Author's Note: This is going to be the last fanwork chapter I post for a while. Projects of considerable importance require my full attention as of this writing. While I enjoy writing these fanworks for all of you, my lovely readers, responsibilities take priority over these. I hope you understand. Don't think of this so much as a 'goodbye', because it's more of a 'see you later'.

And so, here we are, back at it again with review responses!

Whwsms: Junko-chan is trying her best.

The Mitsuari Ayu of this continuity happened to be lucky enough to live in an Academy City which has mental health-oriented facilities. As for the 'Les Yay' moment, well, I suppose Ayu was trying to prove a point more than anything. Did that point get across? As always, there's only one way to find out.

It seems like an awfully convenient means of invasion, doesn't it? Perhaps too convenient.

Good interpretation. It's precisely what I was aiming for. Academy City is ultimately little more than an obstacle to Leivinia, on her path to complete domination of the Magic Side. As for Kanzaki Kaori and the Sons of Taured, how they stand to gain from all this has yet to be seen, though, Kaori is mostly invested for Index's sake.

Poor Himegami Aisa. She just can't seem to ever step out into the spotlight. Regarding Hamasaki Tsubasa and Saten Ruiko, it would seem that Gladio-Oculus' plans have just encountered a snag. The gears, at this rate, might just stop turning entirely.

Leivinia's going to realize that her once-obedient 'dog' is no longer so well-trained, so to speak…

As always, I'm nothing but glad that I was able to gain your APPROVAL once more! It's always a pleasure to hear from you, my friend.

Guest: Hold that thought.

Chris: Among my inspirations when it originally came to writing fanworks for the ToAru franchise was the masterfully-written ACUL0, absolutely. Of course, there were other works, some of which seem to have been forgotten by the passage of time, sadly.

And that's exactly the hurdle Misaki will have to leap over, proverbially speaking. When she meets her prince again, she won't be meeting the idealized hero she's built up in her mind, after that summer they shared together.

LOL! Ain't that the truth? As I've said before, the whole 'point' of this story was to lampshade and subvert some of the 'Touma x harem' tropes that have always annoyed me, while offering my own unique spin on the storytelling formula.

Saten Ruiko deserves all of the love.

Absolutely agreed, friend. Leivinia has no idea what's coming her way.

Kaori will have her time to shine. Don't you worry for even a moment about that.

LOL! I really like this idea. Definitely in-character for the Touma of this continuity.

As always, I hope to hear from you again regarding subsequent chapters, my friend.

TM: It would seem that Mitsuari Ayu and Kamijou Touma both have their own unique nicknames for Shokuhou Misaki. She doesn't seem to mind, especially when it comes to Touma's own, 'golden girl'. I'm sure Touma himself would understand the emotional significance, and try to make a good 'first impression', if it could be called that.

England.
February 10th, 2004. 5:35 PM.

What was he supposed to say, or even do? Kamijou Touma, the one who had slain Accelerator now found himself being approached by one of Accelerator's charges. Not entirely certain of the nature of the relationship this Sister – Misaka Worst, Touma recognized her as – had held with Academy City's 'top dog', he remained cautious.

Raising either of his hands into the air, as if he was being detained by officers of the law, Kamijou tilted his head to one side, ensuring that his eyes' line of vision remained focused on Worst's own amber-coloured irises.

"I won't hurt you, Worst. No matter what you do to me. I can understand all of the totally, completely fucked up feelings you must be having right now. Towards me. I'm not going to punish you for lashing out. So, whatever you need to say, just go ahead and say it."

Misaka Mikoto, the worthless failure of a big sister who these poor girls had been straddled with, failed by from day one, watched helplessly as Worst approached. Having risen from her seated position within the flowing grass, glad in her snow-white aodai, its pink-coloured leggings accentuated by the aodai's pink, ornate, intricate floral patterns, Worst didn't immediately respond to Touma's remark.

Then, they were mere inches from one another.

Finally, there, inches from each other, Worst spoke her piece.

