The instant those trademark star-shaped patterns appeared in her pale gray eyes, Haramura Makoto halted his swinging fist.
"Let me guess—you told your driver to gun it, didn't you, Shokuhou?"
"I told you, there's no need to rush. I can handle these two by myself."
Withdrawing his attack, Makoto turned and looked behind him. The person he was addressing stood beside Flanda, smiling radiantly at him.
"No need to worry. With my powers, there's no way we'd have a car accident. Still, it does look like I was too anxious—Haramura-kun, you're definitely not as simple as you look."
Hands behind her back, Shokuhou Misaki walked toward him with cheerful, light steps.
Yes, the person he'd been in contact with the entire time was indeed Shokuhou Misaki.
Ever since Flanda turned traitorous, Makoto had sensed that when it came to Academy City's dark side, people like them could never access even the bare minimum of vital information.
After all, what they knew about the "truth" of Academy City was, at best, one layer deeper than the average student or local citizen.
The real powers above not only ignored them—they wouldn't even initiate contact.
Sometimes, it was necessary to use connections.
He had no macho pride about seeking help from a girl; it wasn't difficult at all. Fortunately, he'd recently met someone who could get reliable information: Shokuhou Misaki.
As an LV5, constantly brushing against the darkest corners of Academy City, and as a psychic espers at that, Shokuhou Misaki possessed a network of her own for dealing with those who operated in the shadows.
Sure enough, the moment Makoto called her, it took less than thirty seconds for Misaki to identify Flanda's organization:
Item.
A special dark side group, answering directly to the Academy City Board of Directors; one of the rare organizations in the city whose name was publicly known.
Its true notoriety, of course, came from its leader: Mugino Shizuri, Academy City's No. 4 Level 5, "Meltdowner."
Shokuhou knew exactly how powerful that dark side group was, which is why she couldn't relax. She provided Makoto with every detail she had and immediately ordered her driver to bring her to the scene.
And so, arriving just in time, she witnessed Makoto shattering nitriding armor with a single blow.
"Maybe it's like the Chinese saying," Makoto murmured, "when God closes a door, He opens a window somewhere else."
"My body was always odd compared to others—sometimes I wonder if Academy City's sensors ever made a mistake. Could my true ability really be LV1 'Spacial Distortion' and not Level 4 physical enhancement?"
He clenched his fist, a bittersweet smile crossing his lips.
Every year, he'd gone through the school's ability testing—always registering as LV1 Spacial Distortion, barely able to bend a pencil.
He'd only had bloodwork done as a kid, maybe once or twice. Maybe the city's higher-ups just didn't care enough about an LV1 to check thoroughly—allowing his growing physical power to go unnoticed.
Eventually, once he'd had enough money, he used underground channels to obtain comprehensive testing gear.
And he learned the truth: his muscle density was ten times the normal human maximum.
With muscles flexed, he could take a bullet head-on.
A normal sprinter hits 9.28 seconds per hundred meters.
With full human development, theoretical limits hover around 6 seconds.
His density? Ten times even that.
He could cross nearly a hundred meters in half a second on pure muscle power alone.
"But that's all beside the point now."
"More importantly, I have a plan I want you to join—interested?"
"That sounds awfully fun," Misaki replied.
…
Eleventh District, Academy City.
This was the city's eastern wall—normally a bustling transport hub, but here, a true wasteland.
Barely a convenience store or market could be found; businesses were almost nonexistent. Its poverty was second only to the notoriously chaotic Tenth District.
But within this near-slum, there was one enclave—a cluster of clean, well-maintained homes that looked out of place amid the decay.
Inside one stand-alone, three-story European-style villa, a sharp crash rang out—the sound of glass smashing.
A tall, slim, high school–aged girl with well-developed curves—her chest especially adding to her presence—stood near the mess, wearing a light purple dress, knee-high socks, and sleek white boots. Her long, soft brown hair and aristocratic features gave her the bearing of a true heiress.
But in that moment, all elegance was lost; she glared down with pride and violent impatience.
On the floor between them: a scatter of glass shards and a splash of red wine–like liquid.
"That idiot Flanda messed up again."
Opposite her, a plainly dressed but similarly well-built girl stared blankly at the scene.
"What's wrong?"
"That stupid Flanda volunteered to handle something, only to fail again."
Storming to the doorway, she pulled the door open.
"Takitsubo, get ready to track Junko's AIM diffusion field. Time to clean this up."
"I can't believe we're working for free again."