Mi Xiaoliu had never told Yiwen about her ability.
She herself had only learned what it was the night before.
“Ah, sorry.
I accidentally saw your report just now.” Yiwen pointed to the physical examination report Mi Xiaoliu had left right on top of her desk.
Pressing his palms together, he winked at her.
“Can you forgive me?”
It was the only thing she had brought, so she’d casually set it down on the desk the moment she walked into the classroom.
Eight blood-red characters were stamped prominently across it—”REFUSED TO COOPERATE.
RE-EXAMINATION REQUIRED”—and it was rather hard not to notice.
Other types of espers weren’t granted the “re-examine next time” privilege.
For an uncertain risk to refuse a physical was to set oneself openly against Federation law.
Self-healing espers, however, were almost entirely harmless and could even contribute to medical research, which was why they enjoyed special treatment in all sorts of places.
Even if finding work was harder for them than for ordinary espers, at least no one looked at them with contempt.
That alone was enough to make other espers envious—though self-healers, in turn, envied those cool, flashy superpowers.
People always long for what they’ve never had.
“You really need to keep something this important somewhere safe.”
“Okay.” Mi Xiaoliu carefully put the report away inside her desk.
Yiwen seemed a genuinely kind boy.
Noticing that the newly-transferred Mi Xiaoliu had no textbook, he took the initiative to push their desks together and share his book with her—though whether or not she looked at it made no difference, since Mi Xiaoliu couldn’t understand a word the teacher up front was saying.
If anything, she didn’t even understand why she had to come to school every day.
She couldn’t follow the lesson, and didn’t try.
Over the course of that morning she’d learned firsthand just how miserable skipping breakfast was, and, having no memories of food at all, she couldn’t even take the edge off her hunger by daydreaming about what she might have for lunch.
It was very hard to bear.
“If anything comes up in the future, you can come to me for help,” Yiwen said during the break.
“Mm.” Mi Xiaoliu nodded.
She’d remembered it: from now on, whenever anything came up, go to Yiwen.
“Lend me a hundred Mila.” An immediate appeal for help.
The figure held no special significance; her so-called common sense merely told her this was the largest denomination of bill.
“Hm?” Yiwen froze.
It had only been an offhand remark, and he’d never imagined she would open by asking to borrow money.
Would a normal person do that?
Who, on their first day at a new school, borrows money from someone whose name they’ve only just learned?
She seemed the type who, helped once, decides she’s now close to you and keeps coming back for favors.
He’d met people like that back in middle school.
Whether they ever paid it back was anyone’s guess.
A hundred Mila was no small amount for an ordinary high schooler.
But he’d only just told her she could come to him for help with anything, and refusing now would seem rather heartless.
“Why do you need the money?” Yiwen asked.
“Hungry.”
A thoroughly blunt answer.
Yiwen opened his mouth.
After apparently imagining all sorts of bizarre backstories, he looked at her with a complicated mixture of pity and concern.
He handed Mi Xiaoliu a hundred-Mila note of Federation common currency.
“Master, borrowed money has to be paid back,” Sasha chimed in.
Hearing this, Mi Xiaoliu frowned and asked Yiwen, “Can I not pay it back?”
She had no means to repay him.
Yiwen: “…”
“Master, that was very rude!”
“Pay me back next week, or I’ll hit you.” Looking unhappy, Yiwen shook his small, pale little fist at Mi Xiaoliu—an act several girls in the class secretly photographed.
Once again Yiwen mentally filed Mi Xiaoliu under a bad label.
Without another word to her, he turned to go strike up conversation with the other transfer students.
He really did seem an exceptionally kind person—not deliberately getting close to Mi Xiaoliu, but wanting to help all the transfer students fit into the class.
Students who transferred in partway through a term had usually only recently awakened an ability and become espers, and quite a few of them still hadn’t accepted the fact.
For those unlucky enough to awaken an ability, the best future they could hope for was to become one of the Federation Esper Police who matched wits with “supervillains.” With a bit of luck they might make a name for themselves, gain some fame among ordinary people, and receive the worshipped treatment of a TV superhero.
