Chapter 17: Baseline

I had a dream. A dream where I was telling my old friends about one of the first anime I ever watched.

A Certain Magical Index.

It was just so exciting to me; everything felt new, and I loved everything about it. It instantly became one of my favorite shows ever. That would quickly change after I watched more anime, but that passion and love were never forgotten, and when I started reading the novels—oh boy—did it relight my fire.

The dream was cut short when someone pushed me awake.

“Miraiiiii~ come on~ tell me about yesterday before we have to go to class~”

Sometimes she was just a pain in the ass. Yes, Mikoto, I get it.

“Why should I have to wake up early just to tell something I don’t even want to, huh?”I groaned into my pillow.

“’Cause you promised, duh.”

“I never promised I’d wake up early though.”

“Ugh… okay, but now you’re already awake, right?”

She really is a pain. I still love her though.

“Okay,” I sighed, rolling onto my back. “But promise you won’t get mad.”

Misaki raised an eyebrow. “Did you do something that would warrant me being mad?”

“No?” I mean, to me it’s not.

“Then I won’t be mad. Just spill it, girl.”

Girl.

“Okay, so I was walking, and at some point I kinda got into a kinda dangerous area. Anyway, somebody grabbed my arm and—”

“Wait a damn minute,” Misaki cut in sharply. “Didn’t you just say this wasn’t something I’d get mad about? Why weren’t you in well-lit areas like you said you would be?”

“I was just… lost in thought,” I muttered.

“Lost in thought my ass. What were you thinking?” She paused. “So? What happened to the people who grabbed you? You didn’t kill them, right?”

“What? No! I—” The idea alone made my stomach twist. Losing control like that… hurting someone who didn’t deserve it…
“I was overwhelmed, okay? But then someone stepped in and pretended I was his girlfriend to scare them off.”

I ended up explaining the whole thing—minus the parts about who he really was to me and why it mattered—while Misaki listened, unusually quiet, her expression thoughtful.

“Alright, so let me get this straight. You got lost, got yourself into trouble, got saved by a stranger… and didn’t even ask his name or properly thank him?”

“Yeah, well, when you put it like that… I guess?”

“You’re not telling me something, and I’m pretty sure what it is.”

What? How? Does she know about my reincarnation somehow? Did she read my mind? I don’t understand.

“Y-you were so captivated by him you forgot everything else,” she finished, breaking into laughter. “You’re embarrassed, aren’t you?”

“I am not embarrassed,” I shot back, heat creeping up my face anyway.

Misaki’s grin widened, predatory in the most theatrical way possible. “Oh, that’s a yes.”

“It’s not a yes,” I muttered, pulling the blanket up like it could hide my expression. “I was just… surprised, okay? It was a weird situation.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Weird enough that you forgot basic manners.”

“I didn’t forget,” I said weakly. “He just… left.”

“Convenient,” she replied, tilting her head. “Tall? Short? Cute? Give me something to work with here.”

I stared at the ceiling, debating how much to say.

“Average height,” I said finally. “Messy hair. Kind of… normal-looking.”

Misaki blinked. “That’s your description? ‘Normal-looking’?”

I huffed. “He was normal, what's wrong with that?”

Her expression shifted—subtle, but I caught it. Interest sharpening behind the teasing.

Then, like flipping a switch, Misaki clapped her hands once. “Well! Mystery boy aside, you still owe me a proper thank-you report when you inevitably run into him again.”

I snorted. “You say that like it’s guaranteed.”

“Oh, please, Academy City is basically a fishbowl. People bump into each other all the time.”

“Not like that,” I murmured.

She watched me for a beat, then smirked. “You want to, though.”

I opened my mouth to deny it—then closed it again.

“…I just want to say thanks properly,” I said instead.

“Then you will.”

I glanced at her, surprised.

She shrugged. “You’re not the type to leave things unfinished. It would bother you forever.”

“…Yeah,” I admitted.

The tension eased.

