"How troublesome..."
With the air of someone taking a casual stroll through his own garden, Yotsuba Mahiro stepped into the dimly lit, abandoned factory. His hands were shoved loosely into his pockets, his steps light, but his eyes sharp.
When a heavy iron gate blocked the path, he didn't bother touching it. A mere flicker of will—Decomposition—and the gate broke apart with a screeching groan, collapsing into harmless fragments at his feet.
Mayumi, trailing behind him, wasn't nearly as relaxed. She gripped her CAD tightly, her fingers stiff with tension. Her small, porcelain-like face was composed, but her eyes betrayed a nervous flicker. This was her first time stepping into something that felt like real combat.
Mahiro clicked his tongue. "Yare yare... troublesome." Yet despite his complaints, his stride slowed ever so slightly, his broad back subtly shifting to shield her from view.
The gesture didn't go unnoticed. Mayumi's cheeks flushed pink, and she lowered her gaze, biting her lip.
Their presence had not gone undetected. The shrill buzz of an alarm tore through the silence, echoing like the caw of a mechanical crow. It was almost as if their enemies had been waiting for them, prepared to put on a little performance.
On the main factory floor, Blanche's men stood in neat lines, over thirty of them, all staring with hostile intent.
"Well, well, what a surprise! Nice to meet you, Mahiro-kun!" A voice rang out with artificial cheer. Its owner emerged from the crowd, spreading his arms as if welcoming honored guests. "And this little princess behind you must be Saegusa Mayumi-san, correct?"
The speaker looked to be in his early thirties. His expression was theatrical, his movements exaggerated—like a second-rate actor playing the role of a villain far too gleefully. The narcissistic smirk on his face was almost nauseating.
"Enough nonsense," Mahiro's tone was sharp, his eyes narrowing. "You're Masaki Ichirō, leader of the Blanche Japan branch… right?"
The man's smile twitched. He gave a mocking bow. "Fufufu… indeed, as you say. I am the leader of Blanche's Japan branch, Masaki Ichirō. And you've come right into my web."
Mahiro ignored the theatrics, stepping forward so that Mayumi was hidden completely behind his back. His voice dropped into something cold, like steel drawn from a sheath.
"Since you've announced yourself, I won't waste words. You have two choices: surrender and keep your body intact… or resist, and I'll scatter your corpse into pieces."
"Hahahaha! Bold words, Mahiro-kun! Too bold!" Masaki's laughter was shrill. "Our operation at First High may have failed, but for you to come here alone, without even trying to conceal yourself… you think you're invincible? Even the most powerful magician will die if riddled with bullets, won't they?"
Mahiro smirked faintly. "You can try."
A simple phrase. Yet those words, spoken with absolute calm, sent a shiver through the air.
Masaki faltered, his expression twisting. He had expected fear or at least caution. But Mahiro's eyes remained unshaken, as if death itself couldn't stir him.
"Tch… then let's see you prove it!"
Masaki roared, thrusting his arm into the air. In response, the rows of Blanche operatives raised their sleek, black firearms in unison, aiming directly at Mahiro and Mayumi.
Though magic dominated the battlefield in 2095, modern firearms remained just as deadly, capable of piercing reinforced barriers and tearing through flesh before most magicians could even finish constructing their spell.
Mayumi tensed, her breath catching. Surrounded by countless barrels pointed their way, she pressed her CAD's activation button with a trembling thumb, ready to cast.
But Mahiro didn't flinch. His face remained utterly calm.
Then—
Snap!
It was unclear whether the sound came from Mahiro's fingers or from the weapons themselves. But in the next heartbeat, every firearm in the room fell apart, clattering to the floor in heaps of disassembled parts.
The terrorists' hands trembled, empty and useless.
Masaki's jaw dropped. "I-It can't be! How…?!"
He had seen no activation sequence, no chant, no sign of magic at all. And yet, his entire force had been rendered powerless in the blink of an eye.
Mahiro tilted his head slightly, his voice calm, almost mocking. "Didn't you just say you'd kill me with bullets? Why stop now?"
His footsteps echoed across the concrete floor as he advanced, each sharp click of his shoes like a hammer striking Masaki's chest.
One step. Then another.
Masaki's composure began to crumble. Cold sweat ran down his temple. He knew Yotsuba Mahiro's reputation. Hand-to-hand combat, overwhelming magic… this was no ordinary heir of the Ten Master Clans.
Yet, as he observed closely, he noticed something. Mahiro's expression was calm, yes… but his guard seemed down. He wasn't defensive.
A twisted smile returned to Masaki's lips. Now… now's my chance.