Because most companies wouldn’t employ a mutant.
Warm as he looked, though, Yiwen also seemed to be sounding out everyone’s abilities, whether he meant to or not—and he stopped telling people they could come to him for help with anything.
“Old Six, you’d better hurry up and pay him back,” Jim leaned over and whispered.
“Yiwen may look like a pretty boy, but he’s not someone you want to mess with.”
Mi Xiaoliu didn’t answer, quietly tucking the money back into her pocket, watching Jim warily like a little dog guarding its food.
“Is he after my money?”
She still remembered what Sasha had said the night before.
And Jim had kept coming over to talk to her all day whenever he had nothing else to do.
“…No, that was just ordinary whispering between deskmates,” said Sasha.
“Almost forgot, bro—that boy at the far right of the front row, his ability lets him see what’s about to happen to other people.
Good luck, serious injuries, death…”
He spoke very quietly, but before he’d gotten halfway, the boy he’d mentioned turned his head to glance this way.
There was no chance he’d overheard Jim discussing him amid the noisy break; it was just as Jim had said—he’d turn now and then to glance at Mi Xiaoliu.
On finding Jim and Mi Xiaoliu looking back at him, he rose unhurriedly and left the classroom to escape their line of sight.
Feeling guilty for gossiping about someone behind his back, Jim turned back around.
“Never mind—ask him yourself when you get the chance.”
“How can I get money?” Mi Xiaoliu asked Sasha.
She meant how to obtain some.
“Today’s March 28, I think.
Given Master’s circumstances right now, the only option is probably…
though I still don’t recommend this method.
Maybe…
never mind.
Master, please open the System space.” Sasha sounded rather hesitant.
Mi Xiaoliu had already looked over the System space before sleeping the night before—it really did have only eight slots, with many more locked slots displayed below.
They seemed unlockable with System points, but having already deleted the System’s main body, Mi Xiaoliu would never get the chance to unlock them.
Six of the slots were already occupied.
[Flying Dirt: Dirt that has spent some time flying through the sky.
You can smear it on someone’s face.]
[Novice Combat Suit: Tap Equip to instantly change into a combat suit tailored to your appearance; fine adjustments can be made manually.
Note: Binding is only possible when the user’s age and appearance meet its requirements.
Once bound, the user’s appearance becomes fixed—they will not grow taller or gain weight (appearance only is fixed; they can still be injured).
Effect: Increases all attributes.
Enchantment: Concealment—while worn, it conceals your traces of action to a certain extent (e.g., erasing fingerprints you leave behind, blurring surveillance footage, removing your own bloodstains).
Status: Bound]
“This came from the System’s beginner gift pack.
Come to think of it, Master only successfully bound it two months ago.”
It was, after all, an item obtained in childhood; back then she hadn’t grown into her features, and her height alone had nothing to do with the word “combat.”
[Magic Comb: Instantly styles your hair into any hairstyle you want; long hair can become short, short hair can become long.
Requirement: Hair.]
[Mi Xiaoliu’s Diary: As you can see, it’s only a diary.]
[Blackhearted Red Pen ×3: A red pen loaded with a black refill—or, put another way, a black pen sheathed in a red shell.
Nine out of ten students have done this.]
[Letter: One unopened letter.]
Mi Xiaoliu had flipped through the diary too.
To a lost, amnesiac person, a diary should have been like a lifeline—but she’d read two pages and gone no further.
July 6, 2122
Not in the mood today.
Don’t feel like writing.
July 7, 2122
Not in the mood today either.
Don’t feel like writing.
July 8, 2122
Very tired today.
July 9, 2122
Spent the whole day playing.
July 10, 2122
Too much hassle.
Not writing anymore.
…
A diary like that was no help at all.
And those three pens showed that identical items could stack in the inventory.
“Master, personally I don’t really recommend this job…”
“Speak,” Mi Xiaoliu ordered.
“After midnight tonight, take the letter from your storage space to the address written on its back.
Someone there should arrange a job for you…
a job that isn’t quite legitimate.”