“We should get ready,” she said. “If we’re late, I’ll have to manipulate the teacher’s perception of time, and that sounds exhausting before breakfast.”

I laughed despite myself, pushing the blankets aside and sitting up. “You say that like you wouldn’t do it.”

“I absolutely would,” she said. “But I prefer my mornings drama-free.”

As I stood and stretched, the conversation lingered in the back of my mind.
She’s definitely going to bring this up again later, isn’t she?

By the time we stepped out of the dorm, the morning had fully settled into that soft, golden brightness Academy City seemed to manufacture on purpose. The air was crisp without being cold, carrying the faint scent of pavement warming under the sun and something sweet from a nearby bakery stand.

Misaki walked beside me, phone in hand, her posture relaxed in that effortless way she had — like the world naturally arranged itself to accommodate her presence.

I kept my gaze forward, letting the rhythm of our footsteps sync.

It was strange.

Usually, mornings came with a low hum in the back of my skull — a constant awareness of everything around me, every AIM field brushing faintly against mine like static. It wasn’t painful, just… there. Like background noise you didn’t realize existed until it stopped.

Today, it felt quieter.

I didn’t know why, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to dig too hard into it yet. The feeling was fragile, like something that might vanish if I examined it too closely.

Students filled the walkways as we approached the main campus, clusters forming and dissolving like currents. Conversations overlapped, laughter carried, and somewhere a ringtone chimed in a loop before being abruptly silenced.

And then the whispers started.

You could feel the subtle shift in tone when people realized who was passing by.

“…that’s her again…”
“…with Shokuhou-sama…”
“…they’re always together…”

I kept my expression neutral, eyes forward. The attention didn’t sting the way it might have once. It felt more like standing in a breeze — noticeable, but not enough to push me off balance.

Misaki didn’t acknowledge it directly. She simply adjusted her pace slightly, matching mine perfectly, her presence steady at my side.

The normalcy of that — of being able to walk into school without calculating exits, without mapping every possible threat — still felt unreal sometimes.

Inside the classroom, the familiar scrape of chairs and murmur of settling students wrapped around me like a routine I was finally learning instead of imitating. I slid into my seat, setting my notebook down, pen aligned automatically along the edge.

The teacher began the lesson, voice calm and measured, chalk tapping lightly against the board.

I focused.

Really focused.

Numbers lined up cleanly. Concepts connected without friction. Instead of fighting to keep my attention from drifting, I found myself leaning into the process — following each explanation to its conclusion, asking a question when something didn’t click immediately.

When the teacher called on me halfway through, I answered without hesitation.

A small pause followed.

Then a nod.

“Correct.”

It shouldn’t have mattered.

And yet a quiet spark of satisfaction settled in my chest, warm and steady.

Pride.

By the time the bell rang, I realized I’d filled more pages of notes than I usually did in an entire week. The realization made the corner of my mouth lift before I could stop it.

I liked this version of normal.

Between classes, the hallways swelled into controlled chaos — footsteps echoing, lockers shutting, voices bouncing off polished floors. I stayed close to Misaki as we moved with the flow, the noise blurring into a manageable background layer.

For a moment, as we turned a corner, a faint flicker brushed the edge of my perception.

AIM static.

Weak. Brief. Gone before I could even pinpoint a direction.

I slowed instinctively.

Misaki noticed immediately. “Something wrong?” she asked softly.

“…No,” I said after a second. “Thought I felt something.”

Her eyes lingered on me, unreadable, before she smiled lightly. “You’re on edge today.”

“Maybe,” I admitted.

But the sensation didn’t return.

At lunch, we claimed a table near the windows, sunlight pooling across the surface in soft rectangles. The cafeteria buzzed with conversation, trays clinking, the low roar of dozens of girls interacting for an hour.

I unwrapped my lunch, realizing halfway through that I was actually hungry — not just eating because it was the expected thing to do.

Progress, I guess.

