(On the rooftop, the eerie eye granted Kuchiba Hiro an extrasensory view of the melee below. Watching the two girls scrap over a petty quarrel, he snorted. "Idiots."
Even though they were enemies and this internal strife worked in his favor, he couldn't stand people who put personal feelings above objectives and profit. They were simply too green, unbeaten by reality, full of themselves.
Unlike him—someone who'd wallowed in society's cesspool and knew how hard survival could be—they still clung to the fantasy of 'sworn revenge on a whim.'
He was glad he'd left that ivory tower early; the limited, bitter experience had taught him to size people and situations with cold pragmatism.
Wine, women, play—probe these three and you'll see eighty percent of a person's true colors. The thought flashed through Kuchiba Hiro's mind. Right now he lacked the means, but observing behavior patterns would serve just as well.
Misaka Mikoto—undeniably powerful. That endless stream of Railgun bursts packed such devastation that even he worried whether he could withstand it.
Yet her style was too 'mage-like': reliant on long-range area attacks, always keeping distance. Once a high-mobility, high-defense warrior like Axe-Twintails closed in, she became flustered, forced to parry with iron-sand barriers and dart away at speed.
With such an obvious melee weakness, she still dared come alone for revenge—either wildly arrogant or simply hot-blooded.
Summary: lacks sober awareness of her own shortcomings—'no sense of proportion.'
Axe-Twintails (Shinomiya Kikuru): the flashiest gear, clearly the team's top dog.
She wielded a double-handed giant axe—heavy, demanding strength, skill, and battlefield judgment—yet fought recklessly, all 'I'll bulldoze you,' betraying a domineering, almost obsessive streak.
This was a bounty hunt, pure business, but emotion ruled her, turning potential rivals into mortal enemies.
Summary: short-fused, emotional, blind to the big picture.
Shield guy (Arashiyama): looked like the deputy, steady. Shield plus whip signaled defense and control —a standard 'social animal' who read situations.
Yet he hadn't forcibly stopped Axe-Twintails' tantrum—or had tried and failed. Now forced to join the assault, either confident he could clean up or outranked by her. Clearly the latter.
The other three: standard-issue gear, long-range fire-support. Their explosive bullets packed punch, but against Misaka Mikoto's EM barrier they barely tickled—pure cannon-fodder to draw aggro.
'A dish of loose sand, each with their own mind, all thinking they're hot stuff.' Kuchiba Hiro delivered the verdict.
Zero discipline, zero purpose. Simple: add fuel to the fire.
His gaze locked on the fight below.
Right now the axe-wielding twintail, powered by her skirt armor, pressed hard, the giant axe whirling, forcing Misaka Mikoto to dodge.
Shield guy prowled the flank, whip poised like a viper, restricting her movement.
The three grunts kept firing from afar; though harmless, the blasts and flashes distracted her.
Misaka Mikoto, stung by the harassment, blazed with electricity—clearly charging a stronger strike.
'Now.'
Kuchiba Hiro squeezed the trigger. No heavy recoil, just a faint heartbeat-like pulse along the gun.
A thin dark-red line slipped silently from the muzzle, homing straight for Misaka Mikoto's head.
He didn't expect a kill; the real aim was to shatter her rhythm—strong-looking yet full of misgivings.
He saw clearly: her strikes were fierce but always avoided vitals; earlier lightning and iron-sand were meant to deter, not kill.
'You're fixated, girl.' Kuchiba Hiro sighed inwardly. He knew the mindset—clinging to 'I'm righteous, I only kill the deserving.' In the man-eating world of espers, such moral shackles were often fatal.
The truly kind were either bones by now or hiding deep. Most—Misaka Mikoto included—kept their balance through self-hypnosis. Once reality bit, or she failed to find a justification, that fragile balance became a noose.
Sure enough, as the crimson laser closed in, her EM sense screamed. At the last instant she jerked her head.
Shhk—!
The beam grazed her scalp, singeing chestnut locks and carving a burning gash across her temple. The sudden agony and brush with death tore a short cry from her; her EM field flared out of control and she dropped from mid-air, slamming to the ground, pressing her bleeding forehead.
'Perfect!' Shinomiya Kikuru's face lit with savage glee. She wouldn't waste it. Skirt thrusters roaring, she shot in like a white meteor, hefting the giant axe overhead, all prior frustration fueling a downward cleaver strike at the fallen esper.
'Die!'
Misaka Mikoto's pupils shrank; death had never felt closer. Fighting the blinding pain, she whipped iron-sand into a hasty shield above her.
Boom—crack!
The axe smashed the iron-sand, the improvised defense collapsing in a spray of grit. Though slowed, the blade still tore through her blazer and shoulder.
Agh—! The bone-shattering pain wrung a scream from her; blood soaked half her uniform.
Pain. Humiliation. Naked mortal threat.
In that instant restraint, the no-indiscriminate-killing rule, concern for bystanders —all were incinerated by survival instinct and towering rage.
'You… asked for it!!!'
She jerked her head up. Her normally confident chestnut eyes now blazed with frenzied blue-white sparks. A far more terrifying EM field erupted around her.
Bzz—boom-boom-boom!
The ground quaked; nearby high-rises groaned. Steel bars within concrete writhed like waking pythons; lamp-posts twisted, parked cars shrieked, shorted and died.
Iron-sand no longer passively defended but stormed upward in a black cyclone.
Shinomiya Kikuru was yanked skyward, her skirt-shield sparking and tearing under the onslaught.
Worse, façade slabs peeled off distant buildings, exposing rebar that ripped free and hovered like a forest of javelins aimed at her and Arashiyama.
This was top-tier esper 'Railgun' Misaka Mikoto at full throttle—no mercy, no restraint. A goddess of thunder and steel whose very presence could suffocate any foe.
Arashiyama's face drained of color; survival won. He spun and ran for his life.)
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