Chapter 2: Masquerade Beginning
It turns out everything up to this point was just a dream.
I woke up.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliarâno, wait. It was familiar.
On the desk, no bandages, no medicine. In the closet, plain menâs clothes hung neatly.
On the floor, a game console lay next to the packaging of that series.
âŚIt was a dream.
Yeah, just a dream.
Of course, it had to be.
What a terrible nightmare.
I should get up and start the day.
I used to think my life was dull, meaningless. But now⌠I feel like I can do anything.
All the worries, regrets, struggles, and anxieties I can recallâ
They all seem so trivial now. So small.
So, Iâll just get out of bed.
Open the curtains. Wash my face. Get ready to go out.
Because it was just a dream.
I didnât do anything wrong.
Itâs okay to forget.
So, itâs fine to get out of bed.
The face staring back at me in the mirror is just an ordinary, unremarkable faceâa face that belongs to a young man who doesnât have to fight, who doesnât have to bear the fate of the world, who doesnât have to measure up to heroes or heroines.
Just a normal, everyday face.
So.
Even if I wake upâ
Itâs okayâ
âAnd then, the alarm on the bedside table went off.
ââŚAhâŚâ
A faint, bell-like sound escaped my throat.
My arm hurt as I rubbed my sleepy eyes.
The wound beneath the bandages throbbed, threatening to jolt me fully awake.
Even though Iâd just woken up, my heart was racing. The anxiety was overwhelming. My bodyâs autonomic system wasnât switching over properly.
But habits are strong. Even as I swayed unsteadily, my body stood up on its own.
I stepped in front of the sink, washed my face, and looked into the mirror.
âAnd there, standing as if it were the most natural thing in the world, was a pink-haired beauty with lifeless eyes.
I already hated everything about this morning.
Impulsively, I grabbed the plastic and aluminum blister pack on the desk.
I tried to take out a pillâonly to realize there werenât any left.
Thatâs when I rememberedâyesterday, Iâd used up my entire monthâs supply. And it was only the 12th.
âŚWould the doctor give me more if I asked? Probably not.
Sluggishly, I washed my face, brushed my teeth⌠and got ready for the day.
I had to psych myself up.
Today was the high school entrance ceremony.
The âmain storyâ of the game wouldnât start until next year, but⌠the protagonist should be starting school today, just like me.
The problem was, the protagonistâs name was something the player input themselves, so there was no way to know who they were.
Even in the various media adaptations, the name differed between the anime and the manga. From what Iâd researched beforehand, neither of those names appeared among the incoming students.
The official visuals only showed the protagonist in a full-face mask during battle scenes. Even in the school-life ADV sections of the game, there was no standing image of them.
The anime, which had cut most of the daily life scenes to save time, was no different. The protagonistâs face was only ever shown from the nose down.
The manga was the only adaptation that depicted the protagonistâs full face, but they were just a generic black-haired, black-eyed (well, not necessarily blackâit was in black and white) boy. There was no way to identify them. Plus, there was no guarantee this world followed the mangaâs depiction.
As for the characters around the protagonist, most of them wouldnât even interact with him until the second yearâwhen the main story actually began.
So, working backward from relationships was useless.
Details like his background, hometown, and family structure were conveniently glossed over with a single line: âFor the purpose of infiltrating the high school, their identity has been disguised as that of an ordinary male student.â In other words, a dead end.
The only thing certain was that the protagonist was a male student.
After thinking about it endlessly up until today, I had to admitâfinding him this year was pretty much impossible.
With a dull, clouded look in my eyes, I finished getting dressed.
The uniform was one of those flashy, overly designed ones you often see in fiction. Just barely on the edge of ârealistic school attireâ before tipping into outright cosplay.
âŚIt probably suited me, though. I was a beautiful girl, after all.
I pinned back my overgrown bangs with a hairpin, folded the skirt to make it shorter, and struck a cute pose in front of the mirrorâimaginary sparkles included.
Then, in my best dramatic voice, I declared:
ââI am Arizuki Kirizami! Age 16 (though if you count my previous life, Iâm almost in my forties)!
Starting today, Iâm a blushing high school girl! At first glance, Iâm just your average pink-haired, slender, gloomy-type beauty, but in reality, Iâm a frontline agent for the global secret organization âThe Armyâ!
And even more than that, Iâm a reincarnated person from another world!
Right now, Iâm standing in as a proxy for the heroine I adored in my past life, and thanks to that, my days are super fulfilling and my life is full of happiness!
Up until middle school, I was super busy juggling school and missions, but I hope I can have a wonderful school life starting in high school! â â
I held the pose for exactly three seconds.
Then, with dead eyes...
So cringe... I muttered.
This is impossible.
Iâm the type of socially awkward person who can barely manage to speak if I push myself to the limit. (Note: I didnât say I could hold a conversation.)
And yetâyesterday, the day before, the day before that⌠Wait, when was my last day off again?
Point is, itâs been nothing but missions, missions, missions. My mental energy is completely shot, and now Iâm supposed to play the role of a bubbly high school girl on top of that? Thatâs just cruel. My psyche would crumble on the spot.
