It happened in an instant.
Even in this dim light, with only the last glow of the sunset to see by, the flush that spread from the tip of her nose all the way to the roots of her ears was still perfectly visible.
"So that's how it is… You've finally exposed your lecherous nature, Harumura Makoto?"
As the dignified and elegant daughter of a wealthy family, she certainly wasn't the sort to scream loudly in embarrassment over a wardrobe mishap — such outbursts were useless and even more impolite.
Like some quick-moving phantom, she straightened her posture in a flash.
The remote control that had been pointed at herself was now aimed squarely at the man she called Harumura Makoto.
This was a dangerous situation.
In Academy City, there was probably no one who would take this lightly.
And for good reason — this was the only person in the entire city to have reached Level 5 among psychic ability users, and she was pointing her control medium right at him.
What did that mean?
It meant that from this moment on, your memories, your past, your very perception of reality could be rewritten at will by this beautiful, radiant girl.
Avoiding that fate was only possible if your calculation ability exceeded hers, or if you had specialized equipment to block brainwave transmissions.
Yet the boy's face showed no fear, no intent to resist.
He was not one of the city's seven super-powered espers, nor was he carrying any external device.
"Although we haven't met many times, I don't believe Shokuhou-san would manipulate someone's memories over something like this."
Makoto's expression was calm, his hand — held out in front of Shokuhou Misaki — unmoving, swaying ever so slightly.
"Tch, boring."
Her attempt at intimidation had no effect.
Misaki rolled her starry eyes but, following Makoto's silent gesture, placed her small hand into his palm and let him pull her to her feet.
"But really, you're acting so fearless because you didn't actually see anything, right?"
Straightening up, she brushed a few fallen leaves from her clothes, then slipped the remote back into her handbag, speaking with absolute certainty.
She truly wasn't the type to tamper with someone's life or memories over trivial matters.
After all, no one knew better than she did just how underhanded her power really was.
And precisely because of that, she understood the weight of the responsibility she carried.
Her ability to dominate minds had chosen her — which, in a way, proved that only someone of her refined character was suited to wield it.
Not that she was a prude.
When it came time to use that power, she wouldn't hesitate for even a second.
For instance, if her underwear had really been seen, she would have no qualms about erasing every trace of that from a man's mind with just the flick of a finger.
But the reason Makoto could be so confident was because he hadn't done it in the first place.
After all, if nothing happened, there was no memory to erase.
"You catch on fast — as expected of a Level 5. Well, I'm glad you understand quickly. I do trust Miss Shokuhou, but I still don't like people messing with my memories without permission."
Makoto shrugged, turned his back to her, and walked toward a wooden bench under a streetlamp.
Misaki paused in thought for a moment, but as soon as Makoto sat down, she began walking toward him.
All in all, their encounters had been almost entirely coincidental.
Once, in the narrow gap between two buildings, there had been that cliché incident where a delinquent gang targeted a Tokiwadai lady.
Another time, she had forgotten something at a luxury store, and this man had returned it to her.
The chain of events was so improbably linked it almost felt like some unseen force was arranging their meetings.
From barely acknowledging each other in passing…
…to now, when at least they knew each other's names.
And now, somehow, they could even sit down together and talk calmly?
Night had fully set in — the lingering afterglow of the sunset had long faded into total darkness.
But because of that, the sweltering summer heat had finally eased a little.
The rustle of leaves in the evening breeze…
The rise and fall of insect calls from the forest…
The two of them sat quietly on the bench, each at their own end, separated by enough space for two or three people.
The only sounds were those of the summer night — no conversation between them at all.
In truth, neither of them had spoken a word since Makoto had first invited Misaki to sit.
Nearly half an hour passed like that.
Neither made a move to break the silence — it was as if they were both content to simply enjoy the quiet summer night, gazing at the still surface of the lake.
"Honestly… are we really just going to sit here without saying anything? Making a lady speak first — you really are as infuriating as ever."
It might have been a casual remark.
It might have been teasing.
It might have been mockery.
Or perhaps there was even a faint hint of shyness, too subtle to notice.
In any case, it was Misaki who broke the ice — though her words made it hard to tell exactly what she meant.
"I just think it's hard to call someone a lady when she accuses me of being a pervert with no proof."
Makoto spread his hands, his expression the very picture of exasperation.
"Hah?"
As if her tail had been stepped on, Misaki's voice shot up sharply, the last syllable spiking several octaves higher.
"You gather so many women in your faction, all of them lugging around piles of useless fat on their chests, and you say you're not a pervert?"
"Eh…"
This time, Makoto's sigh was audible.
He looked her in the eye — not just exasperated now, but with a trace of pity — and shook his head.
"I don't even know what to say to that. But setting aside this 'pervert' label you've slapped on me — since you've already decided I'm interested in women with good figures…"
His gaze dipped slightly, landing squarely on Misaki's chest.
"…then how could I possibly be interested in someone as 'plain and ordinary' as you?"