The noise inside his head was unbearable. 　Saiki Kusuo had known this for seventeen years now. 　What should I eat for lunch today? That math test is going to be a disaster. Has that guy been cold to me lately? I want to skip club activities. 　The thoughts flowing in from those around him remained as carefree as ever on this autumn afternoon. PK Academy—Hirakawa Station a twelve-minute walk away, a mid-tier high school—Class 2-3 was beginning to doze during the fifth period English lesson. The teacher's voice grew distant. Sunlight streaming through the window carved thin rectangles across the floor. 　Saiki sat motionless in the last seat by the window, textbook open. 　Jet-black short hair. Carefully trimmed bangs. White shirt, black slacks. His slender frame rested lightly against the backrest, only his deep brown eyes moving slowly across the classroom. And at both temples—two hairpins shaped like antennae. 　Limiter hairpins. His father had asked a technician acquaintance to create them—a device unique in the world. Without them, Saiki's telepathy would expand beyond a three-kilometer radius, flooding him with the thoughts of tens of thousands of people all at once. With them, Saiki could sit through class with a normal expression. 　With a normal expression. 　(Three months had passed.) 　Saiki turned his gaze toward the window. Hirakawa City's autumn spread out as if nothing had happened. Buildings lined up toward the station, and beyond them, the gentle ridge line of Aoba Hill was visible. The temperature was mild, the wind gentle, the sky blue. 　For those who didn't know about those nine days, it was just an ordinary afternoon. 　Silent War. That phrase always rested vaguely in Saiki's mind. A group of seven psychics called Voidring had begun an "awakening experiment" in this city. Psychic abilities had manifested chaotically in ordinary citizens, causing inexplicable phenomena throughout the streets. The government and media had processed it as "large-scale natural phenomena and mass hallucination," and now everything had been repaired. 　Except for the fountain's edge in Hirakawa Central Park, where a small section remained cracked. 　No one noticed. 　Saiki closed his eyes briefly. The thoughts his telepathy continued to pick up remained mundane as ever. Sleepy, hungry, where should I go after school? Within that wave, Saiki's own feelings didn't mix. His thoughts alone existed in a place cut off from everything else. 　(I saved the world. And then...) 　What had actually changed? 　The chime rang. Fifth period ended. The classroom began to stir, the sound of chairs scraping overlapping. Saiki closed his textbook. ― 　After school, he bought a coffee jelly from the school store. 　One hundred fifty yen. Tomi from the store laughed, saying "You came again today." Saiki nodded slightly. It was a mystery how she seemed surprised every day despite him coming every day, but she wasn't a bad person. 　With the jelly in hand, Saiki passed beside the club building and headed for the rooftop. The iron door was locked. He glanced at it briefly, then used telekinesis to turn the latch inside. Click—the door opened. 　When he stepped outside, the wind came. 　The concrete rooftop was about two hundred square meters, a rectangular space enclosed by a fence. A water tank sat at one end. Its shadow created a blind spot just large enough for one person. Saiki sat down there and opened the coffee jelly lid. 　He inserted the spoon. A cool sensation. 　He expanded his telepathy range slightly. Two hundred meters—near the limit with the limiter on. Voices from club activities flowed in from the school building. 　Nice! One more! Yeah! 　Someone from the sports clubs celebrating a score. 　In some classroom, two girls were talking. I think that girl likes that guy. Really? She does seem to be looking at him all the time. Laughter. 　Somewhere in the hallway, a boy sighed alone. I don't want to go to my part-time job. 　He heard it all. He understood it all. None of it had anything to do with him. 　He brought the spoon to his mouth. The bitterness of coffee and the coldness of the jelly spread across his tongue. 　(What remains for me?) 　When that question surfaced, Saiki was slightly surprised. He didn't know if he'd been avoiding thinking about it, or if he couldn't put it into words even when he tried. But today, it had surfaced in a clear form. 　What remains for me. 　He had stopped Voidring. The city had returned to normal. Five of the members were detained, one was dead, and the leader "Zero" remained missing. Saiki had used his full power to destroy that device. That was the end. 　Not a hero. No awards. No one knew. 　Just another Monday came, there were classes, he bought coffee jelly, and he sat on the rooftop. 　With psychic powers, he could do anything. With telepathy, he could understand people's thoughts. With telekinesis, he could move fifteen-ton objects. He could even rewrite memories. That was Saiki Kusuo. 　