"Yotsuba Mahiro!" Masaki threw his glasses dramatically aside, revealing sharp, glowing eyes beneath. "Join me! Become my comrade!"
From his eyes pulsed an eerie, invisible ripple—an oppressive wave that lashed out directly at Mahiro's consciousness.
For the first time, Mahiro paused. His steps froze mid-stride.
"Mahiru-kun, you…?!" Mayumi's eyes widened as she saw him standing motionless, his expression blank. Her heart skipped a beat—something was wrong.
"Kukuku… useless, useless! He's already fallen under the spell of my Jagan—my Demonic Eye!" Masaki Ichiro's laughter rang out, twisted and triumphant, his face contorting with madness. "So what if he's from the Ten Master Clans? Even they can't resist me. Now he's nothing more than my obedient puppet!"
To deal with Yotsuba Mahiro, Masaki Ichiro had been cautious—he had gathered every Crystalline Quartz Stone he could find, armed his men with firearms and enchanted daggers, and set this entire trap. But now, seeing Mahiro apparently frozen, he sneered to himself.
All that preparation… unnecessary!
"If I had known this would be so easy, I wouldn't have bothered with that useless sow, Mibu Sayaka! Hah! I should've just handled everything myself from the start!"
The more Masaki Ichiro thought about it, the more inflated his ambition grew. With Mahiro, a scion of the Yotsuba, as his captive, he could infiltrate the Ten Master Clans, gain power and influence from the inside, and eventually—
"Yes… yes! The entire magical society of Japan will be mine! Every magician will kneel at my feet!"
His insane laughter echoed through the hall, and Mayumi—usually the most graceful and gentle—felt her blood boil. Her fingers tightened around her CAD, her mind racing to construct an activation sequence.
But just as she lifted it—
"Eh?"
A hand stopped her. Her CAD was lightly but firmly taken from her grasp.
She looked up. It was Yotsuba Mahiro.
And he was perfectly fine.
"Wha—Mahiru-kun…?!" Mayumi gasped.
Mahiro's lips curved into a small smile, his expression calm, almost playful. "So… the rumor about me and Mibu-senpai dating at school… that was your handiwork, wasn't it?"
Mayumi's eyes widened again. "Eh?! So… you weren't dating Mibu-senpai…?" For reasons she couldn't fully explain, her heart felt lighter, almost relieved.
"Hah! Of course it was me!" Masaki Ichiro barked out a laugh, his voice dripping with scorn. "That trashy sow couldn't even handle a first-year student! All the effort I put into guiding her, wasted… But—" His voice cracked into a scream, realization dawning on him. "No… why aren't you under my control?!"
Mahiro's smile deepened, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. He looked at Masaki Ichiro as though staring at a pitiful fool.
"Jagan—Consciousness Interference Magic, an External System technique. But in truth, its foundation is nothing more than a crude Light-Wave Vibration System hypnosis." Mahiro's voice was calm, almost instructional, but it carried an undercurrent of mockery. "You must have used it to tamper with Mibu-senpai's memory as well, didn't you?"
He took a step forward, and the air around him thickened, his aura pressing down like a suffocating weight.
"I really didn't expect you to be so reckless… to cast something as shallow as hypnosis on a magician of the Yotsuba Family." His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "Do you truly not understand what the name Yotsuba means…?"
His calm demeanor shattered, replaced by a killing intent so dense it seemed to wrap around him like a black cloak. Mayumi gasped; even at a distance, it was terrifying.
The Yotsuba were infamous for their mastery over Mental Interference Magic. From Yotsuba Genzo's dreaded Shinigami no Tsurugi (Blade of the Grim Reaper) to Yotsuba Shinya's Oblivion River, their techniques were etched in legend. Their branch families alone wielded formidable mind-based arts.
But Yotsuba Mahiro… was an outlier even among them.
Not even Yotsuba Shinya—the Dominator of the River of Oblivion—could overwrite Mahiro's mental structure. And Masaki Ichiro thought something as cheap as hypnosis could bind him?
"Daydreaming much, baka?" Mahiro's tone turned razor-sharp.
"Impossible…! No way…! How can it have no effect?!" Masaki Ichiro's eyes bulged, sweat dripping down his forehead. His trump card, the magic he had always trusted, had crumbled like paper.
Mahiro's hand slowly rose, his gaze unwavering.
"For thinking you could control me… for daring to toy with my name… disappear."
The room froze, as though the very air itself recognized his judgment.
"Since you refuse to surrender," Mahiro declared coldly, his killing intent spilling forth like a tide, "then be on your way."