There are two kinds of rain in Academy City Astraea.
One is simulated by magic.
The other is the “information rain” that only I can see. Every flow of magic in the city, every magical object, every spell being cast, all turn into cold data that pours onto my retinas twenty-four hours a day.
I wear glasses not to see the world more clearly, but to keep from drowning in it.
And my little sister, Misha, is the driest thing in this city.
Her emotions, her memories, everything about her was burned to ash in that disaster, leaving only the pale crystal called “correctness.”
Today, I found my sister crying alone in the rain in the middle of the night.
