Quick thing: thanks, deathmask83 for following and favoriting! Welcome aboard! I hope you enjoy your reading of a Certain Broken Testament. Thanks, Hiwatarid, for following and favoriting! It's great to have you on board. I hope you enjoy your reading of a Certain Broken Testament! Thanks, Zyr0truthcanexist for following and favoriting, not only this piece and a Certain Strange Scenario, but Times Change as well! I hope you enjoy your readings of the pieces I've been penning.
Before we get into the portion of these pre-chappy words in which I respond to your lovely reviews, there's something we've got to have a short talk about, from writer to reader, or, in this case, readers.
In the previous chappy's author's note, I stated that I was planning on starting work on a fourth piece in order to better allow ideas to ferment and stir for the three main pieces that I've been penning. This much was true at the time in which those words were typed. However, things change, and sometimes what someone says isn't necessarily what ends up happening, which is the case here.
I do have to admit that I got one thing right in the previous chapter's author's note; my schedule will indeed be changing a little bit. This is mostly due to issues involving quality over quantity, a virtue which I believe I might've forsaken in an attempt to perform a pseudo-superhuman feat.
While I do have plenty of ideas for both Times Change and Strange Scenario, writing three pieces at once seems to be taking a toll on the quality of the content being penned, which, in the end, is the most important element of any literary piece. I've come to feel that way, at least, and I can confirm that I'm not the only one.
With this in mind, I'd like to announce not only that a fourth piece won't be coming into circulation, and that such a thing is indefinitely 'on hold', or, to a greater extent, outright cancelled altogether, but that I'm going to begin working solely on this piece, a Certain Broken Testament, in order focus my efforts on retaining the element of quality over quantity. I'd like to see this piece's narrative to its end before I begin work again on a Certain Strange Scenario, seeing Strange Scenario to its completion, and then Times Change, which you will have gotten another chappy of, due to the fact that I already had said chapter completed before the time of this writing.
I hope you lovely people understand what I desire here, and I hope that you'll continue to stick with me as we explore the life and times of the "new and improved" Kamijou Touma, here in the narrative of a Certain Broken Testament.
Should any issues arise from this decision I've made to indefinitely halt production of Strange Scenario and Times Change, or the cancellation of the fourth piece I announced in the author's note of the chapter previous, don't hesitate to drop me a line, so that we can work any potential issues out together.
Thank you, as always, for your continued readership, for your reviews, and for your support through your follows and through your favorites. It's very much appreciated.
Now, with these issues discussed (at least on my end; unfortunately, this is no way in which we can collectively hold a two-way conversation), let's move onto the pre-chappy responses to your reviews, shall we?
Guest: my previous endeavors have proven fruitless, as it seems I've lost track of you anonymous reviewers once again. Can't blame me for trying, I guess!
Well, I suppose you could. You can do whatever you please, after all.
Anyhoo!
Touma's destination will be a mildly controversial one, given his recent history with the individual he's deigned to seek out, and the fact that 'his kind' aren't welcome where this individual dwells by any means. In regards to the Jumpy Bunny, otherwise known as Keshouin Asuka, and Akikawa Mie, you can expect more of the former, and an introduction of the latter into the narrative in the near future.
Regarding the "potential upgrade" you mentioned: while that wasn't my intention (though it is an interesting idea, nonetheless), it doesn't quite matter at this rate either way, due to the fact that the fourth piece I was intending on penning is no longer planned to be put into production. Though I believe I explained myself well enough in the above disclaimer, if you have any concerns or thoughts on these matters that weren't addressed or otherwise answered above, you could certainly private message me, if you wish, and we could discuss said concerns or thoughts!
whwsms: indeed! The intensity has certainly ramped up; and though we're moving away from the heat of physical conflict, we're moving closer to a conflict that's considerably more personal and emotional, a sort of blade that can cut even deeper than one forged of a metallic substance.
Kamijou Touma's "nano-form" is apparently capable of quite a lot; a lot more than some might've expected. As we've established, however, it clearly has its limitations and flaws. In regards to the Matrix being a source of inspiration, here; it's been a while since I've seen any film installment of the Matrix series, so the inspiration didn't quite come from there. Good guess, though, friend! Feel free to keep trying, if you want.
Ah, Lenny… now you're just going to make me cry. Poor, poor Lenny.
The relationship between Touma and Kihara Gensei is extremely tenuous at the best of times. With their 'pact' (of sorts) being strained the way it is, the delicate fibers that bind these two individuals together could snap altogether, leading to something truly devastating, even if said devastation isn't directly delivered upon Gensei by Touma himself, but by a vengeful someone such as Kumokawa Seria, Misaka Mikoto the Railgun, or the Accelerator himself.
Truly, Kihara Noukan's passing was a sad thing indeed, for more reasons than one. I can safely confirm that I don't have any future plans for Kihara Noukan in this piece's narrative, since Noukan's own story has already come to a close. I do have to agree with you on the matter of Noukan being, arguably, the most sympathetic Kihara shown to date, however.
As always, it's great that I'm able to consistently gain your approval! I hope to be able to continuously do so, through subsequent chapters! Your continued input is greatly appreciated, and I hope to hear more from you soon.
DarkBetrayer: While I'm of course glad to hear that you approve of this piece's more harem-centric aspects, I'm not going to up and ignore your concerns regarding the uncharacteristic being that Kamijou Touma has become, and I'm not going to try and perform any asspulls here, when I could easily do so. Whether or not I would succeed is going to have to remain hypothetical.
This was my idea all along. This was my scheme and this was written down upon the blueprints of my evil plans from the beginning. To change the character's core aspects, what makes Touma, Touma was my plot, and I suppose I've succeeded.
