1_Prologue_ A Parallel World in the World of Reality

PROLOGUE A Parallel World in the World of Reality August 28. The weather was fine. A high school student named Touma Kamijou awoke to a female’s milky voice calling, “Hey, big brother!” “…Huh? What was that hair-raising screech?” Kamijou cracked open his eyes, still half-asleep. He saw the towel blanket that had been covering him at some point lying crumpled up in a ball next to him. He thought he’d heard the girl’s voice from the other side of the door. Reflected in his peripheral vision was a Japanese-style room, six tatami mats in size. The floor was covered with worn-out tatami, there was a fluorescent light with an ancient-looking square cover on the ceiling, the paper sliding door for the closet was stained with something oily, and there was a wooden door with a simple keyhole that probably led to the bathroom or something. Instead of an air conditioner, there was an electric fan whose plastic body was a faded yellow color. If he lifted his nose a bit, he could smell salt. He was not in his one-room apartment in the student dormitories. He wasn’t even in Academy City. This was a certain shore in the Kanagawa prefecture—in the ordinary world—and he was inside a guest room on the second floor of a beach house called Wadatsumi, Japanese for “sea god.” Kamijou’s parents and Index would each be in their own rooms. “…That’s right…We came to the outside, didn’t we?” mumbled Kamijou to himself, head in the clouds. Academy City, the Supernatural Ability Development organization in which Kamijou lived, rested in the western areas of Tokyo. Because of that, there was nothing more distant for the residents of the landlocked city than the beach. (Though there were aquarium-like swimming pools if you went to a fisheries school or somewhere like that.) Plus, in consideration of its own secrets, as well as the potential threat of student kidnappings (read: theft of test samples), Academy City stubbornly disliked allowing its students outside of its walls. Gaining permission to leave required three written applications, the implanting of microscopic devices in your bloodstream, and the arrangement of a legal guardian… But we really did come here to the beach, huh? Kamijou rubbed his right upper arm. He couldn’t feel the traces of those painless injection needles by touching the spots where they’d been inserted. They’d been no more than mosquito bites. His particular case was out of the ordinary. Normally, a student would fill out the applications and politely ask a teacher to let them leave the city. Kamijou’s teachers, however, ordered him to “go outside, stupid.” About a week ago, he had defeated the most powerful Level Five in Academy City. Although there isn’t too much interaction among students during summer vacation, rumors of the altercation had spread across town in a heartbeat. They did not, however, result in Touma Kamijou gaining any sudden recognition. Instead, a bunch of confident city punks had started a massive survival game with him as the prey, under the impression that if they could beat up “that Level Zero moron,” then they would claim the title of Academy City’s strongest. The upper echelons of Academy City were the ones most bothered by the commotion. They said to him, “Hey, hey, Mr. Kamijou. We’ll fix up this mess with our information control, so go away somewhere you won’t cause needless chaos, stupid.” And so here he was. Well, still. I’m sensing some pretty clear enmity in the destination they picked, though. Kamijou gave a great yawn. There had been a huge outbreak of giant jellyfish on the Pacific coast this year, so in spite of the heat wave, there were essentially no guests at the beach. Even if that hadn’t been the case, he was required to bring legal guardians along to the outside world—meaning, basically, his parents. It was one thing to be accompanied by a cute young lady or a pretty older woman. This was a little sad, though. Did he really have to play with his parents at the beach at this age? However, if this was what it took to bring everything to a close, then he’d just have to settle. With his victory over the best Level Five “Superpower” that Academy City had to offer, he had forced a very large project connected to many research institutes into suspension. He may have also earned animosity from some of the more important ones. They hadn’t put a lot of pressure on him, but the only reason for that was probably because the gossip regarding his fight with Accelerator had placed him in the public