"Saviour. You know, tou-san killed more than ten thousand Misakas. Misaka already told tou-san this, but it didn't quite hit the mark. Tou-san isn't a normal person, and doesn't deserve a normal death. Tou-san wouldn't have made up for what he'd done unless he'd have his human rights trampled on ten thousand times. And that's without Misaka's own compound interest… Thirty thousand times wouldn't have been enough. Nothing would have."

Worst peered to the bloodstained grass. Her amber-coloured eyes seemed to flicker with something, some sort of sensation, as several arcs of electricity surged outward from her body. Touma was very much reminded of Mikoto's own unconscious manifestations of crackling electricity, during moments of emotional heightening.

Indeed, as Touma's 'readings' suggested, Misaka Worst was experiencing a state of heightened emotions. By observing her brainwaves through the use of his machine phase-matter, witnessing the results in his forcibly-ascended mind's eye as clearly as he could see the clone of Misaka Mikoto mere inches from him, Touma could visualize her brain's erratic state of being.

"Misaka was created to kill tou-san. Misaka never asked for this, but, here Misaka is. Misaka was cut open after birth, filled with sheets and selectors. To cut Misaka off from the Control Tower. If it wasn't for tou-san, Misaka never would have had to be here. Misaka never would have had to feel the pain she did."

Despite having already slaughtered him like a pig, Kamijou Touma felt – and permitted to pass – a renewed, surging hatred for Accelerator.

"It's a shame I could only kill him once, Worst."

"Misaka doesn't know what she was thinking. Misaka was alone. Misaka was suffering. Misaka was terrified. Tou-san and Misaka came to a half-hearted compromise. Misaka found tou-san useful for relieving certain biological needs… Misaka might have even thought tou-san loved her, sometimes."

She gritted her teeth. The clone bit down on nothing so hard that Touma, her own big sister, Mikoto, and even Move Point, who was some few feet away, heard the gnashing.

"… Misaka knows, maybe always knew, that it wasn't meant to be. Misaka was playing house, because she was too cowardly to do what needed to be done. But the Saviour did it, and Misaka didn't have to. Misaka finds herself in the Saviour's debt again…"

She closed what distance remained between them, then, grabbed Kamijou Touma by the scruff of his shirt's collar. The nanites, the swirling masses of machine phase-matter pried themselves loose, slipping from between Worst's fingers like sand before resettling into their main mass. Worst blinked, several times in confusion, before continuing as if nothing happened.

"… But Misaka is going to have a hard time forgiving the Saviour for not ending tou-san the first time. Misaka shouldn't feel this way towards you, because you had no way of knowing… But you're also responsible for Misaka being born. For her suffering."

"I've been having a hard time forgiving myself."

Then, Misaka Worst placed either of her hands on the 'Saviour's' shoulders. Her grip tightened. She said nothing. Worst simply peered into Kamijou's eyes, looking for a single sign of humanity, that human glint in his eyes that even Accelerator, a mass murderer who had sent over ten thousand living, breathing, thinking people to their deaths had visible in his own crimson eyes.

Worst found nothing of the sort within Touma's eyes.

"Did he ever hurt you, Worst?"

The question was blunt, straight to the point. She was surprised by the concern expressed towards her. Kamijou Touma hadn't hurled names at her, nor cussed her out, nor demanded she go off and die somewhere. He'd simply asked about her well-being.

A welcome change from what Misaka Worst had become adjusted to as the Accelerator's 'girlfriend.'

"Tou-san broke Misaka's arm in Russia, yes. Sometimes tou-san would hit Misaka when he fucked her, but Misaka got used to it."

Almost immediately, Misaka Worst found herself taken into a tight embrace. Every part of him was cold to the touch. His clothes and skin were of the same temperature, as if the clothing was little more than a false façade, a smaller part of a greater mass. Funnily enough, Worst wasn't far from the truth of the situation, though she couldn't have known it.

"He'll never hurt anyone again. Ever," Touma spoke softly. "No one will ever hurt you, or any of your Sisters ever again, beautiful girl. I'll be making sure of that, myself. He seemed to think people in Academy City would start gunning for you once he… Died. I'll make sure that doesn't happen."