I sought to make the themes of one's loss of humanity evident through Touma's reactions, through his speech and through his actions, and most overtly, through his quite obviously overconfident interactions with the females in his life; "Kamijou Touma" is so very different from Kamijou Touma that the difference is like comparing night and day. It's very much true that "Kamijou Touma" is no longer Kamijou Touma. He doesn't have to rely upon his own human mind to think, as the billions of machines that have become a part of him think for him, and seem to have all the answers. He no longer has to come to conclusions on his own, when he'd have to when he'd been Kamijou Touma.
But this brings up the question of whether or not the Touma of Broken Testament is even human, or a human consciousness with a physical form not just augmented by chaotic, unchecked science run amok, but remade with it, born a second time, not from a mother's protective womb, but from a cold, unfeeling laboratory. Perhaps he's something more – or less – than both.
You honor me with your input, sensei, and I greatly hope to hear more from you sooner than later.
321jaz: leeeeettttt's geeetttt rroooiiiiiiggggghhhhttttttt…
No, no doing this again.
I'm very glad to hear that the action-packed narrative of the previous chappy was to your liking, friend. I certainly had a lot to deliver upon, given the fact that the previous six chapters were more dedicated to setup and establishing a setting and narrative beginning than to bringing action to the table.
Regarding "Olivia-chan's" relationship with Himegami Aisa and Fukiyose Seiri, don't expect that one small scene to be the extent of their page time together; I'd like to expand upon the trio's newfound friendship at greater lengths as the narrative continues marching along its predestined path.
While Kamijou Touma's nanorobotic machine-phase matter has its limitations, some of which have, and some of which haven't been shown, they certainly are quite flexible, aren't they?
It seems that Kihara Gensei truly has "crossed the line"; what one does for science, and for the furtherment of the scientific community can only go so far before one begins to drift over the line of what makes someone a genius, and what makes someone a monster, a line which has already been fairly blurred by some of the faculty in Academy City. Speaking of monsters, a certain Magic God's devotion to finding his "sugarplum" isn't anywhere near as innocent as it might sound.
At this rate, given what Kihara Gensei has only just tried to do, I wouldn't blame Kamijou Touma for trying to pursue other methods of learning more about his new form.
There, indeed are flags that have been tripped, and many eyes are not only on Kamijou Touma, but on the future of the experiments devised by Kihara Gensei. While his initial tests were apparently a success, perhaps Gensei's 'final product' was a bit too successful.
Word travels fast, friend; word travels fast. The Queen of Tokiwadai Middle School certainly has a vast information network to boot, in the form of her ever-loyal clique.
The wait is over! Take a gander at this here chappy, and I'm sure you'll see what you want to see.
As always, it's great that I'm able to consistently gain your approval! I hope to be able to continuously do so through subsequent chapters. Additionally, as always, your continued input is greatly appreciated! I hope to hear more from you soon.
Alph97: thank you very much, both for your review and for your kind words! I have to agree; even if the Touma of Kamachi's canon has his reasons for 'abstaining', so to speak, seeing him being perpetually cockblocked when he's surrounded by attractive women can become quite vexing. I have plenty more harem-centric moments lined up for your reading pleasure, friend.
Initially, Kamijou Touma's own internal sense of direction had abandoned him; he hadn't "forgotten" the way to Tokiwadai Middle School, but the route his suddenly less-than-omniscient data had told him to take was considerably more convoluted and time-consuming than the route he'd always taken.
For once, he'd one-upped the machines, or himself, Touma wasn't sure exactly which he'd conquered. In a manner of speaking, he still felt like the loser in whatever cosmic game he was a part of; in the end, it was he who'd wound up captured, put through pain beyond the comprehensions of most and turned into some ungodly, unsleeping, restless and nigh-unstoppable monster.
Touma was suddenly aware that thousand, if not hundreds of thousands, if not millions of other people around the little, insignificant blue, white and green globe yearned for the kind of power that'd been bestowed upon him.
Touma quickly snapped himself out of his fit of self-depreciation; it hadn't done anything for him in the past, and it certainly wasn't going to do anything for him in the present. If anything, being pessimistic and allowing himself to become lost in a pity party of his own design was incredibly counterproductive.
Ignoring his data's silent recommendations, even as influxes 'informed' him again and again that he was making the wrong decision, on traffic climate and matters of time consumption, Kamijou Touma beat his wings against the air and soared to the south, unsure of what sort of traffic the influxes of data were silently speaking about. The skies were empty, of both birds and airborne constructs of mankind's own design.
He passed over the area where Misawa Cram School had one stood, prior to the devastating Gregorian Chant that had torn it asunder, like tissue paper being parted by a pair of scissors' sharpened blades. There were no ruins remaining; rather, the area had been paved over, with a number of benches and vending machines set in place, making the area seem like an innocuous setting for faculty and students to sit and relax, as if nothing had ever been on that plot of land.
Academy City was good with scavenger hunts; so good that nobody who wasn't "in the know" even knew said hunts were taking place, or had ever taken place.
Beneath him, the cityscape seemed a lot smaller, and a lot farther away from him than it was. The wind repeatedly battered him and threatened to knock him from its domain, but Kamijou Touma held out, responding by ordering his wings of machine-phase matter to beat harder and faster against the air, as if to physically assault it.
Before long, the forbidden area known to the male population as School Garden was in sight. If Academy City was a walled-off cult of personality, and that it certainly was by Kamijou Touma's standards, then School Garden was a cult of personality within a cult of personality.
The miniature district's architecture differed greatly from most found within Academy City's walls; the structures were more like something out of Victorian era England than from a futuristic City of Science nestled in a Far Eastern island nation. The walkways and roadways themselves were greatly different from those found within Academy City, being far more ornately-designed, and much more colorful.