Besides, Iâve barely done anything remotely âgirlyâ up until now.
I joined The Army back in elementary schoolâaround the time of that incidentâwhen gender differences didnât even matter. After that, I lived mostly alone, separated from my family to avoid dragging them into things. So when it comes to whatâs ânormalâ for girls⌠Iâve got nothing.
All I can recreate is some hollow, cardboard-cutout version of a girl, cobbled together from my past life as a guy and some creepy, biased stereotypes. If I tried to force myself to fit in, Iâd probably get ostracized within seconds. Or worseâbecome the target of some nasty bullying.
And even if that didnât happen, Iâd definitely be envied. Because Iâm a beautiful girl.
Because Iâm a beautiful girl.
âŚAnyway. The protagonist wonât show up until next year, so Iâll just treat this year like middle school.
I took out the hairpin and let my bangs fall back down. Unfolded the skirt to its original length.
Iâll just sleep through school like always.
Same as usual. Nothing changes.
Expanding my shallow social connections would just be pointless, annoying, and get in the way.
ââŚâŚâŚâŚâ
âŚBut still. Somewhere, deep down, a tiny part of me hoped.
That maybe, something might change.
It didnât.
Nothing special happened at all.
âThe classroom.
It had been about half a month since the start of the school year, but the atmosphere still had that fresh, new feeling.
Even so, groups had already started to form. During breaks, the room filled with the relaxed chatter of students settling into their roles.
In the midst of it all, I sat alone at my desk.
I still hadnât had a single conversation with my classmates that lasted more than ten seconds.
Itâs fine. Thereâs no way Iâd be able to connect with them anywayâmy mental age is decades ahead of theirs. Forcing a conversation would just make both of us uncomfortable. Besides, I used to be a guy, so I canât keep up with girlsâ topics. And friendships between guys and girls donât really work.
Itâs not about the number of friends. Itâs about quality.
And anyway, Iâm busy with missionsâ
Aaaaah! Why am I suddenly remembering that list I wrote in this life, âThings I Want to Do in My Second School Life This Time for Sure!â?
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
I donât need friends.
I donât want a cute girlfriend.
I donât aspire to be one of those popular kids.
I donât want to start a band at the school festival.
Iâm not dreaming of some sparkling youth.
Iâm not thinking about wanting a do-overâ
âHaaah, haaah, huffâŚ!â
â(Is she okayâŚ?)â
â(Should we call a teacherâŚ?)â
â(Whatâs wrong with herâŚ?)â
Gasping for breath, I scribbled furiously on a loose-leaf sheetânot class notes, butâ
âRemember⌠there was that prologue description⌠judging from the interactions in Chapter 1⌠why didnât I read the glossary properly⌠online theories⌠the official visuals show his height and build⌠no, the proportions are clearly different across mediaâŚâ
Sure, I said identifying the protagonist was impossible.
But⌠I still canât give up.
Because somewhere in this school, in this grade, among these hundreds of male studentsâ
He might be right there. Waiting to be found.
Even though I know itâs pointless, the anxiety keeps building.
I canât stay still unless Iâm doing something.
The thought of enduring this for another yearâof wasting time, of being powerlessâ
Is too much.
Even though thereâs no guarantee that Misora-sama will still be alive tomorrow.
Even though I donât even have the confidence to survive today.
I scratched away at the protagonistâs character design with my mechanical pencil.
Is this right?
It should be.
My memoryâs so fuzzy that I donât even remember how many versions Iâve drawn already, but this oneâthis one feels the closest to what I can recall.
Not that my memory is anything special.
While my physical abilities have been enhanced, the effects on my intelligence are minimal.
Well, I couldâve enhanced it if Iâd tried. But unfortunately, Iâm a VIT (defense) build. My effort points likely didnât go into INT (intelligence) at all.
Though, since I canât see my stats in real life, I canât be sure.
Iâve been taking memory-enhancing stimulantsâthe ones that drop from a certain stage no one else knows about yetâbut even so, I still forget things.
And the things I only vaguely remembered in the first place?
I can only recall vaguely.
In the game, the stimulant was just an item to recover from amnesia.
But in reality, it has side effects.
If you use it too much, other memories start to fade.
I know that better than anyone.
In the story, it was also a quest itemâused to treat a boy with early-onset dementia. Kanade Mifune, age 13. He only had a few months left to live.
But his condition wasnât natural. It was memory manipulation, disguised as an illnessâorchestrated by the villains of The Corporation.
If you completed the quest, youâd get a charmâhis fatherâs keepsake.
Equipping it moderately increases resistance to status effects and critical hit rate.
The stimulant is designed to erase lower-priority memories first, so I think Iâm fine.
But stillâ
"Ah, ShiroaâI mean, Arizuki-san? Next period is P.E."
"Wah! Ah, y-yes!"
A classmate called out to me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I hurriedly stuffed the loose-leaf sheet into my binder and slammed it shut.
I mustâve folded it weirdly, because the paper got a little wrinkledâbut itâs not like this scribbled mess means anything anyway.
