Sometimes, when the house was too quiet, my thoughts drifted back to Academy City. What would someone like myself, who only felt disdain for such a place, have to reminisce about? You may ask. It's quite simple actually.
I reminisce about the value I as a person had in such life. I'd hurt people back then. Not accidentally, nor indirectly. I told myself it was necessary, that the city only understood force, that fear was the only language that could interrupt its machinery. But looking back, if I had a chance to go back in time, would I change any decisions I made? Would I remorse over the people I stepped on to reach my goal? Either way, the bodies didn't disappear whether I remorse or not.
What hadn't changed was my goal. I remembered it with uncomfortable clarity.
Academy City's experiments were cruel in every way shape or form.. They were deliberate, methodical, optimized for cruelty under the excuse of progress. Children are reduced to data and lives measured in output and failure rates. I experienced such experiments as a child, so I personally knew how it felt. I wanted those experiments to end, so I went for the most logical solution.
Kill the number one esper, Accelerator. By killing Accelerator I would have all of Academy City's and Aleister's attention onto myself. Now that I think about it, even if I did become the number one esper, would that have even changed anything? I mean, could I have changed the city?
Accelerator had been a monster, but he was also a product. So was I. Two weapons pointed at each other while the people who forged us watched from behind reinforced glass. If I'd succeeded… would anything really have changed? The difference between us is that I couldn't save anyone and he could.
This whole line of thought is pointless, but thinking of how I died really made me irritated. My death meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. I died but nothing changed, but that's probably because my personal reality got hijacked so they think whoever's living as me is me. I'm guessing it's my punishment for everything I've done, but starting over hasn't been so bad I guess.
I stood up and left my room, the floorboards creaking softly beneath my feet as I made my way downstairs. The workshop door stood at the end of the hall. I guess you could call it my workshop now, considering I haven't seen grandpa in like forever. I pushed it open and stepped inside, the familiar scent of metal, dust, and old magecraft filling the air. Whatever value my first life had, or didn't have, this one wasn't going to end the same way.
I grabbed a dagger I've been working on and put it on the table in front of me. This dagger is a mystic code that I'm planning to work on. The mystic code I was building into it wasn't meant to be impressive, or lethal, or even particularly efficient. Its effect was simple: whatever the blade cut was forced to remain exactly as it was at the moment of contact. As long as the dagger was still inside your body, in any way shape or form, your wound wouldn't heal. Or at least I'd be a pain in the ass to heal. Some magi are probably way better than I am, and can work around this curse with ease, but after so many failures I want to create something successful for once.
After a moment of hesitation, I etched one last formula into the blade and layered a minor curse over the existing framework. It wasn't anything dramatic or grand, but it would leave the opponent with a minor distorted effect. A lingering misalignment that made subsequent actions feel off. Movements lost their natural rhythm, spells could misfired by fractions of a second, concentration frayed at the edges
I lifted the dagger and turned it slowly in the light, watching the runes sink beneath the metal as if they'd always belonged there. I let out a sigh of relief, for whatever reasons my grander rituals wouldn't work no matter how hard I tried. Maybe it was because I wasn't using the ley lines in the city. The thought came to me as I stared at the dagger, its surface finally still, no longer resisting my touch. Ley lines didn't just wander without reason. They pooled, they thinned, they bent toward something. And for months, they'd been gathering in one place, saturating the area with excess potential like water behind a dam. But from that dam, I've never taken a dip into it. Simply because I didn't want to cause any potential issues for my grandfather.
The place they were converging at was the Fujou building, but ever since the building has been destroyed, the ley lines have probably been converging somewhere else. I don't wanna be some mages pet project but at the same time, I'd like my experiments to actually work. Which meant there was only one realistic solution: control the environment, or at least know who did. Whoever held influence over them would have an easier time performing experiments and such. And in a place like this, Japan, a so-called backwater nation as far as the Clock Tower was concerned, oversight was laughable at best. The Association barely glanced this way unless something or someone failed at concealing their mystery.
I wasn't naïve enough to think that whoever had claimed the Fujou Building had been some amateur. If they'd managed to take control of converging ley lines for that long, they'd have been competent, deliberate, and very aware of what they were doing. Now they were gone, and the board had reset. Whoever moved next was fair game.
I let out a deep sigh before leaving the workshop and stepping outside. I didn't bother alerting any of the butlers, explaining myself would've taken longer than just leaving, and I quietly hoped I wouldn't startle one of them on my way out. I grabbed my electric scooter, and made my way out the door. The air outside felt different, cooler somehow, like the city was holding its breath. I wasn't going out looking for a fight. I just wanted to see where the ley lines were converging now.
Best case scenario, whoever had taken control was reasonable. Someone pragmatic. Someone willing to talk instead of defaulting to territorial posturing and mystic threats. I could work with that. I could negotiate with whoever it was. I didn't need ownership, just access, stability, a mutual understanding that I wasn't here to ruin their work if they didn't interfere with mine.
Worst case… well, I didn't finish that thought. The city had a habit of proving that "reasonable" was a rare trait among magi, especially those who believed power entitled them to isolation. Still, I followed the subtle pull in my circuits, letting the faint tension in the air guide my steps. If I was going to keep experimenting, if I was going to make this life mean something more than the last, then I needed answers. And if answers meant knocking on someone else's door, uninvited, then so be it.
