As we tend to do, let's jump into response time, shall we? Reading what you lovely people have to say is always an absolute blast!
Guest: good eye, as always, but this error was actually the result of FanFiction not being able to 'keep up' with a formatting technique I'd attempted to implement. Shame it didn't work; it looks rather neat in the Word document version of the previous chapter.
Regarding the girls you've named, we'll get there. I do intend for Touma to eventually connect with many, if not all of the individuals you've listed, at separate times throughout the narrative. His meeting with Saten Ruiko is going to be especially interesting, due to a 'problematic' cog in the machine, which will present itself soon enough.
whwsms: cue Touma, Mikoto, and Seria in tight-fitting, minimalist spy outfits. Make of such imagery what you will.
I'm glad you enjoyed the, shall we say, "gap moe" displayed in that scene, friend! I thought a slight change, no matter how troubling, would be an interesting development and help to offer Leivinia's character some room to grow, in the grand scheme of things.
In regards to Leivinia Birdway's plans for the religious establishments of the world, the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's endgame goal is, after all, dominion over both Sides; it'll certainly be quite the quest, but, if anyone could challenge the likes of the religious establishment, it's Leivinia Birdway, armed to teeth with demon hunters and other nastier things. As always, this too will play into the narrative web.
You bring up an interesting point about Leivinia's portrayed relationship with the demon hunter, Iosephus Thepes. This, along with other matters will be touched upon again soon and explored in greater depth. For now, I leave you to speculate as you please; I'm quite sure that you'll come up with something impressive, per usual.
Damn, Beauty-Senpai. Back at it again with the...
Not going there. Not going there. I've posted enough memes in these pre-chapter words.
An interesting concept indeed; Kumokawa Seria's clearly not going to be prudish when it comes to 'adjusting' for her kohai. Apparently, she's going all-out and not merely accepting, but actively seeking out an 'alternative lifestyle', so to speak! What a winner, indeed. Kamijou Touma, ironically, is one lucky fellow.
The "Shokuhou x Kamijou x Kumokawa" ship hasn't set sail just yet, but that doesn't mean said ship is destined for the junkyard. For now, it sits in the proverbial harbor.
Misaka Mikoto's acceptance of the situation in which Kamijou Touma finds himself isn't particularly surprising, given the nature of the lengthy conversation the two shared sometime prior to the unfolding events which shortly followed Touma's return from his forced machine-phase matter infusion. Apparently, even at that point, the proverbial seeds of 'the harem route' had been planted within Touma's mind, and were already growing.
Expect to see the results of Tsuchimikado Motoharu and Kumokawa Seria's ride together sooner than later. For now, that's all I'll say on the matter, and leave this answer here, once again encouraging you to speculate freely.
Conflicts brew and threaten to boil over amongst both Sides. A furious Magic God appearing on Earth, out for a certain magician's blood would hardly be the sort of development sought out by anyone, not even by the ever-scheming Aleister Crowley; he must've lied to the face of the Mad Tritonian for a reason, after all.
As always, it's an absolute pleasure to know that I'm able to consistently gain your stamp of APPROVAL! I hope to continuously do so, through subsequent chapters!
321jaz: you know it, friend! You know it!
A wise move, in the grand scheme of things, but, evidently, as you've witnessed, these black operations are hardly the powerhouses they could, or should be. One could freely speculate as to why such it the case, and, in many speculations, all signs point to a certain upside-down magician's meddling; or perhaps that's not it at all. Perhaps I'm purposefully setting you up to encounter a red herring? As always, expect the unexpected.
You know what they say about dreams, and, by extension, nightmares - one's dreams are often made up of what's found floating about in one's own subconscious. Leivinia is clearly troubled about the near-death experience her sister suffered through. Likely, she's too prideful to admit it.
Leivinia's apparently not afraid to use Thepes' "Papa" role against him, either. I can confirm that Charles, the character introduced over in another time and place, within the narrative of another universe exists in this piece's alternate universe and altered timeline of events as well, in his own way.
This is precisely what they call gap moe! I don't even think BLAU himself could handle this one, not alone. I think he'd need the entire Delta Force at his side. Unfortunately, it seems relations between the Delta Force's members are... strained, to say the least about the issue.
I'm very, very glad to know that you're looking forward to the clash between two Sides, one in which a story almost always unfolds! I'm equally looking forward to writing about it!
As always, it's wonderful to know that I'm able to continuously gain your approval! I hope to consistently and frequently do so, through subsequent chapters!
Anon Guest: even now, the warning label still applies, evidently! CAUTION, HOT!
* I don't believe it to be a spoiler, so, I'll come clean: Touma's not going to experience only one mere 'upgrade', from "Touma" to "TouMAN". He's going to experience many, and, in fact, he's already experienced more than one instance of 'lewd' conduct in which he could be considered to have already been 'upgraded'! How's that for confusing?
Regarding inspirations taken from "A Certain Search After Truth", there definitely are some. No denying it! I'd have no reason to do so; whwsms' own piece is a pleasure to experience.
* Seria's got a gun... now, that's a song I'd like to this rate, the employing of "gun foo" could easily be a possible technique which Kumokawa Seria has come to master. She's proved herself to be a capable fighter, on battlegrounds both mental and physical, after all!
* Maybe you recall the fact first introduced by Tsuchimikado Motoharu to Touma, Index, and Othinus, that fact being there are a total of two 'duties' which need to be performed, one of which has its roots buried within Academy City itself. This would be the less-than-impressive (given the disarmed nature of the "SHADE_CRAWLERs") of two 'duties'.
* You bring up an excellent point, friend. Here are my two cents: I personally believe that Aleister Crowley simply doesn't care enough to intervene and risk exposure. His espers, though in possession of valuable data, or entirely disposable and replaceable; this applies even to Academy City's strongest, the level fives. Maybe, as you've suggested, Crowley has some sort of sinister backhand planned, just waiting for the right moment, in which he can violently slap the collective faces of the Magic Side?
* Laura Stuart is more than likely aware of the issue at hand, involving the "Sons of Taured", at least to an extent. One can only assume that the likes of Ollerus, and even Fiamma, formerly of the Right are both aware, as well, and are likely working towards their own attempt at a solution.
* I think it's "spoiler-friendly" for me to confirm that Shokuhou Misaki certainly hasn't 'given up'. She has, however, seemed to have decided that some soul-searching needs to be performed before she crosses path with her Prince. Who knows? Maybe, Shokuhou Misaki has gone in search of a second opinion... hint, hint. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.
Get your carbonated drinks, salt and butter-coated popcorn and your 3D glasses, because the games are about to begin! I hope you enjoy reading about these 'games' as much as I'm going to enjoy writing about them!
As always, I think it's positively great that I'm able to consistently gain your stamp of approval. I hope to do so frequently, through subsequent chapters!
