Chapter Text
"Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him / Wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted..."
The air inside the abandoned District 13 warehouse tasted of melting metal and ozone. Outside, the artificial sun of Academy City had set, leaving the shattered windows to bleed a harsh, flickering orange light as the electricity inside raged.
Misaka Mikoto, the Organization’s infamous Railgun, stood at the epicenter of the chaos like a goddess of destruction. The zipper of her black, military-grade syndicate jacket was left open, her short brown hair defying gravity from the sheer amount of static pouring out of her. At her feet, the traitors of the rival gang groaned in agony, but Mikoto wasn't finished.
She tossed a worn arcade coin into the air. "Is this it?" she yelled, her voice trembling not with fear, but with a hollow, burning rage. "I thought you'd be more prepared if you were going to challenge the Organization's Ace!"
She aimed her fingers, ready to turn the warehouse into a crater.
Just then, the heavy steel doors groaned open. The figure who strolled into this hellscape didn't look like a seasoned killer. He looked like a high schooler who had just been woken up from a nap. Kamijou Touma, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a beige trench coat that was three sizes too big, walked right into the storm of lightning.
"Hey, hey... I'm pretty sure we don't have the demolition permits for this block," Touma sighed, his voice dripping with pure exhaustion.
Mikoto spun around like a viper. "Who the hell are you? Did Aleister send you here to die?"
"I'm just a guy who wants to eat his dinner in peace," Touma said. He casually raised his right hand.
Mikoto’s eyes narrowed. She struck the falling coin, firing a devastating beam of orange light straight at him. The air ripped apart with a deafening screech.
BZZZT—
Nothing. No explosion. No shockwave. The colossal beam of energy touched Touma’s right hand and simply vanished, like a blown lightbulb.
Mikoto froze, her eyes widening in pure shock. "What...? What did you just do?"
Touma walked through the dissipating smoke, stopping a few feet away. He scratched his spiky hair and looked her up and down, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
"So, you're the famous 'Railgun'," Touma muttered. "I heard the rumors. Expected someone a bit... taller. Is the Organization's ultimate weapon just a brat throwing a temper tantrum because they cut her allowance?"
Mikoto’s face flushed red with anger. Sparks began to crackle around her bangs. "Don't call me a brat! Are you just some errand boy? You think a cheap magic trick makes you special?"
"An errand boy?" Touma let out a deep, pained sigh. "I'm the unlucky bastard Aleister assigned to clean up your astronomical property damage. We're partners now. Which means," he gestured to the melted steel around them, "I'm stuck babysitting you during your little edgy phases."
"I don't need a babysitter!" Mikoto stepped forward, electricity surging. "Especially not a 'Zero' who just waves his right hand around!"
Touma smirked faintly. "Great. 'The Zero' and 'The Brat'. We'll make a wonderful team. Now drop the mafia act and let's go. My coat smells like gunpowder."
Mikoto ground her teeth. She decided right then and there that this spiky-haired idiot was worse than any enemy she had faced. "I hate you."
"The feeling is mutual, Princess," Touma said, turning his back and walking out. "Come on. Shift's over."
"Some boys are trying too hard, he don't try at all though / Younger than my exes, but he act like such a man, so..."
A toxic, acidic drizzle had begun to fall over the city as they left the perimeter to the Organization's clean-up crew.
Mikoto grimaced as mud splashed onto her boots. "Is this how you fight? You just stand there and wait? If you had let me finish off that last guy, I’d be home drinking tea right now."
Touma tossed a crumpled mission paper into a nearby trash can, rolling his eyes. "If you had finished him off, the three buildings behind us would be on fire right now, Princess. You're lucky you don't work in Aleister's accounting department. They're going to dock my pay just for your flashy light show."
"It's not a show!" Mikoto snapped, blue sparks jumping from her hair. "I do my job perfectly! You're the dead weight!"
"Yeah, yeah," Touma waved a hand dismissively as he walked away into the dark street. "You're flawless. I'm just unlucky. I'll drop your new file off at your dump tomorrow morning. Don't electrocute yourself in your sleep."
Mikoto stood in the rain, trembling with anger as she watched him disappear.
...
The dim lights and heavy jazz tones of the underground bar offered a rare sanctuary. Touma slumped on a barstool, spinning a glass of iced water with his finger. Beside him sat Tsuchimikado Motoharu, wearing his signature sunglasses even in the dark.
"You look like hell, Kami-yan," Tsuchimikado smirked, taking a sip of his golden drink. "First date with the new partner didn't go well, nyan?"
Touma groaned, resting his forehead on the counter. "They gave me a monster, Tsuchimikado. A stubborn, angry, destructive brat who thinks wearing a black jacket makes her the Queen of the Dark. What does Aleister want from me? That girl is a walking bomb."
Tsuchimikado’s smile faded. He shot Touma a very serious, almost pitying look over the rim of his glasses.