What was more important than the stunning appearance of School Garden were the precautions that Kamijou Touma had to take within this sacred garden of fertility, tea and teenaged angst.
Outwardly, at least, he was a boy, a male, and he possessed a semi-functional set of male reproductive organs, when he wanted them to be present.
This was unacceptable within School Garden.
Touma scouted the urban landscape below him, searching for an area free of onlookers. While School Garden was seemingly less populated than it normally was, likely due to the fact that the school day had come to a close, there were still roaming packs of pre-teen and teenaged girls wandering about, pounding the pavement and generally having a seemingly carefree time. Kamijou Touma knew well enough, however, that looks could be deceiving.
There was one lot which seemed to be depopulated; at the very least, there weren't many cars present within the lot, and bystander presence seemed minimal. Though not a particularly large lot, it would have to do, unless looks had once again been deceiving.
As his wings beat against the air, backwards and then forwards, rather than forwards and then backwards, in order to reduce his momentum, Touma touched down upon the unblemished pavement of the lot, coming to a halt quite gracefully.
The lot he'd landed in apparently belonged to a small strip mall, complete with a tanning salon, a rather well-to-do clothing shop, a small, seemingly independently-owned coffee shop, "H0t Cupz", a name unrecognized to Touma, and a self-serve laundromat. Two of these four structures weren't open, without anyone available to do business; the clothing shop and the tanning salon's windows were shuddered, their doors given an extra layer of protection by heavy, reinforced metallic beams set in place behind them, within their respective shops.
Looking over his shoulder, Kamijou Touma snuck himself around behind the strip mall, where he would be further safe from prying eyes, as the wings upon his back were dispelled. The strip mall's rear was surrounded by a tall fence, constructed with planks of wood to serve as an additional level of privacy.
There was no privacy to be found even there, however.
Standing just beyond a door which lead out from the rear side of the coffee shop were two young women, each clad in identical uniforms. Entirely white in coloration, each wore a long, green apron over their uniforms, with a small clover-shaped emblem in their respective centers, as white as their uniforms. One of these young women had dark-colored hair, tied up in a messy bun, while the other wore her straightened, golden-colored hair down.
Touma clicked his tongue in annoyance, but didn't immediately retreat.
Rather than conspicuously peaking his head around the corner, the once-normal high school student sent a singular, microscopic nanorobotic instance forward, in order to collect information on the girls' conversation. Perhaps they'd be leaving sooner than later?
"Swear to God," the dark-haired young woman spat, "if those… IDIOTS… in there don't shut that kid the FUCK… UP… I'm legitimately going to hang myself in the bathroom."
The blonde-haired young woman shook her head in disapproval, as she took a drag of her cigarette.
"Chill! You're not acting much better by throwing your own little mini-fit. You're wigging out over nothing! It's just a little kid! They'll probably be leaving soon, and then we won't have to deal with it. Don't forget, hon, we have nice, quiet dorms waiting for us, not screaming children."
She cussed under her breath for a few moments before she replied to her blonde compatriot's words of wisdom, which Touma found himself agreeing with.
"Never having kids. NEVER. Getting my FUCKING tubes tied."
"Right, hon. You and me both. Stretch marks are for… "suckas."
The first of these young women tossed what remained of her own cancer stick to the ground, and snuffed it out with her shoe, before she turned towards the door. Curiosity had gotten the better of Touma, and his nanorobotic unit had touched down upon her skin.
It became almost immediately apparent that the frustrated young woman was an absolute mess, both inside and out.
Her heart was beating far too quickly for her own good, and her blood was practically boiling within her veins. The chemicals in her brain were being pumped out almost too quickly for her body to produce more of them, resulting in violent, potentially bothersome thoughts. Her blood sugar levels had dropped quite exponentially, and, worst of all, the young woman was both dehydrated and starved.
A "normal" life must've truly been the shits.
"Well, back to Hell," the dark-haired young woman grumbled. "Not enough butts in the world to get me through this. And your mother wonders why we drink. Telling you, if she lived one day in our shoes, she'd be straight tripping her middle class suburban ass off."
"Unwind, you maniac," the blonde spoke, with a slight chuckle. "I don't want you to be on the news for baby-killing… oh my, that's actually really morbid. You're rubbing off on me, freak! And don't run your mouth about my mom! My mother is a saint!"
As both young women returned to the coffee shop from whence they'd evidently emerged, the door closing behind them, Touma's nanorobotic instance turned personal espionage device swiftly returned to its main mass, nestling itself back into place in Touma's neck.
With the clearing of the bystanders, whose reactions to what sort of feat Kamijou Touma was about to perform likely would've been anything but subdued, Touma was free to attempt what he'd only succeeded at less than half of a dozen times prior to the present. He could only hope that he'd be able to add this newest attempt to his short list of successes.
Within his thoughts, his own thoughts, free of the omniscient, but not quite omniscient, domineering data that had become one with him, his mind's eye generated the image of a generic young woman. This non-existent woman possessed short hair, colored like the darkest lump of charcoal one could pry from within a pile, dark irises, skin with a light pigmentation, and a naturally curvy, but not ridiculously proportioned shape.
Kamijou Touma's outer layer of nanorobotic machine-phase matter buzzed around him, as it began to swarm and leap away, exposing his 'skinless' form. Within mere seconds, however, it'd leaped right back from where it'd fled.
The outer layer had changed its shape and appearance. No longer did Kamijou Touma appear male. No longer was Kamijou Touma even Kamijou Touma.
Shaking her head from side to side, and watching as her short bangs danced from one side to the other, with their small, simplistic clips in their respective centers, Kamijou Touma had taken on the guise of "Inoue Ayano".
