2_Chapter 1_ Imagine Breaker

CHAPTER 1 Imagine Breaker Level0(and_More) 1 August 20, 6:10 PM In the glow of this midsummer evening, Touma Kamijou walked home from his remedial classes, alone and exhausted. I don’t care what the reason is. Going to these summer makeup classes alone isn’t good for my mental state during this long summer break, he thought. Normally, these “vacation lectures” began on the first day of summer break. His own classes had actually taken place from July 19 through July 28 apparently. Apparently. That usage of such a vague word was due to the fact that Kamijou was an amnesiac. He had no memories from before July 28. In other words, he didn’t really understand why or when the old him had skipped out on those lectures, and he didn’t know how he ended up having to pay the bill for it. Anyway, for some reason… Kamijou was standing there looking dumbfounded at the juice vending machine sitting in the road by itself. No. Just wait a second. Yes—he wanted things to slow down. Touma Kamijou had definitely slid a two thousand yen bill into the machine. So then why on earth wasn’t it showing any signs of reacting? All right, he’d admit it. He was well aware that two thousand yen notes were unusual in this day and age. But it was still two thousand yen. The machine hadn’t even given a peep after swallowing up such a lump sum. What’s up with this vending machine? Is some mechanical empire rising up in rebellion or what?! Kamijou yelled at himself, frenetically trying the change return lever over and over. What rotten luck. Sadly, if he took out his frustration and started to shake or kick the machine, it would doubtlessly notify the police. He had enough foresight to know that. The undeveloped areas in the western parts of Tokyo had been cleared away all at once to build Academy City, but despite its rejection of all things occult, everyone who bore witness to Kamijou thought the same unscientific thing: I guess there really is such a thing as bad luck. He was just that unfortunate. As he hung his shoulders in disappointment, he heard the sound of loafers clapping along the ground behind him. “’Scuse me! Would you quit spacing out in front of that vending machine? If you’re not getting anything, then move it, will ya? I’m gonna faint from dehydration if I don’t drink something as soon as possible.” No sooner had he heard the voice addressing him from behind than a girl’s soft hand grabbed Kamijou’s arm and forced him out of the way. Imperfect though he may have been, he was still a boy in his youth. He would have normally expected his heart to start beating a little faster. Right now, though, the only thing on his mind was this unbearable, intimate heat clinging persistently to him. “What, what?” Kamijou twisted his neck, and there saw a girl who looked like she was in middle school. She had brown shoulder-length hair and a “default” face good enough not to need makeup. She wore a summer sweater over her white short-sleeved blouse. That, along with her gray pleated skirt made him think…That’s the famous Tokiwadai Middle School’s uniform, isn’t it? However, he couldn’t help but hesitate to call this girl “high-class.” She was making the kind of face a salaryman might make after the first time he was disturbed by a packed train, alighting onto the station platform, sick and tired of the whole thing. Maybe the summer heat was getting to her. …So. I wonder who this is? Did he know her, or was she a complete stranger just being overly familiar? As an amnesiac, he was worried by this. The most annoying part of having no memories was finding the line between total newcomers and acquaintances. He didn’t know how far into this he wanted to go. Kamijou’s gut was saying he knew her. However, he got the feeling that it would be okay if he was to say something mistaken to someone this comfortable around strangers. Screw it, just say whatever! he concluded, deciding not to think about it anymore. “…So. Whaddaya want, you?” “You know, I have a name! It’s Mikoto Misaka! I can’t believe you still don’t remember it, you total moron” Pale blue sparks flew from her brown bangs with a snap as she shouted at him. Oh, damn, do jokes not work on her?! Without thinking about it, he assumed a defensive posture, and at that moment, a spear of blue-white lightning extended from her forehead like a horn and shot forth at light speed, with him in its sights. If he had watched it and tried to react, he never would have made it in time. However, his body moved on reflex before the bolt launched. It was almost like it remembered the habit because he’d been on the receiving end of this attack many, many times before. Kamijou swept his right hand sideways to backhand it, like he was swatting away a passing fly. Just like that, the javelin of high-tension current in excess of one billion volts split apart like a pillar of water, then disappeared. Imagine Breaker—the killer of illusions. It didn’t matter if it was a supernatural ability or magic or whatever. It was his unique talent: If something was caused by an “abnormal power,” he could touch it with his right hand, and it would cancel it out. That even went for miracles from God himself. “?” Kamijou stared at this middle school student (or rather, the unsuccessful homicide criminal). She was giving him a crabby face. His body had moved unconsciously and evaded the attack. He had experienced this phenomenon once before. That guy, Stiyl Magnus, had whipped out a flame sword, but Kamijou had repelled it without a second thought, purely out of conditioned reflexes left over in his body… But Kamijou was an amnesiac. Moreover, even though all his memories were gone, his knowledge still remained. It was quite the odd state of affairs. At the time, his body had ostensibly reacted by itself. Even though he didn’t remember, he had actually been attacked with those flame swords before then. Which means that this person’s someone I’m acquainted with. I see. I know her, do I? Damn it, why the hell did I only know people like this?! “Would you stop looking at me like you’re about to cry?” Mikoto placed her hands on her hips. “Anyway, if you don’t have anything else to do, then move it. I’ve totally got something to do with this vending machine.” “Uh…” His eyes bounced between the vending machine and the girl who named herself as Mikoto Misaka. She didn’t have a shred of consideration for the situation, and she was also the culprit of an attempted murder…but would it be okay not to tell her about how he knew this vending machine would definitely eat her money just because of that? Well, it wasn’t quite that he wanted to not see her disappointed; he was more scared of a homicidal rage when she came to attack him afterward, which she would inevitably do. “That vending machine. Seems like it just eats your money.” “I know that,” answered Mikoto succinctly. Okay, now he was the one who didn’t understand her intentions. “? You’re gonna put money in it even though you know it’ll eat it? Is this the donation box for some kinda shrine?” “You’re an utter moron. I have a trick, all right? A trick to make the juice come out without actually putting any money in.” “…” He got a bad feeling about this. He got a really bad feeling about this. This trick…He figured that she must use it a whole ton on a daily basis if she was calling it a “trick.” To repeat, Kamijou’s two thousand yen note had been eaten by the machine. Could the reason it was malfunctioning like this possibly be… “Tokiwadai Middle