So, apparently, my entire life—or at least the last few months of it—had been a complete and utter lie.
I stood in the centre of my living room, my brain currently resembling a computer trying to run a high-end game on a dial-up connection.
I just stared at the girl standing there.
She was the picture of poise and calm, a stark contrast to the chaotic screaming happening inside my skull.
She had cascading golden hair, a single, defiant blue streak falling over one eye, and a posture so dignified it felt like she was carrying the weight of the atmosphere on her shoulders.
She looked like a high-end transfer student from a prestigious academy.
In reality, she was the literal Pokémon embodiment of antimatter, shadows, and the Distortion World.
"…What the hell, Giratina?"
I finally managed to choke out.
My voice didn't just crack; it ascended into a pitch usually reserved for distressed bats.
"You're telling me... You could transform into a human and talk normally this entire time?!"
She tilted her head slightly, her expression one of genuine, placid confusion.
It was the look of someone who had been asked why they weren't breathing through their ears.
"Master never asked," she replied.
Her voice was melodic, cool, and carried an underlying resonance that made the floorboards vibrate just a tiny bit.
"So I did not tell you. Furthermore, Master never issued a formal order for me to assume a humanoid vessel."
I blinked.
I felt a twitch develop in my left eyelid.
"…What?"
She continued, her tone as level as a horizon line.
"You never instructed me to communicate via verbal vibrations, either. Since our connection is established, I assumed telepathic or instinctual communication was sufficient for your tactical requirements."
I stared at her.
She stared back with those deep, mystic blue eyes of hers that seemed to hold the secrets of a dying star.
Silence descended on the room.
It wasn't just a normal silence; it was a heavy, suffocating blanket of awkwardness.
Three seconds passed. Five.
Somewhere in the kitchen, I could hear the hum of the refrigerator, mocking me.
Then, my brain finally caught up to the math.
"…Wait."
A horrifying, icy realisation began to crawl up my spine, one vertebra at a time.
It felt like a centipede made of pure regret.
"…WAIT."
I slowly turned toward her, my movements stiff and robotic.
"That means…" my voice trembled, a pathetic, wavering sound.
"That means you could TALK this whole time… and I…"
My voice gave out entirely for a second.
I had to swallow the lump of pure grief in my throat.
"…I BOUGHT TM TELEPATHY."
The room froze.
I think even the dust motes stopped moving in mid-air.
"FOR FORTY-FIVE MILLION YEN!" I screamed at the ceiling.
My knees didn't just buckle; they surrendered.
I felt the structural integrity of my soul begin to collapse.
Giratina blinked once, her expression unchanging.
Then, she calmly reached into the shadows beside her—not just a shadow on the floor, but literally tearing open a jagged, purple-rimmed distortion in the fabric of space like she was reaching into a coat pocket.
She rummaged around for a second and pulled something out.
It was a TM disk.
The Telepathy TM.
The very one I had dramatically, heroically thrown into her shadow realm weeks ago, thinking I was providing my legendary partner with the ultimate gift of communication.
"Hm?" she said, tilting the disk so it caught the light.
"You mean this, Master? I never actually used it. As a higher-dimensional entity, I can naturally project my consciousness into the minds of others. It is a baseline function of my existence."
She held it out to me.
Innocently.
Like she was offering me a piece of gum.
"…."
I didn't take it.
I couldn't move.
My soul had officially packed its bags and left the building.
Forty-five. Million. Yen. Gone. Vanished.
Evaporated into the digital ether.
I could have bought a fleet of cars.
I could have bought a small island.
Instead, I had purchased a forty-five million yen frisbee.
I stood there for several long, agonising seconds, processing the sheer magnitude of my own stupidity.
Then, I slowly, silently turned and walked to the couch.
I didn't sit; I collapsed.
I let my face fall into a throw pillow and just stayed there.
"…I'm not talking anymore," I muttered, my voice muffled by the fabric.
"Don't look at me. Don't speak to me. Thinking about my lost fortune makes my internal organs ache."
Akeno, who usually has the grace of a queen, had to cover her mouth with both hands to hide a giggle.
Serafall, on the other hand, had zero chill.
She threw her head back and openly laughed, a bright, ringing sound that felt like a series of tiny stabs to my pride.
Ravel just let out a long, weary sigh, the kind of sigh a sister gives a brother who has just accidentally set the kitchen on fire.
Sona was already rubbing her temples, likely calculating the sheer inefficiency of my spending habits.
And Mashiro?