I followed the subtle tug in my circuits, the faint hum of ley lines growing stronger with every step. The streets around me had that quiet hum of an off-hour city, cars parked, lights flickering in stores long closed, but the energy beneath it all was alive, thrumming with power I could feel in my bones. The trail led me here: Gara no Dō.
The place looked unremarkable from the outside. A squat building tucked between newer high-rises, walls stained with age, windows grimy enough to obscure whatever lay beyond. But the air around it was thick, heavy, practically vibrating with mana.
I stepped into the building, and walked up the stairs to where their room was located. It was on the fourth floor, I just had to knock on the door and wait outside her office.
I knocked on the door a few times, and after a few shuffling I heard a "come in" from the other side of the door. I opened the door and stepped in without any fanfare.
The fourth floor of Garan no Dō looked like a cramped office space that you'd see in a movie or anime. The main desk was stacked with papers and files and the room was filled with random junk you'd see at a pawn shop. The air was thick with the smell of dust, oil, and old paper. Standing near the door was a man that looked average in every way shape or form. There was absolutely nothing special about him whatsoever. He looks like someone you could pass on the street a hundred times and never remember. Average height, average build, dark hair neatly kept, clothes practical and unassuming. His posture was relaxed, almost gentle, like he'd wandered into this space by accident and simply never left.
He blinked when he noticed me fully, eyes widening just a fraction before settling into polite curiosity. There was no denying that I looked like a brat, so he probably thought I got lost or something. "Uh… hello," he said, voice mild, almost apologetic. "Can I help you?"
"I'm here to speak to the owner of the ley lines, the one who's been controlling them for the last few weeks." The man looked almost confused for a second before his face brightened up with understanding. "Oh you mean Aozaki, she's in her workshop right now, since you didn't set up an appointment, she probably won't be coming out for a while." "You might just want to set up an appointment, and come back later. Hours can pass without her noticing. Sometimes days." His eyes flicked back to me. "If you're here about… ley lines, then it's probably important. But barging in without making an appointment usually just makes her grumpier." "You can wait," he offered, stepping aside to clear the doorway. "Or I can let her know someone's here asking about… all that."
I weighed my options in silence, eyes drifting past him toward the deeper recesses of the building, where the mana thickened into something almost tangible. Whatever Touko Aozaki was doing in her workshop wasn't the kind of thing you interrupted lightly, and antagonizing the person who currently had access to what I wanted, wasn't a smart idea.
As much as I disliked delays, patience here wasn't weakness; it was strategy. Showing up unannounced to demand answers might satisfy my urgency, but it wouldn't get me cooperation. If anything, it would mark me as another nuisance mage with more ambition than sense. I let out a slow breath and nodded to myself. Scheduling an appointment was the smarter play. It gave me time to prepare, to present myself as a potential asset rather than a problem to be disposed of.
"I'd like to schedule an appointment with her," I said after a brief pause, keeping my tone even and deliberate. The man's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, as if he'd been bracing for a much worse answer. "Right. That's probably for the best," he said, offering a small, reassuring smile. He stepped toward the cluttered desk, rifling through a stack of papers until he found a battered notebook wedged beneath a pile of receipts and loose files.
He flipped a few pages, humming softly to himself. "Name?" he asked, pen hovering. I replied without a hitch, "Kakine Teitoku." He closed the notebook halfway, thumb holding the page. "And a way to contact you?" he asked. When I gave him my answer, he nodded again and finished jotting it down. "I'll pass this along to Aozaki," he said.
"Alright then," I said, shifting my weight back toward the door. "I guess I'll be out of your hair now-" As I turned, it struck me that the entire exchange had passed without me learning the name of the man. He blinked once, and then gave me a reassuring smile, "Kokutou Mikiya, my name is Kokutou Mikiya." He finished for me.
I nodded, committing it to memory. "Thanks, Kokutou." "Take care," he added, stepping aside fully now, clearing the way out.
As he stepped into the hallway, Kakine moved a fraction too quickly, and collided shoulder-first with someone coming the other way. The impact was light, barely more than a brush, but enough to halt them both. The woman steadied herself without a word. She had short, straight black hair cut neatly at her jawline, and her expression was calm to the point of severity. A deep red coat hung open over a blue kimono.
Kakine immediately stepped back and apologized to her. "My apologies," he said evenly. "That was careless of me." She studied him for a brief moment, before responding to him. "Be careful," she said. Before going off into the office he just left. Without lingering, he made his way down the hall and toward the stairs, the faint pressure of the building easing with every step.
Shiki sat on the sofa without ceremony, one arm draped over the backrest as she stared at nothing in particular. She was still half-asleep, but the building had a way of pulling her awareness online whether she wanted it or not.
"So who was that just now?" Mikiya adjusted his glasses. "Oh, he was a client. Looking for Miss Touko." Shiki blinked once. Then she looked toward the hallway again, expression flat. "That brat?" Mikiya hesitated. "Brat is a little harsh—" "He looked like a kid who wandered into the wrong building," she cut in.
Mikiya just sighed, undisturbed by Shiki's antics. While organizing the files in his hands.