Chapter 15: Something Doesn’t Line Up

(Mikoto POV)

Something about that girl didn’t sit right with me.

That alone wasn’t unusual. Academy City practically ran on discomfort. Espers with powers that bent physics, personalities that bent common sense, and researchers who bent ethics until they snapped clean in half.

But this was different.

Because for a split second—

She felt like an Electromaster.

I kicked a pebble down the sidewalk as I walked, hands shoved into my pockets, brow furrowed so hard it probably counted as exercise. The sun was already dipping lower, washing the campus in warm light that did absolutely nothing to settle my thoughts.

Tokiwadai’s gates loomed behind me, pristine and smug as ever.

I’d been replaying the moment all day.

The brush of fingers.
The sudden pressure.

That density—compressed and sharp, like my own power forced into a space too small to hold it. Like electricity squeezed until it screamed.

That wasn’t imagination.

I knew how other Electromasters felt. Similar wavelengths, different habits. Everyone left their own static behind whether they meant to or not.

And hers?

For one heartbeat, it lined up with mine almost perfectly.

Too perfectly.

I slowed to a stop, staring down at the pavement.

Then it vanished.

Not suppressed. Not masked. Just… gone. Like someone had flipped a switch and cut the power entirely.

That wasn’t normal.

Most espers couldn’t help broadcasting themselves. Their abilities leaked out in tiny ways—subconscious habits shaped by stress, focus, emotion. You could feel anger, excitement, fear, even if you didn’t know the reason.

But that girl—

Mirai.

When I looked at her later in class, there was nothing. No static hum. No resonance. No feedback at all.

Like she was a Level 0.

Which she very clearly wasn’t.

“Ugh,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “This is stupid.”

I wasn’t supposed to care. New students showed up all the time. Tokiwadai, especially, loved collecting unusual cases like trophies.

And yet—

I turned sharply and hopped up onto the low wall bordering the path, elbows resting on my knees.

I’d seen her face when it happened.

The pain hadn’t been fake.

She hadn’t panicked. Hadn’t lashed out. Hadn’t sparked or flared the way most Electromasters did when overloaded.

She’d endured it.

That stuck with me.

Most people trying to replicate my power either freaked out or passed out. Their nervous systems just weren’t built for that kind of input.

Mirai had stayed standing.

I frowned.

“So what are you, then?” I murmured.

A weak Electromaster pretending to be stronger?

A strong one pretending to be weak?

Or something else entirely?

I pushed off the wall and continued walking, slowing as voices drifted from up ahead.

Two Tokiwadai girls stood near the iron fence, heads leaned just close enough to feel conspiratorial.

“…I’m telling you, she’s rooming with Shokuhou-sama.”

“No way. They don’t just do that.”

“That’s what I heard. Transfer student. Special case.”

I stopped without meaning to.

“A special case how?”

“Level Four. Almost Five, apparently.”

“I heard Level Three. Barely.”

They noticed me then—straightening too quickly, suddenly fascinated by anything that wasn’t this conversation.

I clicked my tongue under my breath and kept moving.

So even the rumors couldn’t agree.

Which meant the school didn’t know.

Or someone didn’t want them to.

And I didn’t need to guess who was good at bending information when it suited her.

Shokuhou.

Of course she was involved.

My fists tightened.

If Mirai was rooming with her, that meant one of two things: either Shokuhou had taken an interest—

—or she was actively covering something up.

Neither option made me feel any better.

I picked up my pace, electricity prickling faintly along my skin in time with my thoughts.

I didn’t like mysteries that brushed up against my power.

And I really didn’t like mysteries that disappeared the moment I tried to look at them.

If Mirai could feel like an Electromaster one moment and nothing the next—

Then sooner or later, she was going to do it again.

And next time—

I’d be ready.

(Mikoto POV)

Shokuhou Misaki smiled.

Which, honestly, was worse than if she’d laughed.

She didn’t wait for my response.

She turned on her heel instead, heels clicking lightly against the pavement as she walked away like the conversation had already ended on her terms.

I watched her go, jaw tight.

Not because she’d won—she hadn’t—but because chasing her now would’ve meant accepting the rules she played by. Smiles instead of answers. Half-truths wrapped in politeness.

And I didn’t have the patience for that.

The path away from her felt longer than it should’ve. Every step carried the faint echo of static in my ears, like my thoughts were discharging faster than I could ground them.

Great.

Now she knew I was paying attention.

She probably always had, but there was a difference between suspicion and confirmation. The moment you let Misaki see where your eyes were pointed, she adjusted the board. Changed the lighting. Made sure you were always reacting instead of acting.

I hated that about her.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and focused on walking—on the rhythm of my steps, on the feel of the pavement through my shoes, on not replaying her voice.

She’s a friend.

The word irritated me more than it should have.

Shokuhou Misaki didn’t use words carelessly. If she said something that simple, it was because she wanted it to land. And it had. Right where I couldn’t ignore it.

Mirai.

The name surfaced again, unwelcome and persistent.

Misaki hadn’t denied anything. She hadn’t confirmed anything either—but she’d been careful. Measured. And that warning, slipped in so casually it almost passed as politeness…

Don’t push.

That was new.

Shokuhou usually encouraged people to push. Harder. Faster. Right into whatever trap she’d already laid out. Telling me to back off meant one of two things: Either she was being careful for a reason—

—Or things were about to get messy.

Neither option sat well with me.

I exhaled slowly, feeling electricity stir along my skin in response. It crackled faintly before I forced it down, grounding it the way I’d learned to do years ago.

Calm down.

Getting irritated didn’t make me smarter.