Beautiful? Beautiful.

Misaka Worst seemed to short circuit as a result of the compliment. Her brain, the depository for the Misaka Network's collective negative emotions, didn't respond particularly well to the kindness. She forcibly broke the embrace, then stumbled backwards. Caught in the arms of her big sister, Mikoto helped Worst right herself.

"Ha… Hahaha. How does the Saviour feel, now that the Saviour has blood on his hands? Is it everything he imagined? The Saviour isn't a hero anymore. The Saviour is still the Saviour, but not a hero. Misaka wants to know what it feels like to lose that part of you."

Kamijou shrugged in abject indifference. His eyes darted about within their sockets. His forcibly-ascended higher mind constantly scanned and catalogued information from the world around him, analyzed and comprehended it effortlessly in ways that a living, biological human brain never could have.

And, still, Touma remarked, "I don't know what I feel. I'm glad he's gone. I'm glad I righted my wrongs, finished my unfinished business and made him pay. But it doesn't feel like something to gloat about. I don't see myself throwing a party or trying to get myself recognized as 'the number one' now. It's just something I should've done, but didn't. You're right, really, Worst. It's not enough. No amount of torture or suffering would ever have been enough for him."

He looked to the sky, then, as if it and its rolling, fluffy white clouds held answers he, himself couldn't find.

"It wasn't the 'heroic' thing to do, but, guess what? Heroes don't exist, Worst, sweetheart. Only idiots with bloated egos who like to shove themselves into situations that don't involve them exist. They 'rescue maidens' and then treat those girls like they're made of glass, objectifying them, reducing them to trophies that need to be protected, because they're too weak to protect themselves, regardless of how strong they actually are. "Look at Sir Knight, riding in to gallantly rescue the helpless maiden, then play it off cool!" People like that are scum. People like that… They wind up dead."

With finality, Touma cast his gaze back, downwards, towards Misaka Worst and Misaka Mikoto.

"I don't know what else to tell you. I usually try to use shitty, sarcastic quips to deal with my situational problems… But I guess I'm just not in the mood for that right now. I'm sure you're not, either."

"As long as the Saviour understands that Misaka can't forgive him for her being born, not right now. Maybe never. Maybe Misaka will never be able to forgive the Saviour. Does the Saviour understand how Misaka feels?"

"Perfectly understood."

Then came a matter none among them – not even Mikoto herself – had considered. With Misaka Worst present, with the Accelerator gone from the world, snuffed out, his empty, lifeless husk likely being torn apart by carnivorous marine life, what was there to do with her?

Kazakiri Hyouka, continually experiencing difficulties in manifesting beyond Academy City without the Accelerator's absurdly powerful AIM Field to augment those provided by Misaka Mikoto and Musujime Awaki, took her final, few moments to approach the limousine which had pulled up, gracefully bowing out from the situation that didn't involve her, in any capacity. Having hitched a ride all the way from the City of Science in the Far East, she was presently aware that her dear friend, Index, was somewhere inside.

Saint Lessar, too, distanced herself. Whatever was unfolding here did not involve her, either. Perhaps she'd inquire about it later, perhaps not.

"W-Worst?" Mikoto inquired, protectively taking to her younger Sister's side, as if being even more than a few feet away from the clone would put her in mortal danger, "do you wanna go back to Academy City? My, uh, friend here, she's a teleporter."

"What's the word?" Awaki rhetorically inquired, approaching cautiously. "What'll it be? Sheesh, I'm basically a taxi at this point… And a coroner, too, I guess. It's all good though. I think the situation calls for it."

Misaka Worst shrugged, emulating Kamijou Touma's indifference.

"Misaka doesn't want to hang around here. Misaka… Has a lot to think about, now. Misaka… Misaka needs to find meaning."

It was a surprising bold statement for one such as Misaka Worst, who'd usually prefer to simply be vulgar or otherwise act in an impish manner, to the annoyance of anyone she'd happen to make a target of. Misaka Mikoto knew plenty about that side of her 'youngest' Sister, ironically the oldest, by biological measurements.

