Chapter 2: Masquerade Beginning

It turns out everything up to this point was just a dream.

I woke up.

The ceiling above me was unfamiliar—no, wait. It was familiar.

On the desk, no bandages, no medicine. In the closet, plain men’s clothes hung neatly.

On the floor, a game console lay next to the packaging of that series.

…It 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 recall—

They all seem so trivial now. So small.

So, I’ll just get out of bed.

Open the curtains. Wash my face. Get ready to go out.

Because it was just a dream.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

It’s okay to forget.

So, it’s fine to get out of bed.

The face staring back at me in the mirror is just an ordinary, unremarkable face—a face that belongs to a young man who doesn’t have to fight, who doesn’t have to bear the fate of the world, who doesn’t have to measure up to heroes or heroines.

Just a normal, everyday face.

So.

Even if I wake up—

It’s okay—

---

—And then, the alarm on the bedside table went off.

“…Ah…”

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 I’d just woken up, my heart was racing. The anxiety was overwhelming. My body’s autonomic system wasn’t 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.

—And 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 pill—only to realize there weren’t any left.

That’s when I remembered—yesterday, I’d used up my entire month’s supply. And it was only the 12th.

…Would 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 “main story” of the game wouldn’t start until next year, but… the protagonist should be starting school today, just like me.

The problem was, the protagonist’s 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 I’d 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 protagonist’s face was only ever shown from the nose down.

The manga was the only adaptation that depicted the protagonist’s full face, but they were just a generic black-haired, black-eyed (well, not necessarily black—it was in black and white) boy. There was no way to identify them. Plus, there was no guarantee this world followed the manga’s depiction.

As for the characters around the protagonist, most of them wouldn’t even interact with him until the second year—when 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: “For the purpose of infiltrating the high school, their identity has been disguised as that of an ordinary male student.” 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 admit—finding 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 “realistic school attire” before tipping into outright cosplay.

…It 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 mirror—imaginary sparkles included.

Then, in my best dramatic voice, I declared:

“—I am Arizuki Kirizami! Age 16 (though if you count my previous life, I’m almost in my forties)!

Starting today, I’m a blushing high school girl! At first glance, I’m just your average pink-haired, slender, gloomy-type beauty, but in reality, I’m a frontline agent for the global secret organization ‘The Army’!

And even more than that, I’m a reincarnated person from another world!

Right now, I’m 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! ★”

I held the pose for exactly three seconds.

Then, with dead eyes...

So cringe... I muttered.

This is impossible.

I’m the type of socially awkward person who can barely manage to speak if I push myself to the limit. (Note: I didn’t say I could hold a conversation.)

And yet—yesterday, the day before, the day before that… Wait, when was my last day off again?

Point is, it’s been nothing but missions, missions, missions. My mental energy is completely shot, and now I’m supposed to play the role of a bubbly high school girl on top of that? That’s just cruel. My psyche would crumble on the spot.

Besides, I’ve barely done anything remotely “girly” up until now.

I joined The Army back in elementary school—around the time of that incident—when gender differences didn’t even matter. After that, I lived mostly alone, separated from my family to avoid dragging them into things. So when it comes to what’s “normal” for girls… I’ve 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, I’d probably get ostracized within seconds. Or worse—become the target of some nasty bullying.

And even if that didn’t happen, I’d definitely be envied. Because I’m a beautiful girl.
Because I’m a beautiful girl.

…Anyway. The protagonist won’t show up until next year, so I’ll 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.

I’ll 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.

“…………”

…But still. Somewhere, deep down, a tiny part of me hoped.

That maybe, something might change.

It didn’t.

Nothing special happened at all.

---

—The 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 hadn’t had a single conversation with my classmates that lasted more than ten seconds.

It’s fine. There’s no way I’d be able to connect with them anyway—my 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 can’t keep up with girls’ topics. And friendships between guys and girls don’t really work.

It’s not about the number of friends. It’s about quality.

And anyway, I’m busy with missions—

Aaaaah! Why am I suddenly remembering that list I wrote in this life, “Things I Want to Do in My Second School Life This Time for Sure!”?

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

I don’t need friends.

I don’t want a cute girlfriend.

I don’t aspire to be one of those popular kids.

I don’t want to start a band at the school festival.

I’m not dreaming of some sparkling youth.

