by Tsutomu Sato
“…What?” asked Hattori reflexively—he hadn’t expected those words. Maybe he didn’t believe what he’d heard.
Reading into activation programs. There was no way someone could do that. That was common sense to him.
“What I’m saying is he can tell what kind of magic someone was trying to use even if they didn’t actually activate it.” But Mari’s answer didn’t change. She spoke without uncertainty that it was the truth and that it was possible.
“The rules of punishment of our school vary based on the variety and scale of the magic the person tried to use. But if you do like Mayumi does and destroy the activation program before the magic program goes off, we won’t know what kind of magic they were trying to use. But if we let the activation program expand, we’re putting the cart before the horse. If you can cancel the activation expand while it’s in the deployment stage, it’s safer that way. We’ve always had trouble deciding how to punish attempted criminals, and we sometimes have to let them off easy. He’ll be a huge help in that regard.”
“…But would he be able to stop the magic from executing at the scene of an actual crime…?” His tone couldn’t conceal his shock, and Hattori attempted to somehow argue against her.
“That goes for Course 1 freshmen, too. Even for sophomores—how many people do you think have the skills to stop an opponent’s magic from activating by using your own after they start?” Mari flat-out rejected what he said, but that wasn’t all. “And besides, there’s one other reason I want him on the committee.”
Even Hattori couldn’t immediately find any words to respond with.
“Until now, no Course 2 students have been nominated for the disciplinary committee. In other words, Course 1 students have been in control of magic-related offenses committed by Course 2 students. Like you said, there’s an emotional gap between the Course 1 and Course 2 students here. The system of Course 1 kids controlling Course 2 kids and not the other way around is making it worse. As head of the committee, I would prefer not to do anything that would promote this attitude of discrimination.”
“Wow… That’s amazing, Mari. You thought of all that yourself? I completely thought you just liked Tatsuya.”
“President, please.”
Mayumi nearly shattered the mood, but Suzune held her in check.
One bore a reproachful look.
The other shook her head.
The first was Mayumi, and the second Suzune.
The emotional confrontation, still not yet decided, continued to spew its toxins.
“President… As the vice president, I oppose Tatsuya Shiba’s election to the disciplinary committee. I admit that Chairman Watanabe has a point, but I still believe that the disciplinary committee’s original goal is to suppress and expose violations of school rules. A Course 2 student lacking in magic ability isn’t fit for the post. Your mistaken appointment of him will surely come back to hurt your credibility in the end. I urge you to reconsider.”
“Wait, please!”
Tatsuya panicked and turned around. As he had feared, Miyuki had finally lost her patience. He had been too caught up in Mari’s speech to time controlling her properly. He hurriedly attempted to stop her, but Miyuki had already begun to speak.
“This may sound forward, Vice President. My brother’s grades in practical magic may not be sterling, but that’s only because the way they evaluate the practicum test doesn’t match up with his strengths. When it comes to real combat, nobody can beat him.”
Her words were filled with confidence, and Mari lightly opened her eyes wider. Mayumi’s vague smile went away, too, and she gave Miyuki and Tatsuya a serious look. But there wasn’t very much seriousness in Hattori’s stare back.
“Shiba…” Hattori was, of course, talking to Miyuki. “Magicians must be able to think calmly and logically and take everything in stride. Partiality toward one’s family members may be inevitable for normal people, but as people aiming to be magicians, we cannot allow our eyes to be clouded by nepotism. Please take that to heart.”
He sounded like a relative showing her the way—he didn’t seem to mean anything by it. He was probably just trying to be an excellent upperclassman who looked out for other Course 1 students, if a little self-righteously. —In this case, though, it seemed evident ever since Miyuki began to argue that his way of speaking would have the opposite effect.
As expected, Miyuki grew more riled up. “A word, if I may—my eyes are not clouded! If we just look at my brother’s real power—”
“Miyuki!” He held his hands aloft before Miyuki, who was on the verge of completely losing her cool. She looked taken aback, then, in shame and regret, closed her mouth and looked down.
Tatsuya, who had stopped his sister with words and gestures, moved in front of Hattori.
Miyuki had definitely said too much. She even nearly said something she never should have. But Hattori was the one who made her go that far. Tatsuya had no mind to make Miyuki to be the only bad guy here.
“Vice President Hattori, would you like to have a mock duel with me?”
“What…?”
Hattori, the challenged, wasn’t the only one struck dumb by the unexpected proposal. Mayumi and Mari were also staring hard at the two of them, astonished at his bold, unpredicted counterattack.
With the stares of everyone in the room on them, Hattori’s body began to tremble. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, you substitute!”
Someone yelped—was it Azusa? The other three, as might be expected of upperclassmen, were keeping their calm. And as for the one on the receiving end of the insult, he was making a troubled sort of face, giving a faint, wry grin.
“What’s so funny?!”
“Shouldn’t magicians always keep their calm?”
“Pah!” Ridiculed by his own words, Hattori spat out a quick grunt of frustration.
