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Mikoto didn’t recognize the goggles until she nearly stepped on them.
For a moment she just stood with her foot frozen, staring down at them disbelievingly. Then, in a blur of movement, Mikoto picked them up, snatched them to her chest, and glanced around frantically to make sure no one was in earshot. “Are you kidding me?”
What the hell were those idiots thinking? Didn’t they realize that each and every one of them were walking neon signs, pointing at one of Academy City’s most hidden divisions and one of its biggest secrets? Sure, maybe they were one of its least well-kept secrets as well, but still—for them to just drop evidence of their existence smack-dab in the middle of the street…
Oh, the next time Mikoto saw one of those Sisters, she’d be sure to give them a good talking-to— especially since their Network would guarantee her tirade reaching whichever one had lost this particular pair of goggles.
But in the meantime, what the heck was she supposed to do with these things?
Mikoto had only gone out for a quick walk, with a little stop at the corner manga shop at most. She hadn’t brought her bag, and a quick attempt revealed that the goggles were too bulky to fit into the pockets sewn in her skirt. She definitely didn’t want to think about what it would look like to have them stuffed in…other places, but there weren’t any other options that she could think of.
Fine. That wasn’t true. There was one option that was still open to her, but it was probably better to call it a last resort.
Mikoto looked up just in time to see someone walking down the sidewalk toward her, scrolling away on their phone. The person looked up briefly, glanced at her—and, without pausing, went back to looking at their phone. As she continued down the sidewalk, Mikoto passed others, all of whom displayed equally high levels of interest in the Tokiwadai ojou-sama and her fancy goggles.
After the fifth person walked by without so much as a breath in the direction of her cargo, Mikoto finally relaxed. She should’ve realized that something like this would’ve been the case in a place like Academy City, a place of students . Half the people around her were sporting strange hairstyles, stranger clothing, and indescribable piercings in unbelievable areas. Honestly, in all that, who would even bother looking at a pair of goggles? Mikoto began to relax.
“Hey! Finally out of the lab?”
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Mikoto kept walking, convinced that she’d simply overheard some weird slang-filled greeting that she hadn’t picked on yet. (Was it possible to feel out of touch with a generation at fourteen years old?)
“Hey, wait! Hello? Didn’t you hear me?”
Mikoto couldn’t help smirking. Hopefully whoever this guy was trying to greet would stop ignoring him, though it would also be pretty great if the whole sad charade kept going…
“Misaka!”
Mikoto stopped dead in her tracks.
Now she heard the running, footsteps that were pounding much faster than those of the others on the sidewalk. As they came closer, something in Mikoto’s mind clicked—and with a sinking feeling, she realized she knew that voice. Slowly, she turned to see a very familiar idiot running down the sidewalk in her direction.
“I knew it was you!” Kamijou Touma said. He had a grin plastered on his face today that seemed far too triumphant for Mikoto’s liking, though that was probably just because he also had his hands raised in the air like he’d won some obscure trophy. He lurched to a stop in front of Mikoto, panting slightly.
She tried to ignore the way his face looked at the moment, flushed with a little effort and a lot of excitement. Instead, Mikoto opened her mouth, preparing to give him a little talk regarding the ways one was supposed to greet someone on a sidewalk, when Kamijou grinned down at her and spoke first:
“You know, I think I’m getting better at telling you guys apart from your older sister.”
If Mikoto had been drinking something, she almost certainly would’ve spewed it out. As it was, she barely avoided spewing out a “What?” at the top of her lungs. It helped that her mouth was open in complete shock.
“You almost made it too easy this time, though,” Kamijou said blithely. It didn’t look like the idiot had even noticed the shock that had crossed her face. “The goggles kind of gave it away.”
For a few seconds, Mikoto was stuck staring incredulously at Kamijou. Then, slowly, she looked at the goggles in her hand—and felt her eyes widen, as the facts combined to make one terrible truth.
This idiot actually thinks I’m one of—?
Even Kamijou noticed the look on Mikoto’s face this time. “What’s wrong?” He looked around worriedly, then leaned in towards her. “Is there someone watching you?” he murmured quietly. His face was starting to take on an intensity that Mikoto hadn’t seen in a while. “I’ve never seen you guys look so surprised, not even against Accelerator. What did you guys get yourselves into this time?”
“N-no!” If her face had been covered in shock before, Mikoto knew there was definitely a blush on her cheeks to go with it now. Hurriedly, she leaned away from Kamijou.
