"So, Mahiro-san still remembers that we other children exist."
The petite Senju Kayo sat primly at the large office desk, looking like a miniature adult. Her usually expressionless face carried a faint, yet unmistakable, hint of resentment.
"Aha-ha… Well, I'm here now, aren't I…?" Mahiro replied, forcing an awkward smile from his spot on the sofa opposite her.
He couldn't really defend himself. He had dumped the entire management of Arcadia on her small shoulders and vanished for a while. A little complaint was more than justified.
After parting ways with Tina Sprout, he had picked up Enju from school and brought Asaka along for a visit to the sanctuary. Enju had immediately run off to play with her little friends, probably deep in discussion about their favorite magical girl anime. Meanwhile, Asaka-chan, ever the diligent senpai, had taken it upon herself to give a swordsmanship lesson to some of the younger children.
That left him alone to face the music from the one person here who wouldn't let him off the hook: Kaya-chan, who was currently subjecting him to a masterclass in silent, disappointed glares, all while he tried to casually check if there were any supply requests.
"Sigh…"
Seeing him so utterly deflated—a far cry from the dominant force that had obliterated Five Wings Syndicate agents and a Zodiac Gastrea—Kaya couldn't help but let out a weary sigh of her own.
"Mahiro-san, I understand that as a busy lolicon, you have your hands full 'collecting' children from all over and bringing them under your… ahem… care," she stated with her signature deadpan delivery. "But please do not simply abandon the ones you already have. You should occasionally come and see us, the ones left behind in empty rooms."
She paused, her large, intelligent eyes locking onto his. "Whether it's me or the other children… we all miss you very much."
Even though… the way she phrased it made the whole thing sound incredibly suspicious.
Nevertheless, he readily promised that once he got through this particularly busy period, he would visit much more frequently, perhaps even stay for a while.
And he had to admit, his initial assessment of her had been spot-on. Senju Kayo possessed immense talent for administration, and her superhuman intellect kept the entire, complex operation of Arcadia running in perfect order. The sanctuary was not just functioning; it was thriving.
There was just one thing that puzzled him—
"Speaking of which, has anything been going on at Arcadia lately? Why do I get the feeling the kids aren't as… enthusiastically mobbing me as they used to be?"
"It seems your observational skills haven't completely atrophied," Kaya remarked, neatly stacking a pile of processed documents and sliding them into a drawer. "It's not that they aren't happy to see you. On the contrary, every single child desperately wants your attention. It's just that… they've been trying to be more mature about our situation. They're restraining themselves because they don't want to trouble you."
"Nani?"
"Didn't you notice?" Kaya said, gesturing vaguely at him. "Your clothes."
Puzzled, Mahiro looked down at his jacket. There, on the hem and sleeve, were several smudged, grimy little handprints he hadn't noticed before.
"If I'm not mistaken," Kaya continued, her voice flat, "those are handprints left by Cursed Children like us… No, to be more precise, only we can leave such… filthy marks on you."
Her word choice was harsh and self-deprecating, but to her, it was simply a factual reality that needed to be stated plainly.
"It's just strange, Mahiro-san," she added, tilting her head. "You've acquired another little sister for us, but I haven't seen her this time. Has something happened to her?"
When Kaya mentioned it, he realized the oversight.
"You're right, I have added another sister to your roster," he confirmed. "But it's… complicated right now. You should be able to meet her in a few days."
As he recalled the image of Tina Sprout, adorably muddled and tugging at his jacket with her own dirty little hands, a fond, unconscious smile touched his lips.
After getting a full briefing from Kaya on Arcadia's current status and needs, he finally took his leave, collecting Enju and Asaka on his way out. He didn't stay the night. After all, he still had that bodyguard commission for the Seitenshi. Even if he wasn't required to sleep at the Holy Residence, he at least needed to be on call. It was a matter of basic professional ethics.
...
"What would you like for dinner tonight?" Mahiro asked as they walked, the evening city lights beginning to glitter around them.
"Anything Mahiro-sama makes will be fine," Asaka replied softly, ever the picture of polite restraint.
"I~ I want hotpot!" Enju chimed in immediately, her cheerfulness a stark contrast.
"Alright then, it's decided! We'll have Wagyu beef hotpot tonight!" Mahiro declared.
You see, Enju? he thought with amusement. This is why the squeaky wheel gets the grease. You could learn a thing or two from her frankness, Asaka-chan.
After deciding on the menu, they made a detour to a high-end supermarket to pick up the finest ingredients. But on their way back, the mood soured. They passed a police car that had been violently smashed into a heap of twisted, unrecognizable scrap metal. It sat behind a yellow cordon, a morbid attraction for a large crowd of onlookers. Everyone held up their phones, snapping pictures and chattering excitedly about the "brutal attack."
