That was the level of crisis currently unfolding in Britain.

  …Kanzaki suspected that was why his attempts at persuasion had been so forceful today, but this wasn’t the time to stray down that side road.

  “I heard tensions in France are rising, too.”

  “They have several other tangled circumstances, but they’ve been making false accusations of their own. Well, it goes both ways. It seems like both the Parliament and our military have been struggling to soothe the more prideful among them who suggest we initiated preemptive hostilities against France.”

  Controlling the parliamentary government was the Royal Family’s job, and protecting the Royal Family was the Knights’ responsibility. He must have been hearing all sorts of things while on duty.

  “We’ve had several domestic groups acting suspiciously, too, trying to take advantage of the chaos,” said Kanzaki. “The ones who have stopped short in the past are starting to convince themselves that they can win.”

  “…And all that involves the contents of that envelope. You believe a real sorcerer’s society is mixed in with those anti-government organizations?”

  “We don’t have confirmation, but if it turns out to be true, any suppression activities conducted by the normal police will almost one hundred percent meet with defeat. For now, we need to conduct a thorough investigation. That’s what the Puritan Faction is for, after all.”

  “Enemies from without and within. We both have a lot on our plates.”

  “Yes.” Kanzaki nodded. “We don’t seem to have much time for amusement. Or for worrying over what color dress to wear to any evening parties, for that matter.”

  3

  Utterly ignorant of that particular disquieting conversation, one incredibly normal and unfortunate high school student, the spiky-haired Touma Kamijou, had finished his last class of the day and was enjoying a short break before homeroom started.

  This was Academy City, Japan.

  It was an institution for the development of supernatural abilities among the populace, boasting a citizenry of a little less than 2.3 million but a surface area around one-third that of the Tokyo metropolitan area, which housed around eight million. If someone looked around, they would see nothing but schools, schools, and more schools; it was a city of students, and at that very moment, a rippling wave was approaching—the city would soon begin preparations for the super-giant Ichihanaran cultural festival in November. Due to certain circumstances, midterms had been suspended, heightening the sense of relaxation in the hearts of the student body.

  In one particular classroom, where students had formed small groups of their own, the atmosphere was no different; everyone was in a slightly giddy mood. In fact, Blue Hair and Motoharu Tsuchimikado were near Kamijou now.

  “Wait, is the Ichihanaran Festival different for high school than middle school?” asked Blue Hair in his customary, phony-sounding Kansai accent. “If we got more of a budget, it would expand all the stuff we could do.”

  “Nya. Let’s be real here—this is an open-campus event where people can come on field trips to the schools, so unless we’re competitive, we won’t be getting much more of a budget, see. This is a totally average school with no ambition, so it looks like we’re competitively at the bottom of the ladder.”

  The two of them wasted no time griping about money problems.

  A female student named Seiri Fukiyose, who had black hair, a broad forehead, a huge chest, and an extreme fondness for administrative committees (and not in the sense that she’d throw herself at any boys in such committees), folded her arms and sniffed pridefully.

  “The world’s largest cultural festival, the Ichihanaran Festival, is just around the corner,” she articulated. “And that means my season has finally come. If the lot of you have time to waste, why not put those tiny brains of yours to work looking for a way to use the money efficiently? You could discover a new part of yourself…Especially you, the spiky-haired jerk rolling up eraser pieces and playing with them!!”

  Touma Kamijou’s shoulders instantly twitched. “Wh-what? Find yourself…sure. The most that could possibly happen is that you thought you were into maids before, but you found out you were actually into waitresses the whole time.”

  “Nya!! That’s extremely important!! Maids can do a waitress’s job, but waitresses can’t handle a maid’s job! You haven’t forgotten that fact, have you, fool?!”

  “Heh…fools. There’s no rule saying just because you’re into maids, you can’t also be into waitresses. Still, staying faithful to just one favorite genre—I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”

  When the three idiots offered their own varied responses, Fukiyose, her bossy spirit(?) fired up by the approaching Ichihanaran Festival but now trampled, erupted as always. Shouts followed: “You…Do something about your absurd thought processes already, you freaking morons!!”

  “No, this discussion is absolutely necessary for deciding whether we’ll do a normal café or a maid— Ghghrgh!!”

  Kamijou took a head-butt and went flying.

  He rolled across the floor and finally came to a stop near his classmate Aisa Himegami’s seat. She, too, had long black hair (but not huge breasts). She was flipping through the pages of a thick book, looking somewhat serious about it.

  Kamijou shot to his feet, wondering what she was reading. He looked over her shoulder at the tiny letters, trying to catch a glimpse.

  “In order to prevent yourself from being buried in an energy-filled classroom, when all is said and done, you need a light to push others out of the way—yes, you need attack power. And attaining that attack power doubtlessly requires individuality. Your best option is to have some sort of special skill, but if that’s too hard on such short notice, joining a club or a committee is another option. The simple change in your lifestyle rhythm will be the factor that begins changing you inside and out—”

  “……………………………………………………………………”

  Touma Kamijou made a complicated expression and glanced at the back of Himegami’s head.