The only guy watching me right now is you , idiot!
Mikoto didn’t voice her thoughts, mostly because she wasn’t sure if she could make those particular words sound angry. She opened her mouth to say something a bit more straightforward instead—preferably a sentence with the words “not a Sister” and “freaking blockhead” in it—
And paused, her mind racing.
Every instinct she had told her it was just wrong to let Kamijou think she was someone else, especially if that someone was a Sister. The idea of masquerading as one of those girls felt as if it mocked who they were and what they had gone through.
But even so…
For better or worse, they had her face—and she had theirs. She’d always wondered how that factored into their interactions with the guy standing in front of her. There was a real difference, she knew; a picture of Misaka Imouto and her freshly bought chocolate ducklings came to mind. Was it something about personality? Comportment? Something she couldn’t even imagine? Even if she’d never admitted it to herself until now, that difference bothered her. A lot. Here was a perfect chance to figure it out, just waiting for her to take it.
And honestly, at the end of the day? It would be worth it just for the look on the guy’s face. He’d find out eventually.
Fine then.
Mikoto took a breath and looked up at the boy still waiting patiently in front of her. She tried her best to relax her face and capture the blankness unique to the Sisters, and stifled the near-reflexive urge to glare up at Kamijou. Most importantly, she tried not to feel like an idiot.
Just think of it as a spy mission, girl. Come on.
“I—” Not monotone enough. She tried again. “I am fine...says Misaka.” Mikoto almost grimaced at the last part—she’d never referred to herself in the third person before, except as a very rare joke.
She gritted her teeth. There was no turning back now; she’d already committed to this. Now she just had to hope that she didn’t give herself away ahead of time.
Kamijou, at least, didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “Are you sure?” He looked around again, though the intensity on his face had softened into something more like mild concern. Finally, he gave up and shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “I guess things look fine.” Without a second glance, he started to walk past her, to leave her behind yet again —
“Wait,” Mikoto said, forgetting all about the monotone for a heart-stopping moment. “Before you go—”
And Kamijou stopped. “I wasn’t leaving,” he said, looking back over his shoulder and giving Mikoto a gentle smile. “Just checking around one last time.” He took two large, slow steps back, positioning himself in front of her once again. “See?”
“Oh.” On any other day, Mikoto would’ve blasted him for being so unclear. Today, all she was thinking about was the obvious ease on his face, the relaxation that had never been there in all the times she had stood in front of him as Misaka Mikoto. I don’t get it, she thought, at the same time that she said, “Misaka understands.”
I just don’t get it.
Kamijou laughed suddenly; Mikoto blinked and looked up at him. “What?” Had she made a mistake? Was he laughing at her terrible acting, or her stupid idea, or…
“I really don’t mind standing here and talking with you, but”—Kamijou stepped aside as a person brushed by him—“some of these people might. You want to move somewhere a bit more…well, quiet?” As he said the words, yet another pedestrian squeezed past him.
Mikoto had been so preoccupied with the details of her act that she’d forgotten where they were standing. Now it was impossible to ignore, even if the students in the area seemed to be jostling Kamijou significantly more often than her (not that she was complaining, since she couldn’t currently do so herself). Before she could stop herself, Mikoto came to a decision.
“Follow me, orders Misaka.”
She looked at Kamijou once to make sure that he’d gotten the message, then turned and walked off, resisting the urge to look behind her to see if he was following. The Sisters never tried to make sure you were following them. They just went.
Still, as she walked, Mikoto couldn’t help but glance at the eyes of the people who passed her, trying to see if they were looking up at anything or anyone behind her—say, for example, a spiky-haired boy. It didn’t help. She caught plenty of guys looking at her , but none looked up for long enough to tell whether or not they were looking at anyone behind her.
If that idiot ditches me, forget this whole Sister shtick. He’s getting a lightning bolt up his—
Then Mikoto arrived at her destination. Hesitantly, she turned to look behind her, half-expecting to be greeted by the sight of an empty sidewalk…
“You know what’s weird?” a voice asked, halfway through her turn.
She stopped; wiped what must’ve been a painfully obvious grin of relief off her face, then finished her turn. “What?” she said, to the spiky-haired, idiotic, and one-hundred percent present Kamijou Touma.
“It’s just that your older sister picked this exact place the last time we…talked,” he said, looking quickly up at the sign. “Well, I say talked , but you know what she’s like—”
“That is weird, Misaka agrees,” Mikoto said hurriedly. “Why don’t we go inside now?”