Archbishop Laura Stuart's personal quarters were not always a place of tension, nor were they always a place in which meetings would play out.
They were exactly what the metaphorical box described them as: personal quarters, a place for the Archbishop of the English Church's 0th Parish to relax, kick her feet up and, most importantly, scheme in private.
Instead of privacy, Laura Stuart had a "guest of honor" sitting across from her at her personal quarters' grand dining table. Each of the other eight seats surrounding the circular dining table sat vacantly.
Upon the table's surface, a tablecloth had been elegantly laid, while a metallic, silver tray holding a grand, ornate teapot and numerous, equally ornate teacups surrounded the steaming pot.
Despite the perpetually-thickening tension that permeated the oxygenized air of the Archbishop's personal quarters, and even though a potentially lethal enemy sat across from her, Laura Stuart maintained the upper hand.
To drown out the sounds of the voices which exchanged sometimes heated words, a record containing a compilation of classical music had been set to play on a record player, nearby the personal quarters' luxurious, queen-sized bed, a piece of furniture fit for royalty, its tall bedposts carved from oaken wood, with a silky, snow white canopy over it. The canopy was battered about by the breeze that infiltrated the quarters, breaking and entering through an open window.
She smiled.
Laura Stuart simply smiled at the accusation previously hurled her way by her soft-spoken and calm-mannered "guest of honor". She was always having accusations of some description hurled at her, it seemed.
First, it had been Kanzaki Kaori, and then it had been Stiyl Magnus. Almost the entirety of the Amakusans had turned against the Church of England at large on Kaori's command.
And yet it was all little more than a series of simplistic inconveniences. With a wave of her hand, she could unmake them.
Was Laura Stuart a tyrant? Perhaps. Maybe she was a tyrant, maybe she was "the bad guy", at least in the narrative penned by her "guest of honor" and by those who'd come to oppose her.
Returning briefly from her own inner contemplations, Laura leaned forward at her end of the table, which might as well have been her side of a game board. Adorned in her trademark brown-colored garbs, Laura's right leg was elegantly crossed over her left, her slipper-clad foot bouncing up and down repeatedly.
There was one problem with the reality her foes sought to create: that narrative wasn't Laura's narrative. Her own agenda was quite different than the agendas of others. Drastically so.
"And what would you have me do, then, hm? Would you have me lay down Necessarius and surrender to your ragtag band of… miscreants? If put in my position, would you perform in a superior manner, or would you crash and burn? I do wonder~! It almost makes me wonder enough to consider placing Necessarius into your hands, for the sake of seeing how you'd keep our Parish together~!"
Across from Laura Stuart sat a strange-looking individual indeed; they were surely strange by the standards of most Londoners, and most of those living in the countries of the western world, at least.
Like Laura Stuart's, this individual's hair was golden, though unlike Laura Stuart, hers was considerably shorter, falling only to her shoulders. Neat and straightened her bangs fell to either side of her face, while her hair's fringe was parted in its center and cast to either side of her forehead. Though she was almost entirely barefoot, with little more than simplistic, if stylish sandals composed of what looked like so many glowing, transparent crystalline formations, there was very little that could be considered "savage" about her. Clad in little more than a white, silvery dress which looked like it could've been lifted by the breeze at any moment, her figure was hourglass-shaped, with many delicate curves.
Her hazel irises, with their dark pupils, looked into Laura's blue irises, and her darker, sinister and conniving irises, windows which offered a view of a dark and corrupted soul.
"How long has it been, sister? How long will the game continue? Be true, this is all little more than a game to you. Your pawns are mankind and your pieces of greater strength you move about the checkerboard, the Saint Kaori Kanzaki, Innocentius' summoner, Stiyl Magnus, your many spies. The Imagine Breaker boy was little more than another one of your playthings, with the List of Prohibited Books as one of many strings. Was… it would appear that didn't quite play out in your favor. In fairness, you had to start losing at some point."
Laura Stuart merely shrugged and took a sip of her tea. Her hands were small and delicate, her fingernails smaller, like those of a true "proper lady". Painted golden, they shined the synthetic light beamed down from an ornate chandelier dangling above, from the personal quarters' ceiling.
"How would you like me to answer? I'll offer you the truth, Ava, my dear "sister". You would be correct if you were to assume that their lives are meaningless, so many cogs in the machine! Oh, I do love my similes~! But, yours… that's another matter entirely!"
Ava Stuart took a sip of her own tea. Sweet, yet with a bitter aftertaste, the warm liquid dripped down the young-seeming woman's throat once it passed her lips.
"You asked me why the Sons of Taured were formed."
"I did~! Good job, you remembered! Might I receive an answer, now? I do believe that I've been quite patient! I also have reason to believe that you may have purposefully derailed our previous conversation like an eraser over some incorrect answers on a sheet of homework! Chiu, chiu, chiu~!"
"You're sickening. The Sons were formed to oppose the likes of you and oppose we will. Riddle me something, sister. Why is the "Magic Side", as it's been called, kept a secret from the world? Surely you have a strawman or two to prop up. If I'm lucky I might even receive a dose of personal incredulity!"
Rising from her seat at the table, Laura giggled. She twirled on her toes, which she stood up on, her long, golden and radiant hair flowing as she twirled, laughing almost childishly.
Ava Stuart watched on in disbelief. What was her deluded sister even doing? How could a person such as this be responsible for upholding one of the most powerful and influential factions in the magical world?
Then, she reminded herself: the individual she looked upon wasn't Laura Stuart. It was nothing more than an illusion, a mask slapped haphazardly into place to hide true, nefarious and deep-seeded evil.
Laura always had been the "problem child". If only the exorcisms had helped. Maybe, in some perfect world, they had helped.
"Magic is kept a secret from the world at large because it would be misused. We'd have our work cut out for us if every man, woman, and child with a penchant for vengeance could freely wield such power~!"
"And yet it's little different than the power wielded by the millions of espers in Academy City, sister. Does this not seem even a tad hypocritical to you?"
As an unapproving Ava Stuart watched on, Laura Stuart gracefully danced to the other side of the room, and then back towards the table, her form elegant and exotic, bending and contorting herself in ways that shouldn't have been possible, based on the physiology of her human body.
For only a fleeting moment, Ava Stuart witnessed a flash of emerald green in the pupils of Laura Stuart's eyes.
Laura produced a series of soft, innocent-sounding giggles.
"You ask too many questions, Ava-chan~! Do you like my Japanese? I think I've mastered the language~! Ah, but, your answer, dear "sister'. The espers are kept within their Japanese ethnostate! Would you suggest that we build a "Great Wall" around the United Kingdom so that the world's magicians could be contained within? That's not very progressive, Ava, dear~!"