I’m not thinking about wanting a do-over—

“Haaah, haaah, huff…!”

“(Is she okay…?)”

“(Should we call a teacher…?)”

“(What’s wrong with her…?)”

Gasping for breath, I scribbled furiously on a loose-leaf sheet—not class notes, but—

“Remember… there was that prologue description… judging from the interactions in Chapter 1… why didn’t I read the glossary properly… online theories… the official visuals show his height and build… no, the proportions are clearly different across media…”

Sure, I said identifying the protagonist was impossible.

But… I still can’t give up.

Because somewhere in this school, in this grade, among these hundreds of male students—

He might be right there. Waiting to be found.

Even though I know it’s pointless, the anxiety keeps building.

I can’t stay still unless I’m doing something.

The thought of enduring this for another year—of wasting time, of being powerless—

Is too much.

Even though there’s no guarantee that Misora-sama will still be alive tomorrow.

Even though I don’t even have the confidence to survive today.

I scratched away at the protagonist’s character design with my mechanical pencil.

Is this right?

It should be.

My memory’s so fuzzy that I don’t even remember how many versions I’ve drawn already, but this one—this 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 could’ve enhanced it if I’d tried. But unfortunately, I’m a VIT (defense) build. My effort points likely didn’t go into INT (intelligence) at all.

Though, since I can’t see my stats in real life, I can’t be sure.

I’ve been taking memory-enhancing stimulants—the ones that drop from a certain stage no one else knows about yet—but 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 item—used to treat a boy with early-onset dementia. Kanade Mifune, age 13. He only had a few months left to live.

But his condition wasn’t natural. It was memory manipulation, disguised as an illness—orchestrated by the villains of The Corporation.

If you completed the quest, you’d get a charm—his father’s 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 I’m fine.

But still—

"Ah, Shiroa—I 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 must’ve folded it weirdly, because the paper got a little wrinkled—but it’s not like this scribbled mess means anything anyway.

The protagonist won’t even adopt this equipment style until the “main story” starts in the second year…

Even if I plastered these drawings everywhere, the protagonist would probably just assume it’s some original character and ignore it.

The classroom was empty now.

I stepped into the hallway, opened my locker to grab my gym clothes, and—

"Ah."

…I forgot my gym clothes.

I have my gym uniform.

But it’s short-sleeved.

This means my arms will be visible.

Well, more accurately—the bandages wrapped around my arms will be visible.

If that happens, people will assume I’m self-harming.

And then I’ll get called to the guidance counselor’s office.

…Well.

I mean, I am self-harming.

But still.

"Ugh…"

What should I do?

If I skip, I won’t get credit for the class.

And because of my missions with "The Army," I’m already planning to miss as much school as possible.

I can’t 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 class…

I can’t rely on secret organization power to fix it like I did back then.

Ugh.

I’ll probably have to rearrange my schedule later. Cut into my sleep time.

What a pain.

I’m so tired. I’m sleepy. I’m depressed.

As a last-ditch effort, I try using the Materializer—a device we agents of The Army and The Corporation use to materialize objects—to create a gym uniform.

The replication rate? 0.1%.

If it materializes for even a second, it’d be a miracle.

It’s hopeless.

This is exhausting.

Why does forgetting one stupid gym uniform have to make me feel like this?

All the fatigue I’ve been holding back suddenly weighs down on my shoulders.

I feel like I’m about to collapse.

I don’t want to get upset over something so trivial.

But I feel like crying.

No—actually.

It’s because it’s such a trivial, everyday failure that it’s worse.

If this happened during a life-or-death mission, I wouldn’t have time to feel sorry for myself.

But right now…

Right now, I have the luxury to wallow.

The luxury to feel miserable.

“Ugh, sniff, uhh…”

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.

I’m not sure how long I sit there.

It feels like a long time.

But it’s probably only a few dozen seconds.

“—, ——. ——”

“——”

Before I realize it, someone is standing next to me, talking.

Wait.

I think I just responded unconsciously.

I don’t think I said anything weird… but I don’t have the energy to check.

I don’t 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 rather—he half-forces me to take it and tries to pull me up.

Ugh.

This is sexual harassment… even if I am a beautiful girl…

“Hey. Come on… Arizuki, it’s just a gym uniform, don’t—”

“—Ah.”