spotlight. If the scientists were to take any drastic measures, people would know about it right away. Even so, the bleary-eyed Kamijou lacked a certain sense of excitement. …Ugh, so tired. Is everyone up already? He hazily thought of the sister in white. She was probably snoring in the room across the hall by herself. If he was to categorize her, she’d technically be a “cute young lady.” Unfortunately, he would have to wonder about anyone who might see her childlike body in a swimsuit and think to himself, teary eyed, that all his summer wishes had been fulfilled. Though he had gotten a frightful surprise in the swimsuit section of the department store when she’d emerged from the changing room. He’d gotten a similar surprise when he’d seen the number of zeroes on her bathing suit’s price tag. Incidentally, he hadn’t originally planned on taking the nun in white to the beach house Wadatsumi at all. She was supposed to have stayed behind. She and the calico were going to crash at Miss Komoe’s, and he’d actually purchased a swimsuit for her with the intent that she could go play in the pools in Academy City. It seemed obvious when he thought about it, but she wasn’t from the city. She had smuggled herself in, as it were. If they just nonchalantly went up to the borders, they might be caught by the Anti-Skills. She couldn’t fill out an application to leave, either. However, the sister in white had been deaf to all of these considerations. He’d commanded her to mind the place in his absence, but in the end, he couldn’t tolerate that teary-eyed stare of hers anymore. So he’d taken on the challenge of sneaking her out. To put it simply, he’d called a taxi, forced Index to lie down in the backseat, and tried to get through the gate like that. Kamijou had been pretty worried about the chances that such a lame method would actually work, and sure enough, they’d been stopped. Apparently, the checkpoint was equipped with infrared cameras or MRI scanners or something. When he thought about being arrested, he’d frozen like a deer in headlights. However, the Anti-Skill managing the gate hadn’t been particularly angry. After referring to his computer, he said something about there being a registered temporary guest identification for her. Of course, neither Kamijou nor Index recalled anything like that. Who the heck did that? Registering for an ID necessitated the input of the person’s fingerprints, voiceprint, and retinal pattern into a terminal. Kamijou supposed that it was more than possible to steal someone’s voice and retinal scan by using a high-resolution video camera or what have you. In addition, you could easily collect fingerprints by using aluminum or carbon dust, just like the police do for criminals. But why would someone go through all the trouble? Kamijou had been dubious at the time, but he didn’t let it show. There was no need to give the Anti-Skill any reason to be suspicious. Once he’d held Index still enough to get her to take the nanomachine injection (they actually used a mosquito needle, so it was painless), the pair had slipped through the gate fair and square, albeit quite confused. Ugh, ah…I’m so sleepy…, thought Kamijou only half consciously, covering himself with the blanket from his head down and giving his body over once more to slumber. Morning was still a drowsy time of the day for him, as someone who had been doing the whole “stay up late every night” shtick for summer vacation. Like a limp, melted piece of candy, he surrendered himself to the sandman, but then he heard the lovely female voice again, seeping through the door at him, saying, “Hey, big brother, wake up!” One of those “useless brother plus reliable sister” dynamic duos must be staying in the house, he figured. What’s the deal with that charming kind of pair, anyway? The only girls around me are the dangerous sorts, like Index and Deep Blood, he reflected, not fully awake. But wait, with the jellyfish outbreak, shouldn’t there not be any visitors at the— Just as doubts began surfacing, the door flew open with a resounding bang! What, what, what the hell?! Before Kamijou could poke his face out of the blanket he was wrapped in, the sound of light, girlish footsteps pattered over to him and a voice said, “Hey, how long are you gonna sleep? Big brother, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!” The girl’s cute, dreamy voice was coupled with the impact of a body press. The girl’s full weight slammed directly into his gut. Kamijou gave an incomprehensible yelp. This scenario was sure to