"What of the Conquistadors of the Roman Orthodox Church? You lift no fingers to stop them. You lift no fingers to halt the genocidal rampage of their Crusaders across the globe, even as the Russian Orthodoxy struggles alone to halt this hate-fueled aggression. What say you to this, sister?"
"What the Roman Orthodoxy gets up to is no concern of mine, Ava-chan~. If a new Crusade is bound to begin, then it shall begin. Such spear-hurling, bone-chewing tribal, voodoo-worshiping lesser creatures could only be saved by our dear Lord, after all, no~?"
Ignorance was one thing. Acceptance, embrace and overt racism were other matters entirely.
Ava Stuart would stand for it no longer.
"Obviously, this meeting was pointless. You'll never be reached, sister. I'm sorry. I know... I know you're in there. Perhaps, you can even hear me. There's a chance the blame lays on my shoulders. Mother and father… never were the greatest guides to life and the world. I'm surprised either of us turned out to be more than small-time shanty town whores."
"Oh~? Go on."
"I was the big sister, and I failed you, the little sister, evidently enough. I'm sorry Laura, I'm so very sorry. I'll be taking my leave now. Thank you for your hospitality. Do give your servants my regards, for the kindness they've extended to me, a stranger, was quite commendable."
"Certainly. Bye, bye~! See you around~!"
With a sigh, Ava Stuart rose from her seat at the table and left Laura Stuart's personal quarters, gently closing the door behind her.
On the other side, no guardsman or guardsmen awaited Ava. No personal watchdogs or anything of the sort. Both Ava and Laura Stuart could more than handle themselves.
Ava traced her way back to the northernmost entranceway of St. George's Cathedral, descending twisting sets of stairs aplenty and passing through many ornate halls and passageways before she arrived within the Grand Hall, the only section of St. George's Cathedral which the common Londoner was able to view, or even knew to exist as a functioning part of the Cathedral's complex system of inner workings.
With no mass in session, the Grand Hall was almost eerily quiet; instincts decreed that Ava Stuart should remain on high alert. The breeze howled through the opened, stained glass windows that lined the Great Hall's cobbled, lavishly decorated walls.
Both grand entranceway doors were parted, creaking and groaning as their age showed. Tall, imposing and carved from the light-colored wood of an unknown origin, bound with dark, metallic reinforcements along their edges, either of the doors were surprisingly lightweight.
Descending the few ornate steps that separated Ava Stuart from the cobbled walkway beyond the low walls of stone that surrounded the Cathedral, Ava nodded in the direction of a strangely-garbed individual, who nodded back. He, or she, or perhaps it, took to Ava's side, walking in sync with the falls of her nearly bare feet.
Adorned in a long coat, done up with each and every one of its buttons snapped into their respective creases on the coat, with simplistic dark slacks, work boots, gardening gloves and an out of place Magical Girl Kanamin baseball cap, his, or hers, or possibly its face was obscured by some sort of makeshift mask which resembled an empty sack of flour. A pair of sunglasses adorned the figure's obscured face, cloaking the section of the makeshift mask where eyes should've been on a human face.
In a muffled, vaguely distant and echoed voice he, or she or it spoke to Ava Stuart.
"Let me take a very wild guess. Necessarius' Archbishop has bent the knee, having accepted the terms of our demands for her to unconditionally surrender, accepting her fate to be charged as a war criminal and as a traitor to the English people? I can only assume she displayed overwhelming, physically identifiable proof of her crippling sense of remorse. I bet she even cried."
"Absolutely," Ava remarked with a short, and rather weak chuckle. "She's agreed to be transferred to New Taured for trial, even. Indeed, the British Royal Family has even agreed to have us as guests of honor… I speak sarcastically, of course, our work is still cut out for us, my friend."
"Lovely."
"Isn't it just?"
"I'll make sure to get word to dear Jack… does she not realize that someone is going to end up getting hurt? It's an unavoidable consequence of conflict."
"Our cold war can only progress for so long before it becomes hot. I'd much rather it not come to that, but I can and will strike will the full force of the Sons if I must."
As the two turned a corner and then left the vicinity of the Cathedral entirely, a figure stepped out to greet them. Bathed in the glow of the moonlight, her arms were crossed beneath her bosom. She nodded, and, in response, Ava and the being with the echoing voice nodded back.
"How goes it, Saint Kaori Kanzaki? Has progress been made? The Archbishop's lack of cooperation, though unsurprising, reaffirms our purpose."
The Saint of the Far East stood within a circle, formed of many shards of paper, strange, archaic symbols scribbled upon each of their soft, and otherwise unmarred surfaces. Kaori strayed not from this circle, and soon, both Ava Stuart and the being with the echoing voice joined her within its confines.
"An all-out assault I can't recommend, not on our own… but I can recommend something else."
Misaka Mikoto had nearly fallen asleep.
Even though she was nervous, uncertain and flustered all at the same time, even if she found herself in an unfamiliar setting, within a potentially unreliable, queer-looking construct, Mikoto felt oddly relaxed.
With Kamijou Touma's arms wrapped around her shoulders, her form held close to his in a cold, yet paradoxically comforting embrace, Mikoto's eyelids had nearly closed shut completely. They fluttered once, twice, and then they would reopen once more.
The way he told her that he loved her, in that soft tone of voice, it caused the level five electromaster's heart to skip a beat.
It did cause one question with possibly 'dangerous' consequences to bubble within her higher mind's thoughts, however. Mikoto didn't want to unravel something that seemed to be the last tie on a proverbial bridge that was about to collapse, a bridge that connected two sides of a metaphorical landmass, one leading Misaka Mikoto right into the waiting arms of a changed Kamijou Touma.
"You know, what we were talking about before, the other day. When you came to the Dormitory to visit – and try not to do that again without letting me know first, please, Kuroko is a pain to keep at bay – about, erm… uh, you know. The sort of, erm… okay, this is awkward now for some reason. I was doing really good before, let me try and reword this…"
Touma watched on, not judging and not speaking, though he was more than welcome to engage in the latter action. There was a mirthful grin on his face.
"What're you grinning at? You think me stumbling over myself is funny? I… I guess it is kind of funny, isn't it? Eheheh."
"You're just too cute, Misaka, that's it. Watching you stumble like that is adorable."
Mikoto blushed. Blood rushed into either of her cheeks, and she looked downwards, towards her feet, which were scrunched together; the 'cockpit' of the queer construct wasn't particularly spacious by any stretch of the imagination.
"Your shoes are cute. Are they new?"
"…"
"Wha? Why're you looking at me like that?"
"You're one of THOSE guys? For… crying out loud. It's like your revealing some new secret about yourself every time we get together. Really? Those? Of all the parts of me to be turned on by…"
"One of "THOSE guys"? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't play stupid, you. You're a fetishist. A deviant! A pervert, a degenerate, a sicko! I'm… I'm just kidding by the way. Just playing! I-it's none of my business what you get off to."