Adorned in the elegant and proper winter uniform issued by Tokiwadai Middle School, Inoue Ayano was able to leave the strip mall behind, safely walking among the other young women of School Garden, who didn't so much as bat an eye in her direction. She'd become part of the herd, just another girl among thousands.
The reality that he could do terrible, unspeakably evil things and get away with it passed through Kamijou Touma's synthetic thoughts, but he paid no mind to these unwanted musings. It wasn't like he was actually going to. He'd have no reason to harm anyone in School Garden. He'd never do anything like that. Never…
Kamijou Touma hoped he'd never do anything like that.
Her walk from point A to point B was rather uneventful, though Inoue Ayano repeatedly found herself dancing closer and closer to the edge of paranoia, growing ever more fearful of being exposed as a fraud. Every half-smile, simple glance or polite nod set her off; did they know something? Could they see through her, and to Kamijou Touma who dwelled beneath the outer layer of false, synthetic machine-phase matter made to look like flesh?
Soon enough, as if his legs had carried her faster than he'd thought they could, Inoue Ayano arrived before the great, and proverbially ironclad gateway of Tokiwadai Middle School, which barred her way, and prevented her from entering. The massive, ornate and almost palace-like structure and its grand promenade loomed oppressively beyond the gateway and its tall, pointed fences.
Inoue Ayano wouldn't be kept out for long.
She walked forward, looking over either of her shoulders, as her loafer-clad feet touched down upon the perfect, unblemished miniature grasslands which surrounded the gateway and its oppressive fences. As she did so, Kamijou Touma beneath her decreased his form's density with a silent, manual command. His nanorobotic machine-phase matter obeyed without question, and his form's density lowered, and lowered, and lowered.
Directly through the fence Inoue Ayano walked, almost resembling a kids' holiday special's depiction of a ghostly apparition. Once on the other side, Kamijou Touma manually reset his form's mass with a simple, silent command.
Despite its apparent adoration for defying him and rebelling against him at the worst of times, Touma's nanorobotic form seemed to be obedient when it wished to be.
Though she lacked a smartphone, given that the device sat untouched and often unused on the desk in the dorm she shared with a little silver-haired nun and a being that'd once been an all-powerful, infallible Magic God, Inoue Ayano didn't need one; Ayano's "person of interest" would have to deal with her dropping in unannounced.
While Inoue Ayano's "person of interest" would've normally been found within her room in the Tokiwadai Middle School Dormitory, beyond the confines of School Garden and separate from the Middle School itself, Ayano knew for certain that her "person of interest" would almost certainly be found within Tokiwadai Middle School's library, studying her young years away. It was almost regrettable.
Soon, the grand, ornate doorway of Tokiwadai Middle School was opened, pushed inwards as it produced not even a singular creak or groan. It was almost as if the door's hinges were outright incapable of being flawed in any way, shape or form, as if such a thing would be absolutely, positively, and undeniably inadmissible.
Already, the oppressive air within the Middle School's halls practically choked Kamijou Touma, beneath the smiling, sparkly-eyed façade of Inoue Ayano. He didn't literally choke only because he lacked a set of lungs, functioning or otherwise.
The soles and heels of Ayano's buckled loafers clacked and clicked against the carpeted flooring, and even against the tiled flooring beneath the soft, warm carpeting. The shined walling, constructed of the finest wood materials glowed like the interior of some hollowed treasury, as if Tokiwadai Middle School was less of a place of education and more of a hallowed, sacred temple. The grandeur windows that dotted the twisting, winding halls of Tokiwadai Middle School permitted the sun's warm rays to enter the oppressive halls, and allowed for them to bathe the carpeting in their soft, golden glows.
Quickly, and with swiftness unmatchable by the average human being (even what "average" meant within the walls of Academy City), Inoue Ayano sidestepped a trio of well-dressed, seemingly carefree, and haughty-seeming young women, each garbed in the Middle School's winter uniform, which not only accented, but also emphasized their impressive features; Kamijou Touma, beneath Inoue Ayano suddenly had to remind himself that no good could come of perving over middle schoolers.
Or would it? He wasn't eighteen. He hadn't been before his transformation. Could he even have an age, still? Touma didn't quite know.
"F-forgive me!" the first of these young women exclaimed, bowing politely before Ayano. Her hair was dark, almost as dark as Ayano's own. Her hair's bangs were parted, exposing a brow that could've challenged Fukiyose Seiri's "Fukiyose Forehead Deluxe".
"You poor thing, we almost crashed right into you! Please, excuse our tardiness. It certainly won't occur again!"
The young woman's compatriots, one on either side of her, were both oddly, and by the standards of the being that laid beneath the façade known as Inoue Ayano, almost eerily quiet. While one had dark, almost purplish-colored hair, long and trailing down her back and along either of her shoulders, with soft irises to match her hair's coloration, the other's hair was shorter, and much lighter, a shade of dark blonde, looking to be naturally curled. She seemed innocent, like the sweetest little fairy from some old folktale. There was a soft, pink-colored blush present on either of her cheeks. While the first girl's eyes looked straight forward, the second girl's eyes looked down, towards the carpeting beneath the trio's feet.
Inoue Ayano merely tilted her head to one side in response, as if she was confused. The being beneath the façade would have to play the character of "ditzy schoolgirl", and he'd have to play it well.
"U-uh… n-no problem, really! T-these things… happen?"
Her voice was unnaturally deep, like that of a male's. Something was going wrong, and it was going wrong at the worst of times, which seemed like it was becoming a trend. Kamijou Touma's vocalizations should've become higher as soon as his outer layer of machine-phase matter shifted its appearance by themselves, simply by association. He'd certainly learned his lesson about not performing all of his feats manually.
