Chapter 2: Different World
The streets of Queens were bathed in a soft gold glow as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Two long shadows stretched across the pavement.
"Hey, can you stop walking with your head down all the time? Can't you see the pothole in front of you?" Misaka Mikoto glanced sideways at Peter Parker, who trudged along like a drenched puppy.
Ever since that night, he'd been like this. Head down, shoulders slumped, completely defeated.
"Ah… sorry." Peter lifted his head for a moment, eyes drifting away again.
Mikoto sighed and stopped walking. Hands on her hips, she fixed him with a firm look.
"Listen, Peter. Your uncle's safe. That's what matters. So stop acting like the sky's falling. You're ruining the mood of my first walk home from school."
Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He only nodded.
He couldn't tell her that if it weren't for her, Uncle Ben might have died because of his own selfish thought. That heavy guilt weighed like a boulder on his heart.
And the girl in front of him… the calmer she acted, the more it highlighted how small and foolish he felt.
The two walked the rest of the way in silence and stepped through the front door.
"Aunt May, Uncle Ben, we're home," Peter called out weakly.
"Mikoto, Peter, wash up and come eat. I made your favorite chicken wraps tonight." Aunt May's gentle voice floated out from the kitchen along with the mouthwatering smell of dinner.
Warm yellow light fell across the dining table. Uncle Ben sliced into his chicken wrap, then looked up at Mikoto with a pleasant smile.
"Mikoto, how was your first day at Midtown High? Everything alright? No one gave you any trouble, I hope?"
"Pretty good," Mikoto replied through a mouthful of food. "Way easier than schools back in Japan. The students are friendly too."
She wasn't exaggerating. With her academic level from Tokiwadai, the classes here felt like elementary review. She even had spare time to calculate optimal Railgun firing angles and air resistance while sitting at her desk.
Hearing her response, Aunt May and Uncle Ben exchanged relieved smiles.
But how Mikoto ended up here, living peacefully and even attending school, traced back to the night two weeks earlier…
Bang!
That was the last sound Misaka Mikoto heard — the loud crash of her sneaker connecting with that infuriatingly stubborn vending machine in Academy City.
But the next instant, the familiar metallic crunch vanished.
Instead, a blaring horn nearly burst her eardrums. Dozens of voices jabbered in languages she barely recognized. A wave of noise crashed into her senses.
Mikoto's eyes flew open.
She was standing in the middle of an enormous street, surrounded by skyscrapers that stabbed into the sky. Gigantic electronic billboards plastered the walls, flashing bright lights that made her eyes sting.
Blond-haired, blue-eyed white people, dark-skinned black people, people of all skin colors surged past her, each in a hurry.
This wasn't Tokyo. And it definitely wasn't Academy City.
"What… is this mess?"
Her short chestnut hair whipped in the wind. She used one hand to smooth it down, the other groping instinctively for her uniform pocket. Her fingers brushed a single cold, metallic arcade coin.
Her trump card — the ammunition of her signature Railgun.
A faint blue-white spark flickered across her bangs, disappearing just as quickly.
This was a sign of her powers spiraling out of control, a manifestation of extreme anxiety.
She could feel the city's power grid like a vast, boundless net, countless unfamiliar electrical signals surging wildly through her "electromagnetic sense," complex, chaotic, and deeply unsettling.
What happened? Kidnapping? Some esper pulling a prank? A teleportation ability?
While she spun in confusion, a massive screen on the wall of a shopping mall caught her attention.
A blonde reporter spoke fluent English as she delivered the news.
"…three months after the Battle of New York, Stark Industries has announced it will take full responsibility for Manhattan's reconstruction. Public discussion of the superhero group known as the Avengers continues to surge…"
The broadcast shifted to a montage of images. A man in a red and blue uniform carrying a shield. A burly blond guy wielding a hammer and wearing a crimson cape. And another figure soaring through the sky in a suit of metal armor.
Mikoto's pupils contracted sharply.
What… are these? Movie trailers?
Then she noticed the timestamp in the corner of the screen.
[New York, August 3rd, 2012, 20:05]
"2012…?" Mikoto's lips trembled slightly, almost unable to believe her eyes.