She'd been afraid to hurt that boy's feelings at first, but there were obviously no feelings damaged; Kamijou Touma was laughing aloud, his head tossed back.
"I-it… it was just a question, Misaka! Stop throwing accusations at me!"
"Stop denying it! I was pushing your buttons! There's nothing wrong with having an innocent fetish like that."
There was something about that boy, that Kamijou Touma. He brought out the best in her. Mikoto could truly be herself around him, she could let loose, laugh and have a good time.
Being around Kamijou Touma was therapeutic. Even in a sudden situation in which unknowns could be around every corner, proverbially and literally, Misaka Mikoto found something calming about being near that boy.
"Yeah, okay," Touma admitted with a shrug, his laughter dying down. He placed a kiss on the top of Mikoto's head, causing her blush to deepen further in its tone of redness. "But, fetish or not, my point stands. They're really cute."
"Well, t-thank you. I like them too. They were on sale, I just happened to see them, fell in love. Click, like that, with the snap of someone's fingers, it was love at first sight. But… in a weird way this leads back to the point I was going to make originally…"
"Which was regarding what we spoke about the other day."
"Right."
Mikoto leaned forward, stretching her back and smacking her lips before she let herself fall backward, towards the seat from where she's rose.
"You've never really told me what you think about… erm… oh, fuck this! Why avoid the subject, this is just stupid! Get it together Mikoto!"
Touma tightened his embrace.
"It's all good, Misaka. I'm not judging, just breathe."
"Yeah. T-thanks… okay, right, I want to know what you think about having so many girls who like you. Do you think some of the other… girls… erm, would… reject the idea of being part of a… a "group effort"? A… h-harem? I'm just going to say it until I stop acting so weird. Harem, harem, harem, harem, harem, HAREM! Take that… me? Take it! I can say it! HAAAAAAAARRRRRRREEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMM! Hah! I win, you lose... or does that mean that I lose?"
Looking beyond the translucent 'windshield' of the queer construct he'd found himself in, alongside Misaka Mikoto, the third strongest level five in Academy City, the mighty "Railgun", Touma could only emulate what the sort of vocalization he thought should be produced; a soft, curious-sounding "hm".
Her odd antics suggested that she was feeling more uppity than usual, something that pleased Touma indeed. He couldn't and wouldn't try to bite back the grin that his lips were curling into.
"It's less just accepting," Touma began, causing Mikoto to begin peering out at Academy City through the view offered by the 'windshield' as well.
"Less of that, and more… embracing. I guess I just realized how lucky I am. All of you are great, wonderful girls, people, you're perfect, all of you and… over time, I found myself falling for all of you. There's these little things, unique, different. Perfect."
Mikoto took Touma's hand into her own and then placed her other hand atop it, forming a human clamshell package and clasping Touma's left hand within it. She sniffled.
She couldn't believe that she was crying. Again. What a joke, the third-ranked level five in all of Academy City, tearing up three times in the span of a few hours.
"T-Touma?"
"There's not really a specific order of hierarchy in my mind, I love… no, I fucking adore you all equally. Index, Othi-chan… you, Seria, Itsuwa-san, your little Sister with that cute little personality of hers, Himegami, Kazakiri-san... even Fukiyose, even if she... fucking pisses me off sometimes, gets right under my skin... well, I don't actually have skin anymore, but... you get it. All of you. You've all been offering me your love for so long and I've just been turning it away. Not anymore. I want to love you all equally, I want to return the love that you guys… err, girls, have been sending my way! It's so beautiful."
She sniffled again. Mikoto once more found herself fighting back a seemingly unconquerable onslaught of emotions. In the corners of her eyes, with their light, brown-colored irises, the beginnings of tears formed. Not tears of sadness, nor of any negative emotion.
They were tears of happiness and of gratefulness. Equals… equals. Was she going to be able to close the distance? Was Misaka Mikoto really going to manage the feat of bringing to an end the false, changeable reality that she was "so very far away" from Kamijou Touma?
But there was another reality, one which wasn't so easily changeable. Did he consider such a thing? Mikoto certainly did.
"What if there are other girls who object to the idea? That little nun you keep around always seemed to me like a bit of a prude. Speaking of her, I don't really know how I feel about that One-Eyed terrorist girl either. I… I can try and make it work, though. No, I won't just try, I will make it work."
"I understand how you're feeling here, Misaka, and I've thought of that," Touma admitted. "I've thought of that a lot. It's… I know that it won't be that easy. I wouldn't want to push my own views and feelings on people anyways, y'know? Not like I've always done, I'm finished with that pushiness, it's just not right."
Mikoto nodded in affirmation.
"Absolutely."
"Even if it's just a handful of you that I'm romantic with, those of you who're down for that, I'm more than down to just be good friends with the girls who aren't feeling that. There'd be a lot of balancing to do, a lot of… a lot of talking, but I'm more than willing to talk it out as much as needed, Misaka. This is the hand I've been dealt and, Hell, I'm going to play it with pride."
Mikoto was about to offer a response to that handsome, understanding, usually-reasonable, courageous boy, to whom she was in worlds of debt, no matter what he said.
But her words were cut off as the queer construct they were within lifted itself even further from the section of highway which it had been following. While other vehicles passing alongside and beneath the construct had been repeatedly honking, the rates of their honking increased tenfold once the construct achieved what, for all intents and purposes, was liftoff.
It hovered as it left the section of elevated highway completely, its innards humming as its speed further increased.
Mikoto looked through the section of the translucent 'windshield' opposite from Kamijou Touma's, her eyes wide, not with nervousness but with excitement instead. Beneath, Academy City seemed oddly small, and it was slowly growing smaller with each second that passed as the queer construct she and Kamijou Touma were seated within gained momentum, and further height.
"We're… flying? These things can fly?" Mikoto inquired.
In response, Touma offered his own point of view.
"Apparently. Huh, that's… surprising? Didn't really know what to expect in the first place I guess."
Mikoto continued to gaze downwards, while Touma looked ahead instead, keeping an eye on any possible air traffic.
There was an extended period of comfortable silence between the two. There was very little that really needed to be said.
Misaka Mikoto had been feeling better than she had in ages.
With Kamijou Touma at her side, with the possibility of being able to reach him and exist as his equal alive and nurtured within her higher mind's passing thoughts, she, the Railgun, the girl who always had to wear a false smile well and truly smiled, her facial muscles functioning of their own accord, not forced into action.
Kamijou Touma himself experienced darker thoughts.
Just what sort of madness was waiting for him, for Mikoto, for Seria, for Fran and for that G-man burnout, Davey? In regards to Tsuchimikado Motoharu, the stinking no-good snake, the second coming of Aureolus Izzard could've stuck the snake directly in the neck with one of his golden needles, for all Touma could've cared.