But that power couldn't do anything about this void inside him. 　Halfway through the coffee jelly, Saiki looked up at the sky. Thin clouds drifted past. In the distance, club activity voices continued. 　Noisy, peaceful, all someone else's problem. 　(Psychic powers can save people...) 　(But they can't fill the emptiness inside me.) 　It had taken three months to reach that answer. He didn't even feel like sighing. He simply knew. That was all. ― 　The way home passed through Hirakawa Station's shopping arcade. 　The arcade, about three hundred fifty meters long, filled with students returning from club activities as evening fell. The smell of grilled chicken mixed with the sweet aroma of bread. Saiki walked slowly along the flow of people, his bag on his shoulder. 　His telepathy picked up the surrounding thoughts. What should I make for dinner? I'm tired. I want to get home. 　The usual wave. 　When he passed in front of Café de Tigris, it changed. 　(...?) 　Saiki's pace slowed slightly. 　Something was flowing in. Not ordinary thoughts. Something strong, close to pain. Telepathy didn't process thoughts like data—the stronger the emotion, the more it flowed into him. This was— 　(Crying.) 　No voice was coming out. There might not even be tears. But inside someone's heart, they were sobbing. 　Mixed into that thought were fragments. Flames. Rubble. A voice calling someone. For an instant, it overlapped with Saiki's vision, then disappeared. 　(A memory from the Silent War.) 　There was a sensation like something piercing deep in his chest. 　Saiki didn't stop walking. His feet kept moving. He passed in front of the café. It's not my concern. I shouldn't get involved. He told himself this. It was normal to receive other people's pain through telepathy, and he couldn't help everyone anyway, and besides, it was about someone he didn't know. 　(Not my concern.) 　Even thinking that, his feet felt heavy. 　The soles of his feet pressing against the concrete felt somehow weighted. He didn't know what that was. He'd never been good at naming such feelings. 　After five steps, on the sixth step—for some reason, he turned around. 　Through the café window, in the evening light, he saw a profile. 　It was beautiful. 　No other words came to him. The profile framed by the window glass was smiling. Even though it was smiling, Saiki's telepathy had already picked up that someone inside was breaking apart. 　Who was it? 　The moment that question caught in his chest, the flow of people pushed his vision forward. The profile disappeared from view. 　Saiki turned forward and began walking again. ― 　Saiki arrived home just before six in the evening. 　His mother, Kurumi, was making something in the kitchen and called out, "Welcome home, Kusuo." Saiki replied briefly with "I'm home," removed his shoes, and went upstairs. 　His six-mat room contained only the bare essentials. A desk, bookshelf, bed. In one spot on the wall, spare parts for the limiter hairpins were hidden. Nothing else. 　He set his bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed. 　The ceiling came into view. 　(Who was that profile?) 　The image from earlier repeated in his consciousness. The profile through the window, the smile, the pain beneath it. The fragments of flames and rubble his telepathy had received. That was definitely a memory from the Silent War. 　Which meant that person knew about that battle. 　Saiki lay looking at the ceiling, thinking. 　Using memory manipulation, he could erase someone's pain. He could rewrite memories and make painful events disappear. Technically, it was possible. Memories bound to strong emotions were harder to erase, but he could still do a considerable amount. 　So why not just do it? 　(But...) 　His hand wouldn't reach for that option. He didn't understand why. It didn't feel like kindness or righteousness or anything that clean. Something else, something he couldn't quite put into words, was stopping his hand. 　He stared blankly at a stain on the wall. 　A car passed outside. From the kitchen, he heard the bubbling of a pot. 　Night fell. 　Saiki showered, ate dinner, and returned to his room. He got into bed and closed his eyes. He tried to sleep. 　That's when his telepathy's sensitivity wavered. 　It was coming from quite a distance. From a distance that shouldn't reach him with the limiter on, something was flowing in. A wave of thought like a crying voice. Pain that had no voice, but was unmistakably real. 　Saiki opened his eyes. 　(Again.) 　Over these three months, this happened occasionally. A strong emotion from someone far away breaking through the limiter. It seemed to happen more often since the Silent War ended. 　While receiving that wave, Saiki kept his eyes closed. He knew he wouldn't sleep. But he kept them closed anyway. 　The profile appeared again in his mind. 　Beautiful. Smiling. But crying inside. 　(Who are you?) 　That question wouldn't disappear. He didn't know how to make it disappear.