School style—Old Lady Forty-Five-Degree-Angle Machine-Restarting Strike!” Remarkably, along with the ridiculous ending shout of “Chay-saa!,” Mikoto delivered a high kick to the side of the vending machine, while wearing a skirt. There was a deafening thump! Then they heard something inside the machine rattling around and falling, and shortly after, cans of juice appeared in the dispenser. “It’s all worn-out, so the springs holding in the juice are loose, you know? Trouble is, you never know what’s gonna come out…Uh, what’s up with you?” “Absolutely nothing,” Kamijou replied in perfect monotone. Under her skirt were gym short pants. Somehow, he felt like his dreams had been ruined. “Wait, so if it’s passed down at Tokiwadai, does that mean all the rich girls there do that?” “That’s what all-female schools are all about. Don’t go having weird dreams about girls, got it?” “…” Kamijou thought it was a pretty harsh reality. “That wasn’t it. I wanted to ask: Isn’t the reason the vending machine is broken in the first place because you all come along every single day and gang up on the thing?!” “It’s no problem! What are you so mad about? It’s not like it’s hurting you, right?” “…” “Hmm? By the way, how did ya figure out this machine was a money eater…” She quieted for a moment before finishing. “…Did your money get eaten?” “…” “Huh? It did? It really did?! Hey, quit making fists and trembling like that. Give me a straight answer! Were you spacing out because the vending machine ate your money?!” “…What would you do if you heard the answer?” “That’s simple, I’d take a picture with my cell phone and send the idiot’s face out to the world— I’m joking, I’m joking! Stop shuffling forward like you’re gauging distance, it’s scary!” Kamijou exhaled and let the strength flow out of him. Taking it out on her wouldn’t bring his two thousand yen back. That two thousand yen had originally been placed in his wallet with the intention of buying some fireworks or something for the freeloading sister in white awaiting his return at the dorms. There was no point in pondering that now, though. Losers should just act like losers and follow their homing instincts or something. Kamijou let his shoulders fall and turned his back to Mikoto. She looked at that easily readable back of his and, with her hands still on her waist, breathed a pretty exasperated sigh. “Wait a second, you. So how much got eaten exactly?” “…I’m not telling. I can’t. I don’t want to.” He looked at this girl. They’d just met, but he didn’t think straight up telling her he’d lost two thousand yen would lead to her saying, “Oh, you poor thing!” Her responding with a “ga-ha-ha-wa-ha-ha!” laugh, like a warring states–era general, would probably make more sense. Then her face grew slightly more serious (perhaps, somehow, feeling something like responsibility). “I won’t laugh. I promise. And by the way, I’ll even get back the money it ate.” What could these friendly skills be?! Kamijou wondered, his eyes sparkling. His thoughts never arrived at the realization that this was all Mikoto’s fault in the first place for kicking the vending machine all the time. So there Kamijou was, a little scared of being labeled an idiot who managed to get two thousand yen stuck in a machine. However, when Mikoto said, “I said, I won’t laugh! I really won’t, okay? I really, definitely won’t laugh!” he decided to confess, defeated. “…Two thousand yen.” “Two thousand? Why are you making a fuss about such pocket change?” After saying this, she stopped short as it dawned on her. “Wait, two thousand yen? Wait, you mean like, a two thousand yen note?! Wow, I wanna see! I totally want to see that! I thought all those bills were extinct! He-he…Aha-ha-ha-ha! Of course the vending machine would bug out. Two thousand yen notes aren’t even in convenience store registers these days! Aha-ha-ha-ha, eek!” Mikoto was getting excited at something weird. Kamijou looked at her, shouted, “You liar!” and automatically buried his face in his hands. That’s why he didn’t want to tell her it was a two thousand yen note. Him using it on a vending machine also strongly implied he was trying to exchange it for lower currency amounts. This was a two thousand yen note they were talking about here. Even a department store clerk with a perfectly sculpted, smiling expression would definitely let out a grunt and falter, even if only for a moment. “I see. Well then, you better start praying that two thousand yen bill comes out…I won’t accept it if you give me two one thousand yen bills, got it, you piece of junk?” Mikoto stood herself in front of the vending machine, then slowly thrust the palm of her right hand toward the coin insert slot. Suddenly Kamijou wasn’t so sure about all of this. “But how are you gonna get the money out of there?” “How?” She gave him a look of blank amazement. “Like this.” A moment later, bluish-white sparks launched out of the palm of Mikoto’s hand and struck the vending machine. A roaring whump! thundered, and the extremely heavy-looking machine wobbled back and forth like it had been rammed by a sumo wrestler. A mountain of black smoke erupted from the gaps between its metal fittings as if this were some kind of gag manga. Kamijou paled. In fact, his face turned pure white. “Huh? That’s weird. I didn’t plan on blasting it that hard. Ah, looks like a ton of juice is coming out. Hey, your two thousand yen note didn’t come out, but there’s, uh, definitely at least two thousand yen’s worth of juice cans coming out. Is that okay?…Hey, why are you running away so desperately?! Heeeey!” He didn’t turn back. He sprinted at full speed in an effort to put every centimeter, every millimeter he could between him and that vending machine. He knew because he experienced all sorts of bad luck at every turn. He could see the future one second from now clearly. D-damn it! I don’t know why, but I get the distinct feeling this has happened before As soon as he thought that… Though the alarms on the vending machine would remain silent even if kicked, they started to blare with all their might, so that everything could hear, as if it was mercilessly spewing out all of its pent-up frustration. 2 He didn’t really remember where or how he ran. What he could say for sure was that he had sprinted all out for about ten minutes. The next thing he realized, he was seated on the bench at a bus stop in the shopping district. Exhausted, he was staring up at the August sky, which was dyed in orange by the light of the sunset. A blimp was floating through the air. On its side was a large screen, lazily spilling out Academy City’s news for the day, regarding the announcement that a Mizuho Agency, an organization researching muscular dystrophy, had withdrawn from business. “Quit blissfully running away from reality and hold your drinks, will ya? This is your share in the first place.” Sitting next to him was Mikoto, sighing in exasperation and throwing a whole bunch of juice cans at him. For her part, she was gazing calmly at the propellers on a wind generator, spinning round and round. She might have been a little down in the dumps at having failed to control her power. “…Kamijou was afraid that somehow, the moment he takes this juice, he’ll evolve from bystander to accomplice. Wait, don’t throw it at me like I’m a garbage can—hey, that’s hot! Why the hell is hot red bean soup in there?!” “The point was to get it to malfunction, so I can’t choose what kind I get!” “But I’m getting some pretty clear evil signals