The being beneath Inoue Ayano would need to think fast.
"I'm… I'm transitioning…? I-I'm actually just starting hormone treatment. That's w-why my voice sounds so deep…"
It was worth a shot, at least.
It was then that the apparent ringleader of this ragtag group of rich young women lunged forward, and took either of Inoue Ayano's hands into her own, which caused a shiver to travel down the ringleader's form, from her arms and down to her toes. This mystery student with the short, charcoal-colored hair was cold as ice to the touch, as if she was made of some metallic substance, and not of warm, biological flesh.
Kongou Mitsuko has never felt anything so cold in her life. Still, she wasn't about to come off as rude to this stranger, this minority, whose life must've been one of swirling dysphoria.
"You are so brave. You're such a beautiful girl. Show the world what you're made of, you beautiful being. You're loved."
With a nod and a kiss blown in Inoue Ayano's direction, "forehead girl" and her posse took their leave, walking in the direction opposite of Ayano.
"She is SO brave!", "forehead girl" quipped. "I don't think I've seen her before though. Is she new? A transfer student maybe?"
"She's very attractive, as well," the girl with the dark blonde hair commented. "We should invite her out sometime. I wonder if she only just recently started to come out?"
The conversation very likely continued, but the trio soon turned a corner and moved out of earshot; Kamijou Touma could've sent a nanorobotic unit to stalk them and gather additional information, perhaps a name or an age – merely for the sake of research, of course – but there were more important matters at hand.
At least the "transitioning" shtick had stuck well enough.
For some time, she continued on her way. Inoue Ayano passed through many more twisting corridors, slowly growing more comfortable with her surroundings as she spent more time within them. Though much of the Middle School's interiors looked identical to one another, right down to the number of classroom doorways that lined the sections of walling, an internal compass, and her data's own silent recommendations both acted as guides.
Soon, Inoue Ayano, with Kamijou Touma underneath the façade arrived before several sets of tall, ornately-carved and beautifully-designed oaken doors. Rather than pushing these doors inwards, Ayano pulled on the set nearest to her form, which caused them to silently and smoothly open, without a sound and with little resistance; despite their size, they weighed very little.
Alternatively, Inoue Ayano simply didn't know her form's own strength.
The library beyond this set of doorways would've made a studious, eccentric mountain-dweller flip his lid, and cream his pants.
So many wide, tall oaken bookshelves lined the upper floor of the library, while numerous desks, complete with a set of four throne-like chairs, two to each side of every individual desk sat below the upper floor. The lower floor was accessed by two great wooden staircases, each step of which had been shined and waxed to the point of obsessiveness, and absurdity.
While, on the lower floor, Inoue Ayano's "person of interest" was indeed present, there was one issue that presented itself. She wasn't alone. Three other young women sat at the same table as the "person of interest", though two of these three individuals didn't wear the same uniform as the first of the three. The being underneath Inoue Ayano was surprised that these outsiders had been allowed in at all.
One was immediately identified as Shirai Kuroko, by her tawny hair, styled into two long, flowing pigtails, bound with red ribbons. The other had long, straight dark hair, clad in a more simplistically-styled, traditional school uniform, while the third was adorned in the same uniform, with shorter, even darker-colored hair, with a piece of floral headgear, a band of blooming, likely artificial (but possibly living) flowers. These outsiders sat with their respective backs to Ayano, while Shirai Kuroko faced the newcomer, who was only beginning to descend the leftmost staircase with careful, precise movements.
"Onee-Sama? Why is the compet… why is Inoue-san here? N-not that I mind or anything. No, not at all! Eheh…"
Both of the outsiders turned to face Inoue Ayano; while the flower girl only smiled and then turned away, returning to her revived conversation with Shirai Kuroko, the dark-haired girl with the small, white flower pinned to her hair's left side both smiled widely and happily waved in Ayano's direction.
The flower girl with the long, dark hair rivalled even Misaka Mikoto in her beauty. Her eyes were big and round, full of life. Her soft-looking skin wasn't too pale, nor was it tanned to the point of making her look like a foreigner. It was perfect, as were her small hands, one of which had waved in Inoue Ayano's direction for a considerable amount of time before it'd returned to its owner's lap, with the adjacent arm. She seemed so friendly just through her body language.
Even from where she was, Inoue Ayano could see that her "person of interest" was not just shocked, but frustrated as well. The tomboyish student gritted her teeth at the sight of Ayano, whom she knew wasn't even a real person, but merely a façade. This "person of interest" was one of few privy to the true identity of Inoue Ayano.
Misaka Mikoto was obviously not pleased to see the walking façade.
"I have no idea, Kuroko… but I'm going to find out," the Railgun grumbled, trying her absolute best – and failing – to appear happily surprised. Rising from her seat at the table, the tomboyish Tokiwadai student quickly closed the distance between herself and the newcomer, who smiled innocently in the Railgun's direction, her head tilted to one side.
The fact that he'd mastered the "ditzy schoolgirl" persona just pissed Mikoto off even more.
"You Idiot. You Idiot, you Idiot, you Idiot," Misaka Mikoto whispered harshly and aggressively, standing only a few inches away from Inoue Ayano. "What are you even doing here? What did I fucki… I told you not to come here! Listen to people when they tell you something, you Idiot!"
Her voice softened slightly.
"It's for your own good, and for mine."
Inoue Ayano simple smiled on, producing a small, innocent giggle as she looked down at Misaka Mikoto.
"Care to walk with me? Just a little… ladies' time alone?" Ayano whispered in Kamijou Touma's voice, which caused Mikoto to slap the palm of her hand against her face. She shook her head from side to side as she groaned; he really was the King of all Idiots.
