The numbers in the report don't lie. Operation success rate: 95%. Unit survival rate: 100%. In the Vanguard Zero headquarters conference room, Segawa Akira stared at those figures. An underground facility on the outskirts of Geneva. Above ground, it looked like just another UN-affiliated building, but this was the headquarters of the UN's direct-control special unit for magical crime response. Forty-eight combat personnel on constant standby. The front line against magical terrorism worldwide. Akira looked at the face of the superior officer sitting across the table. Colonel Henrik Baum. Fifties, thinning hair, large frame. Smiling pleasantly. "[serious]Excellent work, Commander Segawa. You've done well these past three years" Akira nodded briefly. "[serious]Thank you, sir" Baum flipped through the report casually. Akira watched his hands intently. Commander. The field commander of the UN special unit Vanguard Zero—a position held by only three people simultaneously. And Akira was the first Commander in its history who couldn't use magic. People without magical ability were called "Non-Igna" in this world. Eighty-eight percent of the global population. The majority, yet somehow expected to live quietly, out of sight. Akira's gaze fell to the back of his left hand. Visible beneath the white shirt sleeve was a tattoo of a family crest. The Segawa family mark. In place of magic, this seal was the root of his identity. "[serious]Regarding your next posting—" Akira quietly cut him off. "[cold]I submitted my resignation request last week" A moment of silence. Baum closed the report. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by something else. A strange expression—troubled, yet somehow relieved. "[serious]...I see. It's been approved" That was all. Akira left the conference room. The moment he stepped into the hallway, the tension drained from his face. Zero losses. The phrase circled in his mind. He'd written it in the report: "Zero losses." But there was something not included in those numbers. Three years ago, a settlement where Akira had repeatedly insisted on "prioritizing rescue." A place abandoned by political decision. That settlement's name appeared nowhere in the report. Soldiers in the hallway saluted as Akira passed. Akira nodded back. His face remained composed. *(It's hollow,)* he thought. He knew the respect was genuine. But something had always been off. For these three years, he'd worked while feeling that misalignment. Honed martial arts. Reflexes trained to their limit. Without magic, he'd developed those instead. He read situations faster than anyone in the unit, moved with more precision than anyone. That's how he became Commander. But the upper levels of the organization operated by different rules. The elevator took him to ground level. The Swiss air was cold. Akira took a deep breath and started walking toward Geneva-Cointrin Airport. ─── The airport lobby was loud. Announcements echoed, suitcase wheels rolled across the floor, a child cried somewhere. Akira bought coffee and checked his smartphone while heading toward the departure gate. One missed call. Totska Shigeru. Akira's feet stopped. It wasn't unusual for Shigeru to contact him. But it was past 2 AM. In Kamakura, it would be 10 in the morning. The fact that Shigeru had sent a message instead of calling—that bothered him. Akira opened the message. Encrypted text. He converted it to plaintext in his head using the substitution patterns drilled into him since childhood. Seven characters. "The serpent has moved." Akira stared at that screen for a while. The surrounding sounds seemed to fade. The announcements, the suitcases, the crying child. All distant. There was something his father had repeated when Akira was young. "When Ormvank moves, the Segawa family moves." Akira still remembered the photograph he'd seen in the underground archive when he was in kindergarten. Five European cities, fifty years ago. Streets burning, people fallen, and even in black and white, the weight of the smoke seemed to transmit through the image. The Vesten Incident. Twelve thousand dead. That incident had prompted the creation of the current magical registration system and the establishment of Vanguard Zero. Ormvank was the cult that had caused that catastrophe. It was supposed to have been destroyed. Akira put his smartphone away. He started walking toward the departure gate again. *(The serpent has moved.)* Go home. His body had decided before his mind could think. ─── He transferred to the Tokaido Shinkansen from Haneda. Japanese scenery flowed past the window. Rice paddies, residential areas, mountains in the distance. A landscape he hadn't seen in three years. The sky seemed wider than in Geneva. Though that might have been his imagination. A woman sat down in the seat next to him. She was carrying many shopping bags. She seemed to be organizing them, rummaging through the contents. Then the woman's fingertips glowed faintly. A pale blue light. Wind magic. The items in the bag rearranged themselves neatly. Just five seconds. Then it was over. The woman nodded, satisfied, and placed the bag at her feet. Akira watched it from the corner of his eye. GIR. Global Igna Registry—the magical registration system. Anyone with magical aptitude had to obtain a license by age sixteen. An authentication chip was embedded in the license, and every time magic was used, the Igna wavelength was verified. That light was the lamp for that verification. Akira didn't have that. License grades ranged from E to S, six levels. E was beginner, S was national-class. Using magic without a license meant three to ten years imprisonment. In a world with those rules, Akira had no aptitude, so licenses didn't apply to him. It had always been that way. The light of magic would never dwell in his fingertips. *(Well, it's fine.)