Project Necro is an official initiative by Re:Library.

While our activities in Japan are suspended under the pretense of construction work to relocate Ama-no-Iwato, I have been working hard to establish overseas branches of my secret organizations, starting with the Amaterasu branch.
The reason was simple: Tsukuyomi’s smuggling operations were apparently focused in the nearby Chinese sphere, and the candidate list Baba submitted was concentrated around there. The problem was, I couldn’t speak Chinese.

If it were just about increasing the number of espers, all I’d need to do is rip out a psychic source and slap it onto someone random. But of course, that wasn’t an option. I had to evaluate their character, and watch over them until they stabilized both mentally and ability-wise. No way I could do that without understanding the language they speak. So, taking advantage of what Baba herself said, I’ll have Tsukuyomi’s recruits wait up to two months while I start studying Chinese first.
Establish the Amaterasu branch, study Chinese in parallel, and once I could hold simple conversations, go on to set up the Tsukuyomi branch—thus the plan.

Shiori had already drawn up the candidate list and possible base locations for Amaterasu during our two-month break. It wasn’t as detailed or extensive as the Baba’s files, but more than enough. Turns out she hadn’t been slacking off but quietly working (?) on the side.
Baba worked. Shiori worked. Which means, the only one who’d truly taken two months off doing nothing was…me? Food eaten without working for it sure tastes amazing, damn it¹. Doubly so when it’s my wife’s cooking.

And then, just to twist the knife of my self-inflicted guilt, right before my overseas assignment I received a wedding gift from Oyabun. Inside a fancy paulownia wood box was a prosthetic arm to replace my missing right arm.
Not to mention, a signed message with the words; “To embrace your family with. Sincerely with Love,” was written on a card inside.

No way I could write something that embarrassingly candid. *I mean, it’s a good line, yes? But doesn’t it feel too corny to actually put on paper? Or am I the weird one?*
That’s Oyabun for you, he’s strong on family bonds and camaraderie. Now that I had a household of my own, he clearly couldn’t ignore the fact that I was still one-armed.

And of course, practically speaking, having two arms was better. It wasn’t just about compensating for it with psychokinesis. A missing limb was conspicuous, it bred rumors, and it was inconvenient in countless ways. Before marriage, the missing arm only really affected me (though I did feel bad for my parents), but that can’t be said now that I’m a family man. Shiori could easily become the subject of unpleasant gossip. For example, something like; *“Did you know that her husband is missing an arm? What do you think he did to end up like that? Oh boy, talk about a creepy man she marries.”* In fact, that had already happened. Whenever I carried out the trash to the neighborhood dump near the old Kaburagi mansion, I could feel the local housewives whispering about me.

I’d never cared about them before. I always prioritized what I wanted to do over what other people perceived me as.
Having a missing arm is damn cool. It gives off a mysterious aura. As inconvenient as it is, it’s a fun status to have.
Losing my right arm had been a parting gift Oyabun gave me, too. Its absence was a memento of the one and only full-powered esper battle I’d ever fought. But when Oyabun himself sent me a prosthetic, basically telling me to *“give it a rest already,”* then I’d have no reason to ignore him. My bad, my bad…

And so, my right arm became a prosthetic. At first glance, it was indistinguishable from the real thing, a top-notch piece that picked up bioelectric signals and moved exactly like a natural arm. Since it had come from Tsukuyomi, its maker was obvious. I wouldn’t be surprised if it had a rocket-punch system hidden inside.

Anyway.
Feeling both apologetic and grateful, I strapped on my new prosthetic and set about establishing the overseas branches.
First stop: the New York branch.

According to the setting, the organization already had branches all over the world. However, the World Darkness ran rampant, and every time we set one up, the members would die in action, and the branch would be wiped out—reset to square one, again and again. The only place where we operated stably, without casualties, was Japan, right under the Boss’s watchful eye.
Concerned about the current situation, this time the Boss himself would go on a long-term overseas trip to personally stabilize the formation of the branches around the world. His adjutant in tow.

I’d suggested splitting up since we’d be founding multiple branches anyway, but Shiori insisted we do the first one together. Not because she wanted to stay by my side, she simply didn’t trust my ability to handle it alone.
*Sure, I’m not as methodical as her or Baba, but I had years of secret organization experience under my belt. I’d gotten more cautious, too. Trusting me a little bit more wouldn’t have hurt, right?*

We flew to the States, and while walking the streets of New York, I grumbled about it. Shiori—drawing stares in her lavish black-and-red dress—kept her eyes on the map and the street signs as she replied:

“Kinemitsu-san, you always set two alarms before going to bed, don’t you?”
“Smart, right?”

