041 Weapons Selection - Part 2 - Mirai ‘s POV

  Csses finally ended.

  Esper Ethics & Psychology had been boring as usual, filled with dry discussions about moral dilemmas that barely applied to the real world. Combat Training II, on the other hand, was just as brutal as always. My muscles ached, and I was pretty sure I had a bruise forming somewhere, but at least I could leave now.

  I wasn’t part of any club, so when given the opportunity to head out, I took it without hesitation.

  Of course, Mark was tagging along.

  The moment we stepped outside, stretching under the fading sunlight, I turned to him with a grin. "Alright, time for your biking lesson."

  Mark groaned. “Can’t we just—”

  “Nope.” I grabbed his sleeve and started dragging him toward the open courtyard where a couple of abandoned bikes sat, leftovers from some other students. "You promised. A deal’s a deal."

  Mark sighed, muttering something under his breath, but he followed anyway.

  Once we reached the bikes, I motioned for him to grab one. "Okay, let’s see if you remember anything from st time."

  Mark picked up the bike hesitantly, positioning himself on the seat with all the grace of a baby deer on ice. I watched as he tried to push forward—and immediately wobbled to the side, his foot smming onto the ground before he could completely tip over.

  I crossed my arms. "Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with your sense of bance?"

  Mark exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on the handlebars. "Yeah, I have a terrible sense of bance."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Like, how terrible?"

  Mark leaned the bike back into pce and sighed. "I’m bad at a lot of things that require coordination. Ice skating, rollerbding, anything involving walking in a straight line—"

  "You seem fine in combat, though," I pointed out. "I mean, you literally fought Ron in a full-on sparring match. You didn’t seem like you were struggling with bance then."

  Mark shrugged. "I was trained by a very strict instructor."

  I tilted my head. "How strict?"

  Mark hesitated for a moment before deadpanning, "If I didn’t move correctly, I’d get hit."

  I blinked. "...Hit?"

  Mark gave me a ft look. "Yes."

  "With what?"

  "Sticks. Wooden swords. Sometimes rocks."

  I stared. "...Rocks? Is it your Mom?”

  “Mom? No… She hired, okay?” Mark sighed again. "Look, the point is, I learned how to fight because not doing it correctly had consequences."

  I processed that for a moment before smirking. "Got it."

  Mark narrowed his eyes. "Got what?"

  I patted the bike. "If strict training worked for you, then I just have to be strict too."

  Mark stared at me. "That’s not what I—"

  I reached down, grabbed a pebble from the ground, and tossed it lightly into the air.

  Mark’s expression turned deadpan. "You’re not serious."

  I smiled sweetly. "Get on the bike, Mark."

  Mark wobbled on the bike again, his foot smming onto the ground just before he lost bance entirely.

  I sighed. "You’re supposed to pedal."

  "I’m trying," Mark grumbled, gripping the handlebars like they were going to betray him at any moment.

  I tapped my chin. "You know, for someone who fights pretty well, you’re really bad at this."

  "Yeah, thanks for the observation," he muttered.

  I watched him struggle for a bit longer before deciding to change the topic. "By the way, what are you picking for the Weapons Selection assignment? The one Master Reina gave us?"

  Mark pushed forward on the bike again, managing a shaky two meters before nearly tipping over. He sighed and propped his foot down. "Boomerang."

  I blinked. "Boomerang?"

  "Yeah," he said, adjusting his grip on the handles. "A bit unorthodox, but it should be fine. Works for both ranged and melee situations, and if it’s made well, I can probably incorporate it into my fighting style."

  I tilted my head, imagining Mark throwing a boomerang in the middle of a fight. It was... weird, but considering how adaptable he was, I could see it working.

  "Sounds cool," I admitted. "But... what about me?"

  Mark raised an eyebrow. "What about you?"

  I huffed. "I mean, what do you think I should use? I can’t really imagine myself wielding any particur weapon."

  Mark gave me a thoughtful look.

  "I want something that really resonates with me," I continued, "but I got nothing. That’s why I’m asking for advice."

  Mark didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat back on the bike, tapping his fingers on the handlebars in thought. I could tell he was actually considering the question instead of just brushing it off.

  "Well," he finally said, "it depends. Do you want something that compliments your ESP or your fighting style?"

  "Both," I answered without hesitation. "Can I get the best of both worlds?"

  Mark hummed, looking thoughtful. He slowly rolled the bike forward with his foot, eyes scanning the pavement like the answer was written there. After a moment, he finally spoke.

  "Why not just learn the orthodox weapon in general?" he suggested. "Start from the basics, work your way up, and go to a new level. Become a weapon master."

  I blinked. "A weapon master?"

  Mark shrugged. "Yeah. A lot of people use weapons, and there’s plenty of knowledge shared online. You could research anything, find fighting styles that work for you, and develop from there."

  I frowned. "That sounds... really complicated."

  "Not for you," Mark said ftly.

  I tilted my head. "What do you mean?"

  He sighed like it should’ve been obvious. "You can do anything you’ve seen once, right? If you apply your luck when performing an action, you rarely do something wrong. If you seriously incorporate studying into your ESP, you could drastically shorten the learning curve of any learnable skill avaible to you."

  I blinked again. Then I thought about it.

  He... wasn’t wrong.

  It was easy to dismiss my ESP, Heroine’s Heart, as something that just let me ‘understand’ people. But it wasn’t just that—it was intuition, an uncanny knack for doing things right. I’d always had an easier time learning something when I saw it demonstrated first. Even before my ESP was enhanced, I had moments where I just knew what to do.

  If I seriously applied myself...

  "...That’s actually not a bad idea," I muttered.

