Chapter 11: Fine Tuning

Tokiwadai didn’t feel like the city.

That was the first thing I noticed.

The gates were tall, pristine, framed by carefully trimmed greenery that looked like it had never known neglect. The pavement inside was clean enough to reflect the sky, and the air—somehow—felt quieter.

Contained.

I stood just inside the entrance, bag held tight against my side, trying not to stare.

Every AIM field here was… composed.

No jagged edges. No wild fluctuations. Even the weaker ones had structure, like they’d been taught how to behave. The stronger fields didn’t spread outward recklessly, they folded inward, dense and deliberate.

It was like stepping into a room where everyone knew the rules.

And I didn’t.

“You okay?” Yomikawa asked, glancing down at me.

I nodded automatically. “Yeah. Just… different.”

She snorted. “That’s Tokiwadai for you. Don’t let the frills fool you. Still Academy City.”

That helped. A little.

This wasn’t permanent. That was the rule they’d all agreed on.

A tryout period. Temporary enrollment. Observation. No dorms. No permanent records yet. If things went wrong, I could leave without paperwork chaining me here.

And I’d still go home with Yomikawa at the end of the day.

That mattered more than I wanted to admit.

We walked further in, and I felt it then—a familiar presence, loud in a way that was almost comforting.

Electric.

I turned my head before I even thought about it.

Brown hair. Tokiwadai uniform worn like it belonged to her personally. A field that crackled and surged, dominant and proud, pressing outward with intention rather than accident.

Loud on purpose.

Misaka Mikoto was arguing with someone near the path, her voice carrying even without effort.

“…I’m telling you, it wasn’t my fault this time!”

Her AIM field brushed mine, and I flinched—

Then relaxed.

It was intense, yes. But warm. Like standing near a generator you’d learned to trust. It didn’t scrape. Didn’t invade.

It just was.

She noticed me staring and blinked, then grinned.

“Oh. Hey. You’re back.”

Back.

The word stuck with me longer than it should have.

The word back echoed in my head, uncomfortably warm.

“I—” I hesitated, then shook my head slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

Misaka tilted her head, eyes narrowing just a fraction—not suspicious, just observant.

“…You okay?” she asked. “You looked like you were about to bolt.”

I swallowed. “Yeah. Just—got surprised.”

She glanced at Yomikawa, then back at me, lips twitching.

“Ah. First day nerves?” she guessed. “Tokiwadai does that to people.”

That wasn’t wrong. Just… incomplete.

Her presence still pressed against me, electric and dominant, her AIM field rolling outward in confident waves I was the only one who could feel. Loud, intentional, like she’d decided long ago the world could deal with it.

“I’m used to… quieter places,” I said carefully.

Misaka snorted. “Yeah, you picked the wrong school for that.”

She shifted her stance as she spoke—relaxed, casual—but something about her changed. The crackling pressure eased, not disappearing, just settling closer to her body.

To anyone else, nothing would’ve looked different.

To me, it was immediate relief.

I hadn’t realized how tightly I was holding myself until my shoulders dropped.

Misaka noticed that.

Her eyes widened a fraction.

“…Huh,” she muttered. “So it wasn’t just nerves.”

I stiffened. “What?”

She waved a hand. “Nothing weird. Just—people usually either get scared or pissed around me. You looked like you were… adjusting.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Something like that.”

She studied me for a second longer, then grinned.

“Well. You handled it better than most.”

That shouldn’t have felt like praise.

It did anyway.

“Sorry if I came on strong,” she added, scratching the back of her neck. “I forget sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” I said honestly. “It’s… familiar.”

That made her pause.

“…Familiar?”

I thought of crackling static, of laboratories, of power used as pressure instead of violence.

“Yeah,” I said. “But not in a bad way.”

Misaka’s grin softened, something gentler slipping through the bravado.

“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She glanced back toward the path she’d been arguing on earlier and sighed. “I should probably go before I get dragged into another dumb argument.”

She took a step away, then looked back.

“If you’re sticking around Tokiwadai,” she said, “welcome.”

Simple. No weight. No expectations.

“Thanks,” I replied.

She waved once and walked off, electricity flaring around her again—bright, dominant, unmistakably Misaka Mikoto.

But now that I understood it, it didn’t overwhelm me.

It just passed.

A moment later, another presence slid into place beside me—smooth, controlled, unmistakable.

“Oh?” Misaki’s voice chimed. “You've met her then. Misaka Mikoto.”

I turned.

