A Certain Magical Index, Vol. 15

by Kazuma Kamachi

  Copyright

  A CERTAIN MAGICAL INDEX, Volume 15

  KAZUMA KAMACHI

  Translation by Andrew Prowse

  Cover art by Kiyotaka Haimura

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  TOARU MAJYUTSU NO INDEX Vol.15

  ©KAZUMA KAMACHI 2008

  Edited by ASCII MEDIA WORKS

  First published in Japan in 2008 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2018 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Kamachi, Kazuma, author. | Haimura, Kiyotaka, 1973– illustrator. | Prowse, Andrew (Andrew R.), translator. | Hinton, Yoshito, translator.

  Title: A certain magical index / Kazuma Kamachi ; illustration by Kiyotaka Haimura.

  Other titles: To aru majyutsu no index. (Light novel). English

  Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen On, 2014–

  Identifiers: LCCN 2014031047 (print) | ISBN 9780316339124 (v. 1 : pbk.) |

  ISBN 9780316259422 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316340540 (v. 3 : pbk.) |

  ISBN 9780316340564 (v. 4 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316340595 (v. 5 : pbk.) |

  ISBN 9780316340601 (v. 6 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316272230 (v. 7 : pbk.) |

  ISBN 9780316359924 (v. 8 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316359962 (v. 9 : pbk.) |

  ISBN 9780316359986 (v. 10 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316360005 (v. 11 : pbk.) |

  ISBN 9780316360029 (v. 12 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316442671 (v. 13 : pbk.) |

  ISBN 9780316442701 (v. 14 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316442725 (v. 15 : pbk.)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Magic—Fiction. | Ability—Fiction. | Nuns—Fiction. | Japan—Fiction. | Science fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / General. | FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.K215 Ce 2014 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2014031047

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-44272-5 (paperback)

  978-0-316-44273-2 (ebook)

  E3-20180412-JV-PC

  PROLOGUE

  The Finest Lead Bullet for You, My Beloved

  Management.

  There are things we call blind spots.

  The cleaning room of this major department store, for instance.

  The store’s employees thought a contract crew used the room, while the contractors believed the employees utilized it. Visitors to the store wouldn’t enter a place like that, so there weren’t any surveillance cameras inside. Nobody paid any attention to it. As a result, you were left with a room everyone knew about but nobody had ever entered, let alone known where to find its key.

  Normally, its iron door was kept locked at all times.

  Except for at this moment.

  Using a key he’d received in advance, Motoharu Tsuchimikado opened the door in the back of the store. The room was stylishly decorated, resembling a bar: Before him was a sofa large enough to seat at least ten people, with an incongruously small table beside it. At the back of the room, there was a counter. This was clearly a different world than the one outside the door.

  A man noticed Tsuchimikado enter and cheerfully said, “Come on in.”

  This college-aged guy, who was shorter than Tsuchimikado, stood behind the bar. He appeared somewhat comical, wearing a brand-name suit but no necktie, and he had a few shirt buttons undone to show off his chest.

  The man, with four or five cell phones hanging from his neck, had a nickname: Management.

  As he put an elbow on the counter, he said, “Ah, my bad. I do things casually because this is the service industry. Makes it easier for people to talk to me, y’know? I can stop if you like.”

  “No, you’re fine,” said Tsuchimikado, causing the man to grin.

  Tsuchimikado threw his key to Management, and he caught it with one hand. Despite what he’d said, once this job was over, the man would take all the furniture and move somewhere else.

  “Now then, what might you be after today? I’ve got a great deal on lock pickers, ‘sensor breakers’—cream of the crop, I might add. If you’re here for something a little more risqué, I have a few money launderers. We’re running low, though, after the new regulations from that 09/30 incident. Other than that, it’s what you’d expect.”

  Some robberies and larcenies took more than one person. When they did, they’d assign roles such as driver, lock picker, burglar, and money launderer, but some ran into a problem where they didn’t have enough people. Management would supply the people and profit off the finder’s fee.

  “I have to say,” remarked the man, “I mostly get emails and texts these days. Don’t have many coming here personally like you.”

  “Should I not have come?”

  “Oh, no, you’re fine. It’s not much risk. Oh, right—do you want something to drink?”

  Tsuchimikado glanced at the shelves behind the counter, saw the thick cans lined up on them, and frowned slightly. “Not a fan of drinking paint thinner.”

  “You misunderstand. Those are cleaners for getting rid of oil-based ink. Gotta have ’em in a business like this. The alcohol’s over there, in the fridge. Some good stuff in there, have to say.”

  “Either way, I’ll pass.”

  Despite the refusal, Management’s face remained mostly the same. “Too tense to get drunk? Suppose that’s how it is before a job. Let’s get down to business, then. What are you looking for?”

