Chapter 13: Threshold

I woke up before my alarm again.

That part was starting to feel normal.

What wasn’t normal was the uniform laid out on the chair across from my bed.

White blouse. Pleated skirt. Navy trim so precise it almost looked ceremonial.

Tokiwadai.

I sat up slowly, sheets sliding down around my legs, and stared at it like it might move if I looked away.

Pants, I could handle. Pants were familiar. Predictable. They stayed where you put them. Skirts were… different. Exposed. Floaty. Something my parents had always insisted I’d “get used to someday.”

I never had.

Even now, the idea of wearing one made my stomach twist more than walking through a crowd of espers ever had.

I pressed my fingers into the mattress and breathed.

It’s just clothes, I told myself.

It didn’t help.

A knock sounded down the hall—light, unforced.

“Mirai,” Yomikawa called. “You alive in there?”

“…Yeah,” I replied, voice a little rough. “I’m up.”

“Good. Breakfast is ready. Last one before you move in, so don’t skip it.”

Last one.

The words lingered after her footsteps retreated.

I glanced back at the uniform, then forced myself to stand. My feet felt steady on the floor. No dizziness. No flare of pain. Just nerves.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Yomikawa was already seated, track jacket half-zipped, coffee steaming beside her plate. The table was simple—toast, eggs, something that smelled faintly burnt in a way that felt intentional.

She looked up at me once.

Then her eyes flicked past me.

To the chair.

To the uniform I hadn’t touched.

“Huh,” she said mildly. “That look.”

I froze halfway to the table. “…What look?”

“The one that says you’re overthinking something you can’t punch,” she replied. She took a sip of coffee. “Uniform?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

She studied me for a second, expression thoughtful rather than amused.

“Skirts, huh,” she said.

I blinked. “How did you—?”

She waved a hand. “You don’t sit that stiff unless you’re bracing for something.” A pause. “And you don’t look scared. Just… uncomfortable.”

That was dangerously accurate.

“I’ve just never worn one,” I admitted quietly. “Not really.”

Yomikawa leaned back in her chair, considering. “Yeah. Figures.”

I looked at her. “It does?”

She shrugged. “You carry yourself like someone who hates not knowing where her footing is.”

That earned a weak huff of a laugh from me.

She continued, more casually, “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll look fine. Not because of the skirt. Because it’s you.”

I stared at my plate.

“…Thanks.”

“Besides,” she added, smirking slightly, “Tokiwadai’s skirts are practically engineered not to betray you. You won’t be flashing anyone unless you actively try.”

I snorted before I could stop myself.

The tension eased—just a little.

We ate in comfortable silence after that. Not heavy. Not rushed. The kind of quiet that didn’t demand conversation to justify itself.

When we were done, I stood by the door, bag slung over my shoulder, uniform folded carefully inside like something fragile.

Yomikawa grabbed her jacket and keys.

“You ready?” she asked.

I nodded. “…As ready as I’m going to be.”

At the door, she paused.

“Hey.”

I looked up.

Her expression had shifted—still calm, but firmer. Grounded.

“Just because you’re moving into the dorms doesn’t mean you’re on your own,” she said. “Paperwork might say otherwise, but I don’t care.”

I swallowed.

“I’m still your guardian,” she continued. “You need something? You call. You screw up? You call. You decide this place isn’t for you anymore?”

She opened the door.

“You call.”

Something warm settled in my chest—steady, solid.

“…Okay,” I said softly.

She nodded once, satisfied.

“Good. Let’s get you to school.”

As we stepped outside, the city was already awake.

And this time, I stepped into it knowing I wasn’t doing it alone.

The Tokiwadai dorms were… quieter than the city.

Not silent—just subdued. Soft carpet muffled footsteps, voices stayed low, and even the AIM fields here felt disciplined, tucked close to their owners like everyone had been taught not to take up too much space.

A senior led me down the hall, heels clicking softly.

“Room 312,” she said, stopping in front of a door. “You’ll be sharing.”