with this black soybean cider and this condensed kinako milk!” “Hmm? Hey, count your blessings. You should be thanking Miss Mikoto’s good fortune for not pulling the two demons—the guarana vegetable juice and the strawberry oden soup!” Academy City was, put another way, a city of experiments. Its countless universities and research institutions enjoyed testing their “products” in practical applications, so prototypes like garbage-collecting automatons and self-driving police robots filled every corner of the city. And well, this meant that the product lineups on convenience store shelves and in vending machines differed from normal cities, too… “…It’s all different, but I’ve got half a mind to put in an inquiry regarding the fact that it’s still the same money we students are paying.” “Come on, it’s fine! It’s okay to be filled with dreams and ambitions and advance one step at a time, isn’t it? Oh, if you’re not gonna drink that coconut cider, then I’ll take it.” Mikoto took one of the macabre juice cans from Kamijou’s arms. “Anyway, you run away from things too easily—including from this one can of juice. It’s like…How do I put it?…You’re actually strong, but you make people think you’re just a weak idiot? Whenever Miss Mikoto sees that, she gets half a mind to say a thing or two about it.” “…I wonder why it’s only the people who say stuff that totally misses the mark who seem so weirdly egotistical?” “What was that?” Mikoto looked at Kamijou with the face of a belligerent drunk. “…I don’t think it’s all that far off, really. There are lots of weaklings who go through life trembling in fear, and strong people live haughtily. I think that’s only natural. But you’re different, right? You have the kind of power that can easily force one of the seven Level Fives in Academy City to back down, so why on earth do you flee all over the town whenever you’re chased by so much as a hoodlum or a Chihuahua that got off its leash?” “?” Mikoto’s words were chock-full of confidence, but Kamijou couldn’t remember any of it. If that was the case, then either Mikoto’s words were a bad guess, or else…Could she know about his unknown past? Unable to figure out which it was, Kamijou decided to vaguely bring himself in line with the conversation. “You know, you should brag more that you defeated Mikoto Misaka, the Railgun. Not doing so is an inexcusable offense to the defeated party. I mean, don’t you see? From now on, everyone will think this their whole lives about me: ‘Mikoto Misaka lost to a man who gets chased around by hoodlums and Chihuahuas off their collars?’” Mikoto took a swig of the coconut cider. “You won against me. So at the very least, you should take responsibility as the victor, or else you’ll cause me trouble. I am one of only seven Level Fives in Academy City! At least try hard enough so that I can stick out my chest and say that I lost to a person like you, fairly and openly.” “What are you talking about? I’ve got no interest in Edo period Bushido morals, so…” Before he could finish, Kamijou noticed an odd, out-of-place feeling in that last thing she said. You won against me? Which means…Did I, the humble Touma Kamijou, take a high-class girl from a high-class school like Tokiwadai Middle School, push her down, get on top of her, ball my fists, and beat the hell out of her until she cried that she was sorry and would never do it again, is that it? I see, it’s only natural that such a man’s brain cells would have broken and his memories gotten destroyed, and also, what the hell were you doing while I didn’t remember, and also, a girl telling me to “take responsibility” sounds an awful lot like a threat, you know “Uh, urr…” “? Hey, wait, why are you getting all groany like that?” Mikoto sighed. “Man, you’re really a pain in the ass, you know that? What, did you pull that from some shounen manga or something?” She folded her arms and exhaled like she took offense to it. Kamijou, grasping his head in dismay, didn’t notice. “It’s that way you do things, you know? Where you never throw your own punches. You just let your opponents beat you to a pulp and perfectly guard all of it. It’s so conceited and annoying, and yet it’s definitely effective. I won’t allow it!” “…Uurr…uh?” He refocused on what Mikoto was going on about, still moaning with his head in his hands. I never throw my own punches? So then, this was the same kind of power relation as a parent smiling and calming down a child? One who took a joke too seriously and was shaking his fists in the air or something? I never raised a hand against girls, even if I was fighting a lightning user? … …That’s not bad, Touma Kamijou. “Huh. I really can’t stand you when you look confident, you know that?” Mikoto sounded disinterested. “Here, whatever, just drink your juice. Man, getting a gift like this directly from Miss Mikoto…If you were one of my underclassmen, you’d be swooning and fainting right now!” “Fainting? There isn’t a soul alive who’d be happy about these cans of juice that just barely fulfill the food hygiene laws. Besides, this isn’t some shoujo manga, so there’re no love stories in an all girls’ school.” “…Well. It would be sweet if it was just at shoujo manga levels.” For some reason, Mikoto averted her eyes. “Everything’s pretty busy, okay? Or maybe I should say muddy. You want me to tell you what I get called at school? It’ll blow you away! “We-he-haa-hah…” Mikoto laughed, without any strength behind it. But then… “Big Sister?” Suddenly, the bell-like voice of a girl sounded out near them, and Mikoto made a face like ice had been plunged into her back. The corners of her mouth twitched, and she scowled deeply. Bi…?! Big… Kamijou caught his breath at the unexpected shock. What is this?! He quickly jerked his head to look behind him and saw a girl who looked to be in her first year of middle school, wearing the same uniform as Mikoto, standing a little away from them. With brown hair in pigtails, she clasped her hands in front of her and made her eyes sparkle. “Oh my, Big Sister! My, oh my! I thought those silly remedial classes didn’t suit you, but I never would have guessed you’d be using them as an excuse for this!” Kamijou looked beside him; Mikoto looked about ready to panic. It’s not like he had any power, but he strangely felt like she had transmitted an internal cry straight to his mind, forbidding him from butting in. She pressed on her temples like she had a headache and began to speak to the mystery girl. “Umm…I just want to be sure. What might you be referring to when you say this?” “Well, obviously, it was in order to rendezvous with this gentleman here, was it not?” Sparks came from Mikoto’s hair with a crackle. The girl in pigtails didn’t mind, though. This time, she flashed a full smile at Kamijou, who was currently watching blankly, and approached their bench terrifyingly quickly. Oh, shit, she came over here! He was about to jolt off the bench in spite of himself, but before he could, the girl grabbed hold of his hand and covered it with both of hers. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, gentleman. My name is Kuroko Shirai, and I’m Big Sister’s outrider.” “Uh-huh.” Kamijou struggled to find a reaction. His gaze was steadily lowering to the hand she had clasped. “By the way, if this is all it takes to get you flustered, she might have to worry about you being prone to…adultery, you know?” Kamijou sputtered like he was a volcano about to erupt. Mikoto wobbled up out of her seat beside him and said, “Listen here, you…Does this weirdo look like my boyfriend?!” As she delivered those subtly wounding words, Mikoto let loose a spear of lightning from her bangs. But just before the pale blue electricity hit her, Kuroko Shirai let go of Kamijou’s hand. The next time he blinked, she had disappeared into thin air without a word. Mikoto clicked her teeth. “She used that stupid teleport of hers. I swear to God if you start spreading strange rumors, I’m coming after you, damn it!” She fired a few more bolts at the empty space. People passing by gathered their attention to the Level Five buzz-buzz. Oh, jeez, how do I get her to calm down now?! wondered Kamijou with his head in his hands, when all of a sudden, a voice came at them from behind the bench. “Big Sister?” Not again?! Kamijou turned around. Behind the bench stood another Mikoto Misaka. “Eh?” There was no doubt that the person standing there was Mikoto Misaka. She had brown shoulder-length hair, a well-featured face, a white short-sleeved blouse, a summer sweater, and a pleated skirt. There she was—a perfect Mikoto Misaka, from her height to her clothes and smaller articles. However… Kamijou returned his eyes to the bench seat next to him. Brown shoulder-length hair, a well-featured face, a white short-sleeved blouse, a summer sweater, and a pleated skirt—Mikoto Misaka was obviously sitting right there. The difference was that the girl standing behind the bench was wearing something akin to night-vision goggles on her forehead as if they were swimming goggles. In addition, the glint in her eyes made it seem like they weren’t focused on any one thing, but rather were trying to chase everything coming into her sight. Those ambiguously unfocused eyes intently followed the back of Mikoto’s head. “…Wait, what? There’s more of you?! Misaka Unit Two!” Kamijou was flabbergasted. He looked at the faces of the two Mikoto Misakas in turn. The one on the bench next to him had a similarly astonished look, but the one standing behind the bench was staring at them without a trace of an expression. “So,” he hazarded, looking over his shoulder, “who might you be?” The girl behind the bench shifted her eyes to him without moving her neck. “I am her little sister, Misaka replies, quickly and precisely.” “…” What an odd way of talking, he mused, though he decided not to say it. There were too many people close to Kamijou who talked funny. He didn’t realize that he was one of them himself, though. “But your name is ‘something Misaka,’ and your first name is Misaka? You’re not Misaka Misaka, you know. You normally put your given name there, right? Wouldn’t it get confusing if you went by Misaka at your house?” “Well, Misaka’s name is Misaka, Misaka replies immediately.” “…” She can’t actually be named Misaka Misaka, but it seems there’s some weird, unspoken rules coming into play here. Kamijou looked to Mikoto to throw him a life preserver, but he clammed up again when he saw her face. For some reason, she was silently glaring at her (apparently identical) younger sister. “I-I see, you’re her little sister. Wow, you two look a lot alike. Could it be that your heights and weights are the same, too?” Mikoto had been staring at her little sister for a while. “We’re identical on the genetic level, Misaka replies. Also, how rude he is to bring up the topic of body weight with a girl, she says to herself.” Mikoto had been staring at her little sister for quite a while now. “…” What a strange person, thought Kamijou. “If you’re the same on a genetic level, then that means you’re twins! Hmm. I’ve never seen identical twins before, but man, they really do look alike, huh? Anyway, what do you need, Miss Twin? Going home with your big sister?” Mikoto had been staring at her little sister for a long, long while at this point. “What a fresh mouth this flippant jerk has, Misaka thinks, but she swallows her true opinion and answers his question. Misaka detected an equivalent power in a zone six hundred meters in radius centered on Misaka, so I came to take a look…” It seemed perfectly logical that similar abilities would appear for identical twins. It was logical, but…Kamijou finally started to get scared of the look on Mikoto’s face. That’s bad…Is she the kind of person who hates showing her family’s faces and stuff to her friends on parents’ day at school? he pondered. “…There was a broken vending machine at the site, and you two are in possession of a large amount of juice. I never thought my sister would have a hand in petty theft, says Misaka, clucking her tongue.” Little Misaka was still standing straight and stiff. “What means have you used to win my sister over? inquires Misaka, just to be sure.” She was placing him under strange suspicions, so there was no other choice but to continue the conversation. “Hey, the principal offender here was her. I was just a bystander!” “Making false claims constitutes a crime, answers Misaka. As a result of measuring the front of the vending machine via its reflectivity, I discovered that the most recent fingerprints left on it were yours, accuses Misaka with veritable proof.” “You must be kidding! Lightning users can even figure that out?!” “I am kidding, Misaka replies straightly.” “…” “…” HELP ME, thought Kamijou, tugging on Mikoto’s shoulder but still looking at Little Misaka. But no matter how long he waited, she didn’t say anything to her. That’s weird, he thought. I’ve only known her for ten minutes, but I can clearly tell that she’d just keep talking by herself even if no one asked her to. How is it possible that she’s keeping silent now that someone is saying bad stuff about her? “…?” Kamijou casually looked toward the girl in the seat next to him. Then… “…You! Why the hell are you just loafing around in a place like this?!” Suddenly, an angry yell exploded from Mikoto, who had been quiet until now. Whoa! Kamijou nearly leaned back from the ear-splitting shout that cut them off. That shrill voice girls have pierced into his earholes and a sensation not unlike brain freeze assaulted him. After the one mad outburst, she shut up again. As if she was waiting for Little Misaka to reply. They were enveloped by an empty silence, like the kind that happens after lightning strikes. A blimp was wandering through the night sky. The big screen plastered on its side was repeating today’s news that a new computer virus called HDC.Cerberus was wreaking havoc on the Internet. The voice announcing it resounded cryptically. Below all that, Little Misaka, still standing rigid as a pole, looked into Mikoto’s eyes with a dazed stare. “If you must ask, I am in training right now, Misaka responds concisely.” “Tra…” Mikoto sucked in her breath like someone had hit her in the back, then turned her eyes away. She muttered something under her breath, but Kamijou didn’t catch it. “? In training? Did your sister enter Judgment or something?” When someone with the rank of student hears the word training, Judgment is usually the thing that immediately comes to mind. As one might have figured out from Mikoto’s power, abilities boast more capacity for casualties than a poorly handled knife. With more than 2.3 million espers in Academy City, there would, of course, be a specialized agency for dealing with the ones who go out of control. There are two offices that suppress rampaging espers: the Anti-Skills, a force of teachers wielding next-generation weaponry, and Judgment, made up of espers elected from each of the schools. Both the Anti-Skills and the members of Judgment