Project Necro is an official initiative by Re:Library.

Tsukuyomi, a secret organization of espers that serves as the elite combat arm of a massive yakuza syndicate ruling Japan’s underworld, has in its ranks a strategist from another world; Lonalia Linalia Baba-nyan.

Despite being several hundred years old, this loli granny—who looks like a silver-haired, emerald-eyed, long-eared little girl—has mastered hundreds of powerful spells (which she cannot use, since this world lacks mana), and is well versed in cutting-edge technology that would astonish even science fiction writers (99.9% of which cannot be reproduced here because the required materials do not exist). A truly extreme case of wasted potential.
She also has plenty of flaws: she is a herbivore who gets stomach trouble from even a bite of meat, suffers from severe herbicide allergies, and so on. Even so, her abilities more than make up for them.

She makes full use of her outstanding linguistic ability, skill at manipulating people, longevity, hearing sharper than a bat’s, feigned-death capability, agility comparable to the very best humans, and more—all supported by deep experience and exceptional thinking ability. Tsukuyomi’s prosperity and Baba-nyan’s existence are inseparable.

Because of this, Baba-nyan enjoys deep trust from Tsukuyomi’s members and is heavily relied upon. She has been granted broad discretion by both Tsukuyomi and its parent organization, the Tsukimori Group, led by oyabun Tsukimori Tsuyoshi. It is not uncommon for her to act independently using her direct subordinates and report only afterward.
Oyabun Tsukimori allows post-fact reports, but always examines their contents carefully, admonishing, suspending, praising, or rewarding as appropriate. At times, he also checks what she is currently doing without waiting for a report. He judged Baba-nyan carefully and trusted her without question—but still believed confirmation was necessary. Her influence and initiative were too great to leave completely unchecked.

They had been getting along quite well—they would be on a much friendlier term if not for Oyabun’s pride—but the report Baba gave me that day left Oyabun unable to hide his bewilderment for the first time in a while.
On a winter night when the cold bit especially deep, in the study of the Tsukimori residence—a traditional Japanese house with a garden befitting an underworld stronghold—Tsukimori, head of the Tsukimori Group, looked down at Baba-nyan after hearing a report he could scarcely believe.
A burly man of unusual size for a Japanese, dressed in traditional clothes and wearing an eyepatch over his right eye, Tsukimori sat heavily in his chair. Opposite him, Baba-nyan braced her hands on the edge of the low desk, leaning forward and stretching on tiptoe to peer over it. To an onlooker, they might look like a grandfather and his granddaughter—though in reality, their seniority was completely reversed..

After a moment of thought, suspecting he had misheard, Tsukimori asked again.

“Sorry—say that once more?”
“We must go to Atlantis and reclaim the artifact that was stolen from us.”

Baba-nyan repeated the exact same words, without a single difference. Tsukimori hadn’t misheard her.
This young-looking old woman had made plenty of eccentric remarks since they first met, but this ranked among the most outlandish Tsukimori could remember.

“Atlantis… you mean that Mu Continent kind of thing?”
“The Mu Continent and Atlantis are completely different things,”

Tsukimori dug into his hazy knowledge, but Baba-nyan snapped, slightly annoyed.

“The Mu Continent is nothing more than a delusional fabrication born from mistranslation and forced interpretation by the 19th-century French cleric Charles-Étienne Brasseur de Bourbourg. Believing in it is as foolish as believing a child’s doodle of Martians is real. Atlantis, on the other hand, refers to the continent and empire described by the ancient Greek philosopher Plato in *Timaeus* and *Critias*. Plato wrote in dialogue form, and many of those dialogues are based on fact. Therefore, Atlantis too has a high likelihood of being based on fact. Among researchers in that field, its existence is an open secret—and while no one has reached it yet, its location is known.”
“All right, all right, sorry for mixing them up. But why do we need to go to this “Atlantis” and take back an artifact? Was something even stolen?”