I blinked. “Sharing?”

She glanced at her clipboard. “Yes. You were originally listed for a single, but there was a last-minute change.”

Of course there was.

She slid the keycard into my hand and left without another word.

I stood there for a second, staring at the door.

Okay. I told myself. You can handle this. One roommate. That’s normal. Totally normal.

I pushed the door open.

The room was spacious—two beds, neatly made. Two desks. Sunlight spilling in through tall windows. One side was immaculate. Minimal. Almost sterile.

The other side—

Pink.

Soft pink curtains. A perfectly arranged vanity. Cushions. A parasol leaning against the wall like it belonged there.

I stopped dead.

“…No.”

The door clicked shut behind me.

“Aw, that’s a cold reaction.”

I turned slowly.

Misaki Shokuhou was sitting cross-legged on her bed, phone in hand, blonde curls catching the light like she’d been placed there deliberately. She looked up at me with a lazy smile—bright, pleased, entirely too smug.

“You didn’t even say hello.”

I stared at her.

Then at the room.

Then back at her.

“…You’re my roommate.”

She beamed. “Surprise~!”

“How,” I said flatly, “did you manage this.”

Misaki pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Wow. No ‘I’m happy to see you’? No tears? No dramatic reunion hug?”

“Misaki.”

She sighed theatrically and leaned back on her hands.

“Well, originally you weren’t going to have a roommate at all,” she said. “I made sure of that.”

My stomach dropped. “You did what.”

She waved it off. “Relax. Nothing permanent. Just… gentle persuasion.”

“You mind-controlled the dorm assignment staff.”

She tilted her head. “I prefer ‘guided their decision-making.’”

I rubbed my temples. “That’s illegal.”

“So is about eighty percent of what happens in Academy City,” she replied cheerfully. “Besides, I undid it.”

I looked at her sharply. “You undid it?”

“Mhm. Once I realized putting you alone right after everything would be a terrible idea.” She smiled, softer now. “So I fixed it.”

My chest tightened.

“…By putting yourself here.”

“Obviously.” She shrugged. “You trust me. You don’t panic around me. And if you do, I can tell before you even say anything.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

She was right—and that annoyed me more than anything else.

“You didn’t even ask,” I muttered.

Misaki’s smile faded just a fraction.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Then, brighter again, like flipping a switch:

“But you’re here now, and the paperwork’s done, and Anti-Skill already signed off on my involvement~”

“…They did?”

“Well,” she said, tapping her temple, “they think they did.”

I groaned.

“You’re unbelievable.”

She grinned. “And yet, you walked all the way inside.”

I hesitated.

She wasn’t wrong.

The room felt… safe. Familiar. 

I exhaled slowly.

“…I don’t hate it,” I admitted.

Misaki’s eyes softened immediately.

“I know,” she said.

Then, smug again: “Also, I already claimed the bed by the window.”

“Of course you did.”

She hopped off the bed and twirled once, skirts fluttering. “Welcome to Tokiwadai dorm life, Mirai.”

I looked around the room one more time.

Two beds.

Two desks.

Locks only on the inside.

No cameras.

And for the first time since arriving—

I felt like I belonged somewhere.

Even if that somewhere came with a dangerously manipulative blonde attached.

I was walking down the corridor toward my first class at this school.

Misaki had said she had something else to take care of, so she wasn’t coming with me. That alone felt strange—I’d gotten used to her presence faster than I wanted to admit.

My attention drifted instead to everyone around me.

They were… composed. Not just in the way they walked, but in how they carried themselves. Elegant posture, measured steps, quiet confidence. Even their AIM fields reflected it—contained, refined, never spilling more than necessary.

Rich people energy, I thought absently.

Well. Almost everyone.

There she was.

Brown hair, Tokiwadai uniform worn like it belonged to her personally, pacing in small irritated circles while asking people questions that clearly weren’t getting her anywhere.

Misaka Mikoto.

I followed her line of sight to the ground and spotted it immediately.