"Misaka needs purpose. Being tou-san's fucktoy and punching bag wasn't purpose. Misaka was just desperate. Misaka realizes now that she can do something, anything, with her worthless life, now. Misaka will have to think on it."

"You are NOT WORTHLESS!"

Taking both of her younger Sister's hands into her own, Mikoto clutched them close to her heart. Repulsed and disgusted by the act of kindness, Worst attempted to wriggle free, to no avail. Mikoto's will and grasp was too strong.

"Y-You're not. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your… B-Big sister. Y-You're so beautiful… Y-You can do anything. Y-You're… You're free now, Worst… Big sister will always be here, but I won't ever try to cage you. I want to love you, and support you – all of you – like I was never able to. I'm tired of failing you. I'm so tired of failing you!"

"Onee-sama," Worst grumbled, "you're making a scene. Misaka isn't into this. The Control Tower would enjoy this sort of attention, but not Misaka. Hands off."

Prying herself free, Worst folded her arms beneath her bosom, and sighed, exasperated.

"Misaka definitely doesn't want to stand around here all day, in this dumpy shithole," Worst explained sternly. "Misaka will think of some lie to tell the Control Tower. If she finds out tou-san is chewing dirt, bad things will happen. Misaka can't be affected by the Control Tower, but the other Units can. Misaka… Misaka is surprised to admit that she doesn't want that. Misaka must be having an off day."

She turned, then, to Musujime Awaki.

"Oi, Dr. Tittyboob. You can teleport Misaka back to the City?"

Despite the seriousness of the moment – or, alternatively, perhaps because of it – Musujime Awaki found herself biting into her lip, struggling to hold back laughter. Kamijou Touma, though stern-faced and seemingly lost in contemplation uttered a short chortle in response.

"Y-Y… Yeah. Totally. Can do. District seven sound good?"

"Misaka doesn't care. Just don't put Misaka inside a wall, or up someone's ass."

Holding back her laughter was becoming increasingly difficult. Regardless, Awaki set about her task. Performing the necessary calculations, imagining the path through the eleventh dimension within her higher mind, the level five candidate Move Point closed what distance there was between herself and Worst. Raising an eyebrow in Mikoto's direction, as if to silently ask, "anything else you want to say?" Awaki hesitated, offering the Railgun girl a moment's time.

"Worst…"

Though the desire to hug her younger-older Sister was very much present, Mikoto swallowed it, buried it before it could grow and attempt to overtake her better judgment. Worst was obviously offput by physical attention.

"I gave you my number in Hawaii. Remember? Use it, if you need big sister for anything. You can always use it."

"Onee-sama needs to get knocked up, so she can stop babying Misaka."

"Love you too, Worst."

With a warm, genuine smile, Mikoto offered a friendly wave to her younger-older Sister, who vanished from sight as soon as Move Point touched her bare skin.

"Sheesh."

Folding her arms behind the back of her head, beneath her twintails, Musujime Awaki stretched, standing upon her toes.

"What a mess this has all turned into. I wanted an interesting change of pace, but this is a little bit too interesting for me… I'll stick it out 'til the end, though. I'm tired of being a side character. I need a little adventure. Just… Not like this."

"Where'd Kazakiri go?"

Touma looked from there, to there, then back again. He craned his neck three hundred and sixty degrees like a young man possessed – his spine of interconnected, magnetically-linked nanites wasn't hindered like the spine of an 'average' human being – but found no sight of the angelic girl.

"She goes to my school. Sometimes," Awaki pointed out, tilting her head. "She's not very punctual. Good girl, though. What's her ability? She just disappear whenever she feels like it?"

Lessar knew an angel when she'd seen one, but ultimately decided not to speak up, nor add to the conversation, even. Rather, returning to her thoughts, the once-New Light girl clambered into the limousine, plopped herself down, and allowed either of her eyelids to slide shut with a soft, contented sigh. She practically sank into the cushioning of the limousine's seats.