Mashiro just sat there, looking at the TM disk with a quiet, studious intensity, as if it were a rare archaeological artifact from a civilisation that didn't understand the concept of a refund.
After a few minutes of mourning my financial ruin, I dragged myself into an upright position.
I felt like I had aged ten years in ten minutes.
"Anyway," I said, my voice sounding thin and tired.
"Let's move on before I actually start weeping in front of everyone. I have a reputation to maintain, however shredded it may be."
I turned my focus back to Giratina, trying to regain some semblance of leadership.
"So, what did you mean earlier about Mashiro being the 'most talented' one here? I mean, don't get me wrong, she's amazing, but..." I glanced at Mashiro.
She was sitting perfectly still, her hands resting neatly in her lap, watching the entire room with the calm, detached observation of someone watching a particularly strange documentary.
"Actually... no. The talent part is obvious," I admitted.
There was something about her—a stillness, a clarity—that made it hard to argue.
"But she's completely new to the supernatural world. She was a normal girl, like, a few minutes ago."
"She needs time to adjust," I continued, gesturing vaguely.
"The world we're in is getting crazier by the hour. Throwing her into another dimension immediately feels like throwing a toddler into a shark tank. It's a little… extreme."
Giratina spoke again, her voice cutting through my doubt like a cold blade.
"Is that not exactly why she should go, Master?"
I looked at her, waiting for the catch.
"Your dimensional ability returns you to the exact moment you left this world," she explained, her logic as cold and inescapable as gravity.
"Miss Mashiro will have the luxury of time. Time to adapt. Time to train. Time to gain the experience required to survive the coming shifts. And while she grows, not a single second will pass in this reality. She will leave as a novice and return as a veteran in the blink of an eye."
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Everyone was actually considering it.
The logic was sound, even if the thought of it was daunting.
Sona was the first to break the quiet.
"…She's right."
All eyes turned toward the student council president.
Sona adjusted her glasses, the light reflecting off the lenses so I couldn't see her eyes for a moment.
"Looking at it objectively," Sona continued, her voice slipping into her 'strategist' mode.
"Mashiro currently possesses the least amount of raw power among us. Most of us here are already established in the supernatural hierarchy. We have our abilities, our lineages, our training. You can strengthen many of us directly with your system if necessary."
She gestured toward Mashiro, who blinked back at her with those big, quiet eyes.
"But Mashiro is still fundamentally human and newly exposed to this world. She is the most vulnerable. If there is an opportunity to gain power and experience in a controlled environment where time is on her side, she is the one who benefits the most. It bridges the gap between her and the rest of us."
Rias nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful.
"It's a massive advantage. It takes the pressure off her to 'catch up' instantly."
Suddenly, Serafall lunged forward, nearly knocking over a vase in her excitement.
She struck a classic magical-girl pose, one hand on her hip and the other pointing toward the ceiling.
"If you need powerful magical artifacts," she announced with a grin that was far too wide for this time of night.
"Then let this super capable, adorable, beautiful, cutest-in-the-entire-universe magical girl lend her power! I shall protect this innocent lamb with the overwhelming power of LOVE and high-level weaponry!"
Actual sparkles appeared in the air around her.
I didn't even want to know if that was a spell or just her sheer force of personality manifesting as glitter.
I sighed, rubbing my face.
"…Fine. Serafall, find her some strong items or something. Just don't give her anything that explodes if she sneezes."
But before Serafall could start rummaging through whatever pocket dimension she kept her "magical arsenal" in, Giratina stepped forward.
"Master," she interrupted.
"I have something far more suitable."
Everyone turned.
The air around Giratina seemed to darken, the shadows on the floor stretching toward her like they were trying to offer her a gift.
She reached into the air again, and this time, the shadows didn't just open; they split apart like liquid space, revealing a void of swirling purples and blacks.
She reached in and pulled out a pair of crimson gauntlets.
They were stunning and terrifying all at once.
They looked ancient, crafted from a metal that seemed more like scales than steel.
They were draconic in design, and as she held them, I could see the metal pulsing faintly.
It wasn't just a glow; it was a rhythmic, living heartbeat.
I frowned, looking from the gauntlets to Mashiro's slender arms.
"Gauntlets? I'm not sure Mashiro is the 'punch things until they stop moving' type. She's more of a… quiet observer."
Beside me, Serafall froze.
Her jaw actually dropped.
She looked like she'd just seen a ghost, or perhaps a very expensive bill.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
She shrieked, her voice echoing off the walls.
Everyone jumped—even Koneko flinched.
Serafall pointed a trembling finger at the crimson gauntlet.
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