The woman sitting across from him could very well be the one person in this world who knew the most about Yotsuba Mahiro's secrets. After all, he had sought her out himself, entrusting her with the task of unraveling the mystery behind the Gastrea Virus.
And the key to that research had been his eyes.
His ability to analyze information entities—the very blueprint that made up existence itself—was nothing short of a panacea. It didn't matter what substance it was, natural or artificial, living or dead. If it existed within the scope of his knowledge, Mahiro could break it down and read its structure. Things invisible to ordinary humans, things no scientist could ever hope to observe—nothing could hide from his gaze.
With his cooperation, Sumire Muroto's research into the Gastrea Virus had achieved results so groundbreaking that even she admitted it was bordering on impossible.
This eccentric woman had once asked him a bizarre question:
"If your eyes can read and analyze the data of any existence… couldn't they also overwrite it?"
That single hypothesis carried terrifying implications. If overwrite was possible, then was resurrection also within reach?
And when Mahiro had given her a calm, almost offhand "Yes," she hadn't hesitated. She had actually picked up a scalpel, slit her own throat, and collapsed right in front of him.
She'd wanted to experience death—just to confirm whether he could bring her back.
Mahiro could only shake his head at the memory. "Tch… what a crazy woman."
Pushing aside the unpleasant image, Mahiro set the syringe containing the enhanced inhibitor to the side. Instead, he picked up another vial filled with a faintly glowing liquid.
"What about this one?" he asked.
Sumire's lips curved into a lazy grin. "Ah, that one? Ufufu~ that's my proudest masterpiece, my darling number two. Based on your conjectures and the analysis you provided, I amplified the Gastrea Virus's DNA rewriting characteristic, while stripping away most of its instability. What remains is its strengthening property—retained, but with the danger suppressed to the lowest level possible."
"Lowest?" Mahiro narrowed his eyes. "Not completely eliminated?"
Sumire chuckled and brushed her bangs aside with a gloved finger, her gaze sparkling with amusement.
"Young man, nothing in science is ever truly risk-free. Power always comes at a cost. Fire gives us warmth and light, but burn yourself and you'll remember it forever. You're asking for lightning in a bottle without the risk of a spark."
She leaned in slightly, voice low and deliberate.
"There's no such thing as a flawless enhancement. Trade-offs are the rule, not the exception."
Mahiro let out a quiet sigh. He knew she was right, but he still clung to a thread of hope.
"Then… what about the strengthening direction?"
"It hardens the body, increases physical durability, and grants regenerative abilities that rival a Gastrea," Sumire answered smoothly.
"Regeneration, huh… What about lost internal organs? Can they be restored?"
"Theoretically yes," she replied, tilting her head, "but if they're completely obliterated, recovery might be impossible."
Mahiro tapped the syringe thoughtfully. "And the success rate?"
"96.32%."
"…Not high enough."
Silence settled in the room for a moment.
"The success rate is still too low. And the regenerative ability hasn't reached the standard I'm looking for."
His tone was calm but firm. This wasn't a tool he intended to use here. It was something he planned to carry back with him to the Mahouka world.
It wasn't only for the girls who followed him, but also… a keepsake for his troublesome mother.
Failure was unacceptable.
"Doctor Sumire," Mahiro said quietly, pushing the syringe back toward her, "please increase the success rate… and the recovery ability."
Sumire raised her eyes, her expression shifting. Gone was her usual languid playfulness; instead, a sharp seriousness peeked out from beneath her wavy bangs.
"I say, young man… Are you aiming too high? Or perhaps…" She tapped the syringe against the desk, metal clicking faintly. "…are you underestimating yourself?"
Mahiro raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
She leaned forward, her tone suddenly heavy. "Tracing information entities… overwriting reality itself… That's just your way of describing it. But do you realize what kind of power that really is? It's godlike."
Her words hung in the air, suffocating in their weight.
"No matter what kind of fatal wound you take, no matter what kind of genetic corruption tries to consume you, your ability can revert it all back to its original state. You can restore the cornerstone of the world itself."
Her voice lowered, almost a whisper.
"With such power, does something like 'success rate' even matter to you? Even if it's one percent… one in a thousand… one in ten thousand… as long as it isn't zero, then for you, it's effectively one hundred percent. Don't you get it?"
Mahiro exhaled slowly. "Heh. Of course I get it…"
It was true. Even if the injection mutated him in an unpredictable way, he could always overwrite his body back to its baseline and simply try again. Trial and error meant nothing to him.
"As for the regenerative ability you want, young man," Sumire continued, "this current strain of Gastrea Virus won't cut it. You'd need a sample from a LV4 Gastrea or higher. Only then could I possibly refine something to your standards."
