A Certain Magical Index, Vol. 19 Read online

  Copyright

  A CERTAIN MAGICAL INDEX, Volume 19

  KAZUMA KAMACHI

  Translation by Andrew Prowse

  Cover art by Kiyotaka Haimura

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  TOARU MAJYUTSU NO INDEX Vol.19

  ©KAZUMA KAMACHI 2009

  First published in Japan in 2009 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2019 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Kamachi, Kazuma, author. | Haimura, Kiyotaka, 1973– illustrator. | Prowse, Andrew (Andrew R.), translator. | Hinton, Yoshito, translator.

  Title: A certain magical index / Kazuma Kamachi ; illustration by Kiyotaka Haimura.

  Other titles: To aru majyutsu no index. (Light novel). English

  Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen On, 2014–

  Identifiers: LCCN 2014031047 (print) | ISBN 9780316339124 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316259422 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316340540 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316340564 (v. 4 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316340595 (v. 5 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316340601 (v. 6 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316272230 (v. 7 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316359924 (v. 8 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316359962 (v. 9 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316359986 (v. 10 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316360005 (v. 11 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316360029 (v. 12 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316442671 (v. 13 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316442701 (v. 14 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316442725 (v. 15 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316442749 (v. 16 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316474542 (v. 17 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316474566 (v. 18 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975357566 (v. 19 : pbk.)

  Subjects: CYAC: Magic—Fiction. | Ability—Fiction. | Nuns—Fiction. | Japan—Fiction. | Science fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / General. | FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.K215 Ce 2014 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2014031047

  ISBNs: 978-1-9753-5756-6 (paperback)

  978-1-9753-5757-3 (ebook)

  E3-20190511-JV-NF-ORI

  PROLOGUE

  A Boring Exchange Between Villains

  Key_Shop.

  Academy City’s District 15 was its largest shopping district but also its main broadcasting base. Many a television station and media-related facility lined the streets here, altogether giving it the highest property values in the city.

  There was a giant mixed-use building among them, like any apartment complex combined with corporate office space. But this one was so lavish you could probably buy an entire detached house for less than it would cost to rent a room in it.

  It was the home of a man called Department Store, and it was also his place of business. The evening landscape seen out the window along one wall was jaw-dropping—if this had been a restaurant, it could have expected quite a few patrons just for the view, regardless of whether the food was good or not.

  “Don’t get too jealous,” the room owner, a man who looked college-aged, said with a shrug from his chair.

  “It’s not like this place is comfortable; it’s just another hideout. I’d have to abandon it if it got raided. Can’t really relax here.”

  He had no sense of caution toward Accelerator.

  Red eyes, white hair. He had a crutch in one hand, but he didn’t come off as weakened by that in the slightest, since the aura he emitted implied he’d rip your body apart if you offended him. This was a Level Five esper—and still, the room’s owner looked at him without caution.

  The young man was probably used to it. After all, considering the products Department Store dealt in, no decent person would ever try to do business with him.

  “Well, I won’t ask what happened. Just pretend I’m a cute waitress come to take your order. No need to hold back,” DS went on, not appearing particularly irritated at how Accelerator maintained his silence. “What might you be after? A getaway car? Keys to a hideout? Or a money exchange, maybe? If you want to launder some stolen cash, today’s rate is 0.8. It was 0.75 before, so it’s a good deal, eh? And since you’re the type who stands out in crowds, I could show you some disguises or introduce you to a cosmetic surgeon.”

  He listed these off the same way a server might explain the recommended dishes of the day. Academy City was surrounded by high walls, so it wasn’t possible to flee from inspecting eyes by simply running. It was more important to prepare a safe hideout—or look for a way to sneak onto a freight train in disguise to get outside city limits. (Of course, even with tricks like that, success rates were low.)

  After hearing this, Accelerator was silent for a few moments.

  Eventually, he gave a slow look around the large room. “A hideout, eh? If this is one of your hideouts, then does that make this a model room?”

  “Well, it is my main product. Hideouts are what I built my business on. I’m confident in what I deal in, and I’m very particular about them. I’ve got ‘keys’ for everything from high-class apartments in prime real estate to campers parked in District 21’s hills. Want to see the catalog?”

  But Accelerator didn’t bite. His eyes were fixed on something to the side. A blind spot, hidden in a corner of the room by the vast landscape out the window, protected behind furniture—and something hung there like a sandbag.

  “That one of your products, too?”

  “Hmm? Is that what you’re interested in?” DS glanced that way as well, seeing what was hanging in chains, his face turning slightly bitter. It was the look someone might give off when a friend discovered their private interests. “Unfortunately, I’m not offering that as an option right now. It’s more like a hobby of mine.”

  It was a girl, about fifteen years old.