That’s my anti-oversleeping system. The first alarm would half-wake me, and the second would fully rouse me.

“But sometimes you forget to set both, don’t you?”
“Nope. Especially lately, I *never* forget.”
“Exactly. Because I’ve been setting them for you.”
“…Ah.”

I see. I’d thought my memory had improved lately, but nope, far from it. So that’s the truth behind this mystery.
Couldn’t really argue against that. Looks like I was hopeless without a supporting wife after all. I wanted to pat past-me on the back for having the good sense to recruit an adjutant when I first launched the secret organization.

Before long, guided by Shiori, we arrived at a mid-sized hospital in Queens. Nighttime. Even in New York, once you got away from the main roads, the streets were deserted. I fiddled with the back door lock using psychokinesis, slipped inside during Shiori’s time-stop, and thus infiltrated without tripping any alarms.
Our target is a man currently hospitalized there.

His name was Benjamin Port. Born to Italian and Irish immigrant parents, now 52 years old. He lived here in Queens with his wife, Maisie, and his niece, Paula. But last month he was admitted to the hospital with a fatal, untreatable illness. According to his doctor, he had only five days left to live.

Mr. Port had never attended college. He was a blue-collar man, a plumber who’d worked diligently for decades. Apart from his plumbing skills and knowledge, he had no particular talents. But—as befitting someone Shiori had recommended—there was something exceptional about him.
His study was crammed wall-to-wall with American comics and paperbacks, while the living room was overtaken by DVDs and Blu-rays. Out of respect for Maisie, he didn’t collect action figures or posters, but even just his comics marked him as a passionate fan.
And he wasn’t just a reader. He was a man of action.
He was a hero. Not a *Superhero*, but undeniably a hero. From the age of eighteen, without missing a single night for thirty-three years, he had gone on nightly patrols. He stopped fourteen robberies, turned in seven rapists, put out the beginnings of two fires, and countless other contributions to public safety. Twice, the city had awarded him commendations. He shunned the restrictions of police work and stuck to vigilante activity, making him a well-known figure in his neighborhood. Every year, he was invited back to his alma mater to give a lecture.

A man of such caliber was now at the end of his rope. Shiori had picked up on the online chatter from people who admired him, investigated, and judged him a perfect fit for the secret organization.
If we were to set up a New York branch, it had to be a properly functioning one. The ideal was to recruit Mr. Port—an accomplished, respected adult—as branch chief, then gather a handful of energetic youngsters under him. His five-day prognosis didn’t matter. One dose of Ig’s healing would fix that.
Espers doing vigilante work against crime. That would suit Mr. Port perfectly.

Benjamin Port was lying in his hospital bed with an IV drip when we entered the room. He stirred awake.

“Who’s there?”²

Mr. Port slowly propped himself up and asked in a calm, measured tone. After thirty-three years of patrolling the streets of New York at night, he must have gotten used to dealing with suspicious characters. He had probably seen stranger things than a Japanese woman in a dress and a scruffy guy in a coat.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Benjamin Port. I’m called the Time Lady. He’s the Invisible Titan.”

At Shiori’s words, I used psychokinesis to pull a pocket watch from my coat and floated it before Mr. Port’s eyes. Shiori then performed a trick, repeatedly stopping time in tiny bursts to make the hands twitch backwards millimeter by millimeter, as if time itself were rewinding.

Actions speak louder than words. A far stronger introduction than any business card.

“…………………You’re young.”

Mr. Port’s eyes widened. After a pause, he murmured with a hint of surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had called me young. I’m still in my twenties, but Shouta-kun and Mikage-chan are already treating me like an old man.
Shiori gave a graceful bow and began to speak.

“Before we get to the matter at hand, allow me to explain how we came to seek you out. You may ask questions afterward. Is that acceptable?”
“…All right.”
“Very well. There exists on Earth a black, slime-like monster we call the World Shadow. We use psychic powers to fight it. You’ve heard of the Super Water Sphere incident, yes? That too was the World Shadow—though an unusually large manifestation. Its true nature is the physical embodiment of humanity’s violent urges…”

Her English was flawless—smooth, natural, and easy to follow. My own English is around Eiken Pre-1st grade level³. Fine for everyday conversation, but I stumble if things get too complicated. So this part I left entirely to Shiori.