happen in manga and dating sims, but more importantly, it was a pro-wrestling move. He coughed violently underneath his blanket. That’s strange. Touma Kamijou has no sister. There’s no reason this should be happening. He vaguely got the feeling that if he began to think about what part of the girl’s body this soft feeling was from, the one he was getting around his stomach from across the blanket, all the blood would go to his head and he would pass out. Right now, though, he couldn’t think that far. Anyway, he was sleepy and wanted nothing more than to somehow put an end to this mistaken prank as fast as he could. Kamijou gathered his strength. “…Who are you? Who the hell are you, graahh” Shouting, he sat up vigorously, like a jack-in-the-box. He heard the mass on top of him fall off with a shriek. Damn it, who ruined my restful sleep time?! he thought, incensed. He looked at the girl who had rolled off of him, and— —there was Mikoto Misaka, lying on the tatami. “Oww. Hey, I come all the way to wake you up, and this is what I get?” The girl, wearing a red camisole, had cutely (really, seriously unfitting for her) fallen on her butt (possibly completely shattering her identity) and was making a somewhat petulant face at him, one cheek puffed out. “Wha—” —t’s going on here? Every trace of his exhaustion had completely evaporated. Mikoto Misaka. The ace of Tokiwadai Middle School and an Ability Development legend. One of just seven Level Fives in Academy City. A strong lightning user, quick to anger, but actually a bit of a crybaby. Following a certain incident, she’d ended up owing him a debt. When he’d mentioned it, though, her face had gone beet red, and she’d come at him with all that biri biri. It goes without saying that she wasn’t his real sister, nor was she his stepsister. He hadn’t the faintest idea what was happening, so he gave talking to her a shot. “Huh, what? Eh? Did you end up getting chased out of Academy City because of the incident with the Sisters, too? Wait, is this some kind of island where people get exiled when they’re run out of the city or something?” “Huh? What are you talking about? Why is it weird that I’m here with my big brother?” “Gross! Why the heck are you talking to me with that sappy voice?! Your reign of terror is just about the furthest thing in the world away from that kind of impression!” “How rude!” she retorted, clearly angry given her expression. His entire body broke out in goose bumps. Dumbfounded, Kamijou tried to think through this. Possibility 1: Mikoto’s morning surprise, after she was also ordered to leave Academy City. Possibility 2: Mikoto Misaka swallowing her pride and playing the little sister to pay her debt (stepsister mode set to “on”). Possibility 3: One of Mikoto’s sisters has a bug. I mean, it’s #1, right? It’s gotta be #1, since #3 is impossible! She seems like a little sister character at the moment, so I’d be happy if it were #3, but I feel like I, Touma Kamijou, have never raised a single of those fabulous flags in my whole life, but I guess if it were #3…if it were #3? … …Ooh. Huh?! After a few seconds’ silence, Kamijou finally snapped back to reality. As if this were a summer mirage caused by primal desires that he needed to clear out, he tried yelling them away. “Bah! Underestimate a high school student, you should not! Do you think Touma Kamijou will be swayed by some middle school kid’s early-morning prank?!” “Big brother, you seem too excited for this early in the morning.” “Damn, characterizing me as some guy who gets happy when a girl calls him ‘big brother’…! In the first place, what do you mean by ‘brother’? Your backstory—are you related to me by blood or not?! Ah, shit, I figured out the ending! If I go on thinking we’re not blood related, then you’re gonna come out and say at the very, very end that I was actually related to you and then I can’t beat the game, is that where this is going?!” “Huh? You look like you’re channeling some kind of alien language. So early, too! I can just call you whatever, right? Big brother is my big brother, after all.” “It is not good! Why are you trying to be my little sister?!” “Hmm?” Mikoto pressed her index finger to her cheek, her expression showing that she didn’t understand the question. “Do I need a reason to be my brother’s sister?” She got up from the tatami with a hup and finished, “Okay, look, if you’re so energetic, then get up and come downstairs so you can eat breakfast!” Then, as if it was the most natural thing ever, she bounded lightly out of the room. …Okay. So