The bright moon hung high.
The wind had picked up.
The pitch-black sky was like an enormous dark curtain, its profound chill undiminished even by the gaudy lights and bustle of the city. The atmosphere felt eerily still.
Despite this being the densely populated District 7, the streets were deserted. Only the man's steady and powerful footsteps echoed, so clearly it was as though thunder itself had split the silence apart.
At the hotel courtyard entrance, the tall metal revolving gate bore two soaring eagles, majestic as wrathful lions, their iconic golden enamel gleaming brilliantly.
Atop the steps, Selene stood with her eyes closed and hands behind her back, letting the night wind toy with her hair. A faint blush tinged her cheeks—the lingering warmth of alcohol, which the man could detect.
But right now, he had no mind to concern himself with Selene's indifference and casual air.
"Who's there!"
Blue-white arcs of lightning crackled around Misaka Mikoto.
She stared intently at the man in front of her, dressed in a blue-toned golf shirt-like outfit.
His burly frame stood upright, his hard features devoid of expression. If not for the electric sharpness in his eyes beneath his brown sword-shaped brows, he could've been mistaken for a lifelike statue sculpted by a great master of ancient Greece.
There was no doubt—he came with hostile intent. That bone-chilling aura told Misaka Mikoto everything she needed to know.
"Selene, I've come as promised."
The man's tone was utterly flat. His gaze didn't rest on Misaka Mikoto for even a fraction of a second. In his tea-colored eyes, there was only the white-haired beauty in the asymmetrical black evening gown.
Drip—
A faint sound of liquid.
It wasn't from the fountain in the hotel courtyard.
Selene held a bottle of red wine inscribed with unknown text and the emblem of a double-headed eagle in one hand, and in the other, a crystal goblet adorned with gems. The dripping came from the wine being poured.
Good grief, Misaka Mikoto's eyes widened in disbelief. Seriously? With that stash of fine wine and gem-studded goblets—just how long have you been sneaking drinks? Confess!
Selene: It's not like I bought them. Just offerings from the subordinates.
"A guest is a guest. Please, have a drink."
With a wave of her hand, the wine-filled goblet shot out like an arrow and stopped mere five centimeters before Acqua of the Back's nose. The force lifted his tea-brown bangs, and the gust rolled down the entire street, kicking up dust that only settled after several dozen meters.
"Where is she?"
Without touching the goblet, William Orwell spoke flatly. His voice was deep and resonant, like percussion ringing with hints of clashing steel.
Selene smiled slightly, with no pretense.
"Abandon your so-called Roman Catholic faith and surrender the God's Right Seat 'Power of God' angelic spell. Then you will be allowed to see her. Your charge of treason will be pardoned, and I will ensure you and your ill-fated lover come to no harm. This has already received the British Royal Family's approval."
"Sir William Orwell, unknighted 'traitor'—what say you?"
Though the Second Princess Carissa had yet to ascend the throne, and Queen Elizard had not formally betrothed the Third Princess Villian to William Orwell, much less issued a pardon, that didn't stop Selene from bluffing with royal authority.
A little "act first, settle later"—not a big deal.
"Is Villian safe?"
"Naturally. As of now, she is perfectly healthy, safe and sound, well-fed and well cared for."
"Then I have no objections."
Apparently relieved that the target was himself alone, William Orwell showed no hesitation. He grasped the goblet and downed it in one gulp.
"Oh? That straightforward?"
Watching him finish the wine and even tilt the glass to show the bottom, Selene looked genuinely intrigued.
"I believe Her Excellency Selene wouldn't stoop to underhanded tricks."
Even if the Roman Catholic Church's intelligence network was worthless, it wasn't hard to draft a personality profile on Selene. Among its contents, one point was universally acknowledged: Selene preferred direct, frontal assaults and never relied on cheap tricks. She had repeatedly bested her enemies head-on in their areas of expertise with overwhelming advantage.
Arrogant and abrasive—but above all, she disdained dirty tactics.
William Orwell didn't believe she was a shameless coward without honor. He fought the same way (at least in his own mind)—avoiding the exploitation of weaknesses.
Unlike Selene, however, he didn't take pleasure in humiliating others by crushing their pride in what they excelled at.
So yes, he was taking a gamble. Selene likely wanted him to walk into her net willingly. Trusting her with his life might be foolish—but he had no other choice, did he?
"Hah. Then bring me Vento of the Front as a token of your break from the Roman Catholic Church."
Accepting the compliment without a hint of guilt, Selene issued her demand as if it were the most natural thing.
Off to the side, Misaka Mikoto was stunned. Her guard stance faltered.
What is going on? Who am I? Why am I even here?
She had assumed the man was just another terrorist or someone with a grudge against the Board of Directors—she had no idea there was a deeper backstory. Her expression grew increasingly complicated.
Roman Catholic Church? God's Right Seat? Ill-fated lovers, treason, the British Royal Family, knights—what on earth?! Was this even related to the Daihasei Festival?
She didn't fully understand, but Misaka Mikoto got the general sense: this man was under Selene's control, possibly due to blackmail—and most likely, over love!
Selene, what did you do this time?! You homewrecker!
Misaka Mikoto glanced uncertainly to the side. Even Shokuhou Misaki looked pale from the oppressive pressure William Orwell exuded.