Why Aureolus Izzard of all the people came to Touma's converted mind, that answer was apparently not about to be answered by his data-gathering protocols. Whether they didn't have the answer or whether they had something to hide from their master and commander was a matter up in the air.
Through the airspace of school district one, the queer construct passed, suddenly some few feet above even the tallest of high-rise structures that dotted Academy City's first school district. Soon, it passed the border checkpoint separating school districts one and four and didn't seem to garner any sort of reaction from those posted below, who continued to pace about aimlessly.
Then, the construct began to dip, decreasing its altitude and moving towards the paved roadway below it. Some of those below the queer construct began to flee, while others were clearly producing their cell phones, likely snapping images or recording videos to upload onto the Internet for "cool points", or whatever the kids were seeking to achieve in the present day.
Altogether Touma found himself disconnected from his fellow youths.
With a thud, the construct came to establish physical contact with the roadway, though it didn't come to a rest. The SHADE_CRAWLER continued to move, following each turn, no matter how sharp that was present on the roadway's surfaces.
Though neither party within the SHADE_CRAWLER's 'cockpit' could hear the voices of those outside, Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Touma could see those who were outside, and both could see their moving lips.
Apparently, those beyond could see them as well. Those beyond the translucent 'windshield' pointed in the duo's direction, while others attempted and failed to follow the swiftly-moving construct.
Passing what seemed to be a great food court of some type, given the enormous, spinning sign depicting a stereotypically cartoonish bowl of ramen, looking like something straight out of a manga, the SHADE_CRAWLER soon came to a halt some few blocks beyond that innocuous structure.
Parked next to a section of brown, cobbled walkway adjacent to a block of small and otherwise insignificant-looking structures were the two other SHADE_CRAWLERS, along with a far more average, if an equally darkened vehicle, a simple four-door with windows tinted darker than the abyss itself.
The old burnout must've managed to make it. Touma found himself smirking at the thought.
Several, but not quite all the nearby structures were identifiable, food-related in some way or another, whether by the signs above, below or near their vicinities which advertised their surfaces or by their respective names.
Mikoto was the first to raise the same lever she'd used to lower the 'windshield', which was successfully lifted. Strangely, there had been no lack of fresh air within the 'cockpit' of the SHADE_CRAWLER.
Mikoto could only conclude that a system had been situated within to provide a steady supply of oxygenized air from the world beyond to the 'cockpit' and to those within who required air to breathe, whom Kamijou Touma was not among.
While Misaka Mikoto merely zapped the construct with a light, virtually harmless jolt of electricity, enough to close the construct's translucent 'windshield' from afar, Kamijou Touma had taken to scanning his environment, craning his neck from one side to the other. He even craned his neck a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, before his vision came to rest upon the "ugly duckling" amongst the structures.
"Oi. Misaka, I think we've got our place. Looks… it looks like a... a haunted house. Fitting?"
"Yeah? Wher… oh, yeah. Definitely. How… inconspicuous, huh?"
"Very inconspicuous. Nobody's investigated this obviously janky-ass place out. What… whatever. Who cares."
"If only this was some innocuous family trip to the funfair."
Indeed, by the standards of most living in Academy City, the structure must've been quite the sight to see, and quite the culture shock, if "culture" was the right word to describe such an oddly-proportion construction project gone awry.
Although there was nothing inherently 'wrong' with the structure itself, as it was apparently fit to "go" in all its forms, it was the exterior that was flawed, or, perhaps more appropriately, tarnished.
Masses of what resembled black-colored moss dangled from every conceivable surface, while strange, archaic depictions of items which Touma both did and didn't know the origin of, due entirely in part to his extensive history of meddling with the affairs of the Magic Side. Magic Circles were present, as well as numerous runes that had been carved into the structure's surfaces.
"So, who's going in first?"
Misaka Mikoto's words had torn Kamijou Touma from his internal musings.
In order to 'repay' the Railgun for her 'crimes', Touma proceeded to take her right hand into his own left, which surprised, but didn't displease her.
"I'd rather that no one goes 'first', Misaka. We'll go in together. It's a small thing, but I think it's the little things that can sometimes matter the most, don't you agree?"
"You are SO corny. I… it's cute that you'd say that, please don't go and think I'm ungrateful. I'm just teasing."
"I wouldn't," Touma spoke, a tone of assurance in his vocalizations. "I'm used to being messed with, Seria pranks me or otherwise fucks with me a lot, it's all in good fun. I can take a joke, Misaka."
With that, it was Mikoto who made the first steps towards the 'defaced' structure, crammed between two establishments which apparently offered foodstuffs as their primary source of goods, at least according to their respective, sign-based modes of advertising.
The Railgun and the existence that'd once been a 'normal high school boy' were just about to make their last respective steps towards the oaken door which separated them from the interior of what they assumed to be their destination.
"H-hi! Wait! Waaaait! Kamijou-san, Misaka-san!"
A voice spoke, one which caused both esper and synthetic nanotechnological structure to crane their respective necks.
There was an individual neither Kamijou Touma nor Misaka Mikoto had seen in a very long time.
She was dressed far more casually than normal; rather than her informal Kirigaoka Girls' Academy attire, Kazakiri Hyouka was adorned in a light, olive green blouse, not only accompanied by but accented by light denim shorts, which had been cuffed. A simplistic pair of canvas shoes adorned her feet.
Either of Hyouka's hands had found themselves clasped and held near her waist. Her long, brown hair hung down to her lower back, while a small section of her hair was tied to the left, allowed to hang down, like the tail of a frolicking woodland creature. Her eyes were wide, like those of a deer caught in headlights.
They only grew wider when she found herself being embraced by Kamijou Touma.
"Kazakiri?! It's… holy Hell, it's been a long time. Where've you been? What've you been up to? How did you… fuck it, I'll give you a minute to collect yourself. I missed you, man! I really missed you!"
Hyouka was more taken aback by the fact that he was touching her with his right hand. Something, something she didn't enjoy spending too much time dwelling on was supposed to happen, if and when "Imagine Breaker" came into contact with her, and yet, nothing of the sort had occurred. Kamijou Touma spoke differently as well. He looked different to boot; what had happened to all that spiky hair? His hair had been flattened, giving the boy more of an aggressive, and yet paradoxically more casual look.
Even more strangely, the usually volatile Misaka Mikoto didn't seem to be perturbed by the fact that Kamijou Touma was showing a shred of emotion towards another girl while in her presence. She merely placed either of her hands into her skirt's pockets and even offered a smile.
Just what had happened? How much had Hyouka missed?
"I-it's good to see you as well, Kamijou-san! I've missed you too! How… how has everything been? I've been well enough."
Both parties broke their shared embrace, but Hyouka quickly established another. She remembered that human bug zapper well enough to take her into an embrace as well.
"Misaka-san! It's good to see you!"
"H-hey…!"