what’s going on here? Kamijou was missing something crucial. He changed his clothes and left the room. Three doors lined either side of the short, straight hallway. Describing it that way might make it sound like a boardinghouse. However, either because of the sea breeze or the fact that many years had passed since it had originally been built, the boarded floors were blackening like an antique temple, and the minute amount of sand that had gotten inside was sucking all the moisture out of the air, making it feel kind of disgusting. The staircase was at the end of the passage. Just as he was heading that way, he heard a door click open behind him. “Good morning, Touma. Hmm? Hey, you’ve got some pretty bad bedhead in the back.” It was his father’s voice. Touya Kamijou. A man with a stubbly beard in his midthirties whose features somehow resembled Touma’s, he actually traveled overseas three times a month on business for a relatively large firm with foreign affiliations. Reflecting his lifestyle, perhaps, he gave off an intrepid yet intellectual air. For the amnesiac Kamijou, his “father” presented a bit of an odd topic. Of course, Kamijou himself didn’t remember the man. Nevertheless, his parents would encroach upon his personal space without the slightest hesitation. As a high school student, even college students two or three years older than him represented people living in a functionally different world, one whose life and habits were completely foreign to his experience. The age difference between Touma and his father was even greater than that, which made it all the more challenging to figure out how to bridge that gap. “Mm…mornin’ Wait, what?” When Kamijou turned around, he gave a start. “? What’s wrong, Touma?” His father, Touya Kamijou, frowned. Leaving him aside for the moment…Kamijou shifted his gaze toward the cause of his discomfort—the person standing next to Touya. “Hey, Index? What the heck are you wearing?” Yes—next to Touya stood the silver-haired, green-eyed foreigner. Normally, Kamijou would have described her as the “sister in white,” but right now, Index wasn’t wearing her customary white habit. Despite the heat, she had on a thin, long, short-sleeve one-piece that went down to her ankles, wore a cardigan on her shoulders, and even had a big, wide-brimmed white hat sitting atop her head. For someone who was, bluntly, an extremely active girl, her garments were overwhelmingly unfitting. He wanted to demand what kind of sickly character or rich summer resort lady she was pretending to be. Now that he thought of it, though, he got the feeling that his mother, Shiina Kamijou, wore this kind of clothing. Shiina’s hobby, he heard, was flying in powered paragliders. In the classes that took place at the park near their house, there may or may not have been eyewitness reports of married women dressed like rich girls sitting in a parachute that looked like swings, with fanlike propellers strapped to their backs, flying through the air. “Where did you even get those clothes, anyway?” In response to his question, Touya gave him an expression that said, What are you talking about? then asked: “Touma, is it strange for your mother to be wearing her own clothes?” Kamijou looked at Touya’s face with a What? Touya had definitely just looked at the girl next to him and called her his mother. While looking at the silver-haired foreigner, who was not even fourteen years old by anyone’s standards. “Huh? What? Dad, are you saying you’re seeing Mom when you look at her?” “What else would I be seeing, Touma?” “Wait, just hang on a sec. Is this some kind of body-changing technique? This is beyond a joke. You’re playing the fool so seriously that you’re not giving the straight man any openings to retort!” “Touma, what about your mother isn’t convincing you?” “What about her? Everything! Look at her! She can’t possibly be my mother” He relentlessly pointed at the fourteen-year-old girl. She lightly grabbed her own clothing and said, “Oh my, oh my. My fashion sense just isn’t okay with you, Touma, is it?” “Now, Touma. You’re making your mother sad!” “Not that! However you look at it, you’re freakin’ younger than me! Even if this were some play in kindergarten, it would make absolutely no sense to cast you as the ‘mom with a kid in high school’!” “Oh my, oh my. I look younger than my age to you, Touma, do I?” “Now, Touma. You’re making your mother happy!” Kamijou gave an “Enough already!” and buried his face in his hands. He’d admit it. Back a month ago when he’d been hospitalized