  Mark smirked. "Of course it isn’t. I came up with it."

  I frowned, resting my hands on my hips. "The problem is, we’re only allowed to pick one weapon for the assignment. I don’t really have the luxury of studying multiple weapons at once."

  Mark nodded. "Yeah, makes sense."

  "And honestly…" I sighed. "It kind of feels like a waste of time if I don’t commit to a single weapon. Like, I get the appeal of being able to wield a bunch of different weapons, but wouldn’t that just make me mediocre at all of them?"

  Mark tilted his head. "Not necessarily. But if you just want to start somewhere, why not pick something hard to master?"

  I raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think fits me?"

  He thought for a moment, then said, "A longbow or a whip."

  I blinked. "...What?"

  "A longbow," Mark repeated. "It gives you range. And—" He smirked. "‘She never misses’ could actually become a thing."

  That made me snort. "You think I’d be that good?"

  "With your ESP? Probably."

  I shook my head, still smiling. "And the whip?"

  Mark gestured vaguely. "It’s unpredictable. The way it moves, the way it flows—it looks random, but if you’re good at it, randomness becomes intentional. You could attack from weird angles, change directions mid-swing, and people wouldn’t see it coming."

  I considered it. A longbow and a whip were completely different weapons, but he made a good case for both.

  The idea of never missing was hirious. The idea of confusing the hell out of people with a whip was also hirious.

  I ughed. "I don’t know if I should be fttered or concerned."

  Mark smirked. "Both?"

  I shook my head again, but I was still grinning. "I’ll think about it."

  Mark’s dorm came into view, and I slowed my pace.

  "Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow," I said, waving at him.

  Mark gave a zy wave back. "Try not to stress too much about the weapon thing."

  I rolled my eyes. "I won’t."

  As I turned and walked away, my mind wandered. Longbow or whip, huh? Both were interesting choices, but I still wasn’t sure.

  Without thinking, my feet carried me home.

  Or at least, what I thought was home.

  I blinked up at the familiar apartment building. My old pce.

  For a second, I hesitated, then walked up the stairs and tried the door. Locked. Of course it was.

  I wasn’t living here anymore.

  The missing furniture inside, the empty shelves—it all felt wrong. Like I’d walked into someone else’s space, even though this had been mine.

  A bitter ugh escaped my lips. I almost went to the convenience store next.

  That had been my routine, hadn’t it? Home, store, school, repeat.

  But now?

  Now, I wasn’t going back to this apartment.

  I exhaled sharply and turned away, retracing my steps.

  The hotel wasn’t far. The one Mark’s mom had set me up in.

  I entered my room, tossing my bag onto the chair. My fingers absently traced the edge of the desk as I sat down with a sigh.

  Evelyn’s deal…

  She wanted me to protect Mark.

  But from what?

  Nothing was happening. There was no threat. No immediate danger.

  So why did I feel so uneasy?

  Back in my room, I flopped onto the bed and pulled out my phone.

  Mark’s words stuck with me. “If you apply luck when you perform an action, you’ll rarely do something wrong.”

  That made sense.

  So why stop at weapons?

  I opened a video on lockpicking. The narrator’s voice droned on about tension wrenches and pin tumblers, but as I watched, I felt something click in my brain. I understood it, like I’d done it before.

  I switched to videos on mechanical engineering, knots, survival tricks—anything that required technical skills.

  With my ESP, these weren’t impossible skills to learn quickly. Luck might not make me a master, but it could smooth out the gaps in my learning.

  A few hours passed before I leaned back, stretching.

  I exhaled. Alright. Enough stalling.

  I picked up my pen and started sketching.

  What kind of weapon felt right to me?

  Mark had suggested a whip—unpredictable, adaptable. A bow—ranged, precise.

  But… neither felt completely right.

  What I needed was something that could function both mid-range and long-range. Something that could be used for both control and offense.

  The idea hit me suddenly.

  Chains.

  Not just any chains.

  A custom-made set where I could magically detach and reattach the links. Each link could be thrown like a projectile, then rejoin seamlessly when I needed it to function as a whip or restraint.

  I grinned and quickly wrote down the details.

  The flexibility of a whip.The reach of a ranged weapon.The adaptability to change forms. (eventually)

  I stared at my sketch, excitement bubbling in my chest.

  This was it.

  This was my weapon.

  I spent the next hour browsing through different types of chains online, looking at designs, materials, and weights. I needed something sturdy yet light, something that wouldn’t slow me down but still had enough weight for momentum.

  After some research, I settled on high-carbon steel—strong, durable, and resistant to breaking. The links couldn’t be too thick; otherwise, they’d be too heavy to control. But they also couldn’t be too thin, or they’d snap under pressure.

  I adjusted my sketch accordingly.

  A chain that was light enough to maneuver yet strong enough to hold its shape mid-swing.

  Then another thought hit me.

  What if I could attach different weapons to it?

  I grabbed my pen and started drawing variations of my design.

  A grappling hook attachment– Useful for mobility, grabbing objects, or pulling enemies off bance.A weighted end– For added impact when striking.Small detachable bdes– So I could separate parts of the chain and use them as thrown weapons.The more I thought about it, the more I realized—becoming a Weapon Master wasn’t off the table.

  Instead of just one weapon, I could have multiple functions in a single tool.

  This wasn’t just a weapon. It was a system.

  I felt a rush of excitement as I finalized the details, carefully writing out notes on what materials I’d need and how it could function.

  Satisfied, I set my sketchpad aside and y back on my bed.

  The room was silent, the only sound being my steady breathing. My mind buzzed with possibilities, but my body was exhausted.

  Slowly, my eyelids grew heavy, and before I knew it—

  I fell asleep.