LV4 Gastrea…
They only appeared beyond the Monolith Walls, in the desolate "Fallen Areas." Their numbers were exceedingly rare, and most Gastrea encountered were only LV3.
The higher the level, the fewer the monsters—like rare Zodiac beasts. Even counting the ones that had already been killed, there were only eleven in the entire world.
But for Yotsuba Mahiro, this wasn't a problem.
"Fine. I'll take care of obtaining the virus." He gave a small nod. "I'll leave the rest to you, Doctor."
For a moment, Sumire froze. Then her lips curved into a sly, wicked smile.
She rested her chin on one hand, her violet eyes gleaming with amusement. "My, my~ You're always so reliable, Mahiro-kun. But… that look of confidence makes me want to tease you even more."
"…What are you scheming this time?" Mahiro asked, brow twitching.
"Hehe~ I'm just wondering what kind of reward I should demand from you, that's all."
Her laugh was sharp, almost witch-like, sending shivers down the spines of the two young girls watching from the corner of the lab. They huddled closer together, clearly terrified of the eccentric researcher.
Mahiro, however, frowned. "Didn't we already settle the terms? When I leave this world, I'll take you with me. That was our agreement."
"Yes, yes, I remember~" Sumire sang, her smile stretching wider. "But that was before. Since you've caused me so much trouble, I'll need to raise the price."
Mahiro narrowed his eyes. "Fine. What do you want?"
Her gaze sparkled mischievously. "Your genetic material. I'm curious… are your genes really the same as a normal human's?"
"You want blood? No problem—"
Just as Yotsuba Mahiro reached for an empty syringe, intending to draw some of his own, Sumire Muroto's voice cut in like a blade.
"No," she interrupted smoothly. Her legs crossed, one over the other with deliberate grace, the hem of her lab coat sliding down to the floor in a circle of white. She tilted her head, lips curving into a faint smile. A sigh, uncharacteristically hazy, slipped from her throat.
"What I want… is your baby-sauce."
"...Eh?"
Mahiro froze, his entire body stiff. His brain stalled.
This woman—was she seriously in heat just because it was spring?
No, impossible. There couldn't be another person alive who could so shamelessly say something so forbidden, so outrageous, with a straight face. Only this insane "sage" of a woman could pull it off.
Sumire's eyes glimmered as she leaned forward. "What's wrong? No good? Or maybe… you just can't manage it on your own? If that's the case, then—fufu—I don't mind lending a hand."
Her slender fingers tugged the knot at her waist, letting her lab coat slip fully to the floor. Beneath it, the sight that greeted him was enough to make any man falter: a mature, shapely figure wrapped snugly in a deep violet blouse and a black skirt that hugged her hips perfectly.
This damn witch…
"Don't give me that look. Ten years ago, I had no shortage of suitors, you know," she purred, her heels clacking against the floor as she closed the distance between them step by step.
Mahiro didn't answer. He simply vanished from her reach.
"...Huh?" Her hand closed on nothing but air.
Behind her came his voice, deliberately casual. "Ah… it's getting late. Enju-chan and Mibu haven't eaten yet. I should take them home first."
By the time she spun around, Yotsuba Mahiro was already at the door, slipping away like a shadow in flight.
Sumire's chuckle followed him, low and amused. She waved lazily after him. "Come back when you have time, Agent Clarice…"
Her tone softened to a murmur. "What a timid man."
Timid?
Not at all.
It wasn't that Mahiro lacked the nerve. On the contrary—if anything, the problem was that he was far too aware.
There was no reason to reject such temptation, especially when the infamous Dr. Sumire herself practically threw it in his lap. And yes, he admitted it: he was interested.
But interested didn't mean reckless.
Enju and Asaka were with him. To let them witness… that—no, that would be unforgivable. He wasn't about to drag two innocent girls into the mess of his impulses.
"Tch… I should've left them home in the first place," Mahiro muttered under his breath as he walked away.
...
The next morning arrived quietly.
Enju Aihara went off to school as usual, her bright red hair bouncing as she waved goodbye.
Meanwhile, Asaka Mibu stayed behind, diligently sweeping and wiping down the apartment. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as if she were polishing not just the furniture but her own resolve. She never left even a speck of dust behind—serious to a fault, as always.
By rights, Asaka should have been walking alongside Enju, heading to class, learning multiplication tables and kanji with the rest of the kids her age.
But she had refused.
"As Mahiro's sword, I must always serve by his side," she had declared with her small, stubborn voice.
It wasn't that she couldn't go. It was that she wouldn't.