are nothing more than run-of-the-mill teachers and students when one got right down to it. Because of that, however, they must sign nine contractual agreements, take thirteen different aptitude tests, and overcome four months of training before they’re able to call themselves professionals. Mikoto clapped her hands together in front of her face and, for some reason, excellently averted her eyes from his. “Um. Ah, Judgment? Ah, yeah, that’s it. That’s what’s going on, so when things like this happen, I get in a bunch of trouble. A bunch. Or maybe a crunch?” She said all this in a fantastically fishy tone of voice. “Hey, why does all this suddenly sound like a phone scam? The more you talk, the less information you’re giving me.” “N-no, it isn’t! I’m speaking distinctly and clearly, yeah, distincti-clearly!” Then Mikoto turned her eyes to her sister. “It’s just that there’s a lot I need to say. A lot. Hey, Sis, would you come over here a sec?” “Huh? No, Misaka has her own schedule to keep, says—” “Forget that.” Mikoto stared her younger sister in the eyes. “Come over here.” Her oddly level voice weighed on Kamijou’s mind for some reason. It’s not like Mikoto really did anything. She just looked at the face of her sister, smiled, and said one thing. But that one thing…An unknown whirlpool of emotion within it stuck right in his core. Mikoto looked at him. The only thing there now was the face of a completely normal, if loud, middle school student. “Well, we’re heading down this way. You should be mindful of your curfew, too!” She left behind Kamijou, still sitting on the bench, and wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders. The absolutely identical pair of girls started walking down the wide road. He slumped in his seat. Then, gazing at the blimp floating along in the night sky, he murmured, “Seems like a complicated”—he paused—“family situation, I guess?” 3 If he needed a problem, he had them in spades. “Yeah, that’s right! What the heck am I gonna do with all this juice?” Kamijou stared befuddled at the mountain of nineteen drink cans on the bench (Mikoto had consumed just one: the coconut cider), but in the end, he was going to have to physically carry them all. Three hundred and fifty times nineteen, so 6.65 kilograms, huh, I guess it’s what they say: the dust piling up and stuff. His futile calculations brought him even deeper into despair. He was in about the same mental state as an acrophobic who had just carelessly peeked beneath a suspension bridge. And with this and that, Kamijou tottered back home in the red afternoon light with an armful of cans. The road leading through the residential district was narrow, with nothing but student dorms on either side, and there weren’t many cars. But it was the one kind of place where if you started thinking that a car wouldn’t come along, you might be sent flying by the rear end of a car that suddenly leaped out of a garage in reverse. Unfortunate though he was, even Kamijou wasn’t accustomed enough to bad luck to smile and be killed by a car five minutes away from home. Getting back’s gonna be a hike, thought Kamijou, psyching himself up and readjusting the juice he was carrying. The cold cans had been in his hands like this for a while, and they were starting to steal away quite a bit of his body heat. Why do I have to be nearly frozen to death during this stupidly hot Japanese summer?! he lamented to himself. All of a sudden, Kamijou noticed a tennis ball on the ground at his feet, and he snapped out of his thoughts. Was someone playing with it and just left it here afterward? he wondered. “Whoa, there.” He had been just barely about to step on it, but he stopped his upraised foot and shifted it a little to the side to try and avert disaster. Jeez, that was close. If I had tripped over this thing, it would have sucked! he thought… …when suddenly, the wind blew. The swaying ball slid into the space between his foot and the ground as if the whole thing had been calculated. “Egh! Wait, you little—!” He had already started to put his body weight into that leg—he couldn’t stop his foot at this point. All his weight came down on the ball perfectly, and he toppled over backward. There was so much juice in his hands that he couldn’t fall safely, either. His back slammed into the ground, driving all the air out of his lungs, and he writhed in place without even enough to muster a “what rotten luck.” The cans of juice that he was carrying scattered and rolled all over the place, clinking and clanking, but for the moment, he just laid there sprawled out and took some deep breaths. He even figured, Well, they’re just cans of juice, so it probably doesn’t matter if some of them get dented. “D-damn it. What did I do to deserve this…,” he huffed, finally sitting himself upright. Seeing the nineteen cans spread out over such a large area made him feel hopeless. “Do I really hafta pick up six kilos of this stuff again?” he whined to himself. Still, it wasn’t like he had any other solutions. When all was said and done, he was going to have to gather them up by himself, all alone. As he bent over to do so, a shadow fell directly over him. …A cloud? What’s this? He automatically looked up. Mikoto Misaka was standing there. Whoa?! Kamijou flinched, then took a step back from the crushing pressure of the silent middle school girl looking down at him. “You, uh…Huh? Didn’t you go somewhere with your little sister? I mean, if you want more juice, I can give you two or three cans.” “…” Mikoto didn’t respond to what he said. That’s odd, he thought, before remembering something. Mikoto had told him this, with a bit of lightning thrown in, just before: that he should take the minimum responsibility as the victor, since he defeated her. That he should act in a way that she can stick out her chest and declare, fairly and openly, that she had lost to this man. How was he supposed to do that right now? The Touma Kamijou in question had just stepped on a tennis ball, fallen onto the pavement, flung cans of juice all over the road, and was in the process of bending over and picking up the cans, feeling sorry for himself. And finally… Gah?! She got too close, this is bad, at this angle I can see up her skirt— Hey, wait, wasn’t she just wearing gym short pants before, why did she class-change into panties?! Despite currently being confused about a few different things, he was aware looking straight at it would make anyone mad. Mikoto looked down at Kamijou with eyes that seemed to have lost all emotion. “If you require assistance, I will help you, suggests Misaka with a sigh.” “?” Kamijou stared for a moment in suspicion at Mikoto. She was far from sighing—she was breathing so quietly it struck him as strange, but… And that was when he finally noticed the night-vision goggles in her hands. “Oh, okay, it’s the sister. You know, you really do look like Mikoto.” “…Mikoto…? Misaka responds. Oh, you mean my big sister.” “Who else would I be talking about?” She’s going at her own pace as always, he noted. “…I see. You’re her little sister. No wonder I thought she class-changed away from short pants.” “Short…?” “No, that was just me talking to myself! Uh, anyway, right! What are those rough-looking army goggles you’ve got there?” “Unlike my big sister, Misaka has no skill at seeing the flow of electricity or magnetism, so Misaka requires an apparatus to visualize them, Misaka politely explains in detail.” “…” Don’t go thinking that you sound polite just because you used some