The protagonist wonât even adopt this equipment style until the âmain storyâ starts in the second yearâŚ
Even if I plastered these drawings everywhere, the protagonist would probably just assume itâs some original character and ignore it.
The classroom was empty now.
I stepped into the hallway, opened my locker to grab my gym clothes, andâ
"Ah."
âŚI forgot my gym clothes.
I have my gym uniform.
But itâs short-sleeved.
This means my arms will be visible.
Well, more accuratelyâthe bandages wrapped around my arms will be visible.
If that happens, people will assume Iâm self-harming.
And then Iâll get called to the guidance counselorâs office.
âŚWell.
I mean, I am self-harming.
But still.
"UghâŚ"
What should I do?
If I skip, I wonât get credit for the class.
And because of my missions with "The Army," Iâm already planning to miss as much school as possible.
I canât afford to lose credits over something stupid like this.
Honestly, I only barely managed to convince The Army to let me attend this high school in the first place.
They wanted me to start working right after middle school.
And if I fail a classâŚ
I canât rely on secret organization power to fix it like I did back then.
Ugh.
Iâll probably have to rearrange my schedule later. Cut into my sleep time.
What a pain.
Iâm so tired. Iâm sleepy. Iâm depressed.
As a last-ditch effort, I try using the Materializerâa device we agents of The Army and The Corporation use to materialize objectsâto create a gym uniform.
The replication rate? 0.1%.
If it materializes for even a second, itâd be a miracle.
Itâs hopeless.
This is exhausting.
Why does forgetting one stupid gym uniform have to make me feel like this?
All the fatigue Iâve been holding back suddenly weighs down on my shoulders.
I feel like Iâm about to collapse.
I donât want to get upset over something so trivial.
But I feel like crying.
Noâactually.
Itâs because itâs such a trivial, everyday failure that itâs worse.
If this happened during a life-or-death mission, I wouldnât have time to feel sorry for myself.
But right nowâŚ
Right now, I have the luxury to wallow.
The luxury to feel miserable.
âUgh, sniff, uhhâŚâ
I lean against the hallway wall and slump to the floor.
The linoleum is cold against my knees.
I just want to stay like this.
Forever.
Iâm not sure how long I sit there.
It feels like a long time.
But itâs probably only a few dozen seconds.
ââ, ââ. âââ
ââââ
Before I realize it, someone is standing next to me, talking.
Wait.
I think I just responded unconsciously.
I donât think I said anything weird⌠but I donât have the energy to check.
I donât even have the energy to look up at their face.
But in my downcast vision, I see the hem of slacks.
Not a skirt.
A male student.
He reaches out his hand.
Or ratherâhe half-forces me to take it and tries to pull me up.
Ugh.
This is sexual harassment⌠even if I am a beautiful girlâŚ
âHey. Come on⌠Arizuki, itâs just a gym uniform, donâtââ
ââAh.â
In the process, my sleeve rolls up.
The white bandages peek through.
I see him flinch for a moment.
His eyes flick away, awkward.
Thenâ
ââŚUh, well⌠ugh, fine.â
Without another word, he pulls a gym uniform out of his bag and shoves it at me.
It smells newâlike it hasnât even been worn since the start of school.
A faint trace of fabric softener lingers on the cloth.
âHuh?â
âSo⌠uh, yeah. I was planning to skip P.E. today anyway.â
Then.
With that, he walked off somewhere.
âŚOh.
I see.
He lent it to me.
For a moment, I hesitated.
I should at least thank him.
I hurriedly called after his retreating figure.
âTh-thank yââ
âWhat?â
I stumbled over my words.
âAh⌠Iâll wash it and return it.â
âOh, sure. Thanks.â
Somehow, I ended up speaking formally.
He turned around, looking slightly confused, and gave a small nod.
Thatâs when I finally saw his face.
Black hair. Black eyes.
Average build. Average height.
In his other hand, he held a marker, absentmindedly scribbling something.
He looked paleânot sickly, but off.
His features werenât bad-looking, but his pallor made him stand out just enough to be memorable.
Not completely devoid of personality.
But definitely an ordinary guy.
âŚWait. Who is he?
I donât think heâs in my class.
Maybe from the class next door?
Weâre doing fitness tests in P.E. todayâitâs a combined class.
Anyway, I canât afford to be late after he went out of his way to lend me this.
I shoved my binder into my locker and forced the door shut.
Something clattered inside, but I didnât have time to check.
The bellâs about to ring.
Itâs not like thereâs anything important in there anyway.
Just as I started to runâ
A voice.
Quiet. Almost whispered.
ââDo you still like this kind of thing?â
âHuh?â
I froze.
But before I could turn aroundâ
The bell rang.
I didnât have time to think.
I hurriedly dashed toward the gym.
Iâll return the gym uniform later anyway.
I didnât catch his name, butâ
I glanced down at the name tag stitched onto the chest.
âMoribe⌠Moribe?â
A name I donât recognize.
As for me, Toki KizamiâIâve been repeatedly suspected of espionage.
Letting enemy forces escape.
Holding secret meetings with rival organizations.
Handing over classified intel, supplies, and supernatural resources without authorization.