She didn't want to mix with the other children. Not when seeing their smiling faces, watching them being dropped off and picked up by their parents, only tore at the scars in her own heart. She pretended not to mind, but Mahiro could read the flicker of loneliness she tried to hide.
As for himself, he had long since had enough of schools. One round in a classroom was already more than enough.
Time slipped by. Noon came. After lunch, while Asaka washed the dishes with quiet precision, Mahiro's phone buzzed on the table.
"Hello? This is Mahiro."
"Mahiro-kun, it's me. There's work." The clear, bell-like voice of Tendō Kisara flowed from the receiver.
He sat up straighter. "President Kisara? You usually don't call outside office hours."
"Don't call me 'President Kisara' right now," she chided gently. "But yes, it's an official request. Report to the Ministry of Defense immediately."
"Understood. I'll head there right away."
The line clicked off.
When he turned, he found Asaka already watching him, her wet hands clenched together, her crimson-tinged pupils locked onto him.
"Is there… work?" she asked softly.
Mahiro gave a small nod. "Yeah. Kisara wants me at the Ministry of Defense."
"Then I'll go too."
Her voice was steady, her eyes firm.
"Mahiro… I am your sword. I hope you'll wield me properly, not keep me rusting in the scabbard."
That line again.
Mahiro sighed inwardly. It was true that Asaka's combat strength was nothing to scoff at. She could easily meet the qualifications of an Initiator, and even surpass them. Her Gastrea Virus corrosion rate was only around thirty percent—far safer than Enju's dangerous forty-three percent.
But still.
Did that mean he should throw her onto the battlefield?
To most in this rotten world, Cursed Children were nothing but cheap weapons—living ammunition that could be discarded once spent. Even those few Initiator-Handler pairs who respected their young partners still fought with them side by side, using them as shields against the nightmares outside.
But Mahiro? His values were different.
In his eyes, Asaka wasn't a weapon. She wasn't a sword. She was just a child. A little girl who deserved a life free from blood and death.
Did having the power to fight mean she had to fight?
Did she have to bleed, kill, and die for a humanity that scorned her?
Couldn't she live simply, quietly… happily?
Like a normal child?
Mahiro clicked his tongue. "Idiots. Pushing the burden of humanity's survival onto kids barely ten years old… disgusting."
That was why he always rejected Asaka's pleas to join him on jobs.
But this time… it was different. The Ministry of Defense wasn't a battlefield. It was just bureaucracy. Paperwork and politicians. No danger.
Bringing her along would let her see a wider world—without bloodshed.
"Fine," Mahiro said at last. "Go get changed. We'll head out together."
Hearing him say this—so different from his usual reserved tone—Asaka Mibu's red eyes sparkled with joy. Her lips curved upward, and the faint glow of her pupils betrayed her excitement.
"Mm! Please wait a moment, Mahiro, I'll be right back!"
With a speed that only short, childlike legs could muster, she darted into her room.
Not long after, she reappeared, fully prepared as if she were heading onto a battlefield. She wore comfortable but formal attire, slightly kimono-inspired with modifications for movement. Over it, she'd strapped on a sleek exoskeleton armor crafted by Shiba Heavy Industries. At her waist hung a long sword.
It wasn't forged of some legendary metal like Varanium, but it bore the unmistakable craftsmanship of a master swordsmith. Kisara-san had given it to her as a welcome gift, and Asaka held onto it with the determination of a true warrior.
"She's really fired up…" Mahiro muttered with a small smile.
Together, they left home. Mahiro drove her toward the Ministry of Defense.
....
By the time they arrived at the conference hall, the place was already packed.
Executives in sharp suits occupied the front seats, while rows of Promoters and Initiators stood behind them. The Promoters carried weapons with sleek, jet-black metallic sheen—Varanium steel, gleaming coldly under the fluorescent lights. The Initiators, young girls around Asaka's age, stood straight and silent beside them.
Mahiro and Asaka, dressed in casual student-like clothing, stood out like sore thumbs. They were far younger, and in such a formal setting, they drew countless stares.
"Oi, oi, what's this? What's going on with the IFA's quality these days?"
A voice like a thunderclap boomed across the hall.
From the ranks stepped out a mountain of a man. His muscular chest stretched his thin combat vest to the limit. His hair spiked upward like blazing fire, while a skull-patterned bandana covered the lower half of his face. His sharp, upward-slanted sanpaku eyes gleamed dangerously as they bore down on Mahiro.
A massive broadsword rested against his back—its size alone enough to intimidate most who looked his way.
He sneered. "What is this, a school field trip? Kids playing house as IFAs? If you brats got the wrong room, get lost quietly before someone gets hurt!"
