this? We know there’re voyeurs hanging around. We didn’t let our guard down. We noticed you tailing us, didn’t we?” spat Erika, unappreciative of the man’s superior tone.

“I’m not a spy—I’m here to stop them,” the man said. “I’m not your enemy, and we have no conflict of interest between us.” He stood up from the road and made a show of dusting himself off.

He bent down to neaten the hems of his pant legs so politely it seemed sarcastic (and it probably was about 30 percent sarcastic) and then straightened back up—with a small pistol, small enough to hide in his palm, in his hand, its muzzle pointed directly at Erika.

“!”

“What is this?!” shouted Leo.

“I didn’t use this before, but it’s proof I’m not an enemy.”

“…No, you just couldn’t use it. It would have left too much evidence,” retorted Erika.

The man grinned. “That, too. Anyway, I believe I’ve said what I needed to. I’d like to clear out of here, so could you tell your friend to undo the barrier?”

His words and attitude were light, but his stance had no openings. Erika and Leo didn’t have a death wish—this wasn’t an adventure they wanted to go on.

Modern magic had acquired speed rivaling firearms through the advancement of CADs. That, however, didn’t mean they were faster. Not even necessarily as fast. A gun only needed a trigger to fire a bullet and bore out a person’s flesh; modern magic needed a process—reading in an activation sequence and constructing a magic program. Magic had a higher degree of freedom than guns, superior power, and the ability to create a field to block bullets; it could make up for the speed gap to a certain extent. That was all. If a single shot could take a life, or put them out of combat, that “extent” in the speed gap was a decisive factor in determining victory. This was one of those times.

While Erika and Leo stood silently, Mikihiko, who must have been watching them with a spell, released the barrier he’d put up.

“…Then allow me to take my leave,” the man said. “Oh, right, one more thing: some advice. Tell your friends to look after themselves. And not to relax even when they’re at school.” Finishing, the man brought a small canister out of his jacket.

He pushed a button on the lid, then tossed it right in the middle of the triangle the three of them made.

Erika and Leo both jumped back.

With a soft burst, a thick, white mist exploded around them. They closed their eyes, but, realizing that the mist didn’t seem to be poison, opened them again.

But by that time, there wasn’t a trace of the man who called himself Jirou Marshal.

In café Roter Wald in Yamate, Yokohama, Chief Inspector Chiba and Fujibayashi were enjoying light conversation. Having taken a liking to him, though he didn’t know why, Fujibayashi was talking to him incessantly, so Chiba hadn’t even broached the topic of what he’d actually come here for with the bartender. She was a skilled talker, and Chiba was enjoying the conversation as much as she seemed to be. Of course, his partner Inagaki didn’t share this opinion.

Chiba had nearly forgotten about his original goal behind coming here, when an effervescent tone rang in Fujibayashi’s hands. It wasn’t loud enough to bother the other patrons, but Chiba could still hear it from the next seat over.

Fujibayashi took her information terminal from her purse and glanced at the message. A moment later, she returned it and gave Chiba a pleasant smile. Whenever she made an expression like that, it showed how pretty she was.

Despite his age, Chiba’s heartbeat increased.

“I’m sorry, Chief. I need to step away for a moment.”

Fujibayashi hadn’t looked at him suggestively or made any meaningful gestures—but Chiba still realized, without a reason, that the message had to do with her job.

“…Yes, please do.”

She rose, bowed to him, handed a credit card to the bartender, and headed out to her electric coupe in the parking lot.

After climbing into the driver’s seat, Fujibayashi reached out and switched her control panel screen to information terminal mode.

Self-driving cars that used a palm-rest controller had no steering wheel. The controller served as an accelerator, a brake, a gearshift, and a steering wheel all in one, so that was only natural. The palm-rest type of controller was meant to bring out a more instinctual way of driving, but as a side effect of the vision-blocking steering wheel being absent, the entire dashboard in front of the driver ended up being one big control panel (a multipurpose display with both a console and an instrument panel). Depending on how you customized it, you could bring functionality and ease of use rivaling that of a home-use terminal into the car with you.

And as for Fujibayashi’s car, it had gone a step further—several steps, in fact, having all the functions of an actual information terminal in it. Enough to let the small coupe have processing power on the level of a battle command vehicle. Its communication functions were made to match, with high-sensitivity and high-output items on board. Add Fujibayashi’s own magic expertise to the mix and the car could exhibit enough electronic warfare capabilities to be called, without exaggeration, an electronic warfare vehicle.

“Tatsuya’s friends are quite the handful, too.”

That wasn’t her unconsciously talking to herself—those words were purposeful so that she could align a spell. Using the connection called Tatsuya as a guidepost, she overlaid the Idea information network with her electronic one.

“Mikihiko Yoshida. Former wonder child of the Yoshida… The child seems to be an adult now, but it would be nice if he paid a little more attention to the fact that he’s in a city.”