Tatsuya’s tongue didn’t stop there. He didn’t feel like stopping it. “I don’t think you would understand my personal combat skills in practice unless you fought me. It’s not as though I want to become a member of the disciplinary committee…but if it’s to prove my sister’s eyes aren’t clouded, then I have no choice,” he murmured, as though he were talking to itself.
That only made it sound unnecessarily provocative to Hattori. “…Fine by me. I’ll teach you to respect your superiors.”
He didn’t let his agitation last for long—proof, perhaps, that he wasn’t all bark. His controlled tone of voice instead spoke to the depth of his rage.
Mayumi spoke up without a moment’s delay. “With the power invested in me as student council president, I hereby acknowledge the mock battle between Gyoubu Hattori of 2-B and Tatsuya Shiba of 1-E as an official duel.”
“Based on the student council president’s declaration, as the chairman of the disciplinary committee, I hereby acknowledge this duel to be an extracurricular activity grounded in school rules.”
“It will be held thirty minutes from now in Seminar 3. The duel will be private. Both combatants are permitted to use CADs.”
Mock battles were an act of violence, and prohibited by school rules—a measure to prevent things from escalating to fights.
After Mayumi and Mari solemnly stated that they didn’t care, Azusa frantically began typing on her terminal.
“Three days in, and the cat’s out of the bag already…” Tatsuya grumbled in front of the door to Seminar 3. He had exchanged his license, stamped by the student council president (these things were still made out of paper) for his CAD case.
He heard a near-crying voice from behind him. “I’m so sorry…”
“There’s nothing for you to apologize about.”
“But my actions have caused you trouble—”
He turned around, took half a step, and held his hand out to her head.
Miyuki gave a start, then closed her eyes. But at the sensation of him gently stroking her hair, she timidly brought her head up. Her eyes looked ready to burst forth with tears at any momen
t.
“I told you on the day of the entrance ceremony, remember? You always get angry in my place, since I can’t. You’re always saving me… So don’t say you’re sorry. There are different words for this situation.”
“All right… Good luck,” replied Miyuki, wiping her tears and smiling. Tatsuya smiled back with a nod and opened the door to the seminar room.
“I didn’t expect that.” As soon as he opened the door, he heard that phrase.
“Expect what?”
The one to welcome Tatsuya to the seminar room was Mari, who had been named as the referee.
“That you were the type who loves a good skirmish. I had you pegged for someone who didn’t care about what other people said.” Though she said it was unexpected, her eyes glittered in anticipation.
Tatsuya used his steely self-control—well, perhaps that’s an exaggeration—to suffocate the deep sigh that had made its way into his throat.
“I thought it was the disciplinary committee’s job to stop this sort of personal struggle.” A somewhat sarcastic remark leaped out instead of the sigh, perhaps inevitably.
But Mari didn’t seem to respond to it at all. “It’s not personal. This is an official match. Mayumi said so, remember? We may look at your abilities first and foremost, but that policy doesn’t just apply between Course 1 and Course 2 students—in fact we normally apply it to two Course 1 students. A Course 1 and Course 2 student using this method to settle something is probably a first, though.”
I see. That means they’re actually encouraging settling matters by force when they can’t be solved through talking. “Did these ‘official matches’ become more frequent after you became the head of the disciplinary committee?”
“Yeah, they have been.” Her completely frank response even made Miyuki, standing behind Tatsuya, grin drily. Then her expression suddenly got serious, and she brought her face toward his. “So are you confident?”
A whispered question, spoken so close he could hear her breathe.
Miyuki’s beautiful eyebrows shot up at her altogether too-close distance, but Tatsuya, whose vision was dominated by Mari’s meaningful grin, fortunately (?) didn’t notice his younger sister’s excessive response. Mari’s long, slitted eyes looking up at him from half a head below, and the faintly sweet aroma drifting to him—Tatsuya realized he was feeling sexually aroused.
The moment he realized it, the object of “himself” became a phenomenon born with him, and he cut it off. He converted his excitement into a simple stream of data.
“Hattori is one of the top five magic users in the school. He may be more suited for group combat than individual fights, but still, not many people can beat him one-on-one,” whispered Mari in a glossy alto, yet without a hint of sex appeal.
“I don’t plan on competing with him head-on.” But Tatsuya answered her curtly and in a mechanical voice, without showing a hint of unrest.
“You’re pretty calm… I’ve lost a little self-confidence,” she replied, clearly amused.
“Huh.” Tatsuya nodded vaguely, without trying to give a different response.
“If you were cute enough to blush at times like these, there would probably be more people willing to help you out, you know.” She flashed him a grin and withdrew, making her way to the starting line in the middle.
“How annoying…” She must be the type to demand chaos where there is order, and bring order where there is chaos, thought Tatsuya. For those making peaceful livings, she was nothing but a troublemaker.
He breathed another sigh—this one at the remarkably troubling interpersonal relationships he’d made since enrolling here.
He opened his CAD case. Inside the black attaché case, there were two handgun-shaped CADs. He took one of them, unloaded the magazine, and switched it out for another.
Everyone but Miyuki watched him with deep fascination.
“Sorry for the wait.”