"It's actually important. I'm not just here to fuck with you or your cute friends. That was a joke, by the way. Don't zap me. They are cute though. Except Shirai, not quite my type. It's the personality that's the killer, there."
She produced a guttural growl for a few moments, before she flicked her hand away from her face. Mikoto swiftly gathered what remained of her wits, and put on the best carefree poker fact that she could. Turning back to face Shirai Kuroko and the two outsiders, Mikoto took a few steps forward, in their direction.
"You're unbearable sometimes.
"I'll be right back, guys! Inoue-san and I are just going to talk about something really quickly. It's private, though, so please don't try and follow us… Kuroko."
"I've no idea what you're talking about, Onee-Sama," Kuroko stated, her head held high. She huffed, as she folded either of her arms across her chest. "As long as you're not involving yourself in dangerous business, I have no reason to keep tabs on you."
With a shrug of her shoulders, Mikoto ironically shouldered right past Inoue Ayano, who followed behind her, as both began to ascend the staircase which Ayano had descended.
Kamijou Touma, beneath Inoue Ayano remained behind the Railgun. Even if she was a few years younger than he was, and even if she was a tomboyish, aggressive little thing, she had quite the posterior on her; the winter uniform's skirt helped to accent it, as well, as it seemed to be considerably tighter on Mikoto's attractive form than the Middle School's summer skirt.
He needed something to keep him going, after all. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with checking out cute girls, and Misaka Mikoto most certainly fell into the cute category. Even if she was a maniac.
Except she wasn't. She wasn't a maniac. She had her troubles, sure, but she wasn't a maniac. Who didn't have their troubles? Who didn't suffer from momentary lapses in their mental and emotional stability?
The doors opposite those which Inoue Ayano had entered from were opened, and not held open for her by Misaka Mikoto, who simply grunted as she stepped out into the hallway.
She was a fast learner; Mikoto looked from end of the hallway to the other. Once the coast was deemed clear, she moved in towards the being who apparently had good reason for seeking her out.
"For your sake, Idiot, you'd better have a good reason for seeking me out."
"Woah, let's slow it down with the name-calling, 'kay? I do. I…"
"Okay. You're unfathomable, you know that? First, you tell me that you… that you lo… have feelings for me, which is fine, I guess, but then you go and pull stunts like this. I don't get you! You could've texted me. How hard would that've been? I know you care, but when you pull stunts like this, it irks me a lot."
The urge to simply take Misaka Mikoto into his arms, and hold her, and apologize profusely for what had been a necessary evil was nearly overwhelming. His omniscient, yet not omniscient data continuously told him that was the exact route he should've taken, the proper path to walk in order to ensure his continued place at the Railgun's side; but the Railgun had her pride, and she had a reputation to uphold, and he wasn't about to disrespect her desire to uphold that pride, and that reputation.
Case in point, being held by another girl outside of the library wouldn't have done any wonders for Mikoto's reputation, or for her pride.
"Hello?! Are you listening to me, you Idio… I mean, you… person!? You frustrate me… SO… much."
Inoue Ayano shoved either of her hands into her skirt's pockets. The being beneath the walking façade suddenly wanted to kiss that bug-zapper, too. He wanted to kiss her lips and shush her up for a moment, maybe wrap his arms around her waist and push her up against the nearest wall. His ferocity, and his white-hot desire were almost human things, perhaps remnants, leftovers.
"Zapperella, I'm sorry. Okay? There. I said it. I'm sorry for not texting you or messaging you beforehand. I can't carry a cellular device right now and what just happened is urgent. You need to hear this."
"Zapperella"? Are you serious, right now? This isn't some kind of joke? I'm actually going to hit you… you… you… no, I'm not going to do that…"
But Mikoto softened once Kamijou Touma, beneath the façade, began to spill the beans. He spoke of the surreal flashback to the Level Six Experiments, the assistance he provided to the level one Sister, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight, and of 'him' – Kihara Gensei. Touma spoke to Misaka Mikoto about the machinations of Kihara Gensei with as much detail as he could safely impart to her.
"I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your Sister," Touma remarked, placing either of his façade's hands desperately upon the Railgun's shoulders. "I'm NOT with him, I'm against them, like I've always been, like we've always been. I'm just waiting for the right opportunity so everything can fall into place, and I can strike between their armor. I'm using them, Misaka."
Mikoto had moved away, her back pressed against the adjacent section of walling. A golden ray of sunlight beamed down upon the Railgun through a windowpane above her. Misaka Mikoto's hair was doused in shining light, accenting it and adding to the chestnut brown coloration with its own hues. The light danced across her soft facial features.
Standing there, with one knee pushed forward, and her arms folded across her chest, Mikoto tossed her head back, causing her hair's fringe and its bangs to flutter, as if they'd been hit by a burst of air. With every second that he looked at her, and into her big, brown irises, Kamijou Touma was forced to face a fact that had been following behind him and tugging on his proverbial coattails like a demanding child. It was something that couldn't be denied, not as he looked upon her, at least.
He was in love with her.
But the feeling wasn't exclusively limited to Misaka Mikoto. He was in love with the being who'd once been an infallible Magic God in a different way, and through different circumstances. He loved the silver-haired nun, she who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoires, in another, different way, and through even stranger, but equally different circumstances, and he loved the older woman who treated him with the utmost respect, the woman known to most only as "Beauty-Senpai". What was he to do?
"I should be the one apologizing."
She'd broken the silence, and caused the walking façade, Inoue Ayano, to tilt her head to one side, as her conspicuously male voice produced a curious "hm?"