fancy words, Kamijou said to himself. “The heat and humidity were high, so I removed them. However, if you feel it is necessary, then I will equip them, suggests Misaka.” Little Misaka pulled the goggles over her forehead, muttering something to herself. “Hm. Huh? But didn’t you go with your sis before?” “Misaka came from that direction, says Misaka, pointing.” Little Misaka pointed down the road. For some reason it was the completely wrong direction. “?” Kamijou canted his head, confused. “In any case, what will you do about the littered juice cans? asks Misaka. If you leave them here, it will conflict with the road traffic law and you may be fined any amount up to 150,000 yen, she adds.” “…Right, sorry. I’ll pick them all up, so go away.” He knew that she hadn’t said that in a nasty or bitter way or anything, but being told to get something done now because he was bothering people around him managed to touch a nerve. As he silently picked up the cans of juice one by one… “If necessary, Misaka will help as well, Misaka proposes.” “Eh? It’s okay, I’ll do it. Besides, you’ve got no reason to help me, do you?” But then, at the worst possible moment, a small truck came rolling down the residential roadway. It screeched to a halt in front of Kamijou and Misaka, and its driver honked the horn at them a few times in exasperation. “…” Without another word, Little Misaka began to collect the juice making a mess on the road. He felt a little ashamed at making a girl he didn’t really know help him fix his own blunder. However, the truck’s horn had been beeping at them to hurry up since it arrived, so he couldn’t even say that. Having no other choice, he settled on the gender equality option: each of them picking up half. He found himself unable to leave it like that, though, so he said shortly, “Sorry. I’ll buy you an ice cream at the convenience store later or something, so I hope you!” As he was saying that, he looked at Little Misaka again and caught his breath in spite of himself. The defenselessly crouching Little Misaka wasn’t giving a thought to her particularly short skirt. He got a peek at some kind of white-and-blue stripes between her legs. Still squatting, Little Misaka looked up at him, her face blank. “…What is it? Misaka queries.” “Ee…! N-nothing, it’s nothing, okay? It’s absolutely nothing, okay?” “You say that, but I am detecting dilated pupils, ragged breathing, and abnormalities in pulse are being detected, evaluates Misaka objectively. In conclusion, you are in a state of excitement, are you not? says Misa—” “No, nothing! It’s really nothing! I’m really sorry!” “?” Misaka’s head tilted, puzzled, like she wanted to ask who he was apologizing to. Then the truck blared that miserable horn again. Kamijou got a move on like someone had kicked him in the butt and went back to picking up the juice. Once they were finished, the truck violently proceeded on its way, indeed seeming quite angry. Incidentally, as the truck drove by, Little Misaka’s skirt flipped up. She still didn’t push it back down. Hmm…I think I might have figured out how to tell these sisters apart, sighed Kamijou. Mikoto didn’t leave herself this unprotected—she wore gym short pants under her skirt. “Now then, where shall I bring this juice? asks Misaka, her arms full of juice cans.” “Eh? No, I can do that myself, all right?” “Now then, where shall I bring this juice? insists Misaka.” “I said it’s okay, you don’t have to. It’s not your responsibility or anything.” “Just tell me already.” He thought he felt her voice growing sharp. He gave up and decided to let Little Misaka carry it. Fortunately, his dormitory was only a five-minute walk away. It was a dreary place, what with all the identical buildings lined up next to each other. Actually, it was apparently the number one wind turbine location in Academy City or something, since the building winds all funneled into the same direction. They slipped into what was practically a back alley, then he turned the entrance doorknob, casting doubt as to whether or not the security systems were actually working, and they headed for the elevator. As they headed there, a cleaning robot appeared in front of them and approached. It was basically an oil drum, eight centimeters tall and forty in diameter, with tires and a revolving mop plugged onto it. The description thus far wouldn’t have been an unusual sight in Academy City, but the next part was a bit different. Atop the flat head of the cleaning drone, there was a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old maid, meekly sitting seiza, kneeling with legs tucked underneath her thighs. “Heya, Touma Kamijou!” Maika Tsuchimikado. She was the stepsister of Kamijou’s neighbor, Motoharu Tsuchimikado. She apparently wore a maid uniform because she was going to housekeeping school (read: a maid school). At first she might have looked like a runaway who had fled the girls’ dorms after something bad happened so she could take a breather. However, it hadn’t been very long at all since he lost his memories. He kept on seeing her around here, so it seemed like she was just routinely sneaking into the place. “My air conditioner was broken today so I came to sleep over! I think my big brother and I are both gonna get pretty loud tonight, so please have some patience, okay?” “…Huh, housekeeping school must be a pain, huh. You’ve got no summer break!” “Well. Our school teaches that true maids don’t need any off time, you know! There’s no Saturday or Sunday for maids in training, so if they don’t enact a couple of days off during the week here and there, we’d all up and collapse.” “But is a slacker maid really in demand in this glacial epoch?” “Actually, in a way, ‘incomplete’ maids are in higher demand than the perfect ones, but…Oh. By the way, Touma Kamijou. Are those the spoils of war from Operation Win the Lottery?” “No, I paid for these properly (probably). I got ’em from a bit of a dirty job, but you can have one if you want.” “If you have green tea, then I’ll take that.” “…Sure, if you count green tea milk as green tea.” Maika Tsuchimikado ended up reaching out with her tiny hand and taking the powdered green tea milk out of Kamijou’s arms. Then the cleaning robot diverted its path around Kamijou and Little Misaka. Maika, still sitting seiza, waved her arm good-bye in a long arc. “One last thing. The first trick to giving shelter to runaway girls! Don’t leave them alone in your room since noon. In a city in peacetime, the easiest way to feed them is to let them loose outside and then pick them up when night falls. If you leave one in your room 24-7, 365 days a year, the noise from her living there will leak in no time and the neighboring residents might catch on. And also, that nun is making a really big ruckus in your room, did you know?” The cleaning drone carrying the sitting girl rolled away somewhere. “You have hobbies of imprisoning girls? attempts Misaka, a little seriously.” “Don’t get all serious. I’m just harboring a freeloader,” Kamijou declared, though…What did the law have to say on the matter? He earnestly hoped this wouldn’t be termed “abducting a minor,” or anything along those lines. Kamijou and Little Misaka boarded the elevator, the cables of which seemed like they would snap if a sumo wrestler got in, and headed for the seventh floor. Ding-dong came a cheap-sounding electric noise, heralding the elevator’s arrival on the seventh story. His dormitory building was roughly rectangular, so the only thing greeting them