Chapter 6 : The Branch That Chooses Misfits
Tamakoma Branch looked nothing like Border Headquarters.
The main building was a skyscraper — glass and steel and institutional authority, the kind of structure that announced its importance through sheer mass. Tamakoma was a three-story building that might have been a large family home, tucked away in a residential district where most people didn't realize Border even operated.
Different philosophies. Different approaches. Different people.
"Megane-kun!"
Jin Yūichi appeared at the door before I reached it, rice cracker between his teeth and that infuriating smile already in place. His hair was artfully messy, his posture deliberately casual, his entire presentation designed to make people underestimate him.
I didn't make that mistake. Couldn't afford to.
"Jin-san." I bowed appropriately. "Thank you for the invitation."
"Invitation." He laughed. "You make it sound so formal. Rindō-san just wants to meet the C-Rank who took out five Trion Soldiers on empty reserves. Very impressive, by the way."
"Lucky positioning."
"Mm." Jin's smile didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes — the flicker of someone seeing things others couldn't. "Lucky is one word for it."
Future Vision. He was scanning me right now, watching probability branches spread from this moment into possible futures. I couldn't see what he saw, but I knew what his ability did: near-future precognition for anyone he'd met, showing paths of likely events branching forward in time.
The question was whether my presence created branches he recognized or branches that confused him.
"Come in," Jin said, stepping aside. "Yūma's already here. Says you're interesting."
The interior of Tamakoma was warm in ways Border HQ wasn't. Comfortable furniture. Personal decorations. The smell of someone's lunch reheating in a nearby kitchen. It felt like a home that happened to contain military assets rather than a military facility pretending to have human touches.
Rindō Takumi waited in what might have been a living room, his weathered face set in an expression of professional assessment. Branch Chief of Tamakoma, former elite agent, one of the few people in Border who'd earned both respect and autonomy.
"Mikumo Osamu." His voice was gruff but not unkind. "Sit."
I sat. Yūma was already there, folded into an armchair with the boneless grace of someone who could explode into motion at any moment. Replica's lens glowed faintly from his collar — recording, always recording.
"Your combat record is notable," Rindō said. "Not your scores — those are terrible. But your recent performance suggests capacity your numbers don't reflect."
"I've been training harder recently. Studying tactical footage. Trying to compensate for my limitations."
"Compensate." Rindō's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's an interesting word choice. Most trainees with your scores would be trying to raise them."
"My trion capacity is genetic. It's not going to increase significantly no matter how hard I train." I met his gaze directly. "But efficiency can improve. Positioning can improve. Tactical awareness can improve. Those are the variables I can actually control."
Silence. Rindō and Jin exchanged a look I couldn't fully interpret — surprise? Approval? Suspicion? Maybe all three.
"Tamakoma operates differently from HQ," Rindō continued. "We recruit people who don't fit the standard molds. Neighbors, anomalies, agents with methods the brass finds uncomfortable. Flexibility over conformity. Results over politics."
"I've read about your branch philosophy." True — Memory Architecture contained every public document about Tamakoma's history.
"Reading about it and living it are different things." Rindō leaned forward. "We're offering you a position. Not because of your scores, but because Jin thinks you're worth watching and Yūma says you're not boring. That's higher praise than it sounds."
"Yūma doesn't like boring people," Jin added cheerfully. "It's practically a character trait."
Yūma didn't respond, but something that might have been amusement flickered across his flat expression.
I took a breath. This was the moment — the pivot point where canon Osamu had accepted Tamakoma's offer with desperate gratitude. I had to hit similar notes while maintaining my more controlled persona.
"I'd be honored." I let genuine relief color my voice. "Main branch hasn't been... welcoming. My scores make people assume I'm a waste of resources."
"Their loss," Rindō said. "Welcome to Tamakoma. Jin will handle your transfer paperwork. Medical intake tomorrow, equipment assessment by end of week. Questions?"
"None that can't wait."
"Good." Rindō stood. "Jin, show him around. Yūma, you're dismissed."
Yūma unfolded from the chair and drifted toward the kitchen. "There's food," he said over his shoulder. "Usami makes good onigiri."
That was apparently his version of a welcome.
The tour took twenty minutes. Training facilities smaller than HQ but more personalized. Communications room staffed by Usami Shiori, who greeted me with the genuine warmth of someone who saw every new recruit as a friend waiting to happen.
"Captain Mikumo!" She handed me a cup of tea without asking if I wanted one. "That's so exciting. We don't get many new people. Are you a Shooter? Attacker? Your build says Attacker but—"
"All-Rounder aspirations, but my trion makes that difficult."
"All-Rounders are cool! Karasuma-san is one. You should spar with him sometime." She paused, processing. "Well, maybe not immediately. Your reserves need recovery time after the incursion. But eventually!"