"After everything you've done, I shouldn't be calling you names, and I shouldn't be snapping at you, it's ungrateful and it's disgusting for me to do that. I'm going through a lot right now, I'm… shit, I'm… I feel like I'm knee-deep in shit, and everything's just… fucking up left and right. My grades are starting to drop, I need to get a fucking grip before I lose everything.
"And here I am, ranting to you about it, when you were just trying to do a good thing. Thanks… for letting me know that she's safe now. You obviously had your reasons for upping and disappearing before, I can't and won't hold that against you. I'm… I'm glad to see you. I'm sorry… for being a dick to you. For all the times I've been a dick to you."
Before he'd take his leave, Kamijou Touma had one last order of business to see to. There was one last topic of conversation that he'd burden the troubled Misaka Mikoto with.
"Misaka. Hey, don't get down on yourself like that. I'm all over the place, just like you, but my head's fully in the gutter. You'll get yourself out before long, and maybe I will too, huh? But even if I have to keep secrets, I think… I can't say a lot about it, but things are different now with me, Misaka. I don't have to push everyone away from me anymore. I don't want to do that, running around doing this crazy shit by myself, it'd be enough to make anyone feel really fucking lonely. It was all kind of fucked up too, right? To just assume everyone around me was so… weak? That they couldn't defend themselves, that I'd always have to be there to save the day? It was disgusting of me to think like that, especially of someone like you.
"What I'm trying to say is that I'm done with that shit, it's over, finished, pow. No more. I know we already sort of had this conversation, but… the way I ended it last time might not have been completely appropriate. What do you think, Misaka? Maybe, in the near future, would you consider… it? Even just an evening like that, with, you know, that as the set tone. It'd be a little bit different, but it'd be… kind of… erm, the same. I guess. Do you get my point? Not coming on too fast here am I?"
Mikoto produced a chuckle. Though it was a brief thing, that quickly died as soon as it'd gained life, it was something; Touma had seen a moment of genuine positivity in the Railgun, for a fleeting second.
"No, no you're not. I'll need to get back to you on that. I'm not in any position to even consider it right now… but I do love you too. I have for a while. Don't think of this as a rejection, because it's n-not, I swear it's not! I'm definitely not turning you down! I promise. I promise I'm not being a dick, or a bitch, or anything, I hope it doesn't come off like that because that it NOT what I'm trying to do I gotta get my head straight… just got to get everything straightened out first."
"I dig. I really do understand, Misaka. Bein' honest doesn't make you a "dick" or a "bitch", so don't get all freaked out. I'll always be around, regardless of how it is between us, it's all casual."
For a few moments, both Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Touma, beneath Inoue Ayano, stood across from one another as silence descended, claiming all things as its own domain and suddenly ruling with a tightened iron fist.
"It was good seeing you too, Misaka. Would it be corny as shit if I was to say something like "I miss you", or, "hey, you look good"? Because both of those are totally true."
"It'd be very corny, but that wouldn't make either of "those" bad, or unwelcome… just never figured you to be a loverboy, that's all."
"You could say my name, you know, Misaka."
She raised an eyebrow at that, Mikoto breathed a sigh. There he went, just as he was drifting into the territory that came close to making her heart melt in her chest; he'd gone full Idiot again.
"Who goes around calling their friends by their names all the time?" Mikoto inquired, quite skeptically. She pushed herself away from the wall which she'd been balancing against, as she neared the library's grand oaken doors. "That's really weird; but I guess that wouldn't be out of character for an Idio… weirdo like you."
"Oi. You tryin' to sway your hips like that? Or is this some subconscious development that neither of us is aware of?"
"D-don't look at me like that."
"I can't help it."
Mikoto shook her head, just as she grasped onto the handlebars of one of the oaken doors before her. A singular, streaking bolt of electricity jumped from the Railgun's forehead as she gritted her teeth for a moment, before she seemingly cooled down.
"Y'know? I can appreciate the fact that you're staying consistent with the signals you're sending me, and not being all weird and throwing around mixed signals like you used to; 'least I think you used to. Maybe you weren't doing it on purpose, whatever. Just… I need some time before I consider anything like that."
"It was a joke… well, a half-joke. Don't take me so seriously. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. Sorry. I should probably just take off before I overstay my welcome. Take care of yourself, Misaka."
"You too… Touma. Text me, or message me on EyeSee, or something, if you can't text. I miss you too."
Kamijou Touma was going to leave on a high note; what a development, indeed. Both Misaka Mikoto and the façade that was Inoue Ayano parted ways.
At least, unlike a certain Saint of the Far East, Barcode Boy had actually learned how to operate a cellular phone beyond its most basic levels of function. Tsuchimikado Motoharu had to thank his lucky stars, or what his compatriots called "God" for that.
"Whatsit now, Barcode Boy? You know these are my private hours. You could've caught me in any number of revealing situations… an accidental pervert moment, if you will. No, seriously. What the fuck do you people want from me now? Spit it out."
On the other end of the line, a wordless groan was produced; Motoharu could only impishly grin, as the frustrated vocalization, emitted from the Backstabbing Blade's cellular phone resounded throughout his silent dorm.
"Kanzaki Kaori's Amakusan allies have picked up a new lead on the whereabouts of the artifact."
That perked the Backstabbing Blade's interest; at least the ginger-haired, barcoded and unnaturally tall freak of nature actually had some sort of important news to impart, rather than the usual, only semi-coherent and idiotically cryptic ramblings delivered from the cum-gargling mouth of Necessarius' Archbishop.
"Yeah? And I've got my hands full here, Barcode Boy. Keeping tabs on who Kami-yan's going to make disappear next isn't fucking easy. Plus, I've still got eyes on that bazaar. Didn't seem like a "front for the prelude of an invasion attempt" to Karasuma, just old folks trying to peddle their wares, or some shit. If the situation's not sketchy to her, it's not sketchy to me."
