Just like the night before, Kuroko did not get much sleep that night.

She probably went through miles upon miles of security footage around Academy City in order to examine Mr. Kamijou's life and his surroundings.

In consequence, she now had quite some insight into Mr. Kamijou's... uh, 'nightlife's.

From run-ins to a disgruntled group of hooligans (...over a girl),
To a bunch of exploding cargo containers in the Switchyard of District 17 (with which, some uncertain reason, Kuroko had a feeling Mr. Kamijou had something to do with),
To a run-in to an irate group of muggers (...over a girl),
To the destruction that occurred at a restaurant, which, according to the footage, he was eating in with that silver-haired sister of his (though, that destruction apparently was no fault of his...),
To a run-in to a distempered group of thugs (...was that onee-sama!?)...

Kuroko didn't really knew what to expect before diving into all this.

And now, she didn't really knew what she even saw, either.

Suppressing a yawn, she looked down on her clipboard, to see what she had noted so far:

'Missing footages... tampering?'

The one odd thing she noticed here and there was... just how irregular footage captures became whenever he was around. The footage itself would be fine and intact on its own, but then whenever he showed up, then came odd omissions and various errors that resulted in significant duration of footages missing, and then, invariably, some form of considerable collateral damage followed. Were those footages tampered with? If so, than by whom? And did he have anything to do with those considerable collateral damages that followed thereafter?

'Girls.'

And a lot of them.. whenever he was around, some lady or other were around with him, sometimes near, sometimes not, sometimes, seemingly strangers, never coming in close contact, which made such footages more difficult to analyze... odd. Very odd.

'Misfortune.'

Yes, misfortune. Regardless of how hard she found it to believe, he did seem to suffer from strange, strange bouts of absolutely... horrid fortune. Broken phones, tripping over cans, Security Robot troubles, three-on-one fights, merciless gang beatdowns... he seemed to experience three times more 'misfortune' in his daily life than his peers.

None of this made sense.

With her two hands covering her face, she leaned back on her chair and let out a sigh.

"Is something the matter?" Uiharu asked from a desk away.

"Well..." I suppose you could say that.

Perhaps, it was now time for herself to examine him first-hand.

The time for that high school to end for the day was near, at any rate.

"Uiharu, I'll be out early today. I have some special monitoring to perform on a potential suspect."

"–I see..." Uiharu trailed off with uncertainty as she watched Kuroko exit the office. "What's the suspect in suspicion of?"

Womanizing, if I dare say so, Kuroko mentally responded, but thought that response to be rather unprofessional to audibly utter. "For... public property damages, it seems."

"Okay, if you say so..." Uiharu hummed in response, sensing antics coming ahead in future time.

For all intents and purposes, Kuroko reflected, Mr. Kamijou really could have been a normal boy living a normal life.

Now, the use of the phrase 'could have been' was necessary, because Mr. Kamijou, while having all the markings of an absolutely average person, was most decidedly the furthest thing from the sort.

They were now in a local mart.

After having watched Mr. Kamijou exit his school, thronged with two particular individuals, one with blue hair (Kuroko was not certain, but she had a feeling she saw that person's face in the database somewhere... for some sort of... public indecency in his past record? But she wasn't sure), and other with blonde hair and sunglasses. And after parting ways with them, upon checking the time, Mr. Kamijou exclaimed something about needing to rush to the mart on time for some 'vital source of proteins', or something along those lines.

Not that his trip to the mart was a smooth sailing, to be sure. Just as she had examined beforehand yesterday night, quite a number of unfathomably odd events occurred around him.

In sum total, so far, she today prevented:

Him neglecting his dropped wallet when a bystander stumbled into him (how careless...);
Him wandering unawares into a roaming group of Skill-Outs (a group that usually only grouped together at night, seemingly popping up in broad afternoon, when he was around... really?);
Rebooting a Cleaning Robot that continued to follow him around for some reason (how was it that they stopped being 100% operationally normal, as they should be, whenever he was around?);
Knocking off a soccer ball headed toward his head (good thing she was good at darts; too bad about the ruptured soccer ball, though);
And, in addition, she made a point of taking various measures to try to guide him away