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Kazuki didn't answer her.
Not because he didn't want to.
Because something deep in his spine screamed. Move. Now.
So he did.
He turned and ran.
Not gracefully. Not like a hero.
He stumbled over his own foot, pushed off the wall for balance, and bolted down the narrow street like a stray cat dodging traffic.
Behind him, the girl sighed.
"Why do they always run?"
She gave chase.
Kazuki didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
He could feel her.
Footsteps light but fast. Too fast. Like she wasn't just sprinting—like she was measuring the ground and cutting angles, turning corners before she even saw them.
He zigzagged through the maze of alleyways, dodging vending machines, rusted bikes, piles of trash bags.
Every detail flashed across his mind like snapshots—door, left open. Fence, too high. Step, too wide. He didn't know how he was calculating it all, but his feet listened better than his thoughts did.
18%.
Somewhere in his mind, a quiet voice whispered the number.
Not a voice like R.O.B.'s. Not foreign.
His own.
Cooler. Clearer.
Like a second layer of him had finally booted up.
He wasn't stronger.
Not yet.
Just… more aware.
More present.
A dog barked behind a fence and he flinched—but used it. Turned the flinch into a dive, rolled under a railing, popped back up and kept running.
Ahead, a street crossing.
Wide. Open. Dangerous.
He burst out of the alley and sprinted across—barely missing a bike, weaving past a food cart, the smell of fried something stabbing his brain mid-thought.
Behind him, footsteps.
Still close.
She wasn't even breathing hard.
"You're wasting energy. Turn left. That's the smarter route."
Kazuki didn't turn left.
He yanked a trash bin sideways and flung it behind him.
Clumsy, but it worked.
The crash bought him two seconds.
He ducked into a delivery entrance, yanked the door, found stairs, climbed two, three—four floors, lungs burning.
His body was fast. His brain faster.
But his heart?
Still human.
Still panicked.
On the roof, he stopped.
Hands on his knees. Eyes darting across the horizon.
Academy City looked like a machine pretending to be a city.
Glass towers. Straight lines. Gridlocked beauty.
Everything too polished.
Too perfect.
Except him.
He ran to the edge and looked down.
Too far to jump. Not that kind of story.
The door behind him opened.
She stepped out.
No sweat. No weapon. Just calm eyes and light steps.
Kazuki raised both hands.
"Okay. Okay. You win."
She blinked. Looked surprised.
"Really? No final burst of speed? No clever escape?"
He shook his head.
"My cleverness ran out five stairwells ago."
That got a faint smile from her.
Just a flicker.
But it made her seem less... machine. More person.
She walked toward him, slower now. Not a threat.
"You're not an esper. Not a magician. Not part of any district database."
"Yeah, right" Kazuki said, "I'm not from here."
"Where are you from?"
He paused.
Then said the first honest thing he'd said since he woke up in this city:
"Nowhere you'd believe."
The wind picked up, tugging at her hair. The rooftop felt quieter now.
She tilted her head.
"You knew how to run. You processed your environment in real time. I saw you analyze a path across ten meters in under half a second."
"I just guessed."
"No, you didn't."
Kazuki let his arms fall.
He wasn't about to argue brain function percentages with a girl who could outrun gravity.
"What's your name?" he asked, still panting.
"Yomikawa Aiho. Anti-Skill."
He blinked. "Anti-Skill? What, like a code name?"
"It's the name of the law enforcement division. You're lucky I'm not those rotten ones. They'd have shot first."
"Comforting."
She walked past him now, stopped at the edge of the roof, hands in pockets, looking out at the city like it owed her something.
Then:
"You have potential. But this city doesn't care about that. Stay off the radar. Blend in. And whatever you are—figure it out fast."
Kazuki nodded. The words didn't feel like a threat. They felt like a warning.
A genuine one.
Yomikawa turned and headed for the door.
Before disappearing, she added:
"Next time, don't run."
Kazuki leaned back against the rooftop wall and exhaled slowly.
His legs hurt. His mind buzzed.
That voice inside—cool, calculating—was still active, still parsing.
18%.
That was all?
He didn't want to know what 100% felt like.
But part of him also... did.
Just a little.
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