“Do you always walk around with more than one like that?”
Specialized CADs were limited in the number of activation programs they could use. Multipurpose CADs could store ninety-nine activation programs, regardless of family. On the other hand, specialized CADs could store only a combination of nine activation programs belonging to the same family. A CAD was once developed to make it possible to swap out the activation programs recording storage mechanism to make up for this fault, but the specialized type was favored by magicians specializing in specific types of magic programs in the first place. There wasn’t much need for an increase in magic variations. The majority of people would only end up using one type of magic even if they carried more than one piece of storage on them.
But Tatsuya’s answer, given in response to Mari’s obvious curiosity, displayed that he was part of the minority. “Yes. I don’t have enough mental faculty to use a multipurpose type.”
Hattori, standing in front of him, gave a derisive snort upon hearing that, but it didn’t even make a ripple in Tatsuya’s mind.
“All right, then I’ll explain the rules. Any techniques that would result in the death of the opponent, whether direct or indirect attacks, are forbidden. Any techniques that would result in irreversible injury are forbidden. Techniques that directly damage the opponent’s flesh are forbidden. However, direct attacks not resulting in more than a sprain are permitted. The usage of weapons is forbidden. Unarmed attacks are permitted. If you want to use kicking moves, take your shoes off now and exchange them for the school’s padded shoes. The match is over when one side admits defeat or when a judge determines it’s impossible to continue. You must back up to the starting positions and not activate your CAD until the signal is given. Not following these rules will result in an immediate loss—and I’ll step in and stop you myself, so you’d better be prepared if you don’t. That is all.”
Tatsuya and Hattori both nodded, then faced each other from the starting lines, five meters apart. Neither of their expressions were tense, nor were they scornful or provoking. However, Tatsuya caught a glimpse of relaxation in Hattori’s face. They were too far apart for either’s hands to reach the other. Even with the momentum of a pro football player, using magic would be quicker at this distance.
Since this was a contest of magic, it was only natural that attacks using magic were established as advantageous. In this sort of duel, the one who hit with their magic first usually won. Even if they couldn’t knock the opponent out with one hit, the opponent wouldn’t avoid damage. There weren’t many people possessed of the mental fortitude to calmly construct spells while taking damage from magic. As soon as you were hit by a magical attack, any magic you were in the middle of creating would fizzle. It would be over once your opponent pressed their attack.
And with the rule that they activated their CADs at the same time, Hattori had complete confidence that he, a Course 1 student, couldn’t possibly lose to a pretentious new Course 2 student. The CAD was the fastest magic-activating tool. Even if you snuck in something other than a CAD before the signal to start was given, it wouldn’t match the CAD’s speed. And the speed of executing magic using the CAD was the greatest point of evaluation in terms of one’s grades in practical magic. It could also be said equated to the greatest difference between Blooms and Weeds.
Tatsuya’s CAD—a specialized type in the shape of a handgun.
Hattori’s CAD—a multipurpose type in the orthodox bracelet form.
Specialized CADs excelled in speed, and multipurpose ones in versatility. However, even though specialized types won out in speed over multipurpose types, that wouldn’t be enough to fill the gap between a Bloom and a Weed. That went double if the opponent was a new student.
Hattori considered that there were no factors that could defeat him—and that could be called neither hubris nor carelessness.
Tatsuya pointed his right hand, holding his CAD toward the floor…
…Hattori placed his right hand before the CAD on his left arm…
…and both waited for Mari’s signal.
<
br /> The room fell deathly silent.
And at the very moment silence had established complete dominance over them—
“Go!”
—the official duel between Tatsuya and Hattori commenced.
Hattori’s right hand flew over his CAD.
Though he had to press only three simple keys, his motions were entirely without hesitation. The type of technique he originally specialized in was wide-scope attack magic for midrange and farther. In a close-range, one-on-one battle, he was comparatively worse.
But that was only comparatively so, and in the year since he had enrolled at First High, he was undefeated.
There were those he might yield to. Mari, who was a specialist in personal combat, whether against a single person or a group. Mayumi, who could freely use astoundingly swift and accurate gunning magic. Juumonji, the head of the club committee, nicknamed the Iron Wall. Aside from those three giants, he would boast that neither students nor teachers could outdo him.
That wasn’t necessarily a subjective opinion.
Hattori immediately finished expanding a simple activation program—he had gone for speed—and in a flash, he began to execute his magic.
A moment later, he very nearly screamed.
His opponent in this match, this first-year kid who didn’t know his place, had gotten so close that he was filling his vision.
He hastily corrected his coordinates and attempted to fire off the magic. It was movement magic, one of the fundamental families of magic. Hattori’s magic program had locked on to his opponent, and it should have blown him over ten meters backward, the impact from which would have taken him out of the fight.
But his magic fizzled out.
It wasn’t that he had failed to process the activation program.
His enemy had disappeared.
The coordinates used by magic programs didn’t require much in the way of precision, but when the target in your vision suddenly disappears from it—and thus from your awareness—an error would occur no matter what. The psion information bodies that should have altered the target’s state of movement dispersed without any effect.