Names symbolized entities. Speaking names was a means of identifying them. With the name of someone familiar—that is, to whom one’s mental distance is short—as a reference point, she began to align her focus on the target using magic by saying aloud a proper noun, as well as the target’s actions and status.

“But even old magic gets recorded by the surveillance systems.”

Compared to modern magic, old magic—especially spirit magic, or magic of the type called SB magic—was said to be difficult for roadside surveillance cameras to capture. However, that wasn’t due to how hard it was to capture the magic itself but the difficulty in identifying who used it. The usage was always recorded, and Fujibayashi had been given the very urgent mission of falsifying those records.

Hushing up unlawful magic usage wasn’t her job, but she knew they didn’t want any unnecessary attention paid to Tatsuya or those around him. The more people related to him, the higher the possibility of them alerting her actual prey and causing them to stay away. In other words, Kazama and the others were using Tatsuya as bait…

…but that’s not enough to bother you, right?

That was all she said to herself before activating the rare skill possessed by the Electron Sorceress.

Jirou Marshal, unlawful operative from a certain country, utilized his enhanced leg strength to run about one train station away, then came to a halt. He’d been going as fast as a racehorse, so fast he ran the risk of standing out. But he hadn’t stopped just now because he’d decided he’d reached safety.

Just the opposite, in fact.

His running speed wasn’t something a normal human could match, no matter how much training they did. Yet something had been sticking right on his tail the whole time. He hadn’t seen what—or who—it was yet. Still, Jirou Marshal had no doubt that the “thing” following him was a person.

He knew without checking that it wasn’t the pair from earlier. He wasn’t senile; he would notice if the people he’d directly confronted had come after him. And being a solo operative, as usual, he didn’t have a team with him. If they’d dispatched him some unplanned backup, their first priority would be to notify him so that there wouldn’t be any friendly fire incidents. But he hadn’t received any such communications since starting his current job.

…Where?

Marshal looked down slightly and focused his senses, listening. He knew from experience that when people sensed the presence of another person, it was more than likely due to the solidity of sound. The one tailing—no, chasing—him would never show him or herself visibly. He decided the person must be hiding somewhere he couldn’t see, watching.

But his prediction was wrong.

Suddenly, he felt a presence that made him shudder, and looked up.

In front of him stood a man, not making a sound.

In hindsight, he’d blocked off the sounds coming from ahead of him. Something other than his five senses had alerted his body to the danger.

The man was Asian, with a toned figure. He wore gray exercise pants and a gray jacket, with a blackish tracksuit underneath, all quite plain. His face wasn’t especially handsome but not especially ugly, either. Without a doubt, he looked like a person you could find anywhere—but he caused Marshal to feel like he was staring down a wild beast that devoured humans.

Marshal knew the man’s face. “The Man-Eating Tiger…”

Not that he’d met the man in the past. This was the first time he’d seen him in real life.

“Ganghu Lu…”

The one whose name he’d just unconsciously muttered was someone at the top of the “Take Caution Around These People” file he’d been given at the beginning of the operation. Rumored to be the leader in the Great Asian Alliance when it came to killing in hand-to-hand combat, the ace of the GAA Army’s Special Covert Forces…

By the time he recognized that, there was already a gun in Marshal’s right hand, pointed at Ganghu Lu. His body, which had gone through countless hours of repetition training, had selected an action quicker and more precisely than he could think about it.

However, his finger couldn’t pull the trigger.

Before he could squeeze it, Ganghu Lu’s fingers were stuck in Marshal’s neck.

The man’s thumb penetrated his throat, and the gun fell from his hands.

Marshal watched the scene in a daze. When had his neck been pierced? No, before that—when did he get in this close? He hadn’t seen any of Ganghu Lu’s movements.

Before the pain, which had been overwritten with surprise, reached Marshal’s brain…

…his mind was painted over in eternal darkness.

Ganghu Lu slid his right hand out of the throat it was buried in.

His fingers were stained red, and yet there was surprisingly little blood loss.

Using his clean left hand, he removed a folded piece of paper from his inside pocket and neatly wiped down his right hand. After absorbing Marshal’s blood into the paper, Ganghu Lu threw it onto the corpse. As it fell, it unfolded into the size of a handkerchief, then stuck to Marshal’s body.

Then, the bloodstained paper erupted with a flame redder than fresh blood. The flame spurted to life in the middle of the paper, then became a ring and expanded.

Inside the ring was nothing. No cinders, none of the corpse’s clothing the paper had covered; none of the flesh, nor its bones. As the paper burned away, the flame began to spread over the dead man.

Then, the ring of fire began to devour the corpse.

Ganghu Lu watched as the flames eventually vanished and the corpse disappeared, then turned on his heel.

Not a single person was anywhere nearby. No voices, no footsteps, nothing to indicate the presence of a human anywhere.

The only witnesses were the thoroughly destroyed roadside cameras.