If it were anyone else, they wouldâve been eliminated long ago. Even I think so. If I were in their shoes, I wouldnât have hesitated to get rid of a guy like me.
Just to be clear, the Military isnât some ruthless dictatorship that executes its subordinates on a whim.
Itâs the opposite. At its core, it exists to maintain orderâto protect people and uphold peace.
And precisely because of that, it shows no mercy to those who threaten that peace.
At least, thatâs how it should be.
Yet here I am. Still alive.
Thatâs partly thanks to the commanderâs intervention and leniency.
But the real reason? Iâm powerful. Useful. Too valuable to discard.
Not to brag, but ability users like me are rare in the Military.
Most ability users awaken their powers under extreme conditionsâoften at the brink of death. Since they start out as ordinary people, they have no control over their abilities.
Some become too powerful and lose controlâlike that girl, "Electrocution," who fried herself like a hunted dog.
Others degrade into something completely uselessâlike someone who once had the power to control the weather, only for it to weaken into nothing more than a slightly higher chance of clear skies.
Because of this, truly capable ability users are few and far between.
But I was different. I learned directly from the source. I refined my abilities.
Though, Iâll always regret restricting my powerâs scope to just myself.
Stillâbeing valuable doesnât make me indispensable.
You donât need an Ace or a Joker to win at cards.
If I donât prove my loyalty, if I donât keep proving my worth, Iâll be discarded eventually.
Even if Iâm not killed, Iâll never rise in rank.
Iâll never get permission to use the panacea.
Soâ
âShoot! Just shoot! Donât let that monster get any closer!â
âDonât be fooled by its appearanceâitâs not human! Itâs a supernatural entity!â
âDamn the Military⌠damn those wreckers! Why canât they see the value of this research!? That thing is vital to the Corporation! You canât just shut it down with your shortsighted thinking!â
Amid a hail of bullets, I fought the Corporationâs forces.
Night. A back alley.
They had set up spatial camouflage and sound-dampening drones, ensuring no civilians would witness this battle. It was a level of technology unique to the Corporationâscientific precision that the Military, with its war-focused infrastructure, lacked.
Our mission was simple. Infiltrate the hidden research facility. Destroy the supernatural artifact housed inside.
An artifact powerful enough to alter the laws of physics, even if only in a limited way.
âTchâŚâ
A large-caliber bullet struck my exposed skin.
But it wasnât a big deal. A purely physical bullet, lacking proper armor-piercing enhancements, couldnât penetrate my defenses once I entered combat mode.
The Corporation feared the occult. Their research avoided enchantments, making their anti-supernatural technology underdeveloped.
This wasnât even worth counting as damage.
âReproduction rate 30%âUtility Knife Manifestation.â
A utility knife materialized in midair, its blade extended. In an instant, I launched it toward the nearest enemy.
I was holding back. A precise hit could still be fatal, but⌠unnecessary deaths served no purpose.
Not that it mattered. The Military would likely dispose of them anyway after interrogation.
ââŚâŚâ
Even though I failed. Even though I couldnât do it like Lady MisoraâŚ
By hesitating, by choosing to spare lives for my own self-satisfactionâ
I was only ensuring that more people would die in the end.
The utility knives flewâ
âAnd clattered to the ground.
âHuh?â
They barely did anything.
Despite their momentum, the blades lost all force the moment they struck the employees, falling uselessly at their feet. No real damage, no deep cutsânot even a dent in their equipment.
The impact had been absorbed. No, it was more than that. Their defenses were reducing, maybe even nullifying, the damage entirely.
Physical resistance? Weapon resistance? Or was it damage reduction against ranged attacks?
Either way, utility knives werenât going to work.
But I had a problemâat a reproduction rate of 15% or higher, I could only manifest bladed weapons.
Below 15%? The durability and stamina cost made them useless in combat.
The Materializer, an advanced and classified scientific device, could create nearly anything. In theory.
But reality wasnât so kind. Materialization required a deep understanding of the targetâits composition, function, and structure.
Flamethrowers. Electric cannons. Optical guns.
Energy-based attacks could bypass physical resistance.
But I wasnât suited for them. My aptitude was limited to blades.
âTchâŚâ
I switched tactics.
A utility knife the size of a longsword materialized in my grip.
I lunged forward.
Steel met flesh.
âGahâ!â
Finallyâdamage.
So their resistance wasnât absolute. If I kept at it, I could break through.
This was a battle of attrition.
With my abilities and defenses, I could outlast them.
Butâ
âThis is bad⌠Hurry, hurryâŚ!â
âHow much time do we have left!?â
They were panicking.
Which meant one of two thingsâ
Was I stalling them into a disadvantage?
Or was I running out of time for something much worse?
I made a decision.
âDamage BulletâSlash Strike, Shoot!â
A crimson wave of energy ripped through the air.
Bandages tore apart.
Beneath themâskin, unscathed.
One employeeâs firearm was sliced clean in half. Anotherâs armor split open, blood scattering.
This attack couldnât be mitigated by resistance. The only way theyâd survive was with raw endurance.
