In the blink of an eye, a month had passed. Somehow, he had drifted all the way to this moment.
There was a free parking lot near the run-down apartment building. Kurokami Gen helped Tsukuyomi Komoe lock the car, then carried the drunken pink-haired loli up the rusted steel staircase. He had long since grown used to the creaking steps beneath his feet.
On his back, she murmured in her sleep, "So cold…"
"Hang in there. We're home."
With a thought, he activated [Thermal Hand].
It was said that the flower wreath on Uiharu Kazari's head remained in bloom year-round because of this very ability—earning her the nickname "Constant-Temperature Reaper."
"Kurokami-kun's so warm… like central heating…" Komoe smiled hazily.
"That's not exactly a flattering comparison."
The applications of [Thermal Hand] went far beyond warming a girl pressed against him.
Gen unlocked the door and habitually said, "I'm home," only to fall silent with a faint, self-deprecating laugh.
The only "family" who could answer was draped across his back.
The pink-haired loli's body was soft. When drunk, she became surprisingly heavy, constantly slipping down his back. Switching to a princess carry felt awkward. Carrying her on his back was awkward. Holding her in his arms was awkward.
It was the first time he'd taken care of a "little girl," and he found himself at a loss.
Only after settling her into the small futon and tucking her in did he finally let out a breath.
The room was tiny. The entryway was so narrow you couldn't even bend properly to change shoes. The hallway doubled as an open kitchen. There was no private bath or toilet.
No wonder Komoe preferred public bathhouses.
As far as Gen knew, cheap single-occupancy apartments like this technically prohibited cohabitation. But the building was so old and neglected that no one bothered enforcing it.
He had become the invader of a three-tatami room.
In Japanese, a "tsubo" was a unit of area—roughly two standard tatami mats. Three tsubo amounted to about ten square meters.
Gen's bedding consisted of Komoe's only spare pillow and quilt. If they were washed, there would be no replacements.
That first night, he had made do with a single coat as a blanket.
Later, he accepted her meticulous care without guilt.
Even though Tsukuyomi Komoe claimed she liked taking in runaway girls, she had never housed someone for a full month—let alone a member of the opposite sex.
And so, Kurokami Gen became her one and only "god-waiting boy."
Their futons, laid side by side on the tatami, gradually crept closer together—until they were pressed together like family.
Click.
After washing up, Gen turned off the lights and lay down beside her.
The familiar ceiling. The outdated light fixture. In the original timeline, it might one day be blasted into outer space during some absurd incident—like the chaos surrounding that small silver-haired nun in Academy City's future.
Aside from an old television, there were no proper appliances. After Gen moved in, Komoe finally cleared away the mountain of ashtrays. Books and beer cans still littered the floor. In the corner lay a pink and green Gekota plush.
In an RPG, this would be the sort of room where you could casually barge in, click to pick up key items, and save them for later to攻略 the heroine—perhaps even the favorite of Mikoto Misaka.
Looking at the mess, he couldn't leave this loli unattended.
Sometimes it was hard to tell who was taking care of whom.
Tomorrow, he decided. He would clean tomorrow.
Gen steadied his breathing and closed his eyes. The day's overwhelming flood of memories surfaced in his mind—especially the ones whose seals had just been broken.
It was through Uiharu Kazari's hacking ability that he had located that certain hospital. He had "coincidentally" encountered Heaven Canceller, displayed his [Heal] talent at just the right moment, and earned the doctor's favor.
All of it had been arranged by himself—one month ago, freshly transmigrated.
After that, by treating a patient, he acquired Level 2 [Mind Hound] and erased the final traces of his transmigration.
The immigration record was fabricated.
The blank memories were fabricated.
The underground never came investigating.
Instead, he encountered Shokuhou Misaki.
Fortunately, he had been cautious enough not to expose any flaws before those noble girls' "mind-reading."
There was an operating system inside his brain.
Gatekeeper.
As early as a month ago, he had used [Imitation] to turn himself into a super hacker. Leveraging the similarities between the human brain and computers, he had programmed within his own mind—constructing a firewall.