"This Idio— guy who sometimes acts a bit foolishly sure does know a lot of girls," Mikoto remarked smugly, almost accusingly. These childish antics were a welcome reprieve from the heaviness of the scenario which had unfolded so quickly, as if it had all been nothing but a blur, a ripple in time.

She was still trying to swallow this truth like an enormous, jagged pill.

Academy City's number one strongest esper, the immutable, omnipotent Accelerator, the one who could have fought the entire world alone, without needing to raise even a single finger to defend himself was gone. Not merely gone, but dead. Finished. Disposed of.

Mikoto shook her head, as if she needed to physically move her brain about to scatter those heavy contemplations to the proverbial winds of her higher mind. It was an uncomfortable, dysphoric sensation. It felt as if the entire world spun whenever she thought too deeply about it.

"He certainly does~."

With a wink, Musujime Awaki was gone. She'd teleported herself back into the limousine. Falling into Kumokawa Seria's empty lap, the Move Point girl leered at Kamijou's upperclassman, then licked her lips. Seria accepted the distraction from her own burdening thoughts with open arms.

"That's dealt with," Touma spoke up, then, startling Mikoto slightly. "Doesn't really feel all that special. Anyone else in my position would be doing some kind of victory jig. "Whoa, dude! I totally did it! I beat the number one!"

Somehow, Touma's grim mockery of Accelerator's fate made everything a bit more amusing for the Railgun girl. His near-perfect imitation of a surfing, beachgoing Westerner had sold her on it, and Mikoto had bought.

She was sick, and she knew it; but what was there to be done about it? Such was the life of Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun girl.

"Y-You're off your rocker. But, so am I. We can both be fucked in ours heads together."

"What? You're fine, Mikoto. You're—"

"N-No. I'm really not. You… Y-You saw me when I had the Attachment. It all brought out the worst of me. And there's a LOT of bad to bring out, let me tell you."

"And you get to see me like this, Mikoto, so, we're even. A shame I didn't have any heroic monologues prepared for this. I'll have to start rehearsing again."

Shaking her head in disapproval, yet giggling awkwardly like the schoolgirl she was – even after not merely witnessing, but quietly revelling in the death of another human being – Misaka Mikoto accepted the insanity for what it was, wrapped either of her arms around Kamijou's own, and lead him towards the limousine, taking charge effortlessly, even over him. He could've resisted, but chose not to.

"S-Sit with me in there. I… Hey. I'll just be honest. I think I… I just want to hold onto you for a while, if that's alright. Alright?"

"Like I'd turn down an offer like that."

"You would've, a few months ago."

"You mean, a dead man would've, a few months ago."

Mikoto could've chastised him, but chose not to. Both Kamijou Touma and she found themselves making exceptions for one another, then.

Instead, sensing his uneasiness, sensing the tension that seemed to radiate from within him, feeling the cold, metallic touch of his fingers entangling themselves with her own, Mikoto drew closer, and offered what comfort a broken, worn soul like her could, silently, as they clambered into the limousine.

The pop music originating from the limousine's built-in speakers, though stale and bland by the opinions of most, but not all within the vehicle, offered a reprieve from the heavy-set tension that'd seemed to have blown in like a particularly foul wind.

"If we don't have any further interruptions," Oriana remarked, tense, "onee-san will get this show back on the road."

There were no complaints whatsoever. Flooring it, Oriana Thomson brought the limousine to a skidding rush. It surged past the rapidly-flowing fields of natural overgrowth. Kamijou Touma noticed that Kazakiri Hyouka was still nowhere to be seen. Then again, if she'd hitched a ride the entire time – as he suspected – then, there was a chance she could have simply disappeared again.

It would be some minutes before the vehicle finally found roadway. Flanked by aged, moss-covered fencing an open section of fencing acted as a gateway, welcoming the limousine into a realm of smoother sailing. The English countryside only seemed to become more beautifully brilliant as the limousine traversed the paved, manmade roadway. Occasionally-sighted, densely-packed groups of trees formed shaded canopies here and there. Some had built quaint little stone-wrought cottages throughout the countryside, close by the roadways, worn by time and exposed to the elements.