I had adjusted the power. Unlike the knives, there were no random damage fluctuations or critical hitsâit was clean, controlled.
But there was a catch.
My shots were limited.
And judging by their panic⌠I might need them for whatever was coming next.
I had no choice.
If I ran out of time, Iâd have only two optionsârely on utility knives or switch to a battle of attrition with on-site resupply.
Neither was ideal.
I fired waves of slashing energy from my pistol-shaped fingertips, each shot precise, calculated. No wasted ammo. One by one, their numbers dwindled.
Thenâthe last bandage was gone.
Only one enemy remained.
A utility knife? No. Against a single opponent, grappling was the better choice.
The asphalt beneath my feet was shattered, debris scattered from the battle. I sidestepped a desperate gunshot, closing the distance in an instant.
My right hand shot out.
Got him.
I couldnât slam him into the rubble-covered groundâit would cause too much damage. Instead, I forced him against the wall, my grip tightening around his collar.
âGuh, ghhâŚ!â
His arms clawed at mine, legs kicking out wildly. Futile.
To an outsider, the sight wouldâve been surrealâa grown man struggling helplessly in the grip of a petite girl, completely overpowered.
But it made sense.
I was a VIT-defense type, and even so, my STR-strength was still far beyond that of an average human.
âW-wait⌠please, waitâŚâ
I didnât reply.
âThat thing⌠without it⌠the development⌠environment⌠the treatments⌠theyâllââ
ââŚâŚâ
The Military isnât an evil organization.
But the Corporation isnât evil either.
The Military sees supernatural threats as dangers to be neutralized.
The Corporation sees them as tools with potential.
They were once the same organization. A long time ago.
Itâs not about good or evilâitâs a difference in philosophy.
I knew that.
In the grand scheme of this world, the Military, the Corporation, and other factions would eventually uniteâbrought together by the protagonist to face a greater enemy. The final boss.
So these people⌠they werenât just villains.
I knew that.
I knew it.
I knew it too well.
But even soâ
Even I have people I need to atone to.
ââGahhh!â
A sudden impactâ
I was thrown off.
Was I distracted?
Noâthat wasnât it.
My opponent was just skilled.
I thought he was flailing aimlessly, but when I looked closerâhe had kicked the rubble beneath me, throwing off my balance.
A handgun flashed from his jacket.
This is bad.
A standard bullet wouldnât harm me. But if he landed a critical hitâŚ
Even with my defenses, there was a small chance Iâd be stunned. And if the random factors played against meâ
I could be cornered. I could be killed.
I moved to disrupt his shotâ
ââŚâŚâ
Something fell.
A small object slipped from his jacket, tumbling to the ground alongside the gunâ
A charm.
The manâs eyes flicked toward it, just for a fraction of a second.
That moment of hesitation cost him everything.
I knocked the gun away.
A second later, my utility knife was pressed against his throat.
Now on the ground, he gritted his teeth, glaring at me. But thenâ
His eyes drifted down.
Not at me. At the charm.
I moved to knock him out, butâ
â...KanadeâŚâ
My hand froze mid-swing.
âWaitâKanade Mifune?â
âHuh!?â
The manâs head snapped up.
ââŚThirteen years old⌠no, twelve at this point. Juvenile dementia with behavioral disturbances⌠She shouldnât have more than two years left.â
His eyes widened.
âWhat theâhow do you knowâ!?â
ââŚHer father, a Corporation employee, diedâŚâ
I exhaled, tossing the utility knife aside.
Slowly, I knelt before the fallen manâMr. Mifune.
âThereâs a treatment.â
âWhatâŚ?â
âAt the abandoned hospital on the outskirts of town.â
His breath hitched.
âIn the basement, thereâs a neural stimulant developed by the Society. The facility was abandoned, but the research was completed. The equipment still works⌠itâs dangerous, but it could treat her.â
The words came out in pieces.
If I thought it through more, Iâd find a better solution.
This wasnât ideal. It was half-baked.
But⌠for someone like meâsomeone who wasnât even supposed to be in this storyâ
It was all I could do.
I clenched my fists.
âP-please⌠Iâm begging you.â
I placed both hands on the ground, bowing my head.
âSurrender. Iâll make sure Kanade gets the treatment. Iâll do whatever I can to ensure youâre treated fairly by the higher-ups.
So, pleaseâŚâ
I canât let the Militaryâs reputation fall any further.
And more than thatâ
I have people I need to save, too.
ââŚâŚâ
The clash was over before it even began.
A massive rodânearly a meter longâmaterialized out of thin air, deflecting my utility knives with absurd ease.
What�
I didnât even get a chance to react.
The knives I had launched with killing intentâsharp enough to slice through reinforced armorâsuspended midair for an instant before clattering harmlessly to the ground.
Impossible.
Even if he had used a defense-type ability, my attack should have at least left a scratch.
But there wasnât even a dent in the floating rod.
âWhaâ?â
âNow, now.â
The man in the lab coat smiled, his expression twisting into something inhuman.
âDo you really think youâre the only one with access to a Materializer?â
My blood ran cold.