with a severe head wound and his mother and father had come, the “first” time he’d interacted with his parents, he was surprised when he learned that his father, Touya, and his mother, Shiina, were the same age—he’d admit that. He’d even straight up confess that Shiina’s outward appearance made her look like a young lady in her late twenties. (Though of course, if she actually were in her late twenties, that would mean Kamijou had been born illegally.) Nevertheless, Touma Kamijou would not be tricked by this body-swapping ninja technique that used Index, who was, however he looked at her, less than fourteen years of age. “What is it, Touma? You look distressed. Are you going through those bothersome puberty feelings? Then you can have this protective talisman sort of thing I bought when I was on a business trip in India.” “What? I don’t need it; I don’t even believe in lucky charms, and besides, it’s probably just a thing mass-produced in a factory downtown anyway— Wait, what? That looks totally like a palm-size statue of male genitalia!” “Well, your dad doesn’t understand it, either. Apparently it’s a religious thing?” “What the heck does it protect you from? It looks like a strap you’d put on a cell phone! But if you did, people would call you weird names. Never mind running the risk of getting arrested!” “What? Touma, do overseas souvenirs not agree with your skin? Then I’ll keep it domestic. This is something I bought while I was on a trip in Akita recently, see?” “What’s it this time…? Wait, it’s another phallus! A wooden sculpture of one! You’re acting like a six-year-old who’s into dirty jokes!” “Mgh. When I brought it to the office after the trip, it met with a whirlwind of laughter…” “How can you tread into harassment territory so blindly, you idiot?!” As Kamijou grew more and more befuddled, Touya made a curious face. “By the way, Touma. Shouldn’t you go and wake up the girl you brought with you?” “I’m saying she’s standing right next to you! And anyway, where did Mom go?!” “Oh my. Someone my age should be treated as a ‘girl’ rather than a ‘mother’ in your opinion, Touma?” “If I hear one more word out of you, I’ll argue you down until the day is over” Then, all of a sudden, the door next to Kamijou opened with a click. Touya blamed him, saying it was his fault that he woke her up because he was being so noisy. Kamijou turned his gaze to the side, saying, “Index?”… …And out the door came Blue Hair, wearing a completely white nun’s habit. He was a large man, reaching 180 centimeters in height. Moreover, he hadn’t forced himself into Index’s habit; it appeared that he had gotten a new one from somewhere, with the exact same design, just in extra large. The large man spoke. He spoke heavily with a deep, manly voice that would surprise even the Three Tenors. “Ahh, mm? Touma, you seem really excited for morning time. Did something happen?” “…Ah—” The large man rubbed his eyes in a very cute way indeed. “Oh, sorry, I forgot to say good morning, Touma. Anyway, the beach! Beach, beach! I always thought that Japan’s beaches were covered with concrete, and there was oil and stuff floating around, but it’s actually really pretty. Yeah, let’s go play!” “Ah…” The large man abruptly peered at Kamijou’s face from below. “Huh? What’s the matter, Touma? You got all stiff. Ah! Could you be imagining all sorts of things about what I’m gonna look like in a bathing suit—” “Aaahhooaahh” Not really able to endure it any longer, Kamijou took the wooden door, which had opened to his side, and slammed it shut in Blue Hair’s face. Bang! came a loud noise as the man was beaten back into the room. “T-Touma! Take a seat right there, okay? Assaulting a woman should be reported to the police, you know?” “Oh my, oh my. You have quite a ferocious liking of women, Touma, don’t you?” Putting aside his father, flustered about something or other, and Index, currently wearing her weak young lady outfit (a long one-piece dress and a cardigan plus a giant hat), Kamijou tried to make heads or tails of this whole thing. Wait a second. Calm down. This is all some kind of massive wake-up prank, like the kind on TV where they put up hidden cameras everywhere so variety show hosts can laugh at people. Though I have no clue why Blue Hair is outside the city. The more ridiculous of a reaction I make, the more I’ll be playing into their hands! Touya and Index were worrying about Blue Hair, whom he had shut back into the room, but Kamijou ignored them and headed for the first floor. It would be dumb to entertain