Misaki stood a few steps back, parasol resting on her shoulder, eyes narrowed just enough to be suspicious.

“…What did she say to you?”

I blinked. “She welcomed me.”

Misaki stared at me.

Then past me.

Then at Mikoto’s retreating back.

“…That’s it?” she asked flatly.

“Yes?”

Misaki clicked her tongue. “Hmph. She always sounds like she’s picking a fight.”

“She wasn’t mean,” I said.

Misaki looked genuinely surprised.

“…She wasn’t?”

“No,” I replied. “She noticed I was uncomfortable.”

That earned a sharp glance.

“…And?”

“And she backed off.”

Misaki went quiet, watching Mikoto disappear into the distance.

“…Huh,” she muttered.

Misaki went quiet.

Not abruptly—just… the way she did when she noticed something she didn’t want to name yet.

“…You okay?” she asked.

I hesitated, eyes still following the path Mikoto had taken.

“She reminds you of her, doesn’t she?”

The word landed gently. Not sharp. Not heavy.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “She does.”

Misaki waited. I could feel it—her giving me space instead of filling it.

“But that’s okay,” I added after a moment. “I think I like it. The reminder, I mean.”

I looked down at my hands.

“It feels… better than forgetting.”

There was a quiet, disbelieving snort beside me.

Misaki started walking, brushing past me like she needed the movement.

“You’re so strange,” she said.

I hurried to catch up, a small smile tugging at my lips despite everything.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I know.”

Then she smiled brightly, looping her arm through mine like nothing had happened.

“Well,” she said lightly, “as long as she didn’t scare you.”

She glanced at me sideways. “Did she?”

I thought of the warmth. The control. The relief.

“No,” I said honestly.

Misaki smiled wider.

“Good,” she said. “Then maybe Tokiwadai won’t be as awful as I thought.”

And for the first time since stepping through those gates—

I believed her.

I glanced around, half-expecting to see Yomikawa leaning against a fence or pretending not to listen.

She wasn’t there.

At some point while I’d been talking, she’d slipped away—quietly, deliberately. No announcement. No warning. Just… gone.

Of course she had.

She probably saw me talking. Talking normally. Standing my ground. And decided I didn’t need a uniform hovering behind me like a shield.

She was too considerate sometimes.

Misaki noticed my wandering gaze and followed it, then smiled knowingly.

“She left you to me, didn’t she?”

“…Yeah,” I admitted. “I think so.”

“Good,” Misaki said lightly. “Then I get to show you around properly.”

She tugged my sleeve before I could protest and started walking deeper into the grounds, parasol swaying with each step like this was all exactly as she’d planned.

Tokiwadai unfolded around us as we moved.

Wide paths lined with trees. Stone benches placed with aesthetic intent rather than practicality. Buildings that looked more like private academies than public institutions—arched windows, pale walls, everything polished just enough to feel untouchable.

The AIM fields here shifted as we passed.

Not reacting to me—reacting to her.

Misaki didn’t push her presence outward. She didn’t need to. Her field was contained, elegant, layered so finely it felt more like pressure from depth than force.

People noticed her anyway.

Heads turned. Conversations stalled. Girls straightened unconsciously as we passed, like flowers angling toward the sun.

And then—

They noticed me.

The looks were subtle at first. Curious. Confused.

Who was that?

Why was she with her?

I heard whispers trail behind us, not quite hushed enough.

“Isn’t that Shokuhou-sama…?”

“Who’s the girl with her?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

Misaki, for her part, didn’t seem to care.

She walked closer to me instead, her arm brushing mine deliberately—possessive without being aggressive.

“This is the main academic wing,” she said casually, gesturing ahead. “Most of the upper-level classes are here. You won’t have many yet, since you’re still on observation.”

“Observation,” I echoed.

“Yes, observation,” she repeated cheerfully. “Try not to sound like you’re being monitored by lab equipment.”

I snorted before I could stop myself.

That earned me a few startled glances.

Misaki paused mid-step and looked at me, eyes widening just a fraction.

“…Did you just laugh?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I muttered.

“Oh, I absolutely will,” she said smugly, resuming her walk. “You don’t know how rare that is.”

We passed a group of girls near the fountain. One of them—tall, elegant, clearly upperclass—froze when she saw Misaki.

“Shokuhou-sama?” she said, startled. Her gaze flicked to me, then back. “…Are you busy?”

Misaki smiled, sweet and sharp all at once. “Very.”

The girl blinked. “With—?”

“My friend,” Misaki said simply.