  Nothing but white skin and underwear, her hands locked up, hanging there unmoving.

  The girl was black-and-blue in some spots, but she just swayed there slowly, her strength expended, without a shred of embarrassment. Accelerator heard breathing, so she was still alive, but there was no light in her eyes.

  Still looking at her, Accelerator stated, “That’s an awful hobby. Doesn’t that get expensive?”

  “Somewhat, yes. Hey, seriously, don’t break it. This might be a disposable hideout, but I hate having to deal with corpses. And even without the liability, it was crazy expensive. You kill her and you’re paying seven hundred thousand, at least.”

  “Looks pretty beat-up for that price. Doesn’t look like you whored her out, though.”<
br />
  “I said it was a hobby, all right? That one’s for punching. She isn’t good enough for regular fucking. Or are you into the flat-chested ones? You don’t look it.”

  Then, with the hand opposite the one holding the crutch, Accelerator grabbed an envelope from his bag and tossed it onto Department Store’s desk. Ten hundred-thousand-yen bills slipped out from the opening.

  When he saw it, the young man’s lips twisted into a pained grin. “Hey, now.”

  “Prepayment. I’ve got my own shitty jobs to do. I’m on edge. Can’t guarantee I won’t accidentally commit murder.”

  Department Store clicked his tongue. “Just so you know, it’s seven hundred thousand just for killing her. Dealing with the body is separate.”

  His tone was slightly disappointed. She was a hobby item, but he didn’t seem attached enough to her to be stubborn. He probably figured he could buy a new one anyway.

  “What’s so interesting about that brat anyway? You the type who can’t get it up unless another man’s messed up the girl first?”

  “Oh, I get it. Looks like you misunderstood me,” denied Accelerator casually. “I didn’t buy the woman hanging over there.”

  “?”

  “I bought you.”

  Department Store didn’t immediately understand what Accelerator meant.

  Gurrrch.

  Not until he heard the wet sound of his own nose breaking anyway.

  “Gh, gah, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh?!”

  Department Store screamed in pain, rolling out of his chair. There was a small bag on the floor near him. He realized that was what Accelerator had thrown at his face, but it didn’t make any sense. Accelerator had a crutch in one hand. The throw couldn’t have been that strong. But the pain was intense, like he’d taken a pitching-machine baseball to the face.

  Holding his broken nose as blood spurted out of it, Department Store managed to get off the floor.

  “Y…you bast…Fghh … What…? What the hell are you doing?!”

  Department Store opened the expensive-looking desk’s drawer and pulled out a gun. But even when he pointed it at Accelerator, the esper didn’t react. In fact, he only grinned, the hand that had thrown the bag now at the choker on his neck.

  As he smiled, he said, “By your standards…one human is worth seven hundred thousand, right?”

  “…!!”

  Department Store gaped as realization dawned on him.

  Accelerator continued, though, as if to confirm that this was indeed the worst thing he could think of. “Bastard on the phone. Making me do all the stupid shit. I paid you the money, and I’m a little pissed off right now— You don’t mind if I kill you, right?”

  Department Store, apparently overwhelmed with terror, pulled the trigger with his trembling finger. But Accelerator licked his lips and charged at him.

  There was the sound of flesh tearing and bones breaking. Then something more than a simple scream—something more like a howl.

  Five minutes later.

  Poking the bloody ball of flesh with his toe, Accelerator exasperatedly switched off his choker. He didn’t have a scratch on him. As long as his ability was free, he could reflect every attack under the sun.

  Still on his crutch, he used his other hand to take out his cell phone. After dialing, he put it to his ear.

  “I’m done, I guess. These shitty jobs are all so boring. Eh? What do I need? Let’s see. A recovery team to pick up a chunk of flesh that gives off a smell which will make you vomit with even the slightest whiff, and…”

  Accelerator paused for just a moment.

  He looked over at the hanging girl and turned his choker on again.

  With just the flick of a finger, the distant chains binding the girl snapped.

  “…and a set of women’s clothing. Size? I don’t know. Just bring some ‘one size fits all’ crap. You assholes have no sense, so it wouldn’t matter even if I gave you a more detailed description. And put women in the recovery team. I see one man with them, and I’m kicking his balls off.”

  After saying what he needed to, Accelerator ended the call. He grabbed a few random bills from the desk, then crudely threw them at the girl, who was now collapsed on the floor with the chains cut.

  Without looking in her direction, he switched off his choker, shifted his weight onto his crutch, then called out in an impassive voice as he headed for the exit, “Live how you want now. Whether the rest of your life succeeds or fails is up to you.”

  “…”

  The girl in the underwear, who hadn’t shown much reaction until now, finally rolled her head to look at Accelerator’s back. Moving her red, cut-up lips, she asked quietly and suddenly, “Who are you…?”