Without even needing to guess, given the sheer destructive force on display, the court of public opinion had already reached a verdict: it was the work of Cursed Children. Under normal circumstances, a regular human simply couldn't inflict that level of damage. The deep, fist-shaped dents in the car's frame were particularly damning. Fortunately, it seemed there were no fatalities; the officers inside had only been knocked unconscious.
But hearing the people in the crowd curse and spit venom, saying all Cursed Children deserved to die, cast a palpable shadow over Enju and Asaka. They tried to keep their expressions neutral, but he could see the sadness and tension in their eyes.
"Alright, that's enough of that. There's no need to be sad over the words of ignorant people," Mahiro said, his voice firm yet gentle. He placed a hand on each of their heads, giving them a reassuring ruffle. "Let's go. We're going home to eat our delicious hotpot."
Back at the apartment, Mahiro got to work preparing the ingredients in the kitchen, while the sounds of an anime—or rather, an animated cartoon—drifted in from the living room. To be honest, Asaka didn't seem terribly interested, but Enju's infectious enthusiasm had pulled her in, and she was watching alongside her.
How peaceful…
Watching this simple, domestic scene, Mahiro couldn't help but sigh inwardly. Perhaps this… this is what 'home' truly means. It solidified a resolve within him.
When he eventually returned to the world of The Irregular at Magic High School, he would find a way to steer everything toward a future as peaceful as this.
"Dinner's ready! Go wash your hands and come eat!" he called out.
"Hai~!" Enju's cheerful reply echoed from the living room.
After washing up, the three of them gathered around the dining table, watching the rich broth bubble and simmer, the prime slices of Wagyu beef and fresh vegetables waiting to be cooked. Just as they picked up their chopsticks, ready to dive in, the doorbell rang, its chime slicing through the cozy atmosphere.
Mahiro turned his head to look at the wall clock and frowned. "It's so late. Who could that be?"
"Yotsuba-chaaan~"
A half-dead, mournful groan seeped through the door. The moment he opened it, a kimono-clad beauty practically fell into his entryway. It was Shiba Miori, a large medical mask covering the lower half of her face. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, and she was wracked by a fit of incessant, painful-sounding coughs. If he hadn't caught her just in time, she would have face-planted directly onto the genkan step.
"Miori? What are you doing here at this hour? And in this state?"
"Heh... cough... cough... I..." The kimono-clad girl weakly held up a shopping bag, pulling out a box of cold medicine and a nutrient drink. She pointed repeatedly at herself, as if trying to explain her tragic situation.
However, before she could finish her sentence, her eyes rolled back and she went completely limp, collapsing into his arms with a soft plop.
What in the world is going on???
Yet, the situation wasn't over. Mere seconds after Shiba Miori fainted in his arms, forcing him to gently lower her to the floor, another dark figure shuffled into his field of vision.
Tendou Kisara stumbled through the doorway, clutching her stomach, her face pale and utterly haggard.
"Mahiro-kun..." she gasped, her voice weak. "Forgive my intrusion... please... I'm begging you... make me some food..."
Plop.
As if following a script, Kisara also collapsed forward, falling right into his waiting arms. Just like their first meeting, she was fainting from hunger, but this time, at least, she had a soft landing. He noted she was still clutching a supermarket bag filled with various ingredients.
"Nii-san, who is this woman?" Enju asked, still holding her chopsticks. She had squatted down beside the unconscious Miori and was now poking her cheek repeatedly with the tip of her chopsticks.
"Mahiro-sama," Asaka's voice was dangerously calm. "Please allow me to sweep this suspicious woman out into the street."
Without him even noticing, the small katana was already in Asaka's hand, the sharp blade slowly hissing as she began to draw it from its sheath. Perhaps due to her intensive swordsmanship training under Kisara, she had unfortunately picked up some of her master's quirks—specifically, her strange, instinctive hostility toward Shiba Miori. He had no idea what kind of ideas Kisara had been putting into her head.
But before the blade could fully clear the saya, Mahiro reached out and tapped her firmly on the forehead.
"Learning swordsmanship from your master is one thing! Don't learn all her other bad habits!" he chided.
"Uguu... I understand," Asaka-chan whimpered, covering the spot on her forehead.
Then, under his direction, she and Enju worked together to drag the unconscious Shiba Miori further into the house. However, the moment they entered the living room and the aroma of the hotpot hit them, the two unconscious women instantly revived. They scrambled to the table and sat down, chopsticks at the ready, seemingly forgetting their usual bitter rivalry in the face of food, creating an unexpected, fleeting harmony.
Especially Shiba Miori, who just moments ago had been too weak to even speak. Now, she simply took out her own cold medicine and dry-swallowed the pills without even a sip of water.