She remembered clearly that the day she kicked the vending machine was April 5th, 2011.
Not only was the time off by more than a year, but the location had teleported from Tokyo to New York.
To verify her worst fear, she rushed into the mall in a panic, found an Apple store, and located an Apple computer with internet access to display.
She opened the browser and, with trembling hands, typed "Japan Tokyo Academy City" into the search bar.
No search results found.
"You've got to be kidding me… I really crossed worlds? Is this the vending machine gods punishing me? I swear I'll never kick one again, gomenasai… o(TヘTo)"
Her spirit collapsed on the spot, every bit of strength draining from her body.
She slumped weakly into a chair, her hands uncontrollably grasping at her hair, trying to use the pain to prove that this was just an absurd nightmare.
This wasn't her world.
There was no way back.
"Goodbye, Kuroko… Uiharu… Ruiko… that shamelessly curvy Shokuhou… all my friends… and… that idiot… No, no, no! Focus, Mikoto! This isn't the time!"
She shook her head hard, forcing a certain person's face out of her mind.
"You're a Level 5 esper of Academy City. You can't be afraid of one normal human world. You've gotta toughen up. Fight. And carve out a place for yourself in America!"
True to her stubborn nature, Mikoto snapped back quickly.
In this unfamiliar world, she's only 16 years old, 161cm tall, penniless, without any relatives or friends, and an outwardly 'harmless' cute middle school girl.
The only "asset" she had was the single cold arcade coin in her pocket.
"Alright, Misaka Mikoto. Battle start!"
Mikoto cheered herself on, put her hands on her hips, took a deep breath, left her seat, and strode confidently out of the mall.
"Step one for survival… find a place to sleep."
She muttered to herself, as if giving herself mission instructions.
"Hotels… inns… all of that needs money."
"My money…" She reached into her pocket, pulled out the lonely arcade coin, and flicked it between her fingers.
"One coin. Perfect. Probably not even enough for a can of soda in that vending machine over there."
Her eyes instinctively glanced at the vending machine on the street corner, and her right foot subconsciously lifted slightly.
"No! Misaka Mikoto! You made a promise!"
She slapped her cheeks quickly, crushing the dangerous impulse before it spread.
"Be civilized. No violence. At least not toward vending machines."
She started walking, aimlessly wandering the streets of New York.
Scaffolding towered on every side, green mesh covering half-repaired facades. Crane arms groaned overhead as they shifted debris. A gigantic advertisement banner hung in tatters, revealing scorched concrete beneath. Bent steel bars twisted from the wall like the ribs of some dead monster.
"The news said… 'post-battle reconstruction', right?"
"Stark Industries… sounds like a company with deep pockets."
"What kind of 'battle' could wreck a city like this?"
She gazed up at a high-rise sliced open along one side. The exposed metal and concrete showed clear signs of extreme heat.
"This wasn't caused by any normal bomb."
"The blond guy with the hammer… and that armored flying man… This world is even more ridiculous than I thought."
"Okay. So it's not a normal human world. Great. That just makes surviving even harder. How wonderful... NOT! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻"
Growl~
Her stomach growled loudly.
The smell of hotdogs from a street cart drifted through the air like invisible hooks dragging at her soul.
"Traitor… even my stomach turned against me…"
Mikoto pressed a hand to her belly, her expression helpless.
"Calm down! Focus! Priority number one is money. Money! And more money!"
"How do normal people earn money again? Part-time jobs?"
She glanced at her Tokiwadai uniform.
"A sixteen-year-old with no ID or documents… who on earth would hire me?"
"Ask for help? 'Hello, officer, I'm actually an esper from another world. Could you give me some cash so I can eat and get a room?'"
"Or go up to a dojo and be like: 'Hey, which one of you is the strongest? I can take ten of you! Actually, I'm here to apply as an instructor. Don't be fooled by my size, I hit hard!' And strike some arrogant pose while I'm at it… Yeah, no. I'm not getting locked up in a psych ward."
After two rounds of powerless rage, Mikoto accepted reality. She raked her fingers through her hair, irritation rising. Sparks danced faintly across her bangs again.