as they stepped off was a straight hallway. At the other end—and only in front of the door to his room—the metal railing had oddly been replaced. Kamijou had gathered it had happened before losing his memory, so he didn’t know why, but it appeared that some idiot had blown off the railing with fire. When he looked closely, there were spots here and there on the walls and floor that looked like new as well. Crouched before the door were Index and Aisa Himegami, facing each other and looking at the calico. They had their hands extended to it and were fawning over it. The cat, surrounded and being pampered by two sets of hands, was rolling around the floor. “…Huh, what are they doing over there? Hey! What’s wrong, you lose the key to the room and lock yourselves out?” he called. The two of them looked over. “Ah, it’s Touma! No, Sphinx has fleas, so we were— Hey, wait! Touma, you brought along another girl again!” The girl who cried out was Index, a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old girl. Though her name was 100 percent fake, she was clad in a plush, gold-embroidered nun’s habit with a white background; it looked like a teacup. Apparently in some world she was called “the Index of Forbidden Books,” but Kamijou had been giving her the decidedly more subtle treatment of “freeloader who appeared without my knowing.” “Perhaps you were born under those stars. You start to build up the various routes. As if you were triggering flags.” The girl who lazily remarked on him was Aisa Himegami, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl. She looked the gold standard of a shrine maiden, with long black hair and a red-and-white priestess uniform. Despite that, a large silver cross hanging from her neck stood out against them. As well it should—it was apparently a barrier made to seal the power she held called “Deep Blood.” Then he remembered that Index had told him something along these lines about it: “Touma, Touma. Don’t touch Aisa’s Celtic cross, okay? After all, it’s a cross extracted from just the part of the Walking Church that maintains a minimal barrier. Hmm, if we compared it to a normal church, I guess it would be like carrying around just the big cross on its roof?” “Huh. So that means if I touch it with my right hand, it’ll break.” “Yeah, just like the time with my habit.” “Hm? What? I couldn’t hear you.” “Nothing! I didn’t say anything, and I’m not thinking anything!” After that, Index’s face flushed for some reason, and she had bitten into his head as if she was taking something out on him. Anyway, the gist of it seemed to be that he should never, ever touch that cross. Incidentally, now that the cross had sealed her powers, Himegami had been judged “talentless” by the elite private school she was attending and was about to get kicked out. It wasn’t unusual for private schools to have an enrollment criteria of being a Level Two Adept or above. If you consider how athletes who got into a college on sports scholarships are treated when they injure themselves and are unable to exercise, it should be easy to understand her situation. In reality, if she just took off the cross, Deep Blood would apparently reactivate, but she didn’t seem to have any plans to take it off ever again. With this and that, she had automatically been driven from her student dormitory. If she left Academy City, though, she might be targeted by sorcerers seeking the power of Deep Blood. From what he heard, she was wandering around aimlessly wondering what she should do when who should arrive but Kamijou’s homeroom teacher, Miss Komoe. She picked her up and turned Himegami into a freeloader or something. Some might think it extremely unlikely to just run into someone like that in a city as big as this one, but spots where runaway girls naturally gather in actually exist. Miss Komoe was a specialist in things like social psychology, environmental psychology, behavioral psychology, and traffic psychology. He heard that she made a hobby of going around to those kinds of places, finding delinquent girls, and bringing them under her guardianship. Kamijou, meanwhile, got this weird ill omen that once summer break ended, he’d be in for a “shocking” transfer student event, effectively utilizing the kind of flags she had raised. Himegami glanced at the mountain of juice cans he was carrying and asked, “Anyway. What is that mountain of treasure? Are you a sickly child? Who can’t drink tap water?” “’Course not. Besides, juice is worse for your body anyway.” He sighed at her. “Come on, Index, you’re on sweet stuff duty, aren’t you?” “Mgh. I like juice, but I don’t like those ‘pull tab’ things. Touma, open it for me!” Unaccustomed to modern culture, Index apparently wasn’t able to open the pull tabs on the cans. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how or that she wasn’t strong enough to—it was more like she thought, Uh, if I try to open this too hard, I’ll break a nail. The pull tab–phobic Index turned her gaze to Little Misaka, who was standing next to Kamijou, also with an armful of juice. “Sigh. Man, Touma, your encounter rate with problem girls is too high! And besides, you wouldn’t listen if one told you not to get involved anyway. So who is this girl, where’s she from, and what’s she do?” “If you want my personal view. I think she is an ill-fated girl on the run from a mysterious organization.” “Would you be quiet? You’re one-sidedly treating every single person around me like they’re unlucky,” Kamijou complained, juice cans in hand. “…Anyway, you said something before I can’t let go, didn’t you? What do you mean by the cat has fleas?” “Yeah,” Index replied, nodding in assent. “One morning I woke up and Sphinx was covered in fleas. I think your futon is probably a total mess and stuff.” “Don’t ‘and stuff’ me! Don’t put things like cats into futons! In addition, all the hair it sheds is gonna be a pain in the ass! Wait, I had been thinking I was itchy for some reason. Was that what happened?! Agh!” Kamijou cried. “And also, why are you leaving the room alone?! Won’t it turn into some demon cave with all the reproduced fleas?! So that’s why you two are outside! Damn it!” The doorknob was right in front of him, but he hesitated to open it. Then, disregarding him, Index plunged a hand into her sleeve and started rustling around for something. “…Uh, Index. So why are you taking green leaves out of your clothes?” “It’s called sage. Strange thing, apparently it grows around outside. Did you know that?” “…” The usage of drugs is fundamental to Academy City’s Ability Development. Medicinal knowledge began to flow into his mind like a historical timeline. Sage—a perennial plant of the Lamiales order, native to places on the Mediterranean Sea. Its leaves are called salvia. In addition to its medicinal usage, it is also cultivated as a spice and as a decoration…That was about all he had. “So what are you gonna do with some herbs? Chomp down on ’em to recover your HP?” “‘Eich pee?’” Index angled her head. “I don’t really understand that mysterious language you keep using, but sage is used for purification. I am about to use it to drive away the fleas all witchcraft-like.” “…I’ve got a really bad feeling about that. Are you going to feed those leaves to the cat? Or are you feeding them to the fleas?” “Urk. I’m going to light the sage on fire and fumigate Sphinx with smoke to drive them away.” “” “I have enough common sense not to burn stuff inside the room!” “” Kamijou looked at Index’s face—her