Mahiro instinctively stepped forward, shielding Kisara-san and Asaka behind him. But the simple, unconscious gesture seemed to enrage the giant even further.
"Hah? You, stepping out alone? Are you asking for a beating, kid?"
"Don't talk down to Mahiro!"
Asaka-chan's hand snapped to the hilt of her sword, her red eyes flashing dangerously. Despite her small size, she glared up at the man like a cornered beast ready to strike.
The room went silent, then whispers broke out. Many of those gathered already knew who Mahiro was. Those who didn't were quickly clued in. Still, they smirked, waiting for a show.
After all, the rumors about Yotsuba Mahiro were just that—rumors. Seeing his fair skin and refined bearing, they imagined him as some Romeo, no different from an academy student. The thought of him getting thrashed by Shougen Ikuma, ranked 1584th, was too entertaining to miss.
Some had already pulled out their phones, ready to record every humiliating second and post it online.
Roll," Mahiro said flatly, his voice carrying cold authority. He stood firm, one arm holding Asaka-chan back.
To everyone's utter disbelief, Shougen Ikuma froze. His sanpaku eyes widened for an instant before his expression slackened.
"…Understood."
Like a puppet, he laid down his broadsword, squatted on the floor, and began rolling to the side like a discarded barrel.
The entire hall erupted.
"What the hell?!" "Did Shoukan just—obey?!"
Even Kisara-san and Rentaro stared, dumbfounded.
"Y-you… what did you just do?"
This was Shougen Ikuma, infamous for his short temper and monstrous strength. And yet Yotsuba Mahiro had reduced him to an obedient fool with a single phrase.
Mahiro's lips curved faintly. "Just a little magic trick." He turned politely to Kisara. "President Kisara, please take your seat. The meeting will begin soon."
He spoke casually, as though nothing unusual had occurred.
The technique he'd used was simple: a minor spell of hypnotic suggestion, known as the Genjutsu. It wasn't a grand power meant for destruction, but in this world of steel and combat, its subtle influence worked wonders.
Guiding Asaka to a spot along the wall where the other Initiators stood, Mahiro folded his arms calmly.
Soon, the meeting commenced.
On the large screen at the front appeared a snowy white figure—Seitenshi—radiant as ever. Beside him stood an imposing elder, none other than Kikunojo Tendo, Seitenshi's aide.
Their request this time was staggering: a bounty of one billion to retrieve a lost box.
Mahiro barely listened. Money no longer held much appeal to him, and besides, he already had an idea of the box's contents.
Instead, his eyes wandered—and landed on the small figure beside Shougen Ikuma, who was still awkwardly rolling on the floor. Yet the girl's gaze never left Mahiro. Her bright, lively eyes seemed to measure him in silence, curious and unblinking.
Mahiro recognized her almost instantly. She was the partner of the burly fighter, Ikuma Shougen—one of the more tragic figures he remembered from the original anime. An Initiator with dolphin factors…
"You're Senju Kayo, right?" he asked casually.
"Eh…?" The girl blinked, caught off guard. A faint gasp escaped her lips as if she couldn't believe he'd spoken her name so easily.
"Surprised?" Mahiro smiled faintly. "It's nothing special… just a small magic trick."
"…"
Senju stayed quiet, her curious eyes locked onto him.
Beside Mahiro, Asaka-chan puffed her cheeks, glaring with childish discontent. Mou~! Once again, Mahiro was showing kindness to another girl, and she couldn't help but feel a little jealous. But even though she sulked, she didn't scold him.
After all, she herself was once a girl abandoned in the darkness—until Mahiro saved her. If he now extended that same warmth to others like her, how could she complain? Instead, her chest felt warm, her heart swelling with gratitude.
Mahiro's heart really is so broad… and so gentle…
Then, without warning, Mahiro extended his hand toward Senju. Slowly, his fingers uncurled.
Resting in his palm was a single piece of candy, gleaming softly under the fluorescent lights.
"Senju-chan, you must be hungry, right? Here, have some candy."
His voice was gentle, his smile calm and warm. For an instant, Senju's sharp mind faltered. She stared at the candy as though it were a miracle. She wasn't actually hungry—but she had been testing him, wanting to provoke a reaction.
And yet, he had seen straight through her.
Does he… read minds? she wondered as she carefully slipped the candy into her mouth. The sweetness spread across her tongue, but in her heart, a different kind of confusion stirred.
For the first time, Senju Kayo—with her genius-level IQ of 210—felt completely outmatched.
"Here. One for you too, Asaka-chan."
Mahiro turned, producing another piece of candy, this time offering it to the little girl who was still pouting. He placed it gently in her hand.
After all, showing favoritism wasn't his style.