by Tsutomu Sato
As for the criminal act of riding a motorcycle—it was not one at all. Traffic laws as of 2095 AD said that you could get a motorcycle license after graduating middle school. It wasn’t age-based; instead, you fulfilled the requirement by completing your compulsory education.
Around his waist were wrapped arms that were slender, yet not the slightest bit bony. Two bulges from his sister pressed up against his back. Certainly in the throes of puberty, no doubt, but definitely something—yet not paltry, either. For a girl who had just turned fifteen (Mizuki was born in March), there was no doubt that they were at least more than average.
That didn’t mean Tatsuya’s heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, though. She was his little sister by blood, so of course (?) not.
And the trip was only about ten minutes long. With nothing immoral occurring either mentally or physically, the two of them arrived at the Yakumo temple.
The usual rough greeting at the gate didn’t happen. This visit wasn’t for training—they’d made an appointment by phone beforehand. Of course, there wouldn’t be any polite greeting either, so they headed through the intimately familiar temple grounds for the priests’ living quarters.
The Yakumo priest living quarters were based heavily on one-story residential building designs from the early twentieth century. They might have actually been constructed during that era; neither Tatsuya nor Miyuki had ever found out.
There was no light at all outside. And not because it was just old—it seemed intentional.
Not only were there no outdoor lights, but there was no light coming from the building, either. The night sky was cloudy, too, so no moonlight or starlight was shining, and the high walls blocked the city lights, making the temple grounds essentially pitch black.
It still wasn’t so late they’d definitely be asleep, but maybe the priests went to bed as early as they awoke. He’d never heard of ninja maintaining an “early to bed, early to rise” attitude, and he couldn’t imagine it, either. And besides, they’d promised they’d visit, so it was impossible that nobody was awake.
Miyuki softly extended a hand to Tatsuya’s arm. The force of her grip on his sleeve wasn’t very strong, nor was her hand shaking. Still, Miyuki didn’t have the kind of night eyes Tatsuya did, so it wasn’t hard to imagine she was feeling some instinctive anxiety at the darkness. —Well, even with one arm blocked off, he could just use his own inherent magic if it came to that, so he let his sister do as she pleased.
The temple grounds weren’t cramped, but they weren’t particularly wide, either. Before long, they arrived at the entrance to the living quarters. There was no video intercom, of course, but there wasn’t even a doorbell—that was definitely intentional—so Tatsuya went to open the sliding door and announce their arrival. But as his hand touched the handle on the door…
“Over here, Tatsuya.”
…he heard a voice calling him from the veranda, where he’d not sensed any presence before.
He felt a twitch on his arm through his grasped sleeve. Tatsuya, mildly exasperated, didn’t feel like giving a dry grin. He was thinking to himself how childish it was for someone his age to be having fun scaring people by suddenly calling to them from the dark.
Of course, if Miyuki hadn’t been the one to get surprised, Tatsuya probably wouldn’t have felt anything. In that sense, his little scheme had been partially successful—if this was really a scheme, anyway.
Personally, he would have liked to do an about-face and leave, but he’d come here tonight for a reason. He swallowed back that bitter feeling and went around to the veranda toward where the voice came from.
The man would have looked a little like a priest if he’d been sitting cross-legged in meditation there, but he also thought this was more like Yakumo. Tatsuya had known him for two and a half years, but he was still an elusive one.
“Good evening, Master. Were you resting?”
“Hey, good evening, Tatsuya. And you, Miyuki. And no, not at all. Not even I would fall asleep after making a promise.”
Yakumo brushed off Tatsuya’s sarcastic remark so smoothly that it was Tatsuya who found it surprising, since he’d assumed he would be in and out of sight, slippery as an eel.
“Sensei, please excuse the late-night visit. If I may ask… If you were not resting, then why have you put out all the lights?”
“Hmm? Oh, it’s custom. We don’t turn on the lights when we don’t need them. We’re shinobi, after all.”