He wasnât just some weak, non-combat researcher.
He was like me.
Noâhis Materializer was leagues ahead of mine.
He didnât need to throw weapons. He didnât need bandages, durability limits, or cooldown times.
That rod he summonedâ
It wasnât just a weapon.
It was an absolute defense.
âOh dear.â He sighed mockingly, stepping forward. âHow troublesome. You really thought you had a chance against me? Against a Prototype?â
Prototype.
A Materializer user from the original experimental batch.
The earliest generation.
A natural.
I had no time to think.
With a casual flick of his wrist, the rod tiltedâ
And my own knives turned against me.
ââ!?â
The force binding them was released, but not in the direction I wanted. The knives that should have been my weapons whipped back toward me like homing blades.
I twisted my body, barely dodging, butâ
Slash!
A searing pain ran across my cheek. Warm liquid spattered onto the asphalt.
I gritted my teeth.
This is bad.
The fight flipped in an instant.
I wasnât just at a disadvantage.
I was completely outclassed.
âWhaâŚ?!â
My Materializer wasnât responding.
Had he taken control? No. That wasnât it. The rod he had just materializedâit was different. A long, rectangular object painted red and black.
This wasâ
âReproduction rate 315%âNeodymium Magnet Manifestation.â
It came flying at me.
A bar magnet, engraved with the letters S and N, slammed into my torso like a hammer striking a bell.
âGahâŚ!â
Blood sprayed from my mouth as I was sent hurtling through the air.
The speed was unreal. A normal Materializer couldnât achieve that kind of velocity. He was using magnetic repulsionâaccelerating it with sheer force.
I twisted my body, barely managing to regain control. In a split second, I materialized a massive utility knife beneath my feet and used it as a foothold to steady myself midair.
ââŚTough. I was aiming to pierce you with that.â His voice was calm, calculating. âSo, youâre an ability user, huh?â
Then it hit me.
The mastermind behind that quest. The boss enemy with the codenameâ
A Materializer who wielded magnets.
âDead Coil⌠the Magnetic Flux CouplingâŚ!â
He smirked. âOh? You know me? I didnât think Iâd made much of an appearance on the front lines.â
This was bad.
His defense might be low, but he could nullify all weapon-based attacks.
I glanced at my arm. No bandages left. I couldnât fire any slashing waves.
The hit I just took had replenished some of my energy, but not enough to turn the tide.
But if I could stun himâŚ
The gameâs balance was awful, which meant if I landed a single stun, I might have a shot at winning this.
It would be tough. But if I could pull it offâif I could knock him out in that windowâ
âŚWait.
In the game, weapon-based attacks were completely nullified.
But this wasnât the game. This was real.
Maybeâ
âReproduction rate 100%! Utility Knife ManifestationâAustenitic Stainless Steel!â
Gripping the massive blade in both hands, I launched off the floating knife beneath me.
A straight dive toward the man in the lab coatâ
Dead Coil, the Magnetic Flux Coupling.
Several bar magnets hurtled toward me, slicing through the air. They grazed my body, but they didnât react to the utility knife in my handsâno repulsion, no attraction.
I charged straight at him.
This could work. Austenitic stainless steel isnât magnetic, unlike iron or regular steel.
In the game, all metal weapons were nullified. But this⌠this mightâ
"Do you not even know about the Lorentz force? Trash."
The world blurred.
The knife was ripped from my grip.
A bar magnetâseveral meters longâcame crashing down from above.
I had no time to react.
BOOM.
Pain exploded through my body. My bones cracked.
"Ugh⌠gah⌠ahâŚ!"
I gasped, choking on air.
"The magnets I materialize can freely adjust their magnetic force," Dead Coil said casually. "Even a child knows about Flemingâs left-hand rule. Even if it's non-magnetic, as long as itâs a conductorâah, never mind. Explaining this to a barbarian is a waste of time."
I screwed up.
The gameâs depiction was more accurate after all.
Pinned to the ground, I forced my trembling hand upward.
"Damage BulletâŚ!"
The crimson shockwaveâformed from my own accumulated damageâblasted toward him.
Butâ
A black wall rose around Dead Coil, swallowing the attack whole.
Iron sand. Manipulated by magnetism.
The black sand swirled, then surged toward me, wrapping around my limbs, tightening like quicksand.
I thrashed against it, but it was useless.
"GuhâŚ!"
Another magnet slammed into my abdomen.
Clang.
Then another.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Like a hammer striking a bell, again and again.
My vision blurred. My combat dressâalready weaker than my own bodyâwas shredded.
I tried to gather my energyâto expel the damageâbut the relentless blows kept disrupting my focus. I couldnât find an opening.
"This is taking too longâjust die already."
Whoosh.
A series of rail-like magnets lined up, clicking into place.
Black iron sand twisted, forming swirling, invisible magnetic field lines.
Rails. Lorentz force.
I knew what this was.
A railgun.
His ultimate move.
No.
No, no, no.
Thereâs no way I can withstand thisâ
The world tilted.
My vision swayed. My thoughts dulled.
But my consciousness remained razor-sharp.
