Coincidentally, at the very same time, deep within Yokohama's bustling Chinatown…
The room was lavishly decorated—bright crimson lacquered pillars, golden-threaded dragon tapestries, and ornate lanterns dangling from the ceiling. On the round table below, dishes of shark fin soup, roasted Peking duck, bird's nest, and other high-class Chinese delicacies were laid out, their rich aromas filling the air. Yet no one present had the appetite to enjoy them.
Instead, a heavy tension pressed upon the group of people gathered around the table. Their Eurasian features, sharp suits, and cold eyes marked them as anything but ordinary tourists.
"…This wasn't supposed to happen," one of them muttered bitterly in English, his face twisted with frustration. "Didn't the insiders say this year's Nine Schools Competition would tilt in favor of Third High? How did First High suddenly produce such a monster out of nowhere?!"
"Not only did their so-called 'temporary engineer' fine-tune an incredible CAD, he even messed with the magic sequences of the Saegusa—one of the Ten Master Clans!" another spat out, his voice shaking. "And now he's become the dark horse of the entire competition, sweeping through the Icicle Offensive and Defensive matches like it's nothing!"
The men slammed their fists against the table. The red-and-gold brilliance of the room only served to highlight their dark scowls.
"This isn't what we planned at all! From the very beginning, we should have sent in more people to sabotage First High! That way this damned upstart never would've made it this far!"
"Enough," one of them cut in coldly. His chin rested upon his clasped hands, his posture eerily similar to Commander Ikari from Evangelion. "We need solutions, not whining. Find a way to remove this person from the competition entirely. I don't want to see his face in the matches to come."
Their gazes hardened, each one weighed down by the unspoken truth: failure was not an option.
"That's right," a younger member agreed grimly. "If the favorites win, we bookmakers lose everything. You all know how much money the syndicate has riding on these matches. Some of our biggest clients are watching these bets. If we come up short…"
He trailed off, his face pale.
Another man finished the thought for him: "…then headquarters will purge us. If the losses are too severe, the Oyabun himself may come."
The room chilled despite the steaming dishes before them. Their eyes wandered toward the embroidered scroll on the far wall, depicting a golden dragon spiraling through the heavens, a silent reminder of the merciless power their organization worshipped.
"…I've already set things in motion," one man finally said, breaking the suffocating silence. "The Nine Schools Committee has restricted that brat's CAD manipulation to some extent. But completely erasing him is difficult. The two projects he's in don't even require detailed CAD inspection."
"Who is this student?" someone snarled, gnashing his teeth.
The answer came with visible hesitation. "…Yotsuba Mahiro. Rumored to be an adjustment-type magician of the Yotsuba Family. However, the Main House currently treats him as an outcast… abandoned."
The name struck like a hammer.
"A Yotsuba… magician?!"
Faces blanched instantly. Even whispering that name was enough to make seasoned criminals stiffen. The Yotsuba were infamous among the Ten Master Clans—the shadow rulers feared as magicians who dealt with assassination, manipulation, and taboo arts.
Their breathing grew ragged, and a deathly silence filled the room once again.
"…Tch. If we can't touch him, then let's target the other First High contestants instead," a voice suggested coldly. "For example—Watanabe Mari. She's competing in tomorrow's Surfing Race semifinals, isn't she?"
The proposal lingered, cruel and deliberate.
"…Agreed."
"Agreed."
"Then it's decided. At all costs, make Watanabe withdraw!"
...
The following morning, the competition proceeded as scheduled.
Contestants lined up at the committee desk, CADs in hand, to undergo routine inspection. It was standard procedure—every device had to be scanned for illegal adjustments before the matches.
On the first day, Senior Mayumi had personally delivered them, but today the timing of the Icicle Offensive semifinals worked out differently. As such, Yotsuba Mahiro dutifully took up his role as engineer. With calm steps, he carried the tuned CAD to the inspection point.