A pair of students at the next table kept glancing over, their whispers only half-hidden behind raised hands.

Finally, one of them leaned slightly closer.

“Um… sorry,” she said, voice hesitant. “Are you really living with Shokuhou-sama?”

The question hung in the air, fragile but curious rather than hostile.

I swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s… amazing.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just offered a small smile. The tension dissolved almost immediately, their attention shifting back to their own conversation.

Misaki took a sip of her drink, lips curving faintly. “You handled that well.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I said.

“It is for them,” she replied. “You’re an unknown variable. People don't like the unknown.”

I considered that, then shrugged lightly. “I guess they’ll get used to me.”

“They will”.

After lunch, the day settled into a steady rhythm — lectures, notes, the soft tick of time moving forward without incident. Each hour passed without the underlying tension I’d grown used to expecting, and the absence felt almost surreal.

By the final bell, I realized I wasn’t exhausted, I was instead feeling content.

As we walked out of the building, the sky had shifted toward late afternoon, the light warmer, shadows stretching across the paths.

Misaki looked at me “You’re going straight back?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think I’ll review notes tonight.”

Her brows lifted slightly, amused. “Look at you.”

I felt my face warm. “Don’t make it weird.”

"Well, I have somewhere to go sadly, won't take long"

She laughed softly and started walking, giving me a small wave before turning to look ahead.

I watched her vanish in the distance, then turned toward the dorms, choosing to walk alone.

The city felt different in the late afternoon — busier, louder, the hum of activity layered thickly over everything. I let my thoughts drift, replaying pieces of the day like scenes I wanted to memorize.

The classroom.
The sunlight.
The simple satisfaction of understanding something new.

And beneath it all—

Touma.

Not the dramatic version from stories or imagination. Just a boy in an alley, steady and matter-of-fact, stepping in without hesitation.

The memory didn’t spike my pulse the way it had last night. Instead, it settled into something softer. A point of reference. Proof that the world outside my past existed in ways I didn’t have to fear.

By the time I reached the dorm, the sky had deepened into early evening, the air cooling again. Inside, the familiar scent of detergent and polished floors greeted me, grounding and ordinary.

I climbed the stairs slowly, letting the quiet settle around me.

For a moment, halfway down the hall, I paused by a window overlooking the campus. Students crossed the grounds in small groups, their voices too distant to make out, movements blending into the rhythm of the city beyond.

I rested my forehead lightly against the glass.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel broken or scared.

I felt alive.

Happy.

Back in the room, I dropped my bag beside the desk and stretched, the tension in my shoulders easing as I exhaled. The quiet wrapped around me easily, no longer something I had to fight to trust.

I opened my notebook, flipping through the pages I’d filled earlier.

Neat handwriting.
Clear steps.
Progress I could see.

A small smile tugged at my lips.

Maybe this was what building a life felt like, a series of small, steady steps forward.

The light outside dimmed gradually as I studied, the room shifting from gold to soft gray. Eventually, I set the pen down, flexing my fingers.

And that’s when I felt it again.

A flicker.

So faint I almost dismissed it as imagination.

An AIM signature brushing the edge of my awareness — unfamiliar, distant, gone before I could latch onto it.

I froze, senses sharpening instinctively.

Nothing.

The silence that followed was complete, undisturbed.

“…Weird,” I murmured.

It was just… out of place.

Like hearing a single off-note in an otherwise perfect melody.

I waited another minute, but the sensation didn’t return. Slowly, I let the tension drain from my shoulders.

Probably nothing.

Still, as I closed my notebook and leaned back in my chair, the thought lingered.

A reminder.

Even in the calm, the world was still moving.

And maybe that was okay.

I turned off the light and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up as the room settled into quiet once more. My mind replayed the day in fragments — the classroom, the sunlight, the fleeting static at the edge of perception.

As sleep crept closer, one final thought surfaced, soft and steady.

I was changing.

And this time—

I wasn’t running from it.