"She is a bomb, that's true," Tsuchimikado said, his voice dropping low. "But Kami-yan... bombs don't choose to explode on their own. Someone pulls their pin. If you only look at her as a 'monster', you'll never see the real darkness hiding in the shadows."
Touma frowned, sitting up. "What are you talking about? Are they hiding something about her file?"
Tsuchimikado shrugged, returning to his carefree demeanor. "I'm just a spy. But if I were you... I'd look a little closer when you drop off that file. The Princess's castle might not be as glamorous as you think."
"In the middle of the night, in my dreams / You should see the things we do, baby... Are you ready for it?"
The Organization’s idea of a "Safe House" was a decaying, damp apartment in the back alleys of District 7. It was past midnight when Touma stood before the peeling metal door, tapping it lightly instead of ringing the bell.
The chain lock rattled, and the door opened just a few inches. Mikoto’s tired eyes glared at him from the darkness. She wasn't wearing her intimidating syndicate jacket; just a faded, baggy gray t-shirt.
"What do you want?" she whispered sharply.
"Aleister's new file. Tomorrow's sweep," Touma said, sliding the yellow folder through the crack. "Also, my throat's killing me. The Organization's budget can afford a glass of water, right?"
"You're not coming in. Wait at the door," Mikoto ordered, snatching the file.
"Come on, Princess, just a glass of water," Touma said with his usual stubbornness, sliding the tip of his combat boot into the doorframe just before she could shut it.
Mikoto sighed as if praying for patience. "Wait for the water. If you force the chain, I'll fry your fingers," she hissed, leaving him at the crack of the door as her footsteps retreated toward the kitchen.
But Kamijou Touma wasn't known for following the rules. Running errands for the dark side of the city had taught him a few street tricks. The moment her footsteps faded, he pulled a thin piece of metal from his pocket and expertly slipped the loose chain lock out of its groove. Click.
Pushing the door open, he slipped quietly inside. He looked around the narrow living room, and his eyebrows shot up. This didn't look like the lair of a mafia enforcer.
There were... frogs. Everywhere. A green Gekota pillow hanging off the edge of the sofa, a Gekota-patterned mug on the table, and plushies on the floor.
"Seriously?" Touma muttered to himself, a mocking smirk forming on his lips. "Beneath all that edgy mafia act, she collects frogs like an elementary schooler?"
He took another step into the room, and his smile instantly froze. That was when he saw the real sight.
Curled up on the worn-out sofa was a little girl. She was fast asleep, buried under a thick blanket and clutching a giant Gekota plushie. But peeking out from beneath the blanket was the hem of a white laboratory coat—the kind used in the Organization's research facilities.
Touma stopped dead in his tracks. "Whoa," he accidentally said aloud. "You have... a little sister? The files never mentioned this."
His heart twinged with a strange, protective instinct. He took a step toward the sleeping child, reaching his hand out gently. "Hey, kiddo..."
CRASH!
The sound of shattering glass from the kitchen doorway cut through the room like a knife. The water glass in Mikoto's hand had slipped, exploding into shards and spilling water across the wooden floor.
Before Touma could even turn around, a deadly, freezing silence descended upon the apartment. The air didn't just smell like static electricity anymore; it smelled like pure terror.
SMACK!
Mikoto lunged like a feral animal. She threw herself between Touma and the little girl, forming a wall of flesh, and slapped his reaching hand away with terrifying force. Touma's wrist stung sharply.
When he looked down at her, his breath hitched. Her pupils were dilated, her shoulders tense. The annoying, arrogant girl from the warehouse was entirely gone. In her place was a wild, cornered animal protecting its young. The look in her eyes wasn't just anger—it was pure, primal fear. She looked ready to rip his heart out with her bare hands if he took one more step.
"Don't." Mikoto's voice was a whisper, but it was more deafening than a scream. The furniture in the room began to vibrate violently. "Touch her."
The mocking smirk completely vanished from Touma's face. He slowly raised both his hands in surrender. "Okay... Calm down. I was just... gonna say hi to your sister."
"She is not my sister!" Mikoto hissed. She was panting, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to let fall. It was as if a crushing, invisible weight had suddenly brought her to her knees. "Get out. NOW."
Touma saw the absolute brokenness in her eyes. Tsuchimikado's warning echoed in his mind: "If you only look at her as a monster, you'll never see the real darkness..."
Touma swallowed hard. He lowered his arms. He realized, in that exact second, that the girl standing before him wasn't a Queen of the Dark. She was a hostage. A desperate older sister trapped in a nightmare. A massive wave of guilt washed over him for every sarcastic word he had said to her that night.
"Okay," Touma said, softening his voice as much as he could. He took a slow step backward toward the door. "I'm leaving. Don't forget to lock the door."
When the door finally clicked shut, Touma stood alone in the dark hallway. He looked down at his right hand, the one that could erase miracles, and cursed under his breath. He could fight bad guys all day, but he had just realized he was the one who had cruelly mocked a broken girl.
(END OF CHAPTER 1)