“…And that is why we’d like you to take charge of the battle against the World Shadow here in New York. Though not for a significant amount, we can provide you payment for your service, and we can treat your illness as well. Will you accept our offer?”
“And if I refuse?”
“We won’t threaten you for it. Whether you accept or decline our offer, you’ll be free to leave this hospital bed all the same. No harm will come to you.”
“That’s not what I meant. Is this truly a role only I can fill? Who will protect New York if I refuse?”
“We do have other candidates. But we believe you are the most suitable.”
“Hm…”

Mr. Port fell silent, resting a hand against his mouth, staring at us without quite focusing. Thinking deeply.
He would gain psychic powers if he were to accept our offers, but he would have to be involved in a dangerous fight against the World Shadow.
He would remain powerless if he were to refuse, but he’d be safe from that life.
Mr. Port is the kind of man who had continued his night patrols for 33 years straight despite the many dangers he faced, I’d anticipated that he would give us an answer right away. But instead, he was hesitating far longer than expected.
Did he not believe us? Did he think we were lunatics spouting nonsense? But we’d already shown him proof of psychic powers.

Finally, Mr. Port spoke.

“Even after becoming an esper, you won’t be fighting the World Shadow forever, right?”
“Correct. This battle will reach its conclusion in a few years”
“And my niece. Does she have—what, psychic potential?”

Shiori glanced at me, silently asking for confirmation. I nodded. Let’s just say she does. After all, as a psychokinetic, I could always strip that potential… Or, as the setting goes, erase a latent psychic source later. Safer to tell him she had potential.

“She does.”

Mr. Port nodded once.

“Then I would like to recommend my niece. She would make a better branch leader than I.”

*Your niece who? Never heard of her. Oh, wait. I guess I have heard of her.*
His niece Paula was a high schooler. Grades were decent enough, but she was overweight, unathletic, and her acne-ridden face wasn’t what you’d call striking. She was also shy and introverted. Beyond that, I hadn’t looked into her much. No criminal record, at least.

“Why do you believe she’s more suitable than you?”
“She has both a future and potential.”

Eh…That’s barely an answer. You could say that about almost anyone. That’s much more vague than a horoscope.
Are you sure you’re not mistaking that for nepotism?

“You wouldn’t understand it, but I’ve been raising her ever since my brother and his wife died. I’ve seen her up close. Given the right push, she will become someone who can accomplish good.”
“And some people go the wrong way when given the same push.”

I cut in, unable to hold myself back. Mr. Port smiled, dimples forming on his sunken cheeks. *What’s that smile supposed to be? Shouta-kun nearly lost himself in the wrong direction when he first awakened his psychic powers. What makes him think his niece is any different?*

“You misunderstand me. The ‘push’ I mean is not gaining psychic powers. It is my death.”
“What, you plan to fake your death just to give her a shock?”
“No. I simply will die.”
“…Did I mishear that?”
“No. You heard correctly. I mean I intend to entrust my life to the Reaper.”
“Why?”

*I don’t get him. I can’t read him at all. I don’t understand what’s going on in his head.*
*We’re not negotiating for a middle ground, he understands that, right? We told him we’re going to treat his illness even if he refused our offer. So why would he veto it outright?*
*After all, he might choose to take the offer, fight the World Shadow despite not wanting to, and become the branch manager purely out of desperation to be cured. We designed the deal expressly to avoid that, so he can be cured either way. So why—*
*Why would he choose death?*

“My niece is a reserved kid. She wants to do good, but she cannot act on it. My death will be enough of a catalyst to change her.”
“Are you not afraid of dying?”
“Of course I am. But if it helps my niece, I can accept it.”

*…What the hell.*

“There must be people who would be burdened by your death.”
“My wife and niece will have ample insurance. They won’t have any financial difficulties.”
“Fine. Sure, their expenses will be covered. However, someone out there will be grieving for you.”
“And that’s a harrowing thought, but I have the right to use my own death however I please.”

*Yikes…*
*This man’s mindset is terrifying.*
*I’m also the type of person who’d go through ridiculous lengths to fulfill my beliefs, but using my own life as a chess piece is a line I won’t cross.*

Mr. Port looked me straight in the eye.

“I was never able to become a superhero. My heart has already admitted that defeat. Thirty-three years was too long—far too long. But my niece can, if she chooses. Please, give her the chance to change her life.”
“…All right.”

A man staking his life on a request. I couldn’t possibly refuse it.
So be it! Let’s give Benjamin Port’s prized niece, Paula Port, her chance to change her life.