The two girls exchanged looks. Shokuhou Misaki saw the doubt in Mikoto's eyes—"I'm not helping the villain here, right?"
"...I refuse."
"Oh?"
Selene tilted her head, crimson eyes narrowing.
The fireworks had long faded. With sparse artificial lighting in the plaza, William Orwell's face was hidden in the dark. The night cloaked him like a coat of coldness, like armor.
Clang!
With a slight motion of his foot, his long shadow shifted. A massive weapon—over five meters long, resembling a steel parasol frame or an exaggerated knight's lance—appeared in his hands.
"So this is your plan? Confirm Villian's safety, then throw your life away? One death to fulfill your duty as a 'knight' to protect your princess—and offer your last loyalty to your Vatican masters."
Arms crossed, Selene rested her chin on her fingers, intrigued.
But William Orwell didn't move. He stared straight at her.
"No. I merely wish to confirm one thing: whether Her Excellency Selene is truly as strong as the rumors say—strong enough to protect a former traitor like me and Princess Villian from the Roman Catholic Church's wrath, or more importantly, from Fiamma of the Right's retaliation."
He swung the massive rod with ease, as if it were a tennis racket, checking his condition.
"If she's not, then your promise holds no weight."
Perhaps, as Selene said, once he knew Villian was safe, this thought crossed his mind. He would rather die than raise a hand against his comrades.
But as he said himself, Fiamma of the Right—"the godlike one"—was unfathomably powerful. William was no match. He had to test Selene's capacity.
Could she defeat Fiamma of the Right?
"Hahaha… I see now. You want both—love and duty. Greedy, yet I don't dislike that. In fact, I'm slightly intrigued. Human potential, the power born from love or sacred convictions…"
"I wonder, though—how does it feel to beat up someone with both the 'Madonna' and 'Saint' traits? Would it be like fighting Kanzaki Kaori?"
Selene swept her gaze around. "This place isn't suitable for a proper fight…"
Snap.
Crack—!
Suddenly, the space darkened. Beneath a crimson sky, the entire street shattered like an ice sculpture.
A storm of sharp debris—buildings turned to fragments—howled toward William Orwell as if tearing the world apart.
To Misaka Mikoto, it was as if reality had transformed. The booming sound that followed made her feel like she was being fired from a battleship's main cannon—her head reeled, her stomach churned.
RUMBLE—!
Who knew how long it lasted. Struggling to her feet, she opened her eyes to a scene of utter devastation.
The landscape before her looked no different from a demolished District 7, a ruin stretching thousands of meters. The streets were torn open like unwrapped gifts, the ground plowed as though tilled by a giant hand.
Thanks to the open view, she even spotted what looked like the wreckage of Tokiwadai Middle School's student dormitory!
Not a single surface was level. The land was shattered, riddled with holes, glowing faintly with an eerie purple… wait, purple light?!
Buildings were engulfed in violet-red flames.
Ruined roads stood around like the remains of an abandoned city.
It was a burning wasteland—clearly not Academy City.
The dark red sky was like a mirror reflecting an abyssal world. Streaks of violet lightning lashed out like silver snakes, fracturing space and time. From the ripples, beastly roars echoed.
The entire place felt like a crystal city clad in violet flames—cold and unnerving.
"It resembles a magical domain… no, something even stranger. No magic reaction… an esper ability? A mirror world reflecting reality, a mirrored physical universe…" William Orwell silently analyzed his surroundings.
Tap—tap—tap—
From above, Selene descended as if walking on air. Her high heels tapped against 'purple light panels,' her diamond-shaped crimson pupils glowing eerily. Every step sent visible ripples through space-time.
"Welcome to my world. Here, you can destroy all you want. Even if Academy City is obliterated or the archipelago sinks, the real world remains untouched…"
The heat hit like a wall, far more direct and suffocating than invisible pressure.
Misaka Mikoto could manage, but Shokuhou Misaki was in trouble. Her physical endurance wasn't enough—sweat beaded on her forehead, her eyes reflecting the blazing fire.
Hey! I just came here for a concert, why drag me into this?!
"Game on."
"You'd better make this fun."
In the next second, the imaginary energy spots beside Selene surged skyward. In the dimensional space of the Imaginary Number realm, they exploded into blazing fireballs, illuminating the entire area in scarlet light.
"Acqua of the Back—your magical name is Flere210, Latin for 'tears'. Then I shall answer with fire."
Fwoosh—!
It was raw arrogance. She intended to crush him in his strongest domain.
William Orwell's expression remained unchanged. His gentle, earnest voice replied, "Come!"
In that moment, he transformed.
Not physically—no angel wings or glowing halos appeared. But something unseen changed. A shift in presence.
God's Right Seat. Angelic spell—released!
"Hah!"
As his foot slammed into the ground, a burst of pressure erupted.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Simultaneously, countless fireballs descended from the sky.
"Star Anchor, Assault!"
DOOM—!
From the battlefield's center, a sound like a giant bell or war drum shook the heavens. The ground quaked violently beneath them.
Golden flames clashed with azure reefs, a sky-blue lance met a jet-black rod—sparks flew high into the air.
Where the shockwaves passed, the land, coated in crystal-like film, shattered like a volcanic eruption. The terrain rippled like a collapsing mountain.
"No way—how can she have mastered this level of technique? She's just a kid?!"
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