The campus thinned as I walked, the noise fading into the background hum of Academy City itself. The sky had settled into that muted, dusky gray that came between afternoon and evening. Normally, I liked this time of day.

Today, it just made everything feel suspended. Like the city was waiting for something to go wrong.

I reached the dorm gates and paused, fingers brushing the metal out of habit. The low electromagnetic pulse of the security system was steady, predictable. It helped.

Inside, the familiar smell of detergent and polished floors wrapped around me. Girls passed in clusters, laughing, complaining, talking about dinner plans and exams and nothing that mattered.

Normal.

I clung to that thought.

This is normal. This is your life. Not everything has to turn into some layered mind-game nightmare.

I made it halfway down the hall before—

“Onee-sama!”

I flinched, then groaned. “Don’t do that, Kuroko!”

She was already too close, eyes bright, posture alert in that way that meant she’d been watching me longer than I liked.

Kuroko Shirai: Judgment officer, teleporting menace, and completely incapable of respecting personal space.

“Your reaction speed has declined,” she said smugly. “Were you perhaps distracted by thoughts of me?”

“In your dreams,” I shot back without missing a beat.

She pouted for half a second, then tilted her head, eyes sharpening. “You were with Shokuhou Misaki earlier.”

Of course she noticed.

I sighed and dropped my bag at my feet. “You stalking me now?”

“Monitoring,” she corrected. “Suspicious individuals warrant attention.”

“Pretty sure you qualify,” I muttered.

She ignored that expertly. The teasing edge faded just enough for me to recognize the real concern underneath.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

I hesitated.

That was the dangerous part.

Because once I started talking, I wasn’t sure where I’d stop—and I wasn’t ready to explain Mirai. Or the wrong feeling in my head. Or the way Misaki had looked at me like she’d already accounted for every move I might make next.

So I defaulted.

“Nothing big,” I said too fast. “Just… school stuff.”

Kuroko narrowed her eyes. Annoying girl had a sixth sense when it came to me.

She stepped closer, voice lowering. “Onee-sama.”

I winced internally.

“I can tell when you’re carrying something alone,” she said. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m fine,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to.

She froze.

Guilt hit immediately.

“…Sorry,” I added, rubbing the back of my neck. “Just had a long day.”

Kuroko studied me for another second, then nodded. “Then you should rest.”

She picked up my bag like it weighed nothing. “Come. Dinner soon. You can glare at your problems afterward.”

I snorted. “That’s not how problems work.”

“It is for you,” she said confidently.

…Maybe she wasn’t wrong.

Walking beside her steadied me more than I wanted to admit. The familiar cadence, the easy silence, the way she didn’t push even when she clearly wanted to.

But as I unlocked my dorm room and stepped inside—

Mirai lingered at the edge of my thoughts.

Whatever she was.

Whatever Shokuhou was hiding.

I had no answers.

Not even close.

I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it for a second, eyes shut, listening to the soft click of the lock settling into place. The room felt smaller than usual. Or maybe I just felt too wired to fit in it properly.

Kuroko moved around me, humming to herself as she set my bag down and started tidying up like she owned the place—which, unfortunately, she half did. I let her chatter fade into background noise while my thoughts kept circling the same point.

Mirai.

It was irritating how easily her name surfaced now. Like my brain had decided she was a problem worth allocating resources to, whether I agreed or not.

I pushed off the door and headed toward the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The reflection staring back at me looked annoyed, sure—but there was something else under it. Focus. The kind that settled in when a mystery refused to stay contained.

“Don’t overdo it,” I muttered at myself.

The problem was, I didn’t know what it was yet.

Back in the main room, Kuroko had flopped onto her bed, scrolling through her phone. “You’re awfully quiet, Onee-sama,” she said casually. Too casually.

“Just tired,” I replied automatically.

She hummed, unconvinced, but let it drop. Bless her for that.

I sat down on my bed and stretched my fingers out in front of me, palms up. For a moment, I considered letting a little electricity run—just enough to settle my nerves.

I didn’t.

Instead, I curled my hands into loose fists and stared at them, annoyed.

Great. Now I was second-guessing my own habits.

Whatever had happened earlier, it wasn’t something I could test like this. No readings. No feedback. No clean comparison. Just a feeling that refused to stay quiet.

That was what really bothered me.

Not that Mirai had felt strange—but that my instincts couldn’t decide how strange.

If she’d been obviously strong, I could’ve filed it away.
If she’d been weak, same thing.

But that moment of overlap—when it had felt like my power, and then immediately not—left my brain with nowhere to land.

I hated that.

I leaned back on my elbows and stared at the ceiling, jaw tight.

“Don’t push.”

The words replayed themselves again, irritatingly calm.

I didn’t even know why they stuck with me. Misaki said things like that all the time—half-threats, half-smiles, nonsense meant to throw people off balance.

So why did this one feel different?

Why did it feel like she wasn’t warning me—but trying to stop something from happening?

I clicked my tongue softly.

“Tch. Like I’d listen.”

Except… I had.

That realization made my stomach twist.

I rolled onto my side, facing the wall, trying to shake the thought loose. This wasn’t my problem. It didn’t need to be my problem. I had enough on my plate already without adding another mystery student to the pile.

And yet—

When I closed my eyes, it wasn’t Misaki’s smile that surfaced.

It was Mirai’s expression. Tight. Controlled. Like she was bracing for something she already expected to hurt.

I frowned into my pillow.

“Seriously… what’s your deal?” I muttered.

No answer came, obviously.

But the feeling didn’t go away either.

And that, more than anything else, told me one thing for sure:

This wasn’t over.

Not because I understood it—

—but because I didn’t.