When Lightning Strikes

That was what the suspicious guy had told her, a week before the class tournament.

"Huh?"

Violet asked it back, having no idea what he meant. Jeong Jojun just grinned and said it again.

"When lightning strikes, Violet, you wrap the front line in as much telekinetic shielding as you can muster and send the kids charging."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just remember it. You've got command in my place, so keep it in mind. Got it?"

He sidestepped her question entirely, still grinning as he walked right past her.

Violet sighed. Swept up in that guy's schemes again. He always did this — dangled a mystery in front of you and never bothered to explain. And yet.

"When lightning strikes… charge with telekinetic shields covering the front line…"

Suspicious as he was, she had never once seen him lie. Being led around by the nose was infuriating, but committing it to memory was the smarter play.

"Just what is he trying to pull this time…"

She sighed again, muttered lightning once more, and tucked the words away in a corner of her mind.

"What?!"

The class tournament had barely begun. Violet was in the mid-line, directing the formation as it advanced at a measured pace, when she found herself staring blankly at the sky.

Above Class 1-10, current was gathering with a sharp, electric crackle. The omen that came before a lightning strike.

She decided, without a shred of doubt, that this was the "lightning" Jeong Jojun had meant. She shouted at the top of her lungs.

"Front line! Drop your shields! We're charging!"

Every student in the vanguard hurled their massive shields aside as one and broke into a run.

The ground thundered. Savage, unified footfalls hammered across the open field, and Class 1-5 surged forward like a thing possessed, Violet's telekinetic barrier stretched wide around the charging front.

Class 1-10 stared at the oncoming rush in a daze — then opened up with everything they had. Guns and abilities poured down in a storm.

Rounds sparked and screamed off the barrier. Violet's shield had been thrown up with everything she had, and still a handful of abilities and bullets punched through, slamming toward the front line.

Too much. Of course it was too much.

A single ability, a single gun — maybe. But a barrage this indiscriminate, against a shield spread this thin and this wide, was never going to hold. All she was buying was time.

The last of the barrier flickered, going faint, about to vanish —

And the current that had been pooling above Class 1-10 came down. It fell in a blinding cascade, bolt chasing bolt, and the lightning punched into the rear line and erupted in a colossal trunk of raw electricity.

The blast shook the earth. For a heartbeat, the world went silent.

A few seconds later, Class 1-5 roared and drove forward even harder, fighting spirit blazing. Class 1-10 could only gape at the wreckage behind them, and in that stunned instant, their firepower simply stopped.

"Yes! That's it!"

The cry tore out of Violet before she knew it. Of course it was Jeong Jojun. That suspicious man could be as inscrutable as he liked — he had never once talked nonsense.

"Everyone, charge faster!"

She wrenched another telekinetic shield into being and ran, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth without her permission.

"Whew."

I'd made quite the spectacle of it.

I'd told Violet to charge when the lightning hit, sure — but the lightning I'd had in mind wasn't a bolt from the sky. I'd been planning to use an electricity-attribute drawing slash, a modified version of Drawing Sword - Flame Flower. The rear-liners marking me had just been so damn annoying that I lost my temper, spammed Spirit Step like a maniac, climbed into the air, and slammed it down from above.

"Well. Results are good, at least."

A massive crater had been gouged out around me. Residual current still crawled across the dirt, chewing at the earth as it burned itself out. Thanks to that bolt, the entire rear line was out of the fight.

"Uh… uhh! Holy shit!"

Some guy in the mid-line was pointing at me, stammering. I'd been aiming for the class president in the rear, so the mid-line had barely been touched — this one didn't have a scratch on him.

"Heya~"

I waved with a bright little smile. Instead of waving back, he yanked out a submachine gun and opened fire.

Cold-hearted bastard. My legs were still numb; I'd been hoping for a few more seconds of rest. Oh well.

I spun, wind spirit energy wreathing the blade, and swept my sword through the air. A whirling current bloomed into existence. The bullets pouring toward me were sucked into it, collided with each other, and cancelled out.

The cold-hearted bastard stared, slack-jawed, at the rounds pattering to the ground.

"Heya~?"

I tried the greeting again. He screamed and dumped another magazine at me — and this time it wasn't just him. Every damage dealer in the mid-line, snapped back to their senses by the gunfire, turned and poured everything they had in my direction.

"You've gotta be kidding me…!"

There were still a few rear-liners behind me, but with their class president and vice president gone the chain of command had collapsed. They'd lost all reason and started spraying fire toward their own back line. No blood, no tears — these guys really didn't have a drop of either. Stopping a barrage that indiscriminate, that empty of anything resembling camaraderie, was going to take focus.

I drew every muscle in my body taut, eyes wide, and expanded my field of vision. Above, below, both flanks. One second to scan. One second to rank every incoming attack by priority. Then execute.

A spin — incoming bullets sucked into a generated current, same as before. A wood-firing ability — I seized control of it with a Spirit Master's latent talent, twisted it, and used it to intercept the physical abilities and rounds still coming at me. And the ones driving in on trajectories I couldn't avoid—

Abilities and bullets whispered past, grazing skin and the edge of my clothes.

"Hup!"

The barrage broke, and a sliver of an opening appeared. I didn't waste it. I dragged in a deep breath, planted my foot on empty air — a place where, by any reasonable logic, a drawing slash should have been impossible — and fired the skill I used ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more than any other.

A red line carved itself through the air, cut across the mid-line, and reached the front. Flame-flowers bloomed in its wake, embroidered across empty space — and what the fully opened blossom swallowed was the massive steel shield of Class 1-10, caught by a hair at the end of the line.