Tatsuya had misunderstood that as mischief-making. He reflected a little on his mistake, telling himself that it was bad to let his own biases creep into his situational judgment, even if it normally happened differently.
Of course, he didn’t breathe a word of that while Yakumo was watching.
The man didn’t seem to notice anyway that Tatsuya had called his character into doubt. He looked up at the two of them, narrowed his eyes, then quietly spoke almost in a monotone. “Still, that prana you siblings have sure is something. It’s even more splendid when you look at it without any lights around.”
“Our prana?” asked Miyuki, tilting her head.
“It may be easier for you if I called it pushion emissions,” answered Yakumo with an unusually serious expression. Narrowing his already narrow eyes wasn’t a jealous expression at all, either—he was staring hard at “something” that was difficult to see. “Miyuki’s prana glitters and shines, knowing no bounds, and there isn’t a single unnecessary drop of Tatsuya’s outside him. And connecting you—”
“Master,” said Tatsuya suddenly, interrupting him.
Yakumo’s narrowed eyes returned to their former state, and he gave a somewhat mischievous look. “Whoops, sorry, not allowed to go there, right?”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize for my rudeness.” Tatsuya gave a slight bow, signaling the end of this discussion.
Of course, Yakumo understood it. “So what have you come for today?”
“Actually, there was something I wanted you to use your strength to look into,” prefaced Tatsuya in answer to his question. He then explained Kinoe Tsukasa. “It’s fairly certain this senior is a member of Égalité, but I think he also has a direct and strong link to Blanche. Would you happen to know through Kinoe Tsukasa what on earth Blanche might be planning?”
“Égalité and Blanche, eh… That’s well within my means to investigate, of course.” Yakumo nodded easily to Tatsuya’s request phrased as a question. His words, too, could either be boastful or a rash promise, and it sounded natural for him to speak that way.
And Tatsuya knew that in reality, the man could do something so trivial as probing into terrorist organizations active domestically before breakfast.
“I am a man of the cloth, however. I don’t get involved with the affairs of the common people. And if you’ve gotten that far already, wouldn’t it be easier to ask Kazama? He has that young lady Fujibayashi with him, right?”
Tatsuya hesitated for a moment, then bitterly began, “…I’d rather not rely on the major—”
“Your aunt wouldn’t sympathize?” interrupted Yakumo, not allowing Tatsuya to finish his sentence. “With the circumstances, I suppose you’d need to come here.”
Tatsuya silently bowed his head. Not out of gratitude for his decision to listen to his request, but out of apology for his consideration.
Yakumo lightly waved a hand in front of him, suggesting apologies were unneeded, then gestured for Tatsuya and Miyuki to take a seat on the veranda.
Tatsuya sat next to Yakumo, and Miyuki, quite a bit more reserved than her brother, sat next to him; then Yakumo spoke.
“Kinoe Tsukasa…formerly known as Kinoe Kamono,” he began without any preface. “Neither parent had any manifestation of magical factors. In other words, he’s part of a ‘normal’ family, but it’s a branch family of the Kamo. Although it is a branch, their blood relation is fairly thin, so there really isn’t a problem with calling it a normal family. Kinoe’s ‘eyes,’ though, were probably
a kind of reversion.”
Tatsuya’s eyes widened—Yakumo was speaking as though he’d predicted his exact request—but he wasn’t as surprised as his sister.
You couldn’t keep up with Yakumo if you took the time to be surprised at everything the man said.
But he did still want to say this: “Master, have you ever heard of privacy?”
“Sure, I looked it up in a dictionary once.”
Tatsuya’s criticism had essentially ignored the fact that he was the one who was requesting an invasion of someone’s privacy in the first place, and Yakumo played dumb without even a hint of guilt.
Both of the men decided not to look at Miyuki, who was holding a hand to her temple.
“Anyway, how did you know I would be asking you to look into Kinoe Tsukasa?”
The fact that Tatsuya changed the topic so abruptly showed how he wasn’t able to completely ignore Miyuki’s attitude.