* Akira turned his gaze back to the window. To be honest, he'd disliked it when he was younger. Proving himself with only martial arts, without magic, was exhausting. But he thought differently now. Because he had no magic, he'd polished something else instead. How to move his body, how to read situations, reflexes. In Vanguard Zero, there were almost no people faster than Akira, even counting magic users. A weakness had somehow become a strength. That was enough. For now. The Shinkansen began to slow. ─── Kita-Kamakura Station in the evening was quiet. A few tourists walked toward Tsurugaoka Hachimangu, checking their maps. Akira went in the opposite direction. Where no one went. Toward the mountains. The moment he started walking the dirt path for the first time in three years, he noticed something. *(Huh, was it this narrow?)* Bamboo pressed in from both sides. The path was clearly narrower than in his memory. Had he grown, or was his memory exaggerating? Either way, there were places where he had to turn his body slightly to pass. He could have walked through normally three years ago, he thought. Well, it didn't matter. The sound of footsteps on fallen leaves continued in rhythm. The air felt different. Slightly heavier. The temperature seemed a degree or two lower than before. This was Kamakura's ley line. Igna flowing through the earth. In places where the ley line was strong, the quality of the air changed. People with magical aptitude could sense it directly, but Akira understood it this way. The sensation of body temperature dropping, the heaviness of the air. One reason the Segawa family had put down roots here for four hundred years. The bamboo grove ended, and an old tiled roof came into view. ─── An 180-year-old Japanese house stood quietly nestled in the mountains. On the surface, it was a culturally designated historic residence. But underground, there were three floors of space. Only a handful of people in the world knew that. A figure stood at the entrance. Totska Shigeru. White hair. Sixty-eight years old. Only his posture remained perfectly straight—the bearing of a former Self-Defense Force officer that age hadn't erased. Shigeru saw Akira and nodded slowly. "[serious]Welcome home" "[serious]I'm back" That was all. No emotional reunion or anything like that. Despite three years apart, there was no sense of a gap. That was the nature of their relationship. Shigeru reached for Akira's bag. He was trying to take it. Akira quickly took it back himself. "[serious]I'm fine" Shigeru withdrew his hand. He said nothing. But his eyes relaxed ever so slightly. It had always been like this. Shigeru had always known Akira's stubbornness. The two entered through the entrance. "[serious]I want you to look at the archive. There are new files" "[serious]Understood. Also, regarding the succession of the Shadow Guardian—" "[serious]That can wait" Shigeru's words were brief. But that brevity carried weight. Not later—there was something he wanted to show first, something more pressing. That's what it meant. Akira removed his shoes and stepped up into the hallway. ─── The stone stairs to the underground were made of old wood. With each step down, the sound changed. Footsteps seemed to be absorbed. The air grew tighter. Underground level three. The Chrono Archive. The lights came on. Pale yellow illumination dimly lit the shelves. Shelves lined up in rows. Floor to ceiling. They were packed with four hundred years of records. The complete record of magical threats the Segawa family had accumulated. An Igna-blocking barrier enveloped this space, completely cutting off external magical detection. Nothing that happened in this room would leak outside. Shigeru took a thin file from the shelf. New. A date was printed on the cover. Recently compiled. "[serious]I want you to read this" Akira took it. He opened the first page. Ormvank's doctrine was quoted. "Magic is humanity's shared right. State control is a violation of the soul." He knew those words. He'd been taught them since childhood. But seeing them written, they carried renewed weight. He turned the page. As Akira began reading the contents, his eyes naturally narrowed. Personnel infiltration operations targeting magical administrators in various countries. Money laundering using cryptocurrency. Black market sales of Prisma stones—Prisma stones were natural minerals that increased magical efficiency, trading at 800,000 yen per kilogram. There was mention of counterfeit licenses being traded at triple the legitimate price. The methods were different from fifty years ago. During the Vesten Incident, Ormvank had used bomb terrorism. They'd triggered simultaneous magical runaway in five cities, killing twelve thousand. That was brute force. They'd tried to destroy the system through raw power. But this time was different. They were trying to eat away at the system from the inside. Infiltrating people into administration, slowly, imperceptibly eroding it. Far more terrifying than bombs. His hand turning pages paused for a moment. An old record sheet was inserted. Segawa Genichiro. The name of the previous Shadow Guardian. His grandfather's name. The man who had identified Ormvank's bases during the Vesten Incident fifty years ago and contributed to their destruction. A man who had died before Akira was born. But his records remained in the archive. Akira looked at that record sheet briefly, then moved on. He said nothing. He reached the last page of the file. A sentence marked with a sticky note by Shigeru. "The Shadow Guardian's seat, vacant for three years. The serpent waited for that opening." Under the dim lights of the archive, Akira remained motionless for a while. Shigeru stood beside him. He said nothing. Just there. Shadow Guardian—the title of the Segawa family head. Only three people in the government knew of its existence: the Prime Minister, the Deputy Chief Cabinet Secretary, and the Director of the Defense Ministry's Special Operati