Iron burst with a brutish, tearing roar. The steel wall the front line had been holding tilted, then came apart.

"Aagh!"

They clung to the shields, trying to hold them up by sheer stubbornness, but a slab of metal that stupidly heavy was already listing. There was no stopping it.

The steel shields crashed to the earth. The view they'd been blocking peeled slowly open — and in that opening, kicking up a storm of dust, our lovely front line came charging with shotguns in their hands.

"It's over."

I grinned, tapped the air a few times, and skipped upward so I wouldn't get in the way. A heartbeat later, a tide of slug rounds from our vanguard slammed into Class 1-10.

I could have kept going. Pulling back here was just good manners. I do have a conscience, and I wasn't about to steal my classmates' share of the glory. From here on, my job was to cheer as hard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as I could.

"Let's go! Let's go!"

I withdrew from the war and threw myself into cheerleading with everything I had. It felt a little empty, so I whipped up a dirt placard with spirit energy and waved it overhead, cheering even harder.

And under that enthusiastic support, our class stomped Class 1-10 into the dirt.

"Class president, you were amazing!"

The moment we stepped out of the arena, sweat-soaked classmates crowded in with victory-drunk grins, telling me I'd done well. Fair enough. The star of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this win was me, no matter who tried to argue otherwise.

"Hahaha! That's right, kids! You've finally recognized me!"

On day one of my term I'd made them wash every window in the school and torched whatever goodwill I'd had. Now, at last, I'd won it back. A leader can be as harsh as they like, so long as they get results!

"You. I really didn't think you could use lightning… you're something else, after all."

Even our secretary Violet was looking at me differently — not with that usual look of weary contempt, but with a warmth that actually had some respect in it.

Yes. This. This was it. Winning hearts through the third scenario, copying Causality — the plan had worked!

"Hey!"

I was still wearing that pleased little smile, heading toward our homeroom teacher, when I spotted a long-white-bearded old man barreling toward me in a fluster. He looked ancient enough that his joints should have been a serious concern, and he was bounding down the stairs like a goat.

"You there!"

He arrived in front of me, eyes bulging.

"Do you belong to a guild?!"

A hand webbed with wrinkles clamped around mine. He stared up at me with desperate, pleading ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eyes.

"I don't, actually."

"PLEEEASE! Join our guild!"

His eyes weren't just wide anymore — the capillaries had gone red. The sheer mania on that old face made me take a step back without thinking. He read the movement and stepped in after me, shouting even louder.

"Join our Origin Guild!!! Jojun!!! PLEEEASE!!!"

The veins in his neck were standing out now too. He was begging. Actually begging.

"You crazy old coot!"

From behind him, another old man — this one with a gleaming bald head — came bounding down the stairs, yelling as he came.

"We called dibs on that student first! Get lost!"

"What? What kind of bullshit is that?!"

He clattered down the last of the steps, planted himself in front of me, and grabbed my other hand.

"Jojun! Please — come to our Tamrang Guild!"

It was viscerally disgusting. Two wrinkly old men, clutching both of my hands, begging. What sin had I committed in a past life to deserve this.

I yanked free and ran.

"Jojunnn~!!!"

Both of them, calling after me in unison. That wretched, yearning tone sent a chill straight down my spine. I poured on more speed. In case the old men actually managed to track me down, I fled Building C entirely — the building where we'd just fought — and bolted for the main campus.

"Hah… hah…"

I'd sprinted hard enough that I had to drag in rough breaths and wait for my lungs to catch up. What was wrong with those deranged old men? Why were they so desperate to get their hands on me?

"Ah. Right."

The match after ours was Cheonghwa's.

"Ugh. I have to go back, don't I?"

The thought of facing those lunatics again sent a fresh shiver down my spine. I still had to go. I knew better than anyone how hard Cheonghwa had worked for this. If anyone was going to see the result and be there to cheer her on, it had to be me.

"We've got time. I can head back slow."

Each class was allotted an hour. Most matches wrapped in around fifty minutes; ours had ended in an absurd twenty. When we'd left the arena, Class 1-3 — Cheonghwa's class — hadn't even been in the stands yet. Plenty of time.

And since I had time to kill, I might as well grab something from a food stall on the way back. I pulled out my phone and fired off texts to Alice and the Chairman.

"Okay. Time to buy something tasty~"

I headed for the stalls out in front of campus with a happy little smile. No matter how I turned it over, today had been a good day. We'd all gone on a date. The class tournament had wrapped without a hitch. And Cheonghwa's match would go the same way — she'd carry it. That black current of hers was lethal on damage if nothing else.

A sound like glass being scraped cut straight through the thought, a noise so wrong it made my skin crawl.

"Ugh?!"

It wasn't just the sound. Everything in front of my eyes was crushed. I mean that literally. The entire landscape twisted, tore, came apart —

And then the torn pieces snapped back into place. The instant my sight and hearing returned, one side of the campus burst open as if it had been waiting for the cue, and black flames surged into the sky.

Ah.

A girl's voice.

Ah.

I knew the owner of that voice. The one that was breaking, bit by bit.

Ah.

Flames, not electricity — but I had a hazy, dawning sense of whose flames those were.

Cheonghwa.

It was Cheonghwa.

Ah.

That precarious voice, as if something inside it had been severed, reached my ears with perfect, terrible clarity — even though the part of campus where the flames had erupted was a long way off.

And at that voice, strangely, my Gigan-enhanced senses screamed.