"The Archbishop has already requested a thorough investigation. Has one been conducted, Tsuchimikado? The truth. For both our sakes."
It was Motoharu's turn to groan. He leaned back in his seat, his dorm's raggedy old couch screeching as its inner workings and rusted, metallic springs folded and bucked beneath his weight. At least Maika tried her best to keep the place clean. At least he'd always have his sweet, innocent little Maika.
"No, a "thorough investigation" wasn't fucking conducted. Why doesn't she do it herself, if it's such a big fucking deal to her?
"Listen, distract me, Barcode Boy. What've nee-chin's army of babes learned about whatchamacallit's whatsitnow? I'll get word to Karasuma regarding an investigation, but she won't be able to do it by herself, and I've got more personal business to deal with. Maybe she can take Kami-yan? She might be able to make that pathetic psychopath useful for a bit."
"Very well," Stiyl Magnus relented. On the other end of the line, he paused for a moment to inhale, taking in a great plume of inky-colored smoke, produced by the cancer stick his hand protectively gripped. Stiyl retained this plume of poisonous gas for some few moments before he released it into the atmosphere.
"The artifact is currently in the possession of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, who evidently managed to out-maneuver Kanzaki Kaori's Amakusans. This, however, was the only purchase made by the cabal through the Indonesian underground market in question. Odd, given the presence of enough firearms to greatly pleasure a doomsday survivalist's fancy…"
There was one question within the Backstabbing Blade's higher consciousness, something which floated above his other thoughts and claimed a greater level of importance: why did the Archbishop crave this "artifact" (if it even was one) whose name wasn't even known to Necessarius so deeply? The images received from a 'persuaded' contact within the Indonesian underground market's trafficking posse contained little more than some sort of ornate jar, with funny-looking markings scrawled along its surfaces, mostly consisting of arrows and hastily-scribbled cubes; likely something torn from some ancient Egyptian tomb, otherwise unremarkable.
Why, then, did Laura Stuart lust so deeply after it? Tsuchimikado Motoharu needed answers that he knew he wasn't going to easily obtain.
"What about this Jack shithead? Leads on him? He could be with the fuckin' weirdos."
Though Motoharu couldn't see it, Stiyl Magnus shrugged. Beside him, Archbishop Laura Stuart quietly giggled to herself; the Backstabbing Blade's concern was almost amusing. The ageless, golden-haired beauty rested her head against Magnus' shoulder, resulting in a blush to form on either of his cheeks, as bright and as red as the dyed hair upon his head.
Within the Archbishop's Park, there were no wandering eyes to gaze questioningly upon them.
"Spring-heeled Jack", or whomever may be taking the guise of "Spring-heeled Jack" could be acting as a distraction for the cabal. Alternatively, the possibility of this "Jack" persona acting in the interests of another unknown party also exists. The Archbishop's "low priority, low alert" stance remains in place regarding this person, human or otherwise.
"Our stance remains the same, especially with the string of Indonesian transactions the Amakusans have uncovered. We're to intercept the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, who, in their infinite wisdom left a clear trail of transactions, including airline ticket purchase history to follow. They've fled with the artifact into Welsh territory… hold a moment, spy."
As the opposing cellular device was passed from one individual to another, the soft, cunning giggling, projected from within his phone's external speaker made Tsuchimikado Motoharu's stomach churn in his stomach, as it caressed, yet, paradoxically stabbed at the inside of his rightmost ear cannel. Pleasure and pain became one unknown variable, something that could be born only of the physically pleasing siren known as Laura Stuart.
"Tsuchimikado-san! Ah, this is delightful. Simply delightful; it's been so long since I've heard your voice! Speak for me, please."
The Backstabbing Blade could only click his tongue in disapproval.
"That's not talking, Tsuchimikado-san. My, my; you really have developed quite the edge. I don't think I like this very much. You need to scrub, scrub, scrub that edge away! Chiu, chiu, chiu~!"
"The fuck do you want from me?"
"My, my, how fierce~! I quite enjoy it.
"You'll abandon your current duties to ensure that the artifact, this "Satan's Sphinx" as the locals called it, whatever it might be, is delivered safely into Necessarius' custody. Bring the Index Librorum Prohibitorum's keeper along with you, along with our lovely little field agent, Karasuma Fran. His newfound… strengths could be quite useful in your journey, as will Karasuma Fran's talents. Should he refuse or otherwise resist, do remind him that I, and I alone have true custody of the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, and that, at any time, I can forcibly return it to my side. That should get Kamijou-chan in working order~!"
A chill ran down the Backstabbing Blade's spine, as Archbishop Laura Stuart's tone of voice perpetually continued to deepen, becoming oddly intimidating. Even from thousands of miles away, and across an entire ocean, Laura's influence could touch the cold, armored heart of one who'd faced death, and spat in its face, time and time again. She touched it, and pierced it with a single blackened fingernail, as dark as night. The vision forcibly projected into Motoharu's mind was troubling, but not outright crippling.
"Do you have any idea what you've just asked me to do? Do you even know what he is? He's Hell walking on Earth. He's…"
"Well, ta-ta for now, spy-san! Do supply regular progress reports, please and thank you! Good-bye~! Farewell~!"
Tsuchimikado Motoharu might as well have been given the death sentence. He growled under his breath, as he leaned forward in his seat, his connection to Stiyl Magnus and Archbishop Laura Stuart terminated. Resting his chin in his right hand's palm, the Backstabbing Blade sat quietly, and contemplated.
"Fuck. My. Life."