Plastic. Green.

“…Gekota?”

That was enough.

Misaka’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto the keychain in my hand like it had been magnetized.

“Oh—! That’s mine!”

I almost bent down the way I usually would—

Stopped myself.

Right. Skirt.

I awkwardly bent my knees instead, picked it up, and straightened, holding it out to her.

She reached for it.

Our fingers brushed.

And everything hit me at once.

Pressure.

Density.

A familiar crackling sensation, like standing inside a charged storm—but tighter, heavier than before. The electric current surged through my awareness, perfectly structured and overwhelmingly strong.

Railgun.

My vision blurred as my head screamed in protest, pain spiking sharply behind my eyes. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t panic.

Just overload.

I clenched my jaw and forced myself to stay upright.

Misaka noticed immediately.

“Hey—” she said, frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, pulling my hand back and curling my fingers into my sleeve. “My head just hurts a little.”

It wasn’t a complete lie.

My head did hurt.

It just hurt a lot more than “a little.”

The pressure receded as the contact broke, leaving behind a dull, echoing ache and the faint residual buzz of electricity under my skin.

I exhaled slowly.

That was… intense.

But I hadn’t lost control.

I hadn’t frozen.

And despite the pain, a quiet certainty settled in my chest.

I could handle this.

Even if it happened again.

Misaka watched me for another second, clearly unconvinced, then scratched the back of her neck.

“…If you’re sure.”

“I am,” I said, and meant it.

She took the keychain back, relief obvious on her face. “Thanks. I was about to lose my mind over that thing.”

“No problem,” I replied.

As she walked off, electricity flaring naturally around her again, I pressed my fingers lightly to my temple.

It still hurt.

But I was standing.

Still moving.

Still me.

And that mattered.

I made it to class without incident.

That alone felt like an achievement.

The ache behind my eyes lingered—dull, insistent—but it stayed where it belonged. Manageable. Familiar in a way that didn’t frighten me anymore.

I had to wait by the door for the teacher to anounce me transfering so in the meanwhile I let the hum of Tokiwadai settle around me. Calm voices. Disciplined AIM fields. A place that demanded composure and rewarded control.

I could do that.

A presence brushed close.

“Ah—! Pardon me!”

The voice was bright and ringing, carrying far more confidence than the situation warranted.

I turned to see a girl about my age standing beside me, posture perfectly straight, chin lifted like she was already on stage. Long dark hair fell neatly down her back, and her Tokiwadai uniform looked impecable.

“You must be another transfer student,” she declared. Not asked. Declared. “How splendid! It's quite pleasant to not have to endure this alone.”

I blinked. “Uh… yeah. I guess.”

Her smile widened further, somehow.

“Kongou Mitsuko,” she announced, placing a hand to her chest. “Recently arrived. And you are?”

“Mirai.”

“Mirai,” she repeated thoughtfully, as if tasting the name. “How elegant.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I didn’t.

She leaned closer, lowering her voice just a touch—though it still carried. “First day nerves?”

“…A little,” I admitted.

She laughed lightly, a refined sound that somehow still felt loud.

“Think nothing of it,” she said. “Tokiwadai has a way of making first impressions feel like trials. One simply needs to stand tall and remind the world of one’s worth. At least that's what they told me”

She gestured vaguely, as if indicating herself as a reference.

I felt my mouth twitch despite myself.

Her AIM field brushed against mine—structured, confident, carried with deliberate presence. Not overwhelming, not restrained either. Like she expected space and usually received it.

Level Four, I thought. Strong, but… uncomplicated.

The classroom door slid open.

Kongou straightened instantly, composure snapping into place like armor.

“Ah,” she said, satisfied. “Our cue.”

She glanced at me sideways, smile softening just a little.

“Do try not to look so terrified,” she added kindly. “If you faint, it will be terribly awkward for both of us.”

“…I’ll do my best.”

“Excellent!” she chirped.

And just like that, she stepped forward—already ready to be seen.