During that fragile early growth phase, he had "formatted" his own brain.
Just as formatted hard drive data could be recovered under specific conditions, only he knew the encryption method. Even someone as powerful as [Mental Out] would need considerable time to brute-force it—and would likely require a hacker of Uiharu's caliber to reverse-engineer it.
As long as a mental-type esper didn't dig deep into his core, they would detect nothing abnormal.
And more importantly—
Could those pampered ladies withstand the sheer agony buried in his archives?
The hundreds—no, thousands—he had [Healed].
Each person's life was like a folder. The super hacker categorized the "black-hacked" memories, knowledge, and skills meticulously—preventing cognitive collapse.
Within his mind still lay memories of "past life and present life." Every anime he had once watched was stored there—though, over time, files inevitably became corrupted or lost.
The passive forgetting effect of [Imitation (Heal)] remained unresolved.
This was the perfect fusion of an unremarkable Level 2 [Mind Hound] and advanced hacking techniques.
I'm a Healer Hero.
But a cautious one.
"Kurokami-kun… you get lonely sometimes too, don't you?"
Beside him, Komoe murmured and turned over in her sleep. Dressed in pink rabbit pajamas, she kicked off the blanket in spectacularly poor sleeping form.
Tsukuyomi Komoe had worked tirelessly for years to afford this tiny home in Academy City. Crude as it was, she was content.
Her small hand rested against his chest.
Gen lay still, staring at the ceiling.
"You only came to Academy City after graduating university, right? You were looking for treatment too. Your childlike body isn't the result of an esper power or experiment."
Dwarfism—a congenital genetic defect causing insufficient growth hormone secretion, stunted development, disproportionate skeletal growth.
Most patients displayed obvious deformities.
Tsukuyomi Komoe was an extremely rare case. She simply appeared to have stopped aging—no different from a twelve-year-old girl.
A "loli disease," perhaps.
Having copied Heaven Canceller's knowledge, Dr. Kurokami Gen immediately diagnosed her. In his memory were the techniques to repair genetic defects and recalibrate bodily development.
The cost, however, was astronomical—far beyond what an ordinary high school teacher could afford.
Komoe smiled with eyes closed. "I don't really have expectations anymore. I've adapted to this life. Children see perspectives adults overlook…"
Gen couldn't help admiring her courage.
To survive in this cruel city. To drag that small yet resilient body all the way through university. To arrive here alone.
"It must've been hard."
"You're the one who looked harder," she murmured. "That first night… when you turned around downstairs. Those lonely eyes… like a stray animal. I couldn't just ignore it."
Kindred spirits.
Perhaps that was when she felt a faint closeness toward the black-haired "delinquent." Or perhaps it was simply a loli's overwhelming maternal instinct.
That night, rage had flickered in Gen's eyes. For a moment, he had even contemplated torturing delinquents to experience pain through [Heal].
Her sudden appearance had saved him.
Looking back, he had treated this transmigration as a game. Plot characters were NPCs—mere vessels for copying abilities.
Except this woman.
Half-asleep, Komoe instinctively hugged his head like a mother. Crystal tears slipped from her cheeks.
"It must hurt… a lot, doesn't it?"
Her loli voice echoed in his ears—so gentle it was almost frightening.
In body and spirit alike, this pink-haired child warmed the heart.
This trivial matter called [Heal].
"It doesn't hurt at all."
After a brief hesitation, Gen gently held her soft hand and activated [Thermal Hand] once more.
Now she wouldn't catch a cold from kicking off the blanket.
He had touched countless girls to [Imitate] their abilities. In others' memories, he was battle-hardened.
And yet—
Only from this angelic loli had he felt such warmth.
Some degenerate otaku called Kokkoro "Mom."
A loli-shaped "Mama Komoe"? Please.
After curing her drunken symptoms with [Heal], Gen used [Mental Out] to craft a sweet dream for her.
Her lips curved unconsciously.
"Good night. Sweet dreams."
—
Morning.
A ray of sunlight filtered through the window. Tsukuyomi Komoe had once again kicked off the blanket someone had tucked around her. She slept soundly until a chill brushed her skin.