My vision should still be working, but I couldnât see anything in front of me.
Yet, I could hear.
They say that even at the moment of death, hearing is often the last sense to go.
Where did I hear that? Ah, right⌠it was right before I died in my past life.
Thatâs whyâeveryone, they sayâyou should speak to the dying. Comfort them. Say something, anything. The doctors said that, didnât they?
Everyone.
Yes, thatâs right. In my past life, I actually had quite a few acquaintances.
Not as many as in this life, but still⌠I wasnât completely alone. I wasnât good at socializing, but I tried. I pushed myself too hard, desperately clinging to friendships, stretching myself thin just to maintain them.
And in the end, what did that get me?
I became convenient. Someone easy to have around but just as easy to discard.
I didnât think of it that way at the time.
But looking back, yeah⌠there were more painful memories than happy ones.
Still, there were good times.
âŚAt least, I think there were.
When everyone gathered in the hospital room, they were told to say something to me. Some final words. What did they say again?
Ah, right. I pretended not to remember, but I canât fool myself. I remember it perfectly.
No one said anything for me.
They looked so bored.
Not a single genuine emotion in their voices. Just empty words, strung together for the sake of formality.
"Youâll get better soon."
I heard the doctor say Iâd die before the end of the day.
"Letâs hang out again."
You always looked annoyed when I showed up.
"Iâll come visit you as much as I can."
I saw the relief in your eyes when you realized you wouldnât have to.
Ah, but maybe⌠maybe Iâm being too harsh. Maybe they were just caught up in the atmosphere. Maybe they didnât mean to sound so fake.
...Bullshit.
I really hated it.
Not the lies.
But the fact that, in the end, I had built nothing real.
I had happy memories too.
At least, I thought I did.
But in the end, it all felt like garbage.
I wanted at least one person to say something for me.
I wanted someoneâanyoneâwho truly cared.
I wanted something real.
Even if it was contradictory. Even if it didnât make sense.
Something impossible, like a story.
Something fake, but real.
"âŚNo⌠IâŚ"
Thatâs why.
"âŚI canât dieâŚ"
Thatâs exactly why.
"I canât dieâŚ! I canât die, I canât die, I canât die, I canât die, I canât dieâ"
"I donât want to die!!"
A violent tremor ran through my body. My struggling arms crushed the ground beneath me, fingers clawing at the surface.
I donât want this.
I donât want to die.
I want to do things right.
I want to atone to Lady Misora.
I donât want to make those feelings a lie.
I donât want it to end here.
I want to be something to someone.
I want to become real.
The sheer force of my will made my ability manifestâturning my fractured mind into something tangible.
A grotesque, shocking pink glow erupted from my back, stretching outward like wings, dripping like blood. The energy pulsed and churned, devouring the iron sand that wrapped around me. My restraints eroded, breaking apart piece by piece.
Dead CoilâMagnetic Flux Couplingâfaltered.
For the first time, I saw it. The slightest hint of panic in his movements.
His ultimate move was on the verge of being unleashed. Would I make it in time?
No. That didnât matter.
I had to.
I poured everything I had into breaking freeâ
And thenâ
"ââ"
Someone was there.
At the end of the alley, a figure approached.
Silently.
Not even the sound of footsteps.
Black.
His figure seemed to melt into the night, swallowed by the darkness itself. A pitch-black coat. A pitch-black full-face helmet.
Metallic alloy protectors armored his body in a pattern that blurred the line between function and aesthetic.
In his hand, something glowed faintlyâa soft sky-blue light. The hilt caught the glow, reflecting a metallic sheen.
A sword.
A softly glowing sword of light.
"Whaâ"
âThis canât be.
Him.
He wasnât supposed to appear yet. Not now. Not this year.
At this point in the timeline, he had no reason to be here. He wasnât supposed to save someone like meâsomeone who wasnât a main character, an acquaintance, or even a heroine.
"Who are youâŚ?" Dead Coilâthe Magnetic Flux Couplingâspoke, his voice sharp, assessing. "Reinforcements from the Military? If not, stop right there. Donât interfereâ"
His tone was casual, almost bored. But the murderous intent behind it was real. It coiled in the air, thick and undeniable.
"âIâll kill you."
A normal person would freeze. A sane person would step back.
Insteadâ
"ââ"
A step forward.
Then, a run.
ââŚI warned you, barbarian.â
A deep hum filled the air as a massive bar magnet materialized. The surrounding iron sand lifted, aligning with the magnetic field, twisting like living tendrils.
The newcomer ran straight toward him. Not recklesslyâdeliberately. Testing. Calculating.
Thenâhis sword rose. A charge. A strike.
"No⌠the magnetismâŚ!"
This was bad. That swordâundoubtedly a weapon attribute. Meaning it had metal components. Meaning Dead Coil could nullify it.
"Fool." Dead Coil sneered. "To me, itâs nothing more than a toy."
The magnetic force surged between them.
The sword of light slipped from his grip, flung through the air straight toward Dead Coil.
Dead Coil smirked, already reaching out.
"Hmph. Did you really think you could do anything to me with a melee weaponâgah?!"