Friend.

The word landed heavier than it should have.

The girl stared at me like she was trying to reconcile that information with everything she thought she knew about the world.

“…I see,” she managed, bowing slightly before retreating at record speed.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Misaki leaned in and whispered, “See? Already causing a scandal.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I protested.

“You existed,” she replied. “That’s more than enough.”

We continued on, and it kept happening.

Girls Misaki clearly knew—by reputation, by hierarchy, by careful distance—kept stopping short when they saw us together. Some tried to greet her. Some pretended not to look. All of them stared at me like I was a variable that hadn’t been accounted for.

One even whispered, not quietly enough, “Is she... crazy?”

Misaki’s smile sharpened.

“She’s mine,” she corrected without slowing down.

I nearly tripped.

“…Misaki.”

She laughed, bright and unapologetic. “Relax. I mean it socially. Mostly.”

Mostly did not reassure me.

We reached one of the quieter courtyards, the noise of the school fading into something gentler. Benches under shade. A few students studying, AIM fields folded neatly inward like closed umbrellas.

Misaki slowed here.

Her voice softened.

“You’re doing well,” she said. “Better than I expected.”

“I feel like everyone’s staring,” I admitted.

“They are,” she replied immediately. “But not for the reason you think.”

She stopped and turned to face me fully.

“They’re surprised,” she said. “I don’t bring people with me. Not like this.”

I swallowed. “Is that… a problem?”

Her expression shifted—just slightly.

“No,” she said. “It’s a choice.”

She studied my face for a second longer, then smirked.

“And apparently, one I’m enjoying.”

I looked away, heat creeping into my cheeks.

“…Thanks. For showing me around.”

“Of course,” she said. “You don’t get lost on your first day. That would reflect poorly on me.”

There it was again. That familiar cadence. Teasing on the surface. Something steadier underneath.

As we started walking again, Misaki glanced at me sidelong.

“You know,” she said, “by the end of today, half the school is going to be convinced you’re either terrifying or incredibly important.”

“…Which one am I?”

She smiled.

“Let’s see what they decide.”

And as Tokiwadai continued to open itself up around me—paths, people, pressure and possibility—I realized something quietly, firmly, settle into place.

This wasn’t just a test.

This was an entrance.

And for the first time—

I wasn’t walking it alone.

As we kept walking, the attention didn’t stop.

If anything, it got worse.

Girls glanced at me from the corners of their eyes. Some openly stared. Whispers followed us like a low tide—curious, confused, occasionally sharp.

I tried not to let it show, but my grip on my bag tightened.

Tokiwadai was an all-girls school.

I’d known that. Everyone knew that.

Knowing it and feeling it were different things.

I became painfully aware of my clothes.

Pants. Plain. Practical. Something I’d worn my whole life without thinking.

Here, they felt loud.

Skirts passed by me in soft waves—pleated, pressed, uniform. Everyone looked like they belonged in them. Like they’d grown into the idea naturally.

I hadn’t.

I didn’t even know if I could.

I’d never worn a skirt before. Not once. Not even when my parents had tried to convince me—smiling, careful, like it was something I’d eventually grow into if they didn’t push too hard.

Standing here now, I wasn’t sure what scared me more.

Feeling out of place in pants…

Or not knowing if I’d feel like myself in anything else.

“…You okay?” Misaki asked, glancing at me sideways.

I hesitated, then sighed quietly. “This place is… intense.”

She smirked. “You say that like Academy City isn’t.”

“That’s different,” I replied. “This is—” I gestured vaguely around us. “A lot of girls. Watching.”

Misaki laughed under her breath. “Ah. That.”

I shot her a look. “You’re used to it.”

“Very,” she said smugly. Then, softer: “But yeah. Tokiwadai can be… a bit much, especially if you don’t already fit into a box.”

That didn’t exactly reassure me.

I slowed to a stop.

Misaki noticed immediately.

“I should go talk to… the important people,” I said. “The president. Or whoever’s in charge of deciding if I’m allowed to stay.”

Her eyebrow rose. “Already?”

“I don’t want to put it off,” I replied. “If I’m doing this, I want to do it properly.”

She studied me for a moment, then nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

She turned smoothly, parasol shifting as she changed direction.

“Follow me. Student council offices are this way.”

I took a breath and stepped after her.

Whatever happened next, I was past the point of backing out quietly.

And somehow, having Misaki walking ahead of me—confident, unbothered, unmistakably at home—made the path feel just a little less daunting.