"Mm…"
She sat up groggily, rabbit-ear pajamas drooping. Rubbing her head, she couldn't recall what had happened the night before.
Strange. She'd had a hangover—but no headache at all.
"Komoe, you up? The sun's already shining on your butt."
The familiar male voice drifted from the kitchen corridor.
"My—my butt?! That's so disrespectful to your teacher!"
Komoe instinctively covered her petite backside, briefly wondering if something had occurred. Then she realized she was wearing pajamas—and nothing underneath.
"Where's my underwear?!"
"You mean your camisole? I washed it," Gen replied lightly. "Relax. I helped you wash up and change last night."
Komoe patted her utterly flat chest in relief. "I see, then I'm relie—Wait, that's not the point! What did you do to a drunken lady?!"
"You're asking what I did? Who was the one clinging to me saying she needed to 'pee'?"
"W-What happened then?"
She stammered.
After years of teaching, she should have been composed.
This tiny apartment didn't even have a bathroom. There was only a shared toilet at the end of the corridor.
"I carried you there. You insisted I hold you."
"Ahhh! Stop talking!"
Was this the legendary drunken misconduct?
In her hazy recollection, it felt like childhood again—Gen playing the role of "father."
But she was over thirty!
"Don't worry. I cleaned you up," Gen reassured. "With [Hydrokinesis]. No need for toilet paper. Same principle for bathing."
"That doesn't make me feel better at all!"
He changed the subject. "Anyway, did you sleep well?"
Only then did Komoe notice that he had already prepared breakfast. Normally, that was her role—apron and all.
Strangely, the kitchen had made almost no noise. As if he'd been careful not to wake her.
"Pretty well."
She remembered her dream.
In it, she had grown into a full adult. Pink hair flowing like a waterfall. A figure rivaling Yomikawa's.
"Tsukuyomi Oomoe," perhaps?
In the dream, the handsome black-haired youth had cured his congenital analgesia. Dressed in a sharp suit, bouquet in hand, kneeling like a prince.
"Marry me when you grow up, Sensei."
"Damn it! Are we the only leftovers now?"
Yomikawa, Tessou, and Yoshikawa collapsed in despair, while she planted a foot on each busty teacher's chest and laughed triumphantly.
"Ha ha ha!"
What kind of absurd dream was that?
Marrying her own student—absolutely not!
"Wait. You said [Hydrokinesis] just now?"
Komoe suddenly froze.
Gen answered honestly. "Yeah. For wiping."
The correct application of superpowers.
"That's not the point! Kurokami-kun, don't tell me you—"
She rushed into the kitchen—and witnessed something shocking.
"The ignition won't light… broken again?"
Gen snapped his fingers—picked up from delinquent memories. A flame burst from his fingertip like a lighter, igniting the gas stove with a roar.
An invisible barrier dampened cooking noise.
With a thought, he cracked an egg midair. The frying pan flipped without hands—pure telekinesis. More precisely, microscopic water droplets manipulated along the pan's surface.
"The Leidenfrost effect. When liquid contacts a hot surface, it forms a vapor layer like an air cushion… The chemistry teacher at home taught me. Even cheap pans can become nonstick."
Precise [Hydrokinesis] outperformed any Teflon coating.
The chemistry teacher in question beamed—then corrected him instinctively.
"That's physics!"
A gust swept through the apartment, carrying away the cooking fumes. No range hood here; normally Komoe choked on oil smoke every time she cooked.
A certain scientific updraft.
In mere moments, Gen had used [Hydrokinesis], [Soundproof Barrier], and [Aerokinesis].
Something Academy City had long deemed impossible—
Multi Skill.
The clean-cut black-haired youth standing before her—calmly cooking breakfast under the same roof—was a living legend.
"Good morning, Komoe."
Her mind went blank.
Because in Academy City, governed by Level 0 to Level 5 rankings, Personal Reality theory, Kihara interference, and the watchful control of Aleister Crowley—
The existence of a true Multi-Skill esper was supposed to be impossible.