In the process, my sleeve rolls up.

The white bandages peek through.

I see him flinch for a moment.

His eyes flick away, awkward.

Then—

“…Uh, well… ugh, fine.”

Without another word, he pulls a gym uniform out of his bag and shoves it at me.

It smells new—like it hasn’t even been worn since the start of school.

A faint trace of fabric softener lingers on the cloth.

“Huh?”

“So… uh, yeah. I was planning to skip P.E. today anyway.”

Then.

With that, he walked off somewhere.

…Oh.

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.

“Th-thank y—”

“What?”

I stumbled over my words.

“Ah… I’ll wash it and return it.”

“Oh, sure. Thanks.”

Somehow, I ended up speaking formally.

He turned around, looking slightly confused, and gave a small nod.

That’s 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 pale—not sickly, but off.

His features weren’t bad-looking, but his pallor made him stand out just enough to be memorable.

Not completely devoid of personality.

But definitely an ordinary guy.

…Wait. Who is he?

I don’t think he’s in my class.

Maybe from the class next door?

We’re doing fitness tests in P.E. today—it’s a combined class.

Anyway, I can’t 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 didn’t have time to check.

The bell’s about to ring.

It’s not like there’s anything important in there anyway.

Just as I started to run—

A voice.

Quiet. Almost whispered.

“—Do you still like this kind of thing?”

“Huh?”

I froze.

But before I could turn around—

The bell rang.

I didn’t have time to think.

I hurriedly dashed toward the gym.

I’ll return the gym uniform later anyway.

I didn’t catch his name, but—

I glanced down at the name tag stitched onto the chest.

“Moribe… Moribe?”

A name I don’t recognize.

---

As for me, Toki Kizami—I’ve 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 would’ve been eliminated long ago. Even I think so. If I were in their shoes, I wouldn’t have hesitated to get rid of a guy like me.

Just to be clear, the Military isn’t some ruthless dictatorship that executes its subordinates on a whim.
It’s the opposite. At its core, it exists to maintain order—to protect people and uphold peace.

And precisely because of that, it shows no mercy to those who threaten that peace.
At least, that’s how it should be.

Yet here I am. Still alive.

That’s partly thanks to the commander’s intervention and leniency.
But the real reason? I’m 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 conditions—often 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 control—like that girl, "Electrocution," who fried herself like a hunted dog.
Others degrade into something completely useless—like 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, I’ll always regret restricting my power’s scope to just myself.

Still—being valuable doesn’t make me indispensable.

You don’t need an Ace or a Joker to win at cards.

If I don’t prove my loyalty, if I don’t keep proving my worth, I’ll be discarded eventually.
Even if I’m not killed, I’ll never rise in rank.
I’ll never get permission to use the panacea.

So—

“Shoot! Just shoot! Don’t let that monster get any closer!”
“Don’t be fooled by its appearance—it’s not human! It’s a supernatural entity!”
“Damn the Military… damn those wreckers! Why can’t they see the value of this research!? That thing is vital to the Corporation! You can’t just shut it down with your shortsighted thinking!”

Amid a hail of bullets, I fought the Corporation’s 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 Corporation—scientific 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.

“Tch…”

A large-caliber bullet struck my exposed skin.

But it wasn’t a big deal. A purely physical bullet, lacking proper armor-piercing enhancements, couldn’t penetrate my defenses once I entered combat mode.

The Corporation feared the occult. Their research avoided enchantments, making their anti-supernatural technology underdeveloped.

This wasn’t even worth counting as damage.

“Reproduction rate 30%—Utility Knife Manifestation.”

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.

“……”

Even though I failed. Even though I couldn’t do it like Lady Misora…

By hesitating, by choosing to spare lives for my own self-satisfaction—
I was only ensuring that more people would die in the end.

The utility knives flew—

—And clattered to the ground.

“Huh?”

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 cuts—not 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 weren’t going to work.

But I had a problem—at 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 wasn’t so kind. Materialization required a deep understanding of the target—its composition, function, and structure.

Flamethrowers. Electric cannons. Optical guns.

Energy-based attacks could bypass physical resistance.

But I wasn’t suited for them. My aptitude was limited to blades.

“Tch…”

I switched tactics.

A utility knife the size of a longsword materialized in my grip.

I lunged forward.

Steel met flesh.