As far as Tsukimori remembered, the only thing the Tsukimori Group owned that could be called an artifact was a dingy time-machine-thing Baba-nyan herself had developed. Very few even knew of its existence, and he had heard nothing about it being stolen a second time.
Baba-nyan weakened her tone, looking slightly awkward.

“Well, you see. Lately I have been winning over some ruffians who had infiltrated our territory, but…”
“That resulted in a failure? Do you need manpower to clean it up?”
“Do not rush me. The persuasion is proceeding smoothly. In the end, we should gain a powerful connection to a large American esper-based new religious organization. The problem is the artifact I had them retrieve—recently, Amaterasu attacked their base and took the artifact.”
“…Yaku’s doing?”
“No. It was done by an executive-level member. Also, Yaku now goes by the name Sago.”

At Baba-nyan’s quiet denial and correction, Tsukimori touched the eyepatch covering his right eye—the one Sago had taken—overcome by a hard-to-describe sense of nostalgia.
Once, on a remote island in the open sea, Sago Kinemitsu, boss of the espersecret organization Amaterasu, and Tsukimori Tsuyoshi, leader of the underworld’s elite force Tsukuyomi, had fought a battle that literally split heaven and earth. The result had been a loss for Tsukimori, close to mutual destruction.
He did not know what Sago had been thinking when he used an alias to infiltrate Tsukuyomi and act in the shadows. But Tsukimori knew he was not an evil man at heart—more of a playful soul, a small-time citizen trapped in his youth. It was only because his abilities exceeded human understanding that he caused such outrageous situations.

“They burned and froze our people, then stole our property. If we do nothing, we lose face.”
“I don’t care about such a thing. Forget face. Let the people who want Face worry about it.”

Amaterasu was a powerful secret organization with many psychics. Making them enemies over something as vague and useless as “Face” would be far too costly.
As Tsukimori leaned back in his chair and scratched his belly, Baba-nyan spoke as if scolding a stubborn child.

“But if we do not preserve our countenance—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Say no more. In the old days, I would have just thrown that Face under the bus. But we’ve gotten too big.”

Tsukimori let out a tired sigh.

The Tsukimori Group, which dominated Japan’s underworld and had begun extending its reach into China, made far too many enemies. Most were fools who bullied the weak and fawned on the strong. Even hardened scoundrels who delighted only in hurting and robbing others would not attack if they believed retaliation and punishment would follow. “Face” served as that deterrent.
Lose that face—that is, to be seen as a pushover who would not strike back—and countless petty villains would gleefully swarm in to beat and plunder you. Even if all were repelled, the cost would exceed that of maintaining face.
Thus, countenance had to be maintained.

If everyone in the world were good, face would not be necessary—but that was not reality. With a bleak feeling toward the stubbornness of the world, Tsukimori urged Baba-nyan to continue.

“We have information that Amaterasu is heading for Atlantis with the artifact. We will get there first and take it back. If we can also pay Amaterasu back in the process, all the better.”
“Easy to say. Can we really take it back from Amaterasu? We managed to scrape-by at Marineland, but I’ve heard they’ve gained more members.”
“We have also increased our numbers. With help from the China branch, it should not be impossible.”
“…………”

Tsukimori stared hard at Baba-nyan, thinking carefully. She met his gaze with unfathomable emerald eyes, waiting for his decision.

Tsukimori was not particularly smart—but he was good at judging people.
He knew Sago’s personality. He knew Baba-nyan’s as well. Both loved psychic-fueled festival-like chaos, and from that shared trait, Tsukimori suspected contrivance in this affair.

There were no contradictions in how events had unfolded, and it was far too elaborate to be mere play. It seemed more natural to view it as an unfortunate collision, a misunderstanding, an accident—or an unavoidable clash of fate.
Still, the situation was exactly the kind both of them would enjoy. There was ample possibility they were deliberately steering events. There was no proof—but there was precedent.