Without objecting to the shift, Yakumo followed suit and put it behind them. “It didn’t have anything to do with your request—I just know about him.”
“…For what reason, may I ask?”
“Well, I’m a priest. At the same time—or rather, above that—I’m a shinobi. Fish cannot live without water, and shinobi cannot live without a constant influx of information. I make a point of looking over people who have a history that might make them cause a problem in the right place at the right time.”
Tatsuya narrowed his eyes just slightly. “Does that include us?”
Without raising his voice too much, Yakumo laughed, amused. “I tried to, but I didn’t know what I was getting into. Information about the two of you has been perfectly manipulated. I suppose I should have seen that coming.”
A somehow dubious air floated between the two of them. Miyuki hastily spoke, as though trying to get rid of that dark cloud. “Sensei, how are Tsukasa and Blanche related?”
Tatsuya’s and Yakumo’s faces softened at the same time at the atmosphere of Miyuki trying her best. They hadn’t wanted to go at it for real anyway—they were glaring at each other jokingly. The feigned tension disappeared immediately.
His expression loosened, Yakumo answered Miyuki’s question in a tone that suggested he was making small talk. “When Kinoe’s mother remarried, her new husband brought his son, Kinoe’s older stepbrother. He’s the leader of Blanche’s Japan branch. Not only as the outward-facing representative—he handles everything behinds the scenes, too. A real leader.” In contrast to his lax expression, his answer was anything but peaceful. “Kinoe likely enrolled at First High due to the will of that stepbrother of his. They were probably aiming for something like what’s going on now, but…I don’t know exactly what it is they’re planning. No doubt it’s something wicked, though.”
“I see…” Tatsuya slowly nodded to Yakumo’s words, thinking about something.
“Sorry for not being able to give you the most important bit.”
“No, you were a great help.”
He wasn’t just being diplomatic. He didn’t think the man would be able to answer right away in the first place, and just the fact that Kinoe had been changed from “someone we might need to watch” to “someone we need to watch” meant a whole lot. He mentally jotted down a timetable—tomorrow, as early as he could before the debate, he’d casually recommend that Mari keep an eye on Kinoe Tsukasa.
Once that was settled, he realized there was one more thing he needed to ask. “By the way, Master. How strong are the abilities of Kinoe Tsukasa’s ‘eyes’?”
Yakumo put a hand to his chin at the question. It didn’t seem like he was trying to put on airs; it looked like he was seriously thinking about it. “Let’s see… Strong enough for me to see the pranic waves they emit, at least. He shouldn’t have the power to read the prana hidden within you. At the very least, he doesn’t have the kind of power to see prana that your classmate does, Tatsuya.”
The last phrase Yakumo said caused Tatsuya to frown. “You’ve already investigated Mizuki, even?”
At that, Yakumo gave the most teasing, malicious smile he’d given all night. “You’re interested, too, aren’t you?”
Tatsuya barely fought back the urge to swear under his breath. It was obvious the man had seen right through him anyway, but letting it show in his attitude would be altogether galling.
“Interest” wasn’t referring to the kind a boy would have in a girl of the same age. It was nothing so sexual as that. If he were to put it simply, Tatsuya was on guard against Mizuki. At her strange ability that could reveal the prana hidden inside him, just as Yakumo had suggested.
“I’ll skip right to my conclusion and say that I don’t think you need to be cautious around her.” Tatsuya gritted his teeth, and that seemed to satisfy Yakumo. The man wasn’t smiling anymore. His easygoing tone of voice and careless attitude were the same, but it wasn’t the face of someone who would amuse himself with jokes or wordplay. “Even if she could see your prana, she wouldn’t be able to understand it. If she were as well-versed in magic as you, she would know not to brandish her eyes recklessly.”
The words had been intended to set his mind at ease, but Tatsuya found himself feeling doubtful. It was clear Yakumo hadn’t meant to do that, but he felt like he’d been once again presented with the fact that he was a nonstandard article, something separate from the stereotypical magician.