Index had certainly wished to return to the side of her 'keeper', but she noticed for herself that he and 'short-hair' were having some sort of moment. The two remained huddled close to one another. 'Short-hair' clung to him as if her life depended on it. They shared no words with one another; but such wasn't necessary.

Instead of making an annoyance of herself, the little silver-haired nun bothered the once-Magic God, Othinus, who welcomed her with only some reluctance. The adorable little nun was an infectious thing, even Othinus had to silently, mentally admit it to herself. Kumokawa Seria and Musujime Awaki politicked among themselves, seeing as Index had that their mutual benefactor was presently 'preoccupied', while 'Saint' Lessar had long since descended into a nap.

Before long, it became visible. Bristol, in southeastern England. An elegant place, situated upon a breathtaking promenade overlooking the crystal-clear water. Arching bridges allowed for several promenades to interconnect with one another, which otherwise would have been separated considerably. Bristol was a location where modernity and the works of architects of antiquity seemed to clash, as if vying for domination. While sterile-coloured, grey, white and silver high-rise structures that wouldn't have looked out of place in Academy City rose towards the Heavens above, they were surrounded by aged, stone-wrought structures from ages past. Churches, downtown cores untouched by progress flanked by suburbs left to the past, spared by sterile modernity, elegant, well-maintained piers dotted with fishermen and parkgoers alike, all of these sights seemed to combine, forming something of a miniature utopia.

The woodlands surrounding Bristol had inexplicably become dense, expanding outwards for hundreds of miles. It was odd, how so much of the English countryside with its open, grassy plains could easily and naturally bleed into thick, dense woodlands. The winding tributaries which snaked through the woodlands and flowed into Bristol's cannels were akin to the North Sea's own veins.

"I-It's so beautiful!" Index exclaimed, pointing from sight to side, excitedly looking back to Othinus, as if for approval. The former Magic God rolled a single, functioning eye at the innocent little creature's antics.

"I only wish we could be visiting under better circumstances," Seria admitted, eyeing Bristol's beauty for herself.

"Doesn't have to be all doom 'n gloom," Awaki pointed out with a smug, knowing grin.

Othinus herself added, "quite. There'll be plenty of time for 'festivities', I think."

For the first time in a while, Kamijou spoke. Casting his gaze down to the level five Railgun girl who remained clinging to him, her eyelids having slid shut, he remarked, "it's definitely something, isn't it, 'biribiri'?"

"D-Don't push it."

The response inspired a chortle. Touma surprised himself, laughing so earnestly in the face of the act he'd committed.

She raised an eyebrow at him as her eyelids slid open, slowly, revealing the wide, curious-seeming irises within, those that matched the colouration of her short chestnut brown hair. She, too, found herself smirking, slightly. In spite of, or perhaps because of all she'd witnessed, and experienced, and done. Misaka Mikoto really had been ready to rip the very iron from Accelerator's blood. She'd been ready to murder him, as Kamijou Touma had done.

Her thoughts were dark, but, by this point, Mikoto had grown used to the macabre considerations which floated within her higher mind like bobbing turds in a gas station's filth-encrusted toilet. That was how Misaka Mikoto viewed her own mind, her own brain; something disgusting, something tainted, something that could never be made clean, ever again, no matter what.

Oriana Thomson's words broke the Railgun free from her brooding, much to her silent appreciation.

"Onee-san would like to inform you that we're nearing our destination," she proclaimed for all to hear over the pop music that blared throughout the limousine. "No need for preparations. We've taken care of everything. Motel's ours, for as long as we need it. One of the benefits of being an ex-freelancer. Onee-san has made plenty of friends."

"Friends?" Kamijou inquired, perking up. "What sort of friends? You might have to introduce me."

"HAH! Your newfound forwardness is a sight to behold, I'll admit," Oriana practically barked, her infectious laughter causing Mikoto to chuckle. "If it's pleasures you're looking for, you don't have to look much further. Onee-san would love nothing more than to provide you with a… Woman's touch."