super-serious, super-sincere, and super-straight face. Well, fleas are living creatures, too, so I can understand them hating smoke…I get that, but… Then Himegami clapped her hands together in an exceedingly carefree manner. “Don’t be quiet. That’s where you butt in. At this rate. A yummy herbal steaming of the cat will be ready soon.” Kamijou had felt his awareness sinking into the depths of the sea, but he resurfaced at what the priestess said. “…Ah! Yes, right! Don’t you know what the scariest part of a fire is, Index? If you cover the cat with smoke to get rid of the fleas, the cat will die along with them!” Thank goodness Himegami is normal, he thought, relieved from the bottom of his heart. In the meantime, Himegami reached a hand into the sleeve of her shrine maiden clothing and began rustling around for something. “…Hey, wait, Himegami. In the meantime, what are you taking out of your sleeve?” “Hm? If you must ask. I must answer that it is a magical spray.” No matter how he looked at it, he only saw a bottle of pesticides. “Umm. What are you doing with…that?” “I’m just going to point the magic spray at the vermin. And spray it.” “…Like I said, the cat is a living being just like fleas are, so don’t bring out some Academy City experimental two-second cockroach killer! Would you immediately spray your face with bug killer if a fly landed on your face?!” The two of them looked at each other with a “?” kind of face, and if Kamijou’s hands weren’t full, he’d probably have buried his face in them. What was so difficult, one might ask? The two of them were going to do these things because they were honestly worried about the cat, that’s what was so tough. Suddenly, Little Misaka, who’d been silent until now, opened her mouth to speak. “If we are to be exchanging opinions on this, would it not be more effective to do so after putting down this juice? Misaka suggests, her arms full.” “Hm? Oh, right. Let’s just put them down on the floor. Sorry. As thanks, I’ll give you one you like, if you want.” “It’s not necessary, Misaka responds. Then I will begin placing them on the floor. The seventh story is quite high up, so please be careful not to drop any to the ground, Misaka cautions, continuing her work.” Little Misaka’s movements, logically consistent and evocative of a top-class sommelier, caused Index’s and Himegami’s own movements to come to a halt. They looked somehow shocked, in contrast to their usual troublemaking selves. “…Wow. Touma, Touma. She looks just like a maid of honor at Windsor Castle.” “…She might bear a close resemblance. To the robotic maid projects from ages past.” Little Misaka didn’t twitch an eyebrow at what they said. “And now, as for what approach to take with that cat—” “Whoa, nice job ignoring them…Or, I mean, you got an idea?” “—It’s not so much an ‘idea,’ but I recommend the simple usage of a commercial flea remover, Misaka offers. There should be a variety that is powdered medicine, and by spreading it onto the cat’s body surface, the fleas will fall off.” “…Hmm, but it’s still medicine. Couldn’t that be harmful?” Some might think it odd that a student of Academy City would say that—the city included the administration of drugs in its Curricula—but no matter what one thought, this kitten wasn’t even a year old. The standards of “harmful” and “benign” medicines are different for an esper, since espers have built up an immunity to medicines over many years. However, Little Misaka didn’t seem to be paying it any consideration (though she never had an expression to begin with). “There is no medicine in this world that is not harmful, Misaka replies immediately and confidently. Between the detriment of the fleas and that of medicine, the former is likely more severe, Misaka supplies.” “…” “The harm caused by pests like fleas and ticks is not something that ends with a simple case of dermatitis, adds Misaka. In the worst case, they could possibly be the trigger to create an allergic reaction severe enough to endanger its life, Misaka fears.” “Mgh,” Kamijou grunted, falling silent. Well, people do say that overusing cold medicine is linked to decreased immune levels, but when you’re having nightmares because of a forty-degree fever, there’s no choice but to take some…I mean, I understand it logically, but when I look at that cat, rolling around all over the floor like that, there’s something illogical that I can’t accept for some reason. Well, of course, it rolling about like that is an act taken to rid itself of the fleas on its body as soon as possible, I suppose… Isn’t there any way to do this without using medicine? He folded his hands, little healthy thoughts sprouting in his mind, when Little Misaka abruptly spoke. “The idea is to get rid of the fleas from the cat’s body surface without using medicine, correct? Misaka confirms. Of course, under the condition we do not use smoke or pesticides.” “…Look, I don’t think either of them is doing any of this out of some malicious intent.” “If anything, them being without malice means they are beyond salvation, Misaka replies with an astonished look,” Little Misaka answered, still completely expressionless. “In any case, you are the one who needs to supervise those two, Misaka warns. If you do not remove those girls from the cat immediately, I have a feeling property damage laws may be applied to this case, Misaka goes ahead and adds.” “…Which reminds me…Legally, were the lives of animals treated as property? That kinda sucks.” Kamijou thought, half-seriously, that they should just make new laws for it. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Then, of course rejecting crazy ideas like smoke or pesticides, how would Little Misaka get rid of the fleas?” The nun and the shrine maiden’s shoulders twitched in unison. “I see. Touma is going to rely on the girl he just met instead of me. I see, I see.” “Like this. The older characters disappear. Ha-ha-ha. We really are beyond salvation.” “…” Kamijou decided to just ignore them already. Looking at his drawn face, Little Misaka mentioned, still without expression, “I will ask once more. The point is to get rid of the fleas on the surface of the cat’s body without resorting to pesticides or smoke and also without relying on medicine, correct? Misaka confirms one final time.” “Well, yeah, but how?” “Like this, Misaka answers immediately.” Little Misaka waved the palm of her hand toward the balled-up calico. In that moment, the sound of static electricity surging out of her hand exploded. The corpses of fleas fell from the cat’s fur as if it had shaken off sand and sprinkled it all over. Sphinx’s hair bristled and it bounced around, struggling—and just before it dove off the seventh story, Himegami caught it by the neck. “I have destroyed only the fleas by using a specific frequency, Misaka reports. This type of insect repellent is sold normally at major volume sellers, so it should be safe and smooth.” She glanced at the door. “For inside the room, I believe that by using a smoke-emitting type of pesticide, you should be able to exterminate them easily, Misaka offers.” “Now then, if we are done here—” She turned her back and began to walk away without waiting for any thanks. Index watched her back as it retreated, then finally said briefly, “Touma, Touma. I think that is exactly what a ‘perfect and cool beauty’ is.” Taking the opportunity, Touma interjected with equal brevity: “I know I’m really asking for it here, but do you think you could please learn a little something from her?”