"Scattering Mist!"
The reinforced door of the special reading room—hailed as impregnable, forged with composite armor that could shrug off a direct strike from an anti-tank round—crumbled like thin rice paper. In the face of absolute Bunsan Mahō (Decomposition Magic), all so-called defenses were nothing more than fragile illusions.
The magic community always dismissed decomposition and recomposition as "useless." But to Yotsuba Mahiro, they were the most terrifying, the most ultimate. Proof stood before him: even this iron fortress of a door dissolved soundlessly, reduced to drifting mist in a mere heartbeat.
Inside, the two hackers who had been frantically deciphering and transferring data stiffened. Their eyes widened in horror as a lone youth emerged from the pale haze, every step announcing his quiet dominance.
Did they intend to resist? Mahiro never gave them the chance.
With the barest flick of his wrist, he cast two more Scattering Mist spells. The men, along with their machines and data, disintegrated into particles finer than dust—vanished as though they had never existed.
"Mibu-senpai, what are you doing here?" Mahiro asked evenly, his gaze sliding toward the figure standing near the doorway.
"Ma–Mahiro…?! How are you… here!" Sayaka stammered, eyes wide.
Her presence didn't surprise him in the least. He had known from the beginning she would be here. But to Sayaka, his sudden appearance was a blade of reality cutting her down. She instinctively stepped back, shrinking, as though trying to hide the ugliness of her situation from him.
But such gestures—how could they possibly escape Mahiro's piercing gaze?
"Mibu-senpai," Mahiro's voice was calm, but sharp as steel. "Weren't you fighting for the improvement of the Ichika Students' treatment? Then why are you here?"
He advanced slowly, his words carrying the weight of interrogation.
"Didn't you say before that change required bloodshed and sacrifice? But tell me, do you really believe that stealing school secrets will solve the plight of the Ichika Students?"
"No! I just…"
"Just what?"
"I just thought that by cooperating with these people, I could—"
"Change reality?" Mahiro cut in mercilessly. "Do you think exposing the school's research results will magically erase discrimination? That spilling secrets into the open will save the Ichika Students?"
His words landed like strikes of lightning.
"Senpai, you simply don't want to face reality."
Sayaka flinched. Mahiro leaned casually against the frame of the ruined doorway, his tone almost indifferent as he continued:
"I remember the last time we talked in that café. You were so earnest about fairness. And what did I tell you then, Senpai?"
"The world has never been fair."
"Lineage, background, talent, aptitude… these are what dictate treatment. To ignore talent and specialization in the name of 'equality' is itself unfair—to those who truly possess ability."
His gaze sharpened.
"Deep down, Mibu-senpai, you already understand this. Don't you?"
"No one can grant equality. That concept is just a sugar-coated lie—used to manipulate, to exploit. And these people… they dangled that lie in front of you, Senpai, all so you'd steal confidential data for them. Isn't that the truth?"
Sayaka froze.
His words struck deeper than she cared to admit. She felt the clarity seep back into her eyes, like fog clearing under harsh sunlight.
And then, she felt it—an emotion radiating from Mahiro's unflinching gaze.
Pity.
Not anger, not disgust. But pity. Pity, as if she were something fragile and laughable at the same time.
"Why…? Why did it come to this?!" she cried out, her voice breaking. The emotion boiling inside her burst forth in a raw scream.
"Wanting to abolish discrimination—is that wrong?! Wanting equality—is that so wrong?! Discrimination is real, Mahiro! This isn't some illusion I made up!"
Her words tumbled out, each one dripping with pain.
"I was despised. Looked down upon! I could feel their mocking stares, hear their whispers of scorn! Tell me, Mahiro, is it wrong to want to erase all of that?!"
Her trembling eyes locked onto him.
"And you—you should know better than anyone! You, who were meant to be the heir of the Yotsuba Family, yet were cast aside so cruelly…! Don't you also feel the injustice? Don't you feel wronged, Mahiro?!"
Her plea was a lamentation, the cry of a soul pushed to its breaking point.
But it could never reach him.
Because the story of the "abandoned child of the Yotsuba" was nothing more than a mask he had chosen to wear. The reality of his past was far harsher.
Fifteen years—perhaps even longer—of experiments that pushed the boundaries of magic. His existence had been sculpted with blood and calculation, under the cold and meticulous hands of Yotsuba Maya herself.
And yet, never once had he broken.
So to Mahiro, Sayaka's screams, her tears, only deepened his pity for her.
What he saw before him wasn't the fiery senpai who once carried herself with charm, pride, and even the occasional childish cuteness.
What stood before him now was a fragile, pitiful girl, desperately clutching at a lie.
"Mibu-senpai," he murmured softly, "you're very pitiful."
Her head snapped up. "What did you just say?!"
The response was sharp, almost angry— but her voice trembled. It had no strength, no conviction behind it.
Mahiro stepped closer, his eyes calm. "Mibu-senpai, let me ask you— is magic really the only measure of your worth? You clearly have excellent swordsmanship… and you're beautiful too. Those are things no one can deny."
"Those are just superficial!" Sayaka shot back immediately, almost desperately.
Her tone was firm, but Mahiro could see right through her. Yes, this was a Magic High School. Yes, people measured ability by magical talent. But still— was that the only scale?
The truth was harsher. Sayaka didn't simply resent the unfair system. She had begun to resent herself.
The one who most despised Mibu Sayaka for being "weaker," for being a so-called "weed," was not the school… but Sayaka herself.
It was exactly like the conversation he once had with Mayumi-senpai about the class division system. The system wasn't the true problem— it was how people let it define them.
Perhaps it was the sigh that slipped from his lips, or the fleeting sadness she caught in his eyes. Either way, Sayaka's expression changed. She no longer wished to continue the conversation.
Her hand rose, trembling but determined. The ring with a crystal sunstone on her finger gleamed faintly as she aimed it straight at him.
Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her voice carried determination: "Mahiro… you're different from the other Ichika Students— no, from everyone else. You're… you're kind. I don't want to hurt you. So please, don't stop me!"
Mahiro smiled faintly. "Alright. Go ahead."
"Eh…?"
Sayaka froze.
Because before her eyes, Mahiro truly opened a path for her. No tricks. No hostile intent. Just… a way forward.
She couldn't understand it. She couldn't guess what he was thinking. Maybe it was a trap, maybe not. But despite everything, she still whispered, "...Thank you," and hurriedly passed through the path he had given her.
And Mahiro didn't move to stop her.
If she wanted to leave, then let her leave.
What could be done, he had already done. What could be said, he had already said.
Besides… he had never once intended to stop this senpai.
From the very beginning, he had decided to leave Sayaka's matter to Erika. Erika would be the one to reach her— not with words, but with her own style of "persuasion."
And what Sayaka lacked, Mahiro himself could not provide. Only Erika could.