Obviously, she was one of many girls that Kamijou Touma had managed to win the affections of, and yet, Misaka Mikoto could only vaguely remember her. Something about an underground shopping center, Kuroko being Kuroko, the nun, Anti Skill. The recollections ended there.
Mikoto recalled her face; it all seemed so distant, like something that'd happened a decade go, as opposed to less than two years prior to the present moment she found herself in.
Regardless, Mikoto would conduct herself professionally.
"What's with the modes of transportation? I've never seen anything quite like this before," Hyouka remarked. Approaching the queer construct, she placed her hand upon its surface, causing its 'windshield' to pop open. Hyouka leapt back but didn't otherwise experience great panic of any sort.
"Are you guys secret agents all of a sudden? Going to infiltrate the base of the… commie pinkos?! S-sorry, I've been watching a lot of Cold War dramas lately. I wonder what it must've been like to live in that period of time when every second was one bad move away from… from something horrible. It's interesting to watch, considering that it's all done and over, but... hm."
While Misaka Mikoto began to exchange her own knowledge of that time period with Kazakiri Hyouka, Kamijou Touma had found himself in another moment in which he could make one of two decisions; Mikoto seemed to acknowledge this as well. She looked to him, her neck head tilted slightly to one side. She raised an eyebrow before she stabilized her stance and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "your call."
What would he do? Would Touma lie to Kazakiri Hyouka's face, or would he tell her the truth about their 'mission'?
Touma silently reasoned that Hyouka had very little reason to turn against him, and if she was going to, she would've done so before, when she could've easily sided with the 'winning team' during the events that unfolded throughout the war in Eastern Europe; and yet she hadn't. She'd been involved before, and therefore, she had all the more reason to know the truth.
"Actually, Kazakiri," Touma began, closing the distance between himself and the 'Key to the Imaginary Number District' once more, "can you keep a secret? Seriously, it's something that has to stay between us."
"Of course I can," Hyouka replied with confidence. She leaned inwards, exposing a small section of her bosom's cleavage. Whether it was intentional or a Freudian slip, Kamijou Touma certainly didn't find himself minding. She had impressive assets, after all.
Mikoto, on the other hand, looked away, her face reddening.
Struggling to keep his eyes' vision to himself, even after Hyouka stood straight, he explained the situation. He explained the nature of he and Mikoto's visitation in school district four and he explained the possible purpose of the oddly-decorated structure, which Hyouka would occasionally look upon quite suspiciously. Occasionally, Hyouka would stop Touma's explanations to ask a question or have him explain a particular term or event in greater detail, but she otherwise listened without interrupting.
Most of all, Kamijou Touma introduced yet another member of the "Science Side" to the concept of magic. Kazakiri Hyouka was shocked.
She had encountered some strange things, not counting the strangeness of her own existence, but Hyouka had never considered the fact that there was an entire secret society of 'magic users' who lived in passive-aggressive opposition to the scientific world.
That certainly explained the nature of she and the Accelerator's conflict with the being known as the Archangel Gabriel, which had existed for a period of time within the form of "Sasha Kreutzev".
In his Windowless Building, Academy City's General Superintendent clicked his tongue, not frustrated but certainly irritated enough to consider taking provocative action against the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer.
Aleister's proverbial toes were being stepped on. Kazakiri Hyouka, the 'Key to the Imaginary Number District' was of great importance to the Plan. She wasn't being compromised, sure, but she was being enlightened. Knowledge was power, and an enlightened mind was a dangerous mind.
"So…" Hyouka mumbled, after babbling incoherently for a moment, in an attempt to force her tongue to function correctly. She looked over either of her shoulders. As passersby walked, Hyouka leaned in, and whispered a question to Kamijou Touma, and by association to Misaka Mikoto, who was close enough to hear Hyouka's words.
"They're hiding all of this because of some sort of balancing issues? Why can't magic and science just get along, then? Wouldn't lasting peace be more convenient for both sides?"
Touma shrugged, raising either of his arms to further accent and even, to a lesser extent, exaggerate his choice of body language.
"I don't know what to tell you, Kazakiri. I don't have the answers, you'd have to ask the bigwigs in charge, whoever they might be. I've never even seen them. I'm guessing they're fearful of assassination attempts or something. There's lots of backstabbing that goes on, but I'm sure you know that by now."
"You could say that…"
Hyouka seemed exasperated. She took a seat on a nearby sanitary automaton, which had been cleaning the cobbled walkway, causing the machine to stop in its tracks. Pulling her legs up and folding them beneath her, Hyouka used the automaton as something of a makeshift carnival ride.
Instantaneously, her panties became visible. Out of politeness, Kamijou Touma looked on only for a moment, before he turned his gaze elsewhere. Bright pink in coloration, they'd appeared to be lacey thin and quite fashionable. Odd, given that only she was going to see them, as far as Kamijou Touma knew.
"This isn't what I was expecting when I decided to trail you, Kamijou-san. I suppose it all comes down to every day being one of learning, no? Even a discovery as large and potentially damaging at this one, even a discovery that has to be kept a secret is still a discovery."
"I guess it does," Mikoto acknowledged. Touma remained oddly silent.
"I learn very interesting things every day. For example, I visited a manga shop the other day, and happened upon a small isle dedicated to a certain genre of manga known as 'hentai', and…"
"Woah, Kazakiri," Touma spoke up. "Really, really don't want to hear about how you discovered masturbation. Not here."
"Master… what?"
Hyouka seemed confused. She tilted her head to one side and blinked more than once. Both Touma and Mikoto looked to one another, equally exasperated and confused. How DIDN'T Hyouka know about that?
Mikoto literally handwaved the issue, giggling awkwardly as she attempted to seem casual about the subject, or, more accurately, Hyouka's lack of knowledge regarding the subject.
"Don't worry about it."
There was a short period of silence shared by the trio before Hyouka looked down at her right wrist, which was occupied by a small, fancy-looking watch. Silver in coloration, the device was encrusted with numerous, exotic-looking jewels.
"O… o-oh! I was… d-distracted. I'd like to offer you my help on your errand, but I've got to go! I was supposed to meet my b… b-boyfriend fifteen minutes ago, AH! He's going to be so mad! B-bye, Kamijou-san, Misaka-san! I hope to see you again soon! Take care and stay safe!"
From sight, she vanished. Like something straight out of a fairytale, Kazakiri Hyouka had been balancing her body's weight while she held onto the sanitary automaton, and the next, she was gone. In the blink of an eye, Hyouka had "poofed" out of existence.
Mikoto looked to Kamijou Touma, whose lips had curled into a grin. Gently, he took Mikoto's hand back into his own.
"I hope he treats her right, whoever he is. I didn't know Kazakiri had a boyfriend… hah. I'm glad. She deserves a normal, stable life."
"Disappointed?"
"Kind of."