And so the day of the public debate came. Half of all the students in the school gathered in the lecture hall.
“There’s more here than I thought.”
“More than anyone predicted, I think.”
“To think our school has so many students with free time… Perhaps we need to propose a strengthening of the school’s curriculum.”
“That joke wasn’t funny, Ichihara…”
In order, those were Miyuki’s, Tatsuya’s, Suzune’s, and Mari’s words. They were watching the scene from the stage wing. Mayumi stood a little bit away, waiting with Hattori. In the other wing were four seniors from the coalition, also waiting, under the watchful eyes of a disciplinary committee member. Sayaka was not among them.
“I wonder if they have others waiting somewhere else to use actual force…” muttered Mari, as if to herself. Only “as if”—it was clear she wasn’t talking to herself.
“Agreed,” muttered Tatsuya, understanding this fact. He was thinking the same thing.
He gave a quick look over the venue. The Course 1 students and Course 2 students were split about fifty-fifty. Leaving Suzune’s joke aside, they hadn’t thought so many students—not only Course 2, but Course 1 as well—were interested in this problem. Among them they identified about ten students as coalition members. And even among them, the members who had occupied the broadcasting room were nowhere to be seen.
“I don’t know what they plan on doing…but we can’t make the first move anyway.”
That, too, was better left unsaid. The other side always had the initiative—all this side could do was wait for them to act.
“Nonaggressive security sounds good in theory, but…”
“Chairwoman Watanabe, please don’t assume they will use force… It’s beginning.”
Mari had been about to argue against something—or rather, gripe about it—but she directed her gaze to the stage at Suzune’s statement.
The debate, in the form of a panel discussion, naturally began like this:
“Student Council President, we have a question regarding budget distribution among clubs this autumn. According to the data we’ve gathered, competitive magic clubs with high ratios of Course 1 students are clearly given more of the budget than non-competitive magic clubs with high ratios of Course 2 students. This is evidence that preferential treatment of Course 1 students is not only prevalent in classes, but even in extracurricular activities, is it not?! President, if you really have equal treatment between Course 1 and Course 2 students in mind, then this unfair budget needs to be corrected immediately.”
“Per-club budget distribu
tion is decided upon by a council made up of every club president and based on budget ideas that take membership numbers and actual achievements into account. The reason it looks like competitive magic clubs are receiving more handsome budgets is largely a reflection of their intramural competition achievements. In addition, even nonmagic competitive clubs that have reached national levels of excellence like the legball team are given a budget just as high as competitive magic clubs. I believe this graph speaks for itself. The conclusion that Course 1 students are given preferential treatment when it comes to budget distribution is a mistaken one.”
In this way, the flow reached a point where Mayumi, as representative of the student council, argued against the coalition’s questions and demands.
Still, it wasn’t as though the coalition had any concrete demands anyway. They only brought up budget distribution and said it should be done equally—they didn’t have any demands as to which clubs, how much, or what portion of the budget should be added to theirs.
In the first place, it looked to Tatsuya like they’d been lured into this and dragged out here.
“Course 2 students are discriminated against in every way possible by Course 1 students. Aren’t you just trying to deflect everyone from that fact?!”
“You stated in every way possible, but what, in particular, might you be referring to? As I’ve already explained, usage of our facilities and distribution of supplies is conducted on an equal basis from Class A all the way to Class H.”
And their slogan, which would have been effective in the context of an agitated audience, was no more than empty idealism on stage. With Mayumi making her arguments using concrete examples and numbers that left no room for interpretation, their unsubstantial slogan stood no chance.
Before long, the debate had begun to turn into a speech for Mayumi instead.
“…I will not deny that there are those among the students who have the prejudice that the coalition has pointed out. However, this is a result of fixated senses of superiority and inferiority. It’s created from the defensive instinct the privileged have—that their privilege will be encroached upon. It is wholly different from institutional discrimination.