them any longer. Besides, he was going on an empty stomach, so he hadn’t the stamina to do so. He descended the narrow wooden stairway. The first floor of the beach house Wadatsumi was a wide space with a boarded floor. The entrance at the roadside and the exit toward the sea were both completely open to the outside, with no walls much less doors; the salty wind was blowing straight in. A few antique arcade game cabinets were placed in one corner of the shop. By the roadside entrance, there was something like a counter cutting away the wall. The mysterious electric girl calling herself his little sister, Mikoto Misaka, had taken up camp at one of the round coffee tables (or were they tea tables?) scattered about the center of the room, and she was disinterestedly reading a magazine. Her two thin legs extending from her short camisole waved back and forth underneath the table. She looked extremely bored. There was a television right next to her, but it was turned off. Kamijou, fed up with it, said, “…So, Biri Biri. Why are you just sitting here like you belong?” “How rude! Are you still in that rebellious phase, big brother? It’s actually okay if I hug you, and follow you around, and loaf around with you, you know.” “…” It looked like that gross flattery character she was acting out was still in commission. “Ugh. I feel like an idiot for having a transmitter stuck in my blood vessels.” He breathed a heavy sigh, entirely exhausted by it all. Mikoto, for her part, closed the magazine tiredly, then she laid down on the floor and started rolling around from left to right. “Oh, right, big brother. Do you think we could turn on the TV by ourselves?” “Huh? What are you talking about all of a sudden?” “Mgh. I mean, I can’t find the remote. TVs in places like this seem like the kind that, you know, belong to everyone, so ‘don’t go touching it without asking, you little brat,’ that sort of thing. So I can’t touch it, big brother.” “…”Still going with the little sister nonsense? Kamijou held his head in his hands. “What the heck is this? The audacious Miss Mikoto is acting so reserved.” “Who’s Mikoto?” The Level Five seemed to want to play the fool all day. “I guess I’m reserved, because that guy in charge of the house looks scary! Big brother, go ask if we can turn on the TV, okay?” “…I take it back. Even if you’re in character, you’re still audacious.” Be that as it may, one way or another Kamijou had a habit of turning on the TV in the morning, too. It was hard for him to settle down if he didn’t. He looked around, wondering where the shopkeeper was. There wasn’t anyone behind the counter. He wondered whether or not that was acceptable from a service industry standpoint. Just then, though, the smell of cooking oil reached him from the exit to the sea. “?” He looked over there, and he saw the back of a tall man roasting something just outside the exit, on the sand, with some charcoal fire and wire netting. “Oh, look, it’s that guy. Go ask him about the TV! Go ask, go ask!” requested Mikoto, swinging her feet around under the table. Suddenly he harbored doubts about all this. If he recalled correctly, the keeper of the beach house was tall, unfriendly, and a little scary when you looked at him. But had his hair been long enough to reach his shoulders, and was it always dyed bright red like that? Nevertheless, his feet clapped along the floor planks, and he approached the shopkeeper with a short “Excuse me.” The long red-haired shopkeeper turned around. The person, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, with a towel around his neck… …was the sorcerer Stiyl Magnus. “Nabahhh?!” That was when Kamijou’s mind reached the pinnacle of chaos. Standing at a little more than two meters, the long red-haired Englishman was an otherworldly sorcerer who could control fire and thought nothing of killing people. “’Ey, you’re up early. Water’s still cold. Or are you the type that couldn’t sleep because of how hot it was out yesterday?” Those, however, were the sorcerer’s words as he fanned the corn cooking on the charcoal fire. “Whoops, this isn’t done yet, so I can’t feed it to customers. Hey, Maou! Take the customer’s order and give him whatever!” said the sorcerer wearing beach sandals and a towel around his neck. Wh-what’s going on? What the hell is going on here?! For the first time since this all started, he finally began to think that something was wrong. Would that sorcerer, a combat—no, killing—professional, really be this cooperative for some joke or prank? Kamijou’s thoughts were