And Kisara was already shoveling cooked vegetables into her mouth, muttering things like, "Umai!" and "It's so good to be alive..."
Yotsuba Mahiro: "???"
Hold on. You two came here together just to freeload a meal, didn't you?
Fortunately, he had prepared enough ingredients for three days, so even with two extra bottomless pits at the table, it was perfectly manageable.
"It's really so embarrassing to have you treat us like this, Yotsuba-chan," Shiba Miori said, though she didn't look embarrassed at all as she delicately picked up a slice of perfectly cooked beef and ate it.
"If you're so embarrassed, then you can pay for your share of the meal," Mahiro stated, his face an expressionless mask, like a ruthless debt collector.
However, Miori just put on an expression that said, "Nani? I don't understand what you're talking about~ We still have to cooperate sincerely later, you know!" and smoothly brushed off the subject.
"Exactly," Kisara chimed in, her eyes closed in bliss as she diligently worked her chopsticks. "We both brought our own ingredients. But that vixen over there is clearly just here for a free meal, isn't she? How hateful. Hurry up and get out."
He couldn't exactly agree with the "brought her own ingredients" part. The ingredients Kisara had brought were all for making curry. Besides the large chunk of beef that could be sliced for the hotpot, literally everything else in that bag was already his. Even the pot they were using was his. But it was understandable; this young lady was utterly hopeless in the kitchen. Her coming over to freeload wasn't a one-time thing; he was long since used to it by now.
"Ara, ara~ So it's you, Kisara-chan? My apologies, your chest is so obtrusively large, it completely blocked my view of your face."
CRACK.
Kisara, successfully ignited by Miori's jab, crushed the chopsticks she was holding, the wood splintering with a sickening sound.
"I'm sorry, Mahiro-kun," she said, her voice dripping with a forced sweetness that didn't hide her fury. "Could you get me another pair of chopsticks?"
"...Getting you another pair is fine," Mahiro replied, his face still a deadpan slate. "But you're paying for this broken pair."
To be honest, he had long anticipated the chemical reaction these two women would create at the same table. It was like mixing water and elemental sodium—an inevitable and violent explosion.
However, after he said that, Kisara did show a flicker of genuine remorse; it was impolite to "accidentally" crush your host's chopsticks. But that remorse was quickly incinerated by Miori's follow-up comment: "As expected of the Mother Orangutan. Such brute strength."
"Alright, that's enough. Both of you, stop arguing," Yotsuba Mahiro said, his voice cutting through the tension.
As soon as he spoke, the two women actually fell silent, though they continued to glare daggers at each other over the steaming hotpot.
He then turned to Kisara. "Since you're here, President, we might as well talk about work."
Hearing the word "President," Kisara immediately straightened up, her expression shifting from furious to one of sharp, professional seriousness, ready to listen attentively.
"This commission is a standard Seitenshi-sama designated mission. The objective is personal security detail. It will likely commence within the next two days." He paused for effect. "The total reward is twenty million yen."
It was, notably, the exact combined price he had once quoted for the heads of Kikunojō Tendo and Sōgen Saitake.
"And it's the usual payment structure," he continued. "Half will be paid by the Holy Residence on the day the escort begins, with the remaining balance settled upon successful completion."
"Understood," Kisara nodded, all business. "What support does the Promoter require for the operation?"
This time, it wasn't just Kisara who was listening intently. Both Enju and Asaka, who had been quietly enjoying their food, immediately perked up their ears, hoping to be included. But their anticipation was instantly derailed by Miori.
"Ara~ You must be Enju-chan, right?" Miori chimed in, smoothly diverting the conversation. She smiled sweetly at the young Initiator. "I've heard so much about you from both Satomi-kun and Yotsuba-chan. How are those combat boots treating you? Do they still fit well?"
"Eh? How did you know about my shoes?" Enju asked, tilting her head.
"Of course I know!" Miori unfolded a beautiful metal fan to cover her mouth as she giggled. "After all, they're a product of our Shiba Heavy Industries. I personally oversaw their development."
"Sugee! You made them? Un! They're really great!"
"Fufu~ I'm glad to hear it! If your feet grow and they start feeling tight, you just tell your onee-chan, and I'll have a new, better pair made for you." She then turned her attention to the other girl. "And that goes for you too, Asaka-chan. If you ever need me to provide you with a weapon, I can personally forge a new katana for you. No problem at all. Those old, antiquated relics from the last century are better off in a museum… or the trash~" she added with a sly glance at Kisara.
Miori was clearly trying to win over not just Enju, but Asaka as well.
Unfortunately, Asaka-chan wasn't having any of it. She immediately refused with a cold, unwavering loyalty.