When they sat down at the table, the waitress looked at them oddly—with a jolt, Mikoto realized that the woman was the same person who’d endured their antics last time. She gave a somewhat sheepish smile in response to the woman’s stare. Kamijou, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice anything at all. He simply smiled, accepted the menus, and immediately looked down at the entries.
Okay. So maybe he was just painfully oblivious around anyone of the opposite gender.
At least he’s able to communicate some things , Mikoto thought, as Kamijou successfully ordered a glass of water. Maybe there’s still hope. “Misaka will have water too,” she said near-automatically, ignoring the strange look from the waitress. At this point, it was almost too easy to slip into the third-person. And it would be worth all the strange looks, if she could just figure out a few things. She was almost there…
“I just wanted to say,” Kamijou said quietly, as the waitress disappeared into the kitchen. He glanced off at the swinging doors with a furrowed brow, then turned back to Mikoto. “I’m not sure if you noticed the strange look on that woman’s face, but in case you did—it wasn’t because of you , okay?”
So he had noticed, after all? Now Mikoto was back to square one. “What do you mean?”
“Well.” Kamijou scratched at his neck. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Like I said, it wasn’t your fault. It was something that happened between me and your big sister here. To be honest, we kind of deserve the looks after what happened.” Kamijou smiled. “Your big sister deserves it more, though. She was the one who blew out the lights.”
Why, you fingerpointing bastard—
Was any indignation showing on her face? Mikoto wasn’t sure. Whatever she looked like from the outside, though, Mikoto knew all about the whirl of annoyance that was tumbling around inside of her. What had happened hadn’t been all her fault—he’d been stumbling around in one of their little chases, she’d been racing after him as always, and then, of all things, the idiot had had the nerve to switch things up and swerve into a café— this particular café—and actually sit down at a table—
Okay, at this rate she was actually going to break something. Mikoto forced herself to switch tracks before she made every person in a five-foot radius regret not encasing themselves in rubber before going out.
It was time to do what she’d had in mind from the start.
“Misaka has a question,” she said. She was surprised by how bland her voice sounded—something about the ridiculousness of addressing herself in the third person balanced out the emotion, kept her from getting too swept up in it. Maybe that was why the Sisters had been conditioned to do it in the first place. “What…what do you…”
She broke off. Would this really be a good idea? It was possible that the Sisters had never even come close to broaching the topic of their “big sister” before. If that were the case, then this would be a dead giveaway that something was off.
What do you think of Misaka Mikoto ? What do you think of me ?
Did she even want to know the answer?
“Wait, what?” Kamijou was staring at her in confusion. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t really catch that last part. Could you say that again?”
Mikoto gulped. Come on! “What…what…” Come on, Mikoto! You’ve blasted helicopters out of the sky before! Why does this scare you?
“Huh?” He raised an eyebrow.
I can’t do this. Mikoto broke eye contact, staring at the table instead. “Misaka…was just curious about what you would like to order.” She closed her eyes.
Kamijou just looked at her for a second, and Mikoto almost thought ( hoped? ) that he would say something was wrong. But no—his usual obliviousness acted in full force. “Good question,” he said, flipping it open. “I think last time, I got…”
He looked down just in time to miss the look of agonized frustration that flashed across Mikoto’s face.
Just go for it, Mikoto! Come on !
She could remember all the underclasswomen at Tokiwadai who would come to her, shyly ask her what to do about some boy (or, in a few cases, some girl). Suck it up , she’d told them. Just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?
Now, regarding the idiot in front of her as he squinted at the menu, Mikoto understood just how hard—and easy—it was to answer that question.
Seriously, she told herself. It doesn’t have to be an intense question. Not even a really good one. Just keep him talking.
Mikoto cast another look at Kamijou. He was still squinting at the menu at the moment, though the focused look on his face was starting to morph into what looked like mild horror. She knew him well enough by now to know exactly what kind of horror that was: it seemed like the café had amped up their pricing strategy a bit.
Well, it was time to give him something else to think about.
“Misaka would like to apologize.”
Kamijou didn’t look up from the menu.
“Hey,” Mikoto said. “Misaka would like to—”
“I heard you.” Kamijou looked up, then smiled slightly. “I was just trying to figure out what you would ever apologize for.”
Here we go…
“Misaka heard you mention our older sister when we first came in. You talked about how she was—how she chased you into this café. Misaka would just like to make it clear that the Sisters do not condone her actions…” She trailed off.