  “Sorry, that actually isn’t why I’m here.”

  “Hmm?”

  Management looked at him dubiously. Without skipping a beat, Tsuchimikado said:

  “I’m not a customer. I’m the guy who’s bringing you in.”

  For just a moment, Management gave him a blank stare.

  But when he saw Tsuchimikado pull a handgun from his belt, he quickly dove behind the counter.

  Tsuchimikado pulled the trigger anyway.

  Bang, boom, bam!! A series of gunshots followed. A hole appeared in one of the cans of thinner, immediately filling Management’s nose with a terrible stench.

  Bastard…! The man, still hidden, reached for a bulletproof jacket and a submachine gun underneath the counter.

  He popped a magazine into the gun, then cocked it to load the first bullet, when suddenly the enemy gunshots stopped. Management slowly looked around the edge of the counter to check.

  Out of ammo? he thought, now covered in
thinner—but a moment later, he got a different answer.

  The scrape of an oil lighter.

  “?!” Management’s throat dried up.

  Before he could say anything, Tsuchimikado threw the lit lighter behind the counter.

  He had no time to think. Management flung the jacket and gun aside, then jumped out from behind the counter to get away from the chemicals.

  The lighter dropped into the puddle of paint thinner, and with a boom, hurled up explosive flames.

  Management had barely escaped its range, but now, unarmed, he noticed the gun pointed at him.

  He raised his hands and cried, “Wait, wait, wait! Okay, okay, I won’t resist—”

  Tsuchimikado pulled the trigger anyway.

  Bang!! After he heard the sound of the gun discharging, Management looked at his side in surprise to find a dark-red hole.

  “Wh-why, you…I said I wouldn’t…”

  Before he could finish whatever he was saying, he collapsed to the floor.

  Tsuchimikado, expression mostly unchanged, made sure Management was at least breathing, then took out his cell phone.

  He dialed a number in his contacts, and when someone picked up, he said simply, “Collection.”

  The voice on the other end of the phone said something.

  Tsuchimikado continued, “Look for where this guy lives. We’ve got a lot to investigate. Notify our ancillary. Actually, wait. We don’t need an ambulance, just a patrol wagon. I’ll snoop around using his registered address, but I want Accelerator to— He’s not around?”

  He clicked his tongue in frustration. “Right. He’s over there at the moment. No choice, then. Unabara, you go out. Have Musujime switch to backup. Call you later.”

  He hung up.

  Motoharu Tsuchimikado, Accelerator, Mitsuki Unabara, and Awaki Musujime.

  The four together were simply called Group.

  A small team, working in society’s shadows to protect its light.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Signal Shot Nobody Heard

  Compass.

  1

  October 9.

  Today was the anniversary of Academy City’s independence, and a holiday within its walls.

  The hospital in District 7 was no exception. Since morning, its air had felt relaxed. A frog-faced doctor left through the front entrance and felt the soft morning sunlight on his skin.

  Beside him stood a small girl of about ten.

  She was called Last Order.

  On September 30, the Hound Dogs, led by Amata Kihara, had kidnapped her and used a device called Testament to input specific data into her brain. The hospital had been working to remove that data, but the job was now done and she was being discharged.

  “Finally leaving the hospital and nobody’s here to greet you,” said the doctor, sighing.

  Last Order didn’t seem too worried. “‘Misaka can ride the taxi by herself,’ says Misaka says Misaka, sticking out her chest.”

  “Well, we’ve eliminated the virus in your brain, so I suppose there’s no more cause for worry. I’ll put the taxi fare on Ms. Yomikawa’s tab, so go straight to her apartment, all right?”

  Just then, a taxi arrived at the roundabout in front of the hospital. The frog-faced doctor waved it down, then put Last Order, who was holding her belongings, into the back seat.

  As he watched, the driver asked, “Where to today, miss?”

  “‘The amusement park in District 6!’ says Misaka says Mis—”

  “To the Family Side II apartment in District 7. Don’t forget, all right?”

  The frog-faced doctor had stopped the nonsense about to come out of Last Order’s mouth—in the end, he was the one looking after her.

  The driver gave a pained grin. “I understand.”

  “Do you need me to give you directions?”

  “No, there aren’t many apartments in this city—it’s all student dorms. And I can just put it in the car’s navigation system.”

  When the frog-faced doctor pulled his head out of the car, the back door closed automatically. With Last Order on board, her hands on the window and her eyes staring outside, the taxi began to gently roll away from the hospital.

  After it vanished from sight, the doctor went back to his hospital. He walked through an uncluttered hallway and into a space for conversation with only a simple sofa and table, then went to the vending machine along the wall and bought a coffee.

  This vending machine was the kind that used paper cups. There was no liquid coffee inside the rectangular metal box; instead, it made it automatically, starting with grinding pre-roasted beans. It took a bit longer this way, but it tasted good, and was a nice way for him to switch gears.