The inspection hall was crowded, the committee staff scanning multiple CADs at once. Beams of light swept rapidly across devices, checking for tampering. Everything was meant to be efficient, routine, and uneventful.
Or so it should have been.
The moment the scanning beam swept across the CAD Mahiro had just handed over—
His instincts screamed.
Something foreign had been embedded into the CAD!
His body reacted before his thoughts even caught up.
In a blur, Mahiro seized the inspector by the collar, yanked him across the table, and slammed him onto the ground.
"Gyaaah!"
A cry of shock echoed, followed by a roar of alarm. Committee security rushed forward.
But they never reached him.
The instant they entered Mahiro's radius, a storm of psions erupted from his body—an uncontrolled surge of magic power. Like moths caught in fire, the security members collapsed one by one, unconscious before they even touched him.
Only silence and tension remained.
Mahiro's hand gripped the inspector's throat, pressing down with merciless strength. He bent low, his black pupils still as a bottomless well, yet behind them glimmered a bloodthirsty light that sent chills down spines.
"You dare try something like this… right in front of me?" his voice was low, deadly. "You have something to say, don't you?"
The inspector trembled for a moment, panic flickering in his eyes. But then he forced defiance back into his expression, baring his teeth.
"Wh-what nonsense are you talking about?!" he spat. "I don't know anything! Let me go right now, or I'll make sure your entire school's results are canceled!"
Mahiro's gaze sharpened. "Not good enough."
Bang!
Mahiro's fist came down like a hammer. Blood sprayed across the dirt. The official's face snapped to the side, teeth rattling, yet Mahiro did not pause.
He lifted his fist again, calm and mechanical, as if he were following a grim routine.
Smash.
"You should have something to tell me, right?"
Smash.
"Where is it?"
Every unanswered question earned another merciless punch. Bone cracked. Flesh split. Teeth shattered and scattered across the sand. His nose collapsed entirely. And yet—unnaturally, impossibly—the injuries reset in the next instant, as if time itself rewound, leaving him whole again only to endure the agony once more.
This was no interrogation. This was punishment. Torture. The fury Mahiro had restrained—the anger from the schemes of other schools, the betrayal of the Operations Committee—now erupted, venting itself on the trembling man before him.
His fists blurred faster. His strikes grew heavier.
"Speak." Bang! "Say it!" Bang! "Answer me already!" Bang!
The man gagged, coughing violently. "Kuhh—cough, cough—!" His body slumped like a rag doll, twitching in exhaustion. His eyes clouded, his mind sinking into haze from the relentless trauma. He could no longer even form words.
Mahiro narrowed his eyes, then released his fist. His hand unclenched from the man's neck.
A reprieve? No.
"Since you refuse to speak… I'll see for myself."
Mahiro's hands pressed against the man's temples. Psions surged like countless needles, lancing straight into his mind.
"Gaaahh! Gwoaahh! Aghhh!"
The man convulsed violently, frothing at the mouth. His body writhed across the ground like a fish tossed onto dry land. His eyes rolled back, whites showing, as saliva and snot dripped to the floor. The psions shredded through the barriers of his mind, dragging out every buried memory.
For others, this would have been impossible. But Mahiro was Yotsuba—scion of the family feared for their mastery of Mental Interference Magic. Peering into another's mind was nothing but child's play.
As for permanent brain damage? Irrelevant.
Mahiro sifted ruthlessly through the man's memories, glimpsing fragments flashing past—coded conversations, secret transfers, shadowy dealings.
And finally, he found it.
The name that lurked in the darkness.
The international criminal syndicate—Headless Dragon. The hidden gambling dens thriving off the Nine Schools Competition. And within the Operations Committee… the traitorous insider pulling strings.
Mahiro's eyes gleamed with cold light, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint, chilling smile.
"So… I've finally caught your little tail, huh?"
The arena was silent save for the faint crackle of psions. Those who remained standing could only stare at Yotsuba Mahiro, unable to breathe beneath the weight of his presence.