âIt hit.
Dead Coilâs head snapped back as the hilt struck him square in the face. He staggered, his whole body recoiling.
No blood. The blade hadnât cutâit had struck with the blunt side. But that wasnât the point.
It worked.
âWhat theâwhy didnât itâ?â
Before Dead Coil could recover, the black-coated man closed the distance.
And drove his fist into Dead Coilâs solar plexus.
A pained grunt escaped his lips.
One punch.
Then another.
Then another.
The strikes werenât refinedâthey werenât smooth, trained martial arts. They were raw, brutal, street-fighting blows. A brawlerâs technique.
Dead Coil flailed, trying to activate his magnetismâhis ultimate weapon.
Nothing happened.
Despite the metal protectors on the manâs body, despite the metallic sheen of his armor, the magnetism failed. Why?
I ran through my knowledge, flipping through the possibilities in my mind. A skill nullifier? Electromagnetic countermeasures?
No time to figure it out.
With one final punch, the man in black sent Dead Coil skidding backward.
Then he shouted.
At me.
"âNow!"
âHuh? Ah, right!â
The momentary chaos had loosened the grip of the iron sand. My restraints had crumbled.
I leaped to my feet, raised my right hand like a pistolâ
"Damage BulletâImpact Shoot!!"
A crimson shockwave erupted from my fingertips.
Dead Coilâs body was launched into the alley wall. The impact rattled through the air, the force sending his Materializer clattering to the ground.
The accumulated damage from the blows dissipated, and some of the wounds on my abdomen vanished.
Dead Coil, still reeling, was locked in a stunned stateâneutralized.
Without hesitation, I materialized restraints and bound him.
These restraints werenât suited for combat. Their reproduction rate was too low to be useful as weapons. But for holding down one enemy? More than enough.
âRight, Mr. Mifuneââ
âWait. No.
He was fine.
A quick glance confirmed it: someone had already administered emergency treatment while he was unconscious.
Leaving him like this wasnât ideal, but he wasnât in immediate danger. Judging by the fact that it was standard first aid, it seemed the man in black didnât have any healing skills. Not that I was surprised. Even in the game, I never gave him any. He was far more efficient as an attacker.
My abdomen still throbbed, pain pulsing through my body.
But I didnât care.
Becauseâ
Ah.
Finally.
Finally.
He finally came.
Heart pounding, I turned toward himâthe protagonistâwith a smile brighter than any Iâd ever worn in this world.
"Um, thank you so much! Please, let me thank you properlyâ"
I blinked.
He was gone.
âHuh?
My smile faltered.
I spun around.
Nowhere.
What?
Why?
"Why�"
The words slipped out, barely a whisper.
I stood there in the alley, utterly dumbfounded.
The sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the alley, spilling into the empty streets.
Labored breathing rasped from inside the helmet.
Loose protectors rattled noisily with every step.
A sword of lightâno, a cheap propâdragged along the pavement like a makeshift cane.
There was nothing heroic about it.
"Hah, hah, hah...! This is bad, this is so bad... way too badâŚ! No, I meanâ"
âI messed up.
Moribe Sabaki kept running.
Running in a cosplay outfit based on her design.
Even at this hour, a few pedestrians were still out and about. Some glanced his way, their curiosity piqued. But this city was known for its cosplay events. A guy in a weird outfit? Not that unusual.
Most people simply shrugged and went about their night.
And that was exactly the problem.
Sabaki knew why he was out here.
Heâd gotten too excited after finally finishing the cosplay outfit heâd been working on all night. That alone was bad enough.
But because this city was the way it was, he had thought:
"Maybe I can pull this off."
And thenâlike a complete idiotâhe actually went outside.
"But Iâm never doing this againâŚ! No, Iâm absolutely done with this! This is bad, wandering around in cosplay! Just carrying a wooden sword is enough to get the police called on me!"
He muttered in frustration, rushing through the door of his apartment.
The moment he stepped inside, he grabbed the wooden swordâthe same one heâd bought on a middle school field tripâand tossed it onto the floor.
Yes, a wooden sword. Modified with plastic decorations, coated with metallic resin spray to match the costume, and finally finished with a layer of glow-in-the-dark paint.
Honestly? He thought it looked pretty damn good. If nothing else, the design was solid.
But it was time to put it away for good.
With that thought, he stripped off the costume and shoved it into the closet.
His hand still throbbed from punching that man in the lab coat.
Heâd been in fights before, sure. But heâd never hit someone that hard.
âSeriously, what the hellâŚ? How was someone that skinny so toughâŚ?â
If he ever found himself in a situation like that again, heâd need better prep. Maybe gloves with metal plates, orâ
â(No, I said Iâm not doing this againâŚ!)â
Muttering under his breath, he dropped into his chair with a rough sigh.
His gaze drifted to the shelf, where a dusty photo frame sat untouched.
ââŚBut over thereâŚâ
Inside the frame was a photo of his younger self. And beside himâ
âHeâs probably going to keep at it, huh⌠that Toki Kizami guy.â
âA pink-haired girl, flashing a mischievous, tomboyish grin.
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