Both Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Touma laughed off and recovered from the abruptness of their meeting with Kazakiri Hyouka; that was just the sort of meeting that would happen to them.
Apparently, she'd been following them for some time while not visible to the naked eye; not even Kamijou Touma had seen her.
"There is one thing, Misaka."
"Hm?"
"I do have to wonder what she'd think, about me. About this."
With the matter settled, they took their first steps through the worn and weathered entranceway door that lead directly into what was more than likely their destination.
Their respective senses of smell were the first senses to be assaulted. It was the scent of potpourri, an overwhelming stench of strong-scented potpourri. Additionally, another scent made itself known to the level five electromaster and the formerly human, former Bearer of the Imagine Breaker: the scent of undeniable age. It was musty, like the scent of mold.
"Kami-yan! Biribiri-chan! What a coincidence bumping into you here! What's the occasion?"
Tsuchimikado Motoharu was inside, along with Kumokawa Seria, Karasuma Fran and a concerned-looking Gladio-Oculus Operative named David Horton.
The establishment wasn't particularly small in size, at least structurally, and yet, it was so very cramped. There were many lengthy, worn and weathered wooden tables set in place, creating something of a makeshift maze, like a corn maze without any corn to speak of.
Upon each and every table, among what must've been hundreds dotting the establishment, there were items of all types. Large cauldrons, strange-looking idols, and charms were among what must've been millions, if not billions. There were almost too many items.
Kumokawa Seria returned to the available side of Kamijou Touma, greeting him with a smile and a soft peck on his lips. Her hands, oddly enough, were bloodied.
Upon further inspection, Kamijou Touma noticed that Tsuchimikado Motoharu's nose was bloodied, bent violently to one side. It was probably broken, and for that Kamijou Touma had to offer his senpai two thumbs up.
"He was asking for it. Believe me, my little kohai."
"Right. I don't doubt that, not for a second. Kind of disappointed that he's alive at all."
"I can hear you, Kami-yan!"
"Like I give a shit, drop dead and save me the trouble."
"You really should stop and think about this, Saten-san… something bad could happen to you. We don't even really know what "magic" is!"
"Nope! I'm enjoying myself too much! I wonder if I can use this "Idol Theory" stuff to make… what if I could make food?! Infinite amounts of canned mackerel?!"
"S-Saten-san! Please slow down! You might hurt yourself!"
"First things first~! Money, money, money!"
The two girls, both from Sakugawa Middle School had entered one of Academy City's many banks, one which was close in proximity to Saten Ruiko's residence, where Uiharu Kazari was intended to stay; she, of course, had few qualms about this. A day spent with Saten Ruiko was a day well-spent.
They couldn't have known it, but there was something odd about a small group of boys who'd eyed them for a few moments.
One of these boys, charismatic and garbed in casual, urban attire nodded upwards, smiling an almost alluring smile in their respective directions. Neither Ruiko nor Kazari could identify anything 'off' about either party.
But there was a boy in that bank who could tell that something was off.
What a fateful encounter it was between the beheld and the beholder.
The beholder in this scenario was adorned in the male uniform of Sakugawa High School, the educational facility situated directly across from Sakugawa Middle School. This getup consisted of informal, dark-colored dress pants and a button-up, collared, white-colored top. Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that the shirt was long-sleeved, its sleeves had been rolled up, past the boy's elbows. Long, dirty blonde, nearly dark brown hair adorned his head and fell to his shoulders, shaggy but well looked after. Locks of his hair's fringe fell towards his nose, though his face was quite visible from beneath. With blue eyes and of at least partial Caucasian decent, he was an obvious racial outcast.
The boy seated amongst one in a long row of comfortable seats, awaiting his name to be called by a dedicated teller who would, hopefully, help him settle an outstanding conflict with his credit card bill.
He'd become distracted. He watched the small group of other males, who looked suspiciously like much more than mere troublemakers. Their clothing, while urban and modern, not particularly grubby like those one would normally expect to see two-bit thugs clad in, was identifiably odd.
It was almost as if they were trying too hard to appear 'hip' and 'progressive', like literal wolves who'd thrown the fleece of a sheep over their bodies, in an attempt to hide amongst the herd.
With Uiharu Kazari, and, more importantly, Saten Ruiko thrown into the mix, he'd have to keep an eye on the potential 'problem children'.
Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth strongest esper in all of Academy City watched the group as they interacted with one another. They seemed off-put, and occasionally one would raise their voice, only to be shushed repeatedly by one standout individual.
Whoever this individual was, they were obviously the ringleader. A young woman with very short hair, the exact coloration of which couldn't be completely determined and great, dark bags beneath the eyes of her disheveled facial features, she was tall and musclebound, her attire casual and urban, something akin to what "the popular girl" would've worn in a setting in which uniforms weren't permitted.
And yet this very outfit seemed to clash with the persona she projected.
Her brow was perpetually-furrowed, her eyebrows aggressively arched. She'd swear in fluent English at her peers, who seemed to accept her as some type of authoritarian figure. They seemed to proverbially bend the knee to her whims as she barked them out.
Just as Saten Ruiko slipped her debit card into the portable banking machine, with Uiharu Kazari speaking happily in hushed tones to the contented-looking teller who was dealing with the girls, a teller moved to ask those who'd taken to standing off to the side whether they required service, or otherwise needed help with any matters related to finances or not.
She looked happy; a young woman, a bit chubbier than most but by no means unattractive, her dark hair tied up into a hastily-assembled bun. Her suit jacket was casually buttoned up with one or two of its buttons undone, offering the young woman breathing room.
In the time it took for Saten Ruiko to blink, a total of seven firearms were produced, one from within the collective jackets, pockets and even from inside the pants of each of the individuals who made up the strange group. Those weapons among their hoard that possessed iron sights had said iron sights trained on the young woman's head, while the female ringleader's own firearm, a small, once-concealed handgun of some make was trained on the terrified, hyperventilating teller's stomach.
"Get down! On the floor, nooowwwww! I want all of you motherfuckers on the FLOOR! It's a stick-up!"
"Tch."
The fourth-ranked level five, the fourth strongest esper in Academy City rose from his seat. He'd known there was something off, he'd had an odd feeling in his gut. Hit gut was something he'd learned to trust, and yet again it had proved its worth and its apparently limitless loyalty to his cause.
While Uiharu Kazari had taken to the floor, either of her hands behind her head, Saten Ruiko seemed to be whispering quietly to herself. For a moment, the fourth-ranked level five considered that the girl had become hysterical with fear.
But she was doing something strange indeed. Using the natural waste material that had found its way to the bank's tiled flooring, Ruiko looked like she was tracing odd-looking symbols.
"P-please work… p-please still work… l-like… the bush upon Mount Horeb… I c-call for the Theophany, I c-call for the Fires of G-God…"
"God? "Mount Horeb"? What's Saten mumbling about now? Your Urban Legends can't save you from a bullet, beautiful… or… what if…?"