Mikoto had been watching Kamijou’s face. She’d watched his expression change from one of bemusement to one of somber realization. That was fine. She’d been expecting that.
What she hadn’t been expecting was the giant smile that spread across Kamijou’s face.
A second later, the guy actually had the nerve to start laughing. “You’re apologizing for your older sister?” He started laughing again. “That's—” He broke off and cast a glance at her before looking back down at the menu. “Oh, God,” he murmured, still chuckling slightly.
For once, Mikoto didn’t have to fake her response.
“Misaka,” she said, “does not understand.”
“It’s just—well.” Kamijou leaned in closer; looked at her expectantly. Mikoto resisted the urge to do the same, but when the guy just kept looking at her wordlessly, she leaned in too. Reluctantly, of course.
“Don’t tell your older sister I said this,” Kamijou murmured quietly, once she’d gotten up close. “Okay?” Again, he gave her an expectant look and a pause.
What the hell. She hesitated for one more second, then sighed. “Of course,” she said. “Misaka agrees.”
If there was any suspicion in Kamijou’s mind, it didn’t show in his voice. “Okay,” he said. Suddenly he shifted back slightly, his eyes dropping as if he’d only just realized the distance (or lack thereof) between them. “Okay,” he said again, and this time his voice was much less certain, much less mischievous. “Uh…”
His turn to hesitate, apparently. As Mikoto watched the boy in front of her squirm and fidget, a terrible possibility occurred to her—what if he had never really expected her to agree? What if he was really about to say something truly not meant for her ears? What if…
What if he hates me for everything I've done?
“I guess this is around the best time to start talking to you about this,” Kamijou said. The expression of extreme discomfort on his face didn’t really bolster his words much. “Look—that old frog-face told me once that you guys were ‘maturing emotionally’. I still don’t really know what that means, but I’m gonna guess that at this point there’s someone you all care about.”
“C-care about?” Mikoto stammered. “I…we…you—”
“You know, like a close friend?” Kamijou said. “It’s been long enough and there are a lot of you. I’m sure at least some of you have met someone.”
Mikoto stared at the table. “Well…yes. Someone.” She shut her eyes. Friend didn’t exactly cover it.
Of course, being who he was, it didn't seem like Kamijou had noticed her discomfort. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with his own. “I have no idea how to explain this,” he was muttering, as he scrubbed a hand across his face. “Okay. Whatever. Just say what comes to mind, Kamijou.”
Get to the freaking point!
“Most of us like to treat people nicely, and that’s true for your big sister too,” said Kamijou. “But for some reason, well, how to put this…”
Mikoto’s eyebrow was twitching. She wasn’t sure if she could help it.
“She likes to tell poor old Kamijou here that she cares by using the language of violence,” said the boy in front of her. “Sometimes, people do the opposite of what they mean. At least, I have to believe that, because otherwise there might actually be something wrong with her—huh?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mikoto said sweetly, hiding the warped fork under her chair. “Go on.”
He blinked at her for a moment, then shrugged and continued. “Like I said, I know you guys would never do this, but Misaka is one of those rare breeds of people who seriously expresses herself like it’s always Opposite Day.” He paused in contemplation, then shook his head with a sad look on his face. “I think it’s all that manga she reads.”
“Uh huh…”
“I’m telling you, she’s picked up all the wrong habits. Sometimes I see her and I just want to hang out for like five seconds and be on my merry way, but somehow she always finds some reason to chase me around the city. But I know I can’t hold it against her, because her poor impressionable mind’s been warped.”
“Warped, huh?”
“Your sister might be in the Big Three, but she’s just as impressionable as anyone else, I guess. There’s this thing called a tsun—” He broke off suddenly. “Wait a second. You—your expression…”
“Yes, Kamijou? What about my expression?”
“You…you haven’t been adding anything to the end of your sentences, huh.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“And you’re not talking in the third person.”
“No. No, I’m not.”
“Which means…”
“Just try and label me with a manga trope one more time, you bastard!”
“Holy shi—ahhhhh! Someone help!”
“Get back here! It’s not Opposite Day today, I can tell you that!”
The waitress came out of the back with a glass of water, heading gingerly for the table with the horrible couple. She paused for a moment, took one look at the scene in front of her, and disappeared into the back once again. The water was forgotten on the counter, along with every other order from the patrons of the café.
At times like these, one could only break into a dead run for the fuse box.
END