"You're on."

A part of Mikoto wanted to assert herself.

But, how was a girl who'd never been exposed to the uncensored male anatomy supposed to go about such things? This was something she simply lacked experience in. No amount of power as an esper could ever help her understand abstract concepts as these.

Kamijou Touma, on the other hand, seemed intimately familiar.

"You won't be excluding me," Othinus chimed in, then. "I'm quite older, and therefore, much womanlier than even yourself, courier."

"I'll second such a proclamation of intentions," Seria boldly added. "Tending to my Touma-kun's physical needs is presently at the top of my priorities."

"Sheesh. Someone needs to call the horny police."

Even Move Point had, seemingly, thrown her lot in and intended to stake a claim within the blossoming 'Kamijou Faction'. That left her, Misaka Mikoto, and the silver-haired nun, Index Librorum Prohibitorum, who seemed completely out of the loop. She occasionally looked from speaker to speaker, perhaps in an effort to try and understand the goings-on. Index's efforts ended in failure.

"Ladies, ladies," Touma coolly muttered, shrugging his shoulders. He held himself with the sort of confidence that a crime boss might have exuded, utterly secure with himself and his purpose, true to his self and with greater understanding of the world around him. He was cocky, prideful, even arrogant. "As I am now, it's literally impossible for me to run out of stamina. You just leave it all to this Kamijou-san. I'll make sure my girls get the attention they need."

She was sick. Mikoto couldn't get enough of this 'new and improved' Kamijou Touma. She should've been grieving for him, for what had happened to cause this – and she was, in her own way; she did grieve, she'd never really stopped grieving for him – yet, this, whatever it might've been, it was an instinctual tugging at her blossoming, womanly aspects that brought her to that shuddering pinnacle. That pleasurable sensation that rushed throughout her, running laps upon her spine as she imagined him feeling her body, kissing her all over…

"Head out of the gutter, Mikoto! NOW! Out!"

To move too fast would be to usher in doom. She'd keep her head on straight. At the very least, she'd have a companion in her self-imposed chastity; that silver-haired nun girl.

At the very least, that's how Mikoto had thought. Her actions proved to be very different to her thoughts.

"Hey."

Her words had emerged without her consent. As if she was programmed, being controlled by some outside force, Misaka Mikoto found herself leaning in close to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Oi, Mikoto. How can this Kamijou-san be of service?"

"I need… P-Private time with you. W-We need to talk about some things. 'Kay?"

He raised his brow at that, but didn't protest. Returning the Railgun girl's embrace, he, too leaned in. Touma's freezing, cold lips pressed against Mikoto's neck. Once, twice, three times. The kisses he was leaving in trails caused Academy City's third-ranked level five to almost immediately burst into an intense, fiery crimson blush.

"For sure. Thanks for telling me."

"Y-Yeah. You're, uh, y-you're welcome."

The limousine came to a halt. Reversing, Oriana Thomson snuggly fit the vehicle into a parking bay. The motel's cramped parking accommodations were otherwise unobstructed; only two other vehicles, parked on the complete, other side in bays of their own were present. Surrounded by tall, oaken fencing, with small but intricately-designed, ornate flowerbeds, and thick, healthy bushes, the parking accommodations were far more impressive than the motel itself.

Not a location with a particularly loathsome appearance, it didn't particularly appear spectacular, either. It was somewhere in between. For a city like Bristol, this motel had no place in which it could truly 'belong'. It didn't appear entirely dissimilar to one of the student dormitories in Academy City's seventh school district. Three floors of rooms, separated from one another by dark-coloured, metallic staircases, were topped by a flat sheet of shingles layered over one another. Just outside the motel's entranceway doors, several plastic chairs had been haphazardly set about.

As the established group disembarked from the limousine, Kamijou Touma's forcibly-heightened senses, having set his machine phase-matter to constantly scan his surroundings for potential threats, seemed to catch just that.

Whatever it was, it leapt from a mess of rustling bushes, darting like greased lightning…