Maybe it could've.
Strangely, as if the secret words of some mysterious cipher had been spoken in the correct order, crackling, orange flames formed in the palms of Saten Ruiko's hands.
Saten Ruiko knew about magic. Hamasaki Tsubasa could only click his tongue in aggravation.
Shakily she rose, even as her friend Uiharu Kazari called out for her not to, gathering the attention of some of those who'd engaged in demanding yen from the traumatized teller.
Hamasaki Tsubasa further closed the distance between himself and those who'd mindlessly and pointlessly created chaos in a peaceful place.
"S-stop. Stop it right now!"
"Wha-… a little girl? Go home, sweetheart. You're in over your head. Unless… unless you'd like to come and hang out with us, get to know us better. Every man has his needs…"
"Touch her, and you die."
Saten Ruiko took a step back, her bravado damaged, but not completely crushed. She looked to Hamasaki Tsubasa and then to her potential assailants, those who'd enacted this act of domestic terrorism.
"H-Hamasaki-san?! Where did you c-come fr..."
"Breathe, Saten. Shh."
The opposition was a scruffy-looking individual, with unkempt hair upon his head and equally unkempt patches that'd come to grow upon his face. From within his hooded pullover sweater, he'd produced what some would've referred to as a 'piece'. Small, concealable and silver, the firearm's tiny barrel was trained first on Saten Ruiko, and then on Hamasaki Tsubasa.
Small, concealable and silver, the firearm's tiny barrel was trained first on Saten Ruiko, and then on Hamasaki Tsubasa.
Saten Ruiko cried out to the attackers once more, demanding that they cease their acts of domestic terrorism and take their leave, but no such measures were taken.
Instead, the tiled flooring close to the middle-schooler was shot, causing her to shriek aloud and jump backward.
The scruffy attacker grinned like he was enjoying her anxiousness. Like he was reveling in the fear of an otherwise helpless twelve-year-old girl.
Saten Ruiko had turned to the entranceway doors that lead out of the bank, but they'd been secured. Felons in dark-colored ski masks had taken the point, bearing assault rifles whose barrels were trained on no one in particular.
Just how massive of an operation had these individuals planned?
"Just stop! There's no reason for anyone to be doing this…"
Ruiko's words had begun strong and full of confidence, but as she spoke, her words had become weaker, her voice softer. It had come to sound less like she was demanding and more like she was desperately asking for the felons to cease their activities.
The scruffy brigand shot the flooring near Saten Ruiko once more, causing her to lose her balance and stumble after tripping over her own feet. With a thud and a soft cry of pain, Ruiko fell.
Hamasaki Tsubasa looked from felon to felon. The apparent ringleader was in the process of exchanging heated words with the teller, who claimed that she had no access to 'the vault'.
There was a vault? If it was true, such was news to the fourth-ranked level five.
Rather than focusing his efforts on those who hadn't yet physically harmed anyone, the fourth-ranked level five took to the side of his fallen acquaintance.
Kneeling before her, Hamasaki Tsubasa took the girl's fire-less hands into his own and helped her up, as far as the two could rise. When both attempted to rise fully, they received harsh commands to remain crouching by those who'd taken to guarding the entranceway doors of the bank.
"Hamasaki-san, we can't just let this happen…" Ruiko lamented, looking to her acquaintance and lunchtime conversational partner. "I… I d-don't care about the money, t-they can take all of my money, if they want… I j-just don't want anyone to get h-hurt. C-can't you do something t-to stop them? I… I d-don't really know how to use magi…"
"Saten, please don't talk about that in public. Shhh."
"W-what? Hamasaki-san, how… wh…"
"Shh."
Her beautiful eyes, like large gems, colored a dark shade of blue glistened with tears, of what nature the fourth-ranked level five couldn't have been sure.
Things such as tears marred her beauty.
A small trickle of clear, salty liquid dripped down Ruiko's cheek, slowly moving towards her shaking lips. Her form, innocent and flowered was trembling.
Such a sweet, innocent little girl like Saten Ruiko shouldn't have found herself amid something so horrid as a bank robbery conducted by some unstable stickup artists. Hamasaki Tsubasa simply wanted to take Saten Ruiko into his arms and tell her that everything would be okay.
In that moment more than ever, he was forced to admit it to himself, despite the fact that it was a highly inconvenient truth.
He was in love with her.
He'd been in love with her since they'd been ten and fourteen years old, a time in which they were but children. She was still a child, but that didn't matter. He could wait. He could wait for her to come of age. He could wait a thousand years.
The fourth-ranked level five reasoned that the present wasn't a good time to divulge such thoughts. All he could do was protect her, or otherwise, help her protect herself.
He was only just about to offer an explanation on how he'd rectify the situation when gunfire rang out.
Bullets had connected with and subsequently passed through flesh. The searing and tearing of human skin could be heard, as a mother and father with their child in their arms cried out in terror, their child whimpering pathetically in his parents' arms.
Saten Ruiko let loose a pained, fearful scream as she threw her own arms around the form of her level five acquaintance.
His heart ached at the sounds of her terrified mind reeling; yet, ironically, and paradoxically his rage began to boil.
"What the fuck do you mean you don't have access to the vault?! Cunt, cunt, cunt, CUNT! One of you, one of you stuffed-shirt assholes back there, get us access! We know there's a vault underground! Get us access! NOW! Or we shoot this place up, no survivors!
For a moment, the trembling form of Saten Ruiko looked up to her level five acquaintance.
Her facial features hardened, her lips curling downwards into a frown as her eyebrows aggressively arched.
"W-we've got to do something, Hamasaki-san," Ruiko whispered. "T-th… t-they k-killed h-her… w-we can't l-let them kill anyone else… s-she was someone's s-sister, someone's a-aunt or maybe even s-someone's mother."
Just what was he even supposed to do?
"This is upsetting for you, and it's most certainly upsetting for me. You want to help and, so do I, but you're a level zero and I'm a level five. You think you can do me a favor?"
"Y-yes. W-what… kind of favor?"
"We're friends, right, Saten?"
"Y-yeah? We are. We are friends."
"Then, as my friend, I want you to close your eyes and think about your most favorite Urban Legend. Think about the Raincoat Girl, the Urban Legend we were talking about yesterday, with Uiharu over lunch. Think about that day, the clear blue sky and the chirping birds. Think about it as deeply as you can. Block out any sort of noise you hear, and don't open your eyes… I'll take care of this."
"No… I won't j-just let this happen, Hamasaki-san. I'm not standing by!"
"Saten, get down."
She rose, disobeying the orders given to her.
And then she began to whisper under her breath, repeating memorized words found within the pages of a certain mysterious pamphlet.
Gunfire rang out once more, from behind the level zero and the fourth-ranked level five.