The scene fell silent again.
Misaki's face was twisted into a teeth-grinding glare, her eyes locked on Makoto like she wanted to sink her teeth into him and tear off a piece of flesh.
"I—am—just—still—young. I—haven't—hit—my—growth—spurt—yet. Do—you—understand—me?"
Flatness had its own advantages. The ones who obsessed over size were all deviants, their heads full of filthy fantasies.
Or so they claimed.
The truth?
Those were just the words of women who'd already passed their prime and knew they would never have that kind of perfect figure — stubborn pride masking disappointment.
A D-cup — that was the dream of men and the ambition of women.
In reality, if any girl truly had the chance to have it, not one would turn it down.
Likewise, for flat-chested girls, having this part of their body judged was the kind of thing that could make them jump out of their skin in fury.
Maybe that theory didn't apply to every girl… but for Shokuhou Misaki, it absolutely did.
"Yes, yes, you still have the potential to grow. Happy now? I believe you, of course I believe you."
It was the kind of obvious, paper-thin appeasement anyone could see through.
Even the most oblivious person, looking at Makoto's face and hearing his tone, would know exactly what he meant.
And it was precisely this attitude that sent Misaki's temper shooting up like a rocket.
"You—bastard—!"
Even a clay Buddha crossing a river would have more patience, let alone Misaki, who was never known for her good temper.
"Alright. Feel better now?"
Completely ignoring her flailing, clawing motions, Makoto's smile carried not a hint of warning — more like it came from nowhere, without reason or logic — as he looked at her and asked that out-of-the-blue question.
"What do you mean?"
The limp, harmless fist that had been raised to his ear stopped short, like someone had slammed the brakes.
At the same time, the rage-twisted expression on Misaki's face eased into something calmer.
Her gaze shifted — the anger faded, replaced by a calmness tinged with puzzlement.
"Isn't it obvious? That crushed, cornered look you had — like you just wanted to run away… I could tell at a glance."
Makoto gave a short laugh, not meeting her eyes, just watching the still surface of the lake, his expression as unruffled as the water itself.
Her raised hand dropped naturally to her side.
Instead of relaxing, her small fist clenched tighter, pale skin stretched so taut that the thin blue veins beneath were clearly visible.
Silence again. Only the sound of the wind and the chorus of insects.
That heavy quiet lingered for a long while.
"Haa…"
The sigh escaped at last.
Of course, it came from the one who had been wrestling with her thoughts all this time — Shokuhou Misaki.
"That uncanny way you can see straight through people… and you're supposedly just a Level 0."
Her straightened back and shoulders loosened. If earlier she'd been like a tense cat ready to pounce, now she was more like a rabbit curled up safely in its burrow.
"That has nothing to do with powers or no powers."
Makoto shrugged, palms open in a helpless gesture.
"It's just experience — and maybe another kind of talent. And, correction, I'm not a Level 0."
"What's the difference?"
The corner of Misaki's lips curved upward.
Not quite mockery — more like the triumphant smirk of someone who had been losing the exchange until now and finally scored a comeback.
"Level 1 spatial distortion. You can't even snap a pencil with it, can you?"
"Wow… that's brutally accurate. Leaves me nothing to say."
Makoto let out a wry laugh.
And indeed, there was nothing to refute.
He lived here in Academy City, still young enough to be just another student — which meant he'd gone through the city's infamous power development program.
Drugs, hypnosis, electrotherapy — methods that sounded more like torture than training. He'd endured all of them in the year he was brought here at the age of six.
But unlike the girl beside him, he was no "chosen one."
He had managed to develop a power — which put him above those who never even learned what theirs was — but after ten years, his Level 1 ability was little better than having none at all.
"You really don't let anything slide, do you?"
He wasn't angry. After a decade of making no progress, he was long used to this kind of jab.
Besides, he knew this girl was pride incarnate.
She wasn't trying to mock him for sport — this was just her way of striking back after his earlier comment about her chest.
In Academy City, mocking someone's low ability level was a critical hit of the highest order.
"Hmph—"
She turned her face away, lips pouting slightly. And just as Makoto avoided looking at her, she too didn't feel like meeting his gaze.
She knew her words had been a bit much.
But apologize? Absolutely not.
"So… how about telling me what you can? Sometimes saying things out loud makes you feel better. And today I've got nothing but time."
Maybe it was because the current Misaki reminded him of himself at a certain point in the past.
Even though their connection wasn't deep, he just couldn't bring himself to walk away.
Put simply… he couldn't leave her like this.
Leaning back with both arms on the bench, he turned to look at her profile — delicate, still with a trace of baby fat — and spoke softly.
"What? You're just some delinquent gang leader."
His gaze wasn't sharp or piercing, yet she couldn't bring herself to ignore it. She could only mumble that line in weak protest.
When their eyes met the next instant, she found herself — against all reason — nodding.
"…Fine."