  “A villain,” he answered in a singsong tone as he went through the front door. “A villainous piece of shit.”

  That was his daily life—their daily lives.

  Accelerator, Motoharu Tsuchimikado, Mitsuki Unabara, and Awaki Musujime.

  The four were called Group, and on this day, Group would once again root out the darkness in this city.

  CHAPTER 1

  I Believe in Your Kindness, at Least

  Dark_Hero.

  1

  October 17, 6 PM.

  Accelerator was by a window, sitting on the floor of the hotel room he was using as a hideout. His reason for sitting against the wall was simple—the devices he’d constructed and arranged on a spread-out newspaper. He couldn’t do this sort of work on the bed.

  As he continued his task, he kept his cell phone nestled between his neck and shoulder. A small girl’s voice came through it. “Anyway, I think we’re having meat stew tonight, says Misaka says Misaka, reporting the results of her reconnaissance and stuff.”

  “You don’t say. When did Yomikawa get good enough with rice cookers to pull off a crazy stunt like that?”

  The device on the newspaper was a crutch.

  It resembled a tonfa, but with a modern design, which he equipped by fitting it around his right forearm. He called it “a device” because it now featured several new improvements, such as a few small motors and a weight sensor.

  At the moment, the crutch was standing up on four legs like a microphone stand. Accelerator poked at it.

  … I think I’ve managed to put it back together now, but I wonder if the weight sensor can handle detecting my center of mass by itself. Maybe I should’ve jammed in an angle-adjusting gyro or something.

  This precise analysis continued in his mind as he responded on his cell phone. The person on the other end was Last Order, a girl who appeared to be around ten.

  “If you want, I can try negotiating to have her make some for you, too, says Misaka says Misaka, glancing toward the kitchen.”

  “Yeah, sure. As long as it tastes just as good after freezing it, packing it, and shipping it through the mail.”

  When he put his right arm through the crutch and grasped the handle, the four stands flitted like insect legs. Still sitting, he jabbed the crutch into the floor. Despite being nearly parallel to the ground, the mechanical legs began to accurately grab hold of the surface and support him.

  Just barely scrapes by with a passing grade.

  “You said you could come visit this weekend, says Misaka says Misaka, making sure.”

  “…As long as my plans don’t change.”

  When he manipulated the grip again, there was a clatter as the crutch suddenly retracted. It was made like an extendable police baton.

  Wearing giant bracelet-like pieces that wrapped around his arm from the elbow down, Accelerator moved his right wrist to see how the setup moved as a whole.

  Guess that passes, too. Can’t walk without a crutch, but it gets in the way when I’m using my ability.

  As he muttered his impressions of the device, Accelerator moved the grip again to extend the crutch.

  Jshhh!! The four-legged pole extended energetically, sending several tools that he’d left on the newspaper flying.

&nbs
p; … Could maybe use it as a weapon if I amped up the power…No point, though. Don’t need any when I’m using my ability, and if I had to lift the crutch in an emergency, I’d fall over.

  “Misaka is so excited for Saturday that she can’t wait— Ohh!! Yomikawa brought in the meat stew!! says Misaka says Misaka, making a report of the highest priority!!”

  “Yeah? Your life is just full of detours, isn’t it?”

  And then it happened.

  The telephone rang—not his cell, but the one installed on the hotel bedside table. Accelerator looked over to it. Before he could pick up the receiver, the ringing stopped. It had rung exactly three times, as though it was preplanned.

  That was the signal.

  An RV or some other similar vehicle had probably pulled up onto the shoulder near the hotel.

  “What’s wrong?! asks Misaka asks Misaka, bending her head at the telephone sound.”

  “…It’s nothing. Just room service,” he lied, placing his weight onto his homemade crutch and slowly standing up. He became conscious of the sensation of a small handgun tucked into his pants on the back of his waist again.

  Then, from the other end of the call, Last Order abruptly said, “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t know about Accelerator’s job. And she didn’t need to know the details to worry about him.

  “Don’t do anything dangerous, asks Misaka asks Misaka.”

  “Do you even know who you’re whispering to?” he replied to the voice on the cell phone, as though thrusting it away. “No need for consideration like that when you’re talking with a guy who wouldn’t die even if a nuke hit him.”

  Accelerator hung up, then stowed his cell phone in his pants pocket.

  Without turning around, he headed for the guest room’s exit.

  Newspapers and tools were strewn about the room, but minions from some organization or another would surely be along to tidy up anyway.

  Motoharu Tsuchimikado was walking through the District 7 shopping arcade, a large avenue along the way from his school to his dorm. Tsuchimikado had blond hair, sunglasses, and a Hawaiian shirt over his school uniform, making him a fairly conspicuous person—but at the moment, there were some people present with even more visual impact than him.