  The doctor exhaled. Next I’ve got to finish the Sisters’ adjustments and release them from here as soon as—

  Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted.

  Ker-click.

  Someone had pressed a gun to his back.

  The doctor froze.

  He listened to the shallow breathing directly behind him, thought for a moment, then spoke.

  “Already back from Avignon, are we?”

  “Shit. Where the hell did you get that information?”

  The voice was familiar—Accelerator.

  In his right hand, he held a walking cane designed with a modern aesthetic, but since they were in a hospital, it didn’t make him stand out very much. And he’d used his body to hide the gun in his left hand from others.

  The doctor didn’t bother to put his hands up. Instead of acting conspicuously, he spoke quietly, all for the sake of the patient behind him. “…You always have quite the greeting prepared, don’t you?”

  “I want info. The blueprints for this electrode.”

  Accelerator was talking about the choker on his neck. It looked like an accessory, but it actually had an electrode fitted in the back that converted his brainwaves into other electric signals. Those signals gave him restricted access to a special electronic communication network called the Misaka network.

  The doctor was the very man who’d made the electrode. He kept his face steady and replied, “Why do you need them? If your choker is on the fritz, I can fix it for you.”

  “Just give me the blueprints.”

  “Last Order wanted to see you. If only you’d gotten here a little bit earlier…”

  “Can it. That has nothing to do with you.”

  “That isn’t true. She was my patient, and she wanted to see you. It’s my job to make it work out.”

  Accelerator quietly cursed. “…I know that. That’s why I waited until now, dumbass,” he spat, sounding truly bitter.

  The frog-faced doctor reached into his white coat pocket and took out what looked like a mechanical pencil’s central casing. It was, in fact, a USB drive. He moved his hand behind him.

  “You were prepared.”

  “As I said, it’s my job to prepare whatever my patients need,” said the doctor, looking at the vending machine, which was still churning. “But it’ll be hard to put what’s in there to use. I make everything I need myself, you know? If you wanted a second electrode, you’d have to start by manufacturing the machine tools.”

  “…”

  Accelerator took it, then quietly stepped away from the doctor’s back.

  The doctor turned around.

  There was no one there; not even a trace. He’d probably used his vector-changing ability to jump into the nearby stairwell.

  “…”

  The doctor stared silently at the empty space.

  An electronic beep went off at his side. The doctor removed his coffee from the vending machine and took a sip of the bitter liquid.

  2

  Mitsuki Unabara was in a room inside a certain District 7 building.

  It was the second of a multi-dwelling apartment complex called Family Side.

  The room was designed for a family to use; it was fairly spacious 4DLK, meaning four bedrooms and an open area that served as a living room, d
ining room, and kitchen. Judging by the furniture, though, only one person probably lived here. All it took was a quick look around the other empty rooms to figure that much out. Maybe it was the same for the rest of the apartments.

  He poked around as he talked with Tsuchimikado over his cell. “…Anyway, I’ve arrived at Management’s apartment. I’ll start searching now. As for things that he could have stored information in…There’s a computer, an HD recorder, and a few game consoles that probably have storage media in them.”

  “If there’s even the slightest possibility, grab it. We could potentially find bits of information stored inside rice cookers or washing machines if we took them apart to get their AI configuration memory cards out.”

  “It sounds like this will be a pain,” muttered Unabara. “I do still wonder what sort of jobs Management was helping with.”

  “I’m looking into that now,” answered Tsuchimikado wearily. “A new criminal organization just formed a day or two ago, thanks to him. He filled their gaps, provided the personnel they needed. And they paid good money for fighting strength to use right away. They’re sure to pull something very soon. It’s our job to figure out what—and to stop it before it happens.”

  “Will it be bad enough that Group needs to make an official outing?”

  “Look, just get to work. I want to complain about all this just as much as you, but these are the only jobs Group ever gets: piles of shit and nothing else.”

  “All right,” answered Unabara.

  He walked through the big apartment, sticking little tags on the computer, the HD recorder, and the rest. He didn’t plan on dragging everything, refrigerator and washing machine included, out by himself. For now, he was marking them so that their ancillary organization could carry them out later.

  Well, that about does it. Just as Unabara had finished his run-through, he noticed something odd:

  Bills.

  “…” There were several paper bills on a waist-high shelf.

  Nothing about that was unnatural, but they felt strangely isolated from any wallets. Unabara prodded about the room, finding a credit card and a passbook.

  The placement of objects in a room said a lot about a person’s daily routine. But by Unabara’s analysis, the way these bills were sitting on this shelf seemed abnormal. Putting them this far away from a wallet made it seem like the resident was making sure they wouldn’t get mixed up with any others.