"That will not be necessary. This blade was a gift from my master," she stated firmly, her hand resting on the hilt of her katana. "I find it serves me perfectly well. Besides…" her voice softened, and she looked at Mahiro with a hint of sad resentment, "…even if I had new equipment, I wouldn't have anywhere to use it…"
The first half of her sentence made Kisara beam with pride, while the latter half was a clear, pouty jab at him. She had trained so hard, honing her swordsmanship to a razor's edge to protect Mahiro-sama, and yet, he never seemed to need her. For Asaka, who defined her entire existence as his sword, this was a profound sorrow. She adored his gentle, protective nature, of course, but a part of her also secretly wished he would use her as the tool she strived to be, just like other Promoters did with their Initiators.
"Yare yare… Don't look at me like that," Mahiro relented, reading her expression perfectly. "This escort mission is a bit more complicated than usual. So, I'll need you to come with me, Asaka-chan."
"For real?!" Asaka Mibu's eyes immediately lit up as if she had just rediscovered her entire raison d'être.
"It's true. And Enju, that includes you too."
Enju shot her hand high into the air.
"Hai! Okay!" she cheered.
And Asaka Mibu, placing a hand over her heart as if taking a sacred vow, declared, "I will not betray your trust. I will definitely complete the mission flawlessly!"
She was utterly, adorably serious.
"Ara, ara~ It seems I really do need to custom-make a new weapon for our Asaka-chan~" Miori purred, seeing an opening.
"Then I'll leave it to you," Mahiro said, commissioning the gear on Asaka's behalf. "I need a high-quality katana. A naginata would also be preferable."
"No problem at all~ Since it's a request from Yotsuba-chan, I'll fulfill it no matter what~" Miori sang. She then slid her chair closer, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his and unexpectedly blew a soft, teasing breath into his ear. "And the price… is very negotiable~"
She leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And since I'm fulfilling your whims so readily, Yotsuba-chan… why don't you do something for me? Quit your job at Kisara's little company and come work for me. I've set up a special Promoter division at Shiba Heavy Industries, just for you~"
"I can offer you a much more generous compensation package, Yotsuba-chan. Far more than what that Kisara can scrape together~"
As she spoke, she pulled a checkbook from her kimono sleeve, wrote an impressively long string of zeros on a check with a flourish, and slid it across the table to Mahiro.
"I know you really need the money, Yotsuba-chan. Right now, all I have to do is sign my name… and this check is yours~"
The number on the check, however, left Kisara speechless, her jaw nearly hitting the table.
One billion yen!
"Oh my~ You look so surprised, Kisara-chan," Miori taunted. "This is the market value of nearly a hundred top-tier Promoters, you know~ Shocked? So, how can a poor, struggling little agency like yours possibly deserve to hold on to an exceptional Promoter like Yotsuba-chan~?"
She then immediately turned her full, intimate attention back to Mahiro. "And Mahiro-kun, you can do… whatever you want with me. Staying by my side is much better than being with Kisara, who has such vulgar, oversized breasts but is surprisingly, boringly chaste, isn't it?"
"BAKA! That's still a thousand times better than your completely flat chest!" Kisara roared.
BANG!
She slammed her bowl down on the table with such force it was a miracle it didn't shatter. Her face was flushed bright red. "A-and… and Mahiro-kun isn't the kind of shallow person you're talking about at all…!" she stammered in defense.
"Oh? Is that so, Kisara? You know, only women with a more… modest and refined figure look truly elegant in a kimono~ So, frankly, no one with any taste would fancy someone with such vulgar, tacky, and oversized—"
POP.
A faint, disturbing sound, like a tiny blood vessel bursting, was heard.
Kisara's head had dropped low, her bangs casting a deep shadow over her eyes. Even though her bowl was empty, she was mechanically moving her chopsticks back and forth between her mouth and the plate.
"Yukikage…" she whispered to the demonic blade at her hip, her voice unnervingly calm. "Do you thirst for the blood of a snake demon tonight?... I can't hold you back any longer… Hehehe…"
Miori had successfully driven her into a state of unstable, murderous rage.
"I say."
Snap!
Mahiro put his chopsticks down sharply and firmly pulled his arm free from Miori's grasp, putting clear distance between them.
His voice was cold and absolute, cutting through the room like a blade of ice.
"It's fine if you two want to bicker. But if you even think about starting a real fight in my house…" he let the threat hang in the air for a moment, his gaze sweeping over both of them, "…be very careful. I will throw both of you out onto the street. Am I understood?"
That single sentence instantly extinguished all the fighting spirit in the room. The thick, hostile tension vanished as if it had never existed. The two women immediately sat up straight, picked up their chopsticks like obedient schoolgirls, and began silently but rapidly scooping food from the hotpot into their mouths.
They knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was not bluffing. If they continued, he would follow through on his threat without a moment's hesitation.