“Gah—!”

Finally—damage.

So their resistance wasn’t 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.

But—

“This is bad… Hurry, hurry…!”
“How much time do we have left!?”

They were panicking.

Which meant one of two things—

Was I stalling them into a disadvantage?
Or was I running out of time for something much worse?

I made a decision.

“Damage Bullet—Slash Strike, Shoot!”

A crimson wave of energy ripped through the air.

Bandages tore apart.

Beneath them—skin, unscathed.

One employee’s firearm was sliced clean in half. Another’s armor split open, blood scattering.

This attack couldn’t be mitigated by resistance. The only way they’d survive was with raw endurance.

I had adjusted the power. Unlike the knives, there were no random damage fluctuations or critical hits—it 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, I’d have only two options—rely 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.

Then—the 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 couldn’t slam him into the rubble-covered ground—it would cause too much damage. Instead, I forced him against the wall, my grip tightening around his collar.

“Guh, ghh…!”

His arms clawed at mine, legs kicking out wildly. Futile.

To an outsider, the sight would’ve been surreal—a 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.

“W-wait… please, wait…”

I didn’t reply.

“That thing… without it… the development… environment… the treatments… they’ll—”

“……”

The Military isn’t an evil organization.

But the Corporation isn’t 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.

It’s not about good or evil—it’s a difference in philosophy.

I knew that.

In the grand scheme of this world, the Military, the Corporation, and other factions would eventually unite—brought together by the protagonist to face a greater enemy. The final boss.

So these people… they weren’t just villains.

I knew that.
I knew it.
I knew it too well.

But even so—

Even I have people I need to atone to.

“—Gahhh!”

A sudden impact—

I was thrown off.

Was I distracted?

No—that wasn’t it.

My opponent was just skilled.

I thought he was flailing aimlessly, but when I looked closer—he had kicked the rubble beneath me, throwing off my balance.

A handgun flashed from his jacket.

This is bad.

A standard bullet wouldn’t harm me. But if he landed a critical hit…

Even with my defenses, there was a small chance I’d be stunned. And if the random factors played against me—

I could be cornered. I could be killed.

I moved to disrupt his shot—

“……”

Something fell.

A small object slipped from his jacket, tumbling to the ground alongside the gun—

A charm.

The man’s 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 then—

His eyes drifted down.

Not at me. At the charm.

I moved to knock him out, but—

“...Kanade…”

My hand froze mid-swing.

“Wait—Kanade Mifune?”

“Huh!?”

The man’s head snapped up.

“…Thirteen years old… no, twelve at this point. Juvenile dementia with behavioral disturbances… She shouldn’t have more than two years left.”

His eyes widened.

“What the—how do you know—!?”

“…Her father, a Corporation employee, died…”

I exhaled, tossing the utility knife aside.

Slowly, I knelt before the fallen man—Mr. Mifune.

“There’s a treatment.”

“What…?”

“At the abandoned hospital on the outskirts of town.”

His breath hitched.

“In the basement, there’s a neural stimulant developed by the Society. The facility was abandoned, but the research was completed. The equipment still works… it’s dangerous, but it could treat her.”

The words came out in pieces.

If I thought it through more, I’d find a better solution.

This wasn’t ideal. It was half-baked.

But… for someone like me—someone who wasn’t even supposed to be in this story—

It was all I could do.

I clenched my fists.

“P-please… I’m begging you.”

I placed both hands on the ground, bowing my head.

“Surrender. I’ll make sure Kanade gets the treatment. I’ll do whatever I can to ensure you’re treated fairly by the higher-ups.

So, please…”

I can’t let the Military’s reputation fall any further.

And more than that—

I have people I need to save, too.
“……”

The clash was over before it even began.

A massive rod—nearly a meter long—materialized out of thin air, deflecting my utility knives with absurd ease.

What…?

I didn’t even get a chance to react.

The knives I had launched with killing intent—sharp enough to slice through reinforced armor—suspended 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 wasn’t even a dent in the floating rod.

“Wha—?”

“Now, now.”

The man in the lab coat smiled, his expression twisting into something inhuman.

“Do you really think you’re the only one with access to a Materializer?”

My blood ran cold.

He wasn’t just some weak, non-combat researcher.

He was like me.

No—his Materializer was leagues ahead of mine.

He didn’t need to throw weapons. He didn’t need bandages, durability limits, or cooldown times.

That rod he summoned—

It wasn’t just a weapon.

It was an absolute defense.

“Oh dear.” He sighed mockingly, stepping forward. “How troublesome. You really thought you had a chance against me? Against a Prototype?”

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 tilted—

And my own knives turned against me.

“—!?”

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, but—

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 wasn’t just at a disadvantage.

I was completely outclassed.

“Wha…?!”

My Materializer wasn’t responding.

Had he taken control? No. That wasn’t it. The rod he had just materialized—it was different. A long, rectangular object painted red and black.

This was—

“Reproduction rate 315%—Neodymium Magnet Manifestation.”

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.

“Gah…!”

Blood sprayed from my mouth as I was sent hurtling through the air.

The speed was unreal. A normal Materializer couldn’t achieve that kind of velocity. He was using magnetic repulsion—accelerating 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.

“…Tough. I was aiming to pierce you with that.” His voice was calm, calculating. “So, you’re an ability user, huh?”

Then it hit me.

The mastermind behind that quest. The boss enemy with the codename—

A Materializer who wielded magnets.

“Dead Coil… the Magnetic Flux Coupling…!”

He smirked. “Oh? You know me? I didn’t think I’d made much of an appearance on the front lines.”

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 couldn’t 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 him…

The game’s 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 off—if I could knock him out in that window—

…Wait.

In the game, weapon-based attacks were completely nullified.

But this wasn’t the game. This was real.

Maybe—

“Reproduction rate 100%! Utility Knife Manifestation—Austenitic Stainless Steel!”

Gripping the massive blade in both hands, I launched off the floating knife beneath me.

A straight dive toward the man in the lab coat—

Dead Coil, the Magnetic Flux Coupling.

Several bar magnets hurtled toward me, slicing through the air. They grazed my body, but they didn’t react to the utility knife in my hands—no repulsion, no attraction.

I charged straight at him.

This could work. Austenitic stainless steel isn’t magnetic, unlike iron or regular steel.

In the game, all metal weapons were nullified. But this… this might—

"Do you not even know about the Lorentz force? Trash."

The world blurred.

The knife was ripped from my grip.

A bar magnet—several meters long—came crashing down from above.

I had no time to react.

BOOM.

Pain exploded through my body. My bones cracked.

"Ugh… gah… ah…!"

I gasped, choking on air.

"The magnets I materialize can freely adjust their magnetic force," Dead Coil said casually. "Even a child knows about Fleming’s left-hand rule. Even if it's non-magnetic, as long as it’s a conductor—ah, never mind. Explaining this to a barbarian is a waste of time."

I screwed up.

The game’s depiction was more accurate after all.

Pinned to the ground, I forced my trembling hand upward.

"Damage Bullet…!"

The crimson shockwave—formed from my own accumulated damage—blasted toward him.

But—

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.

"Guh…!"

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 dress—already weaker than my own body—was shredded.

I tried to gather my energy—to expel the damage—but the relentless blows kept disrupting my focus. I couldn’t find an opening.

"This is taking too long—just 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.

There’s no way I can withstand this—

The world tilted.

My vision swayed. My thoughts dulled.

But my consciousness remained razor-sharp.

My vision should still be working, but I couldn’t 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.

That’s why—everyone, they say—you should speak to the dying. Comfort them. Say something, anything. The doctors said that, didn’t they?

Everyone.

Yes, that’s right. In my past life, I actually had quite a few acquaintances.

Not as many as in this life, but still… I wasn’t completely alone. I wasn’t 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 didn’t 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.

…At 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 can’t 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.

"You’ll get better soon."
I heard the doctor say I’d die before the end of the day.

"Let’s hang out again."
You always looked annoyed when I showed up.

"I’ll come visit you as much as I can."
I saw the relief in your eyes when you realized you wouldn’t have to.

Ah, but maybe… maybe I’m being too harsh. Maybe they were just caught up in the atmosphere. Maybe they didn’t 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 someone—anyone—who truly cared.

I wanted something real.

Even if it was contradictory. Even if it didn’t make sense.
Something impossible, like a story.
Something fake, but real.

"…No… I…"

That’s why.

"…I can’t die…"

That’s exactly why.

"I can’t die…! I can’t die, I can’t die, I can’t die, I can’t die, I can’t die—"

"I don’t want to die!!"

A violent tremor ran through my body. My struggling arms crushed the ground beneath me, fingers clawing at the surface.

I don’t want this.

I don’t want to die.

I want to do things right.
I want to atone to Lady Misora.
I don’t want to make those feelings a lie.

I don’t 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 manifest—turning 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 Coil—Magnetic Flux Coupling—faltered.

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 didn’t matter.

I had to.

I poured everything I had into breaking free—

And then—

"——"

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 faintly—a soft sky-blue light. The hilt caught the glow, reflecting a metallic sheen.

A sword.

A softly glowing sword of light.

"Wha—"

—This can’t be.

Him.

He wasn’t supposed to appear yet. Not now. Not this year.

At this point in the timeline, he had no reason to be here. He wasn’t supposed to save someone like me—someone who wasn’t a main character, an acquaintance, or even a heroine.

"Who are you…?" Dead Coil—the Magnetic Flux Coupling—spoke, his voice sharp, assessing. "Reinforcements from the Military? If not, stop right there. Don’t interfere—"

His tone was casual, almost bored. But the murderous intent behind it was real. It coiled in the air, thick and undeniable.

"—I’ll kill you."

A normal person would freeze. A sane person would step back.

Instead—

"——"

A step forward.

Then, a run.

“…I warned you, barbarian.”

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 recklessly—deliberately. Testing. Calculating.

Then—his sword rose. A charge. A strike.

"No… the magnetism…!"

This was bad. That sword—undoubtedly a weapon attribute. Meaning it had metal components. Meaning Dead Coil could nullify it.

"Fool." Dead Coil sneered. "To me, it’s 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 weapon—gah?!"

—It hit.

Dead Coil’s head snapped back as the hilt struck him square in the face. He staggered, his whole body recoiling.

No blood. The blade hadn’t cut—it had struck with the blunt side. But that wasn’t the point.

It worked.

“What the—why didn’t it—?”

Before Dead Coil could recover, the black-coated man closed the distance.

And drove his fist into Dead Coil’s solar plexus.

A pained grunt escaped his lips.

One punch.
Then another.
Then another.

The strikes weren’t refined—they weren’t smooth, trained martial arts. They were raw, brutal, street-fighting blows. A brawler’s technique.

Dead Coil flailed, trying to activate his magnetism—his ultimate weapon.

Nothing happened.

Despite the metal protectors on the man’s 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.

"—Now!"

“Huh? Ah, right!”

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 pistol—

"Damage Bullet—Impact Shoot!!"

A crimson shockwave erupted from my fingertips.

Dead Coil’s 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 state—neutralized.

Without hesitation, I materialized restraints and bound him.

These restraints weren’t suited for combat. Their reproduction rate was too low to be useful as weapons. But for holding down one enemy? More than enough.

“Right, Mr. Mifune—”

—Wait. No.

He was fine.

A quick glance confirmed it: someone had already administered emergency treatment while he was unconscious.

Leaving him like this wasn’t ideal, but he wasn’t in immediate danger. Judging by the fact that it was standard first aid, it seemed the man in black didn’t 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 didn’t care.

Because—

Ah.

Finally.

Finally.

He finally came.

Heart pounding, I turned toward him—the protagonist—with a smile brighter than any I’d ever worn in this world.

"Um, thank you so much! Please, let me thank you properly—"

I blinked.

He was gone.

—Huh?

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 light—no, a cheap prop—dragged 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 bad…! No, I mean—"

—I 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.

He’d gotten too excited after finally finishing the cosplay outfit he’d 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 then—like a complete idiot—he actually went outside.

"But I’m never doing this again…! No, I’m 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 sword—the same one he’d bought on a middle school field trip—and 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.

He’d been in fights before, sure. But he’d never hit someone that hard.

“Seriously, what the hell…? How was someone that skinny so tough…?”

If he ever found himself in a situation like that again, he’d need better prep. Maybe gloves with metal plates, or—

“(No, I said I’m not doing this again…!)”

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.

“…But over there…”

Inside the frame was a photo of his younger self. And beside him—

“He’s probably going to keep at it, huh… that Toki Kizami guy.”

—A pink-haired girl, flashing a mischievous, tomboyish grin.