about to slam into a brick wall in the face of the shocking imagery, but the sound of footsteps pattering up behind him snapped him out of it. A girl’s voice called out from the rear. “Hey, Dad! You can’t just say ‘give him whatever’ in front of the customer!” Who is it this time? he thought, turning around. There, wearing only an apron over a pair of navy blue swim trunks, a sunburned, simple and honest-looking Mikoto Misaka was standing. “Huh, is she playing two roles? No, wait, this one is the mass-produced little sister, isn’t it?” “Uh, Dad? This person is a customer, so I’m not allowed to tell him off, right?” A tight Japanese businesslike smile came across her face. Little Misaka had retained her impassive expression even when she was on the verge of death. Now, however, the grin she gave was vague and one that was completely out of the question for her. Wait, stop, what kind of joke is this; she’s basically naked under that apron, isn’t she; if you look from the side, if you look from the side, you can kind of see her chest; that’s terrible; gah, is it normal to go through with a wake-up prank like this far?! Then, next, from inside the beach house, the voice of the original Mikoto came flying at him. “Big brother! Did you ask? Did you ask about the TV? I’m turning it on, okay!” Kamijou took a peek inside from afar and saw her on all fours in front of the TV, hitting the power button. The volume was up really high, perhaps in consideration of a crowd of guests being present, so the voice on the TV reached all the way outside to Kamijou. “Yes, this is Komori at the scene. Jinsaku Hino, the convict on death row who broke out of the Shinfuchuu prison in the capital early this morning, has still not been located. There’s a tense atmosphere here, as schools in the vicinity, such as the middle school, have issued an emergency cancellation on all club activities.” The reporter’s name was Komori, wasn’t it? Yet, for some reason, he felt like he was listening to the familiar, childishly undeveloped voice of Komoe Tsukuyomi, his homeroom teacher. …Komoe Tsukuyomi? “Wait, that can’t be! Why is Miss Komoe on TV?!” Kamijou rushed over to the television, and right there on the CRT screen was a 135-centimeter-tall female teacher, whose outward appearance looked twelve years old, holding a microphone and reading off of a news draft. Why is she…? Is this all part of the prank? Then does that mean this is a recording? No, there’s no tape deck or anything. Then, did they hijack the airwaves? For what? A prank? That’s strange. This is way out of the realm of a wake-up prank He pushed Mikoto out of the way and took up a position in front of the TV. His finger repeatedly jabbed a small button beneath the screen. “Hey, wait. I wanted to watch Morning Fade-in!” He paid no mind to Mikoto’s plea for authority over station changing. As channel after channel went by, he saw an old man being treated as a sexy, appealing female newscaster and a brunette, heavily tanned high school girl as the president of a certain country giving a speech on the righteousness of war. The oddest part about it was the fact that they were all news programs being broadcast over open air, and they were all completely absurd. Behind an anchor reading off a script with a serious-looking face (this guy also looked like a factory worker or truck driver or something), there was a kindergartner with his hands on the steering wheel of a big bus, an old lady wearing a miniskirt fiddling with a cell phone, and the oft-seen-on-the-news prime minister playing a guitar in the road. The news broadcast site seemed to be a station packed with commuters, and there were more than just a couple hundred people going back and forth behind the anchors. And every person in the throng was odd in some way. Hey, wait, wait, wait. Is every single channel like this?! Even if this were all one big setup, how much money would it have taken to pay all these extras? And even before that, the prime minister himself showing up for this made the possibility of a wake-up prank a bizarre one in the first place. He got the feeling that this was not a prank. However, if it wasn’t some joke, then…what was it? Index was calling herself his mom, Blue Hair claimed to be a sister in white, and Stiyl turned into the old man in charge of the beach house. It was as if everyone’s inside and outside had been entirely swapped. By what logic? Kamijou had a huge, hopeless headache. It no longer made sense to consider the situation either realistically or scientifically.