Her enthusiasm was exhausting and comforting in equal measure. After weeks of dismissive instructors and skeptical peers, someone treating me like a person rather than a statistic felt almost foreign.
"Thank you, Usami-san. I'll keep that in mind."
Jin waited by the exit, rice cracker supply apparently inexhaustible. "Walk you out?"
It wasn't really a question.
We left through Tamakoma's front entrance, stepping into the quiet residential street. Late afternoon light painted everything in gold and shadow. A peaceful scene that did nothing to calm the warning signals firing in my brain.
"The paths you walk are interesting," Jin said. His tone stayed casual, but the words landed with precision. "Most people your age have predictable futures. School, career, relationships. Standard branches, standard outcomes."
My pulse spiked. I kept walking, kept my expression neutral.
"Yours branch in ways I don't usually see." He glanced at me sideways, smile still in place. "Lots of decision points. Lots of possibilities that shouldn't be possible."
"I haven't decided what I want yet." True. I hadn't decided because I was still learning the shape of this world, the limits of my abilities, the margins within which I could operate without destroying the timeline I needed.
"That must be it." Jin's smile didn't change, but something in his voice suggested he didn't believe me. Or rather, that he believed the surface truth while sensing the deeper lie.
Future Vision showed him branches, not reasons. He could see that my future was unusual without knowing why.
"Jin-san." I stopped walking. Met his eyes. "Should I be worried?"
His smile finally flickered — not disappearing, but shifting into something more genuine. "Worried? No. You're going to help people, Megane-kun. The paths all agree on that much. I just find it interesting how many ways you might do it."
He patted my shoulder and headed back toward Tamakoma's entrance. "See you tomorrow. Medical intake at nine. Don't be late."
I watched him go, that easy confidence never faltering. Jin Yūichi: elite agent, precognitive, one of the most dangerous people in Border by virtue of knowing what would happen before it did.
And he'd just told me my future was anomalous.
The walk home took longer than necessary. I needed time to think, to process, to run scenarios through Memory Architecture's perfect recall.
Jin had noticed something wrong. Not what I was — Future Vision didn't work like that — but that my potential futures didn't match a normal fifteen-year-old's decision trees. He'd flagged me as interesting, which meant he'd keep watching.
The question was whether "interesting" meant "useful" or "dangerous."
In the anime, Jin had manipulated events for years, steering people toward outcomes his Side Effect showed him were optimal. He'd sacrificed position, reputation, even relationships to achieve goals no one else could see.
If he decided I was a threat to his visions, he wouldn't confront me directly. He'd just... adjust circumstances. Guide events. Make sure the problematic variable was removed through apparently natural causes.
I couldn't let that happen.
But I also couldn't fight him. Couldn't expose him. Couldn't even avoid him, now that I was officially part of his branch.
The only path forward was to be useful. To help in ways his Future Vision validated. To align my goals with his often enough that he classified me as an asset rather than a liability.
Thirty-eight days until the invasion. Jin had spent years preparing for that event. His entire career at Border was positioning for the moment when Aftokrator's forces came through.
If my actions supported his preparations, he'd tolerate my anomalies.
If they threatened his timeline...
I didn't want to think about what a precognitive could do to someone who got in his way.
Osamu's apartment was dark when I arrived. I didn't turn on the lights immediately — just stood in the entrance, letting my eyes adjust, letting Spatial Cognition extend in brief pulses to confirm I was alone.
I was. The apartment was exactly as I'd left it.
But the weight of the day pressed down: Tamakoma's acceptance, Rindō's assessment, Jin's veiled warning. I'd gained allies and attracted attention in equal measure.
Memory Architecture filed every detail. Combat Evolution processed the social dynamics, looking for patterns in human behavior the way it analyzed enemy combat forms. Spatial Cognition rested, exhausted from the morning's battle and the stress of performing under Jin's observation.
Three abilities active. Three still dormant. Thirty-eight days until the invasion that would determine whether this world survived.
I turned on the light and made dinner — instant noodles, the comfort food of exhausted people everywhere. Osamu's apartment didn't have much variety, but it had enough.
The tea Usami had given me was still warm in my pocket. I pulled it out and drank, remembering her smile, her enthusiasm, the genuine kindness of someone who saw value in people others dismissed.
Tamakoma was going to matter. These people were going to matter. Not just as characters I'd watched on a screen, but as colleagues, allies, maybe friends.
I couldn't afford to forget that.
The noodles were mediocre. The tea was perfect. I ate in silence, planning tomorrow, running scenarios, watching the future branch into possibilities even Jin's Side Effect might not predict.
He'd said my paths were interesting.
I intended to make them impossible to ignore.
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