Even if the two of them wanted to send Tsukuyomi to Atlantis to clash with Amaterasu, they would certainly prepare a rational reason for going there. If Sago, alone, was the one who planned this clash, then there might be blind spots to exploit—but if Baba-nyan was involved, there would be none.

Tsukimori decided to confirm just one thing.

“Baba-nyan.”
“Yes?”
“When this is over, will we still be able to laugh?”
“Yes.”
“And by ‘we,’ I mean you too.”

For a brief instant, Baba-nyan looked caught off guard—but then she grinned.

“I would like to think so..”
“Very well. Baba-nyan, summon the entire China branch. I’ll go too. We’re all heading to Atlantis.”

After the rendezvous with the China branch, Tsukuyomi found himself atop the back of a sardine whale in the Pacific Ocean. They had sortied at midnight; travel had taken time, and now that they had arrived, it was morning.
There were five people and two animals in their rank..

Tsukimori Tsuyoshi, a massively built man sitting cross-legged while carrying a rebar gravestone.
Miyama Kyosuke, a fat man wearing his favorite traffic cone and strumming “Neko Funjatta” on a waterproof guitar.
Christina Najin, a blonde, blue-eyed ninja.
Wang Haoran, opening a can for a cat.
A black cat, Tai-Yi, sitting obediently and swishing her tail in anticipation.
A tabby cat, Huang-hu, stepping wildly to the music in high spirits.
And Lonalia Linalia Baba-nyan, the silver-haired, blue-eyed loli granny staring at a satellite communications terminal.

“Meow, nyaon. nyaa.”

Baba-nyan looked up and spoke Tai-yi, who lightly tapped the whale’s back with a forepaw.

“Meow.”
“————————”

In response, the sardine whale stopped heading south and began swimming slowly in a wide arc.
Tsukimori opened his eyes from meditation.

“We’re here?”
“Yes. Atlantis lies directly below us. Amaterasu should be nearby as well.”
“OK! Find the enemy first and ambush them—nothing beats that, right?”

Shading her eyes from the morning sun, Chris scanned the horizon for enemy silhouettes while recalling their journey.
Answering the boss’s summons, one person and two animals from the China branch had arrived in Japan by falling sideways through the air. Picking up four more in Tokyo, they had continued straight on to the vicinity of Atlantis’s coordinates via horizontal free-fall. Even for Chris—who excelled in bizarre three-dimensional combat using agility and precognition—this travel method had been a strange experience.
After roughly reaching the destination, lacking anyone who could hover or create footing, Tai-yi spoke to a nearby whale and borrowed its back to reach the exact coordinates. Now, all that remained was to clash with Amaterasu.

Amaterasu included Sago Kinemitsu, who had once helped found Tsukuyomi and then left. Chris did not relish opposing her “Aniki”—but after hearing from Tsukimori that “going all out will make Yaku happy,” she decided to do just that. She wanted her Aniki to see the jōnin (self-proclaimed) she had become. One word of praise would make it all worthwhile.

“Oh—there, isn’t that it?”
“Which one?”
“That ship. A cruiser, maybe.”

Tsukimori narrowed his eyes in the direction Chris pointed, then nodded.

“There’s someone familiar on the deck. No doubt about it. All right, for the first strike… we’ll give it to the newcomer. Huang-hu, you ready?”
“Huang-hu, nyaa~?”
“Nya.”

With Baba-nyan translating, Huang-hu stopped dancing. He looked up at Haoran and tapped his leg with his tail. Haoran nodded, lifted the cat with one hand, and hurled him with all his might toward the horizon.

Manipulating the direction and strength of gravity, the tabby cat streaked forward in a high-speed horizontal fall, carving a white shockwave line across the ocean surface.
The distance to the cruiser shrank in an instant, and just before impact, the cat’s form explosively expanded.
A mountain-like body blotted out the morning sun, its shadow completely covering the cruiser.
Raising its foreleg, Huang-hu roared.

“NYAOOOON!!! (DROP DEAAAADDD!!!)”

With that sudden megaton cat punch, the cruiser was blown to pieces.