  “…Hey, if you’ve got a problem or something, you can talk to me.”

  “I’m fine. I’ll try my best on my own.”

  “O-oh. Well, if there’s one piece of advice I have for you—all in all, didn’t you, ah, have a more peaceful character trait? You know, flawless cooking skills?”

  “?!”

  “Ha-ha-ha. You make your own bento to bring to school every day. That means you already have some intense attack power, right? Mr. Kamijou makes his own food, too, but not nearly as well as you do.”

  “I—I…Could it be…? What I was looking for…was inside me all along…?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I’ve entered a golden age. By using my magical bento, I’ll leave my days of being an embarrassed, expressionless girl behind.”

  “W-well…Mm, probably…?”

  That’s when it happened:

  Their homeroom teacher, Komoe Tsukuyomi, entered the classroom.

  “Okay, everyone, it’s time to start homeroom! Today, we’ll be deciding everyone’s jobs for the festival. Please tell me if you want to prioritize your clubs or committees for work instead!”

  “”

  Aisa Himegami froze solid.

  One hundred thirty-five centimeters tall with the appearance of a twelve-year-old—an elementary school backpack would look good on her—and yet with an excessive fondness for beer and cigarettes. A wide-spanning knowledge not only of her specialty—pyrokinesis—but much more, including extracurricular research into AIM diffusion fields, which even scholars were split over how to handle…It wasn’t just one or two unique characteristics. No matter how a person looked at her, Komoe Tsukuyomi was a monstrously irregular teacher made up entirely of unique character traits. Faced with such an extraordinary person, Himegami was forced to rethink her own individuality—and came to one conclusion.

  “…Hhauu.”

  “H-Himegami? Why did you fall into utter despair and collapse like that? Himegami, Himegamiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!”

  Kamijou shook her by the shoulders, but she was no longer capable of answering him.

  4

  Mikoto Misaka was restless.

  She was in a downtown area, the lighting now closer to night than twilight. She didn’t change the time she was usually out, but with the seasons turning, the sunset was coming earlier. Before much longer, they’d move up the all-school closing time.

  But there was a different reason she was restless.

  …How…How could I have said that?! I wasn’t even thinking about the consequences…!!

  In the back of her mind was a string of conversations she’d had with a spiky-haired boy in District 22, the largest underground area in Academy City.

  Touma Kamijou had looked like he was going to die, and when she saw him trying to drag his near-expired body into some kind of incident, even Mikoto couldn’t stay calm. Her panic had forced her to act instinctively; she knew she had to stop him, but she also had no plan, so she’d simply spilled everything on her mind at the time…

  Th-this is bad. Bad for a lot of reasons, like how when I remember it I start feeling really itchy and creepy somewhere below my sides!!

  She’d been in solitary anguish for the past few days, which had made her roommate Kuroko Shirai suspicious. Her only saving grace (probably thanks to Mikoto’s own defensive instincts kicking in) was that she hadn’t had the chance to accidentally run into the boy in town.

  If she saw him now, she knew her mind would fly away without her.

  For now, she figured that after she waited for these problems of the heart to resolve themselves, she’d be able to meet him again in the same way as usual. Unfortunately…

  “Hmm? Hey, it’s Biri Biri. What are you doing here?”

  “???!!!”

  Mikoto’s shoulders jumped at the sudden voice addressing her from behind. She nervously turned around—it was the spiky-haired kid in question.

  “D-does it really matter? I’m just kicking vending machines like I usually do!!”

  “Actually, uh, that seems like it matters,” said Kamijou wearily.

  Mikoto, for her part, was busy wondering what the heck was going on.

  …Not that she hated this.

  According to all her simulations beforehand, she was sure she’d die of embarrassment the moment she ran into Kamijou. Even if he hadn’t talked to her, she’d predicted she’d feel really awkward about it anyway.

  But now that it had happened, it was nothing much.

  In fact, she felt relieved by their first conversation in days.

  “I, well…Are your wounds all right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Wait—oh…I don’t really remember since my mind was all hazy, but you found out, didn’t you?”

  Kamijou, though, gave a slightly lonesome expression.

  Mikoto thought she didn’t see him look like that very much.

  “It would help me out if you kept quiet about it to them. I don’t want everyone to start walking on eggshells just because I lost my memory, you know? I can get by normally, so it would be great if you treated me like you have until now.”

  “O-oh.”

  While Mikoto was struggling with her own emotions, Kamijou changed the topic. She couldn’t keep up with the blindingly swift changes—which seemed that way only because of how furiously Mikoto’s mind was currently spinning its wheels.

  “And that vending machine, too. You shouldn’t do high kicks and stuff in front of people when you’re wearing a skirt. You might have on short pants underneath, but that doesn’t change how you can see up to the top of your thighs.”

  “…”

  “Huh? …How strangely meek. Misaka, of all people, just started putting coins into the vending machine.”

  Mikoto couldn’t say anything back to that. She thought she’d put up dense walls around her heart, but they were actually all made of sponges, and now the water was pouring in. It was making her eyes spin round and round and round.

  “Wh-what the heck is going on…?” she muttered. “Normally, this is where I reject him outright or at least run away for now, so why is this making me so uncomfortable? Darn it, stupid heart!!”

  “What? Also, why are you suddenly sparking out like that…? H-hey, you’re out of control. You’re really sparking and crackling all over the place; did I do something I shouldn’t have?!”

  “Siiiigh.”

  “Don’t give me tha— Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagghhhhh!!”

  Crackle-crackle-bzzt!! went the heart-damaging sparks.

  5

  Himegami and Mikoto had both made this a strange sort of day.

  As exhaustion set upon him all at once, Kamijou opened the front door of his dorm.

  “…And don’t tell me you’re acting weird today, too, Index.”

  “Huh? Weird how, Touma?”

  The reaction to his mumblings came from the young, white-clothed nun lying around in the living room. She had long silvery hair, green eyes, and an eidetic memory—the ability to perfectly remember anything she’d seen once. She’d used that unique trait to store every sentence and every letter of 103,000 grimoires in a mental library; she was the Index of Prohibited Books. Lately, though, it hadn’t helped in the slightest. Right now, she couldn’t seem to figure out how to open a can of stewed pork belly cubes, and the can opener she’d gotten tired of using and tossed aside was on the floor. Meanwhile, the small calico sitting next to her was paw-punching her cheek as she lay sprawled out, seeming to say, Don’t give up! It’s too early to give up on the pork!!

  Kamijou breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, at least you’re the same as always.”

  “That sounded like you’re making fun of me.”

  “I’d never,” he denied immediately.

  After putting his bargain-basement schoolbag on the floor nearby, he flipped the TV to a random channel. A two-hour-long special was on. Covering a collection of miraculous and dramatic rescues from all over the world, it was currently introducing a team of British underwater specialists who had rescued all 370 people trapped when an underwater tunnel had flooded.

  “…I just felt a chill. The cat’s in full winter coat mode, too. Maybe it’s almost time to bring it out.”

  “B-bring what? Bring what out?! Oh!! You must mean you’re bringing out the rumored blowfish pot today!!”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions!! That would warm you up, but it would plunge my finances into an ice age!! Not that, Miss Index; I’m saying it’s almost time to take out the kotatsu.”

  “What’s that? What kind of food do you put in a kotatsu pot? Kotatoes?”

  “Move a little farther away from food, Index. This is what a kotatsu is!!” Kamijou unveiled the object in question with a shout. The combination of a futon blanket and a table revealed itself within the small storage space by the wall. Kamijou went about replacing the glass table in the middle of the room with the winter set, including:

  “Persimmon seeds!!” Index trembled.

  “Well, tea and biscuits isn’t the main course for a kotatsu, stupid!! Go ahead, try putting your legs underneath it! And then you’ll know for sure just how wonderful Japan’s unique heating appliance is!!”

  “Ah?” Confused, Index wriggled her legs into the futon.

  And then…

  “Fwah…I feel all sleepy for some reason.”

  “You realized the truth behind the kotatsu’s usage in five seconds. Your senses are unparalleled, Index. But that drowsiness you’re feeling is a trap luring you into a cold, so don’t let it fool you.”

  One way or another, Index seemed satisfied with the kotatsu. The calico plopped himself down in the middle, asserting that This comfortable warm space is my castle now.

  Good. Great. I was so confident when I brought it out that I expected her to say, “I don’t understand it because it’s Japanese culture,” and cut my enthusiasm right in half, thought Kamijou, putting his own feet into the kotatsu.

  Then Index, face brimming with drowsiness, took a bag of rice crisps that resembled persimmon seeds out of the basket on top of the kotatsu. She opened the clear packaging with her small hands, then pronounced, “Here’s yours, Touma.”

  “…?!”

  It was a miracle.

  This girl, who couldn’t even make a cup of ramen (because she couldn’t wait three minutes with food in front of her), had just given some of the food in her hand to him…!!

  “What? Why do you look so surprised?”

  “N-nothing, no reason!”

  “?”

  Index gave him a rather dubious look, but she seemed more interested in the new furniture she was witnessing for the first time. Possibly to drive away the sleepiness, she took her feet out from under the kotatsu and then pushed her head inside to explore. Phew. I’m so glad she likes it so much, thought Touma, loosening up.

  Bfft.

  He heard a strange noise behind him, from within the kotatsu.

  Index, who had her face buried underneath the table, immediately stood up from her current position, hoisting the entire kotatsu up into the air like a weightlifting barbell.

  “Toumaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!”

  “E-eeeeeeeeeeek!! Sorry, Index, that was my bad!! But could you at least put that aerial fortress down?! The cat’s still on top of it!!”

  That’s when it happened—

  Kamijou’s house phone began to ring. In the golden age of cell phones, it was rather rare for the house phone to casually start ringing. Thinking it would let him escape Index and that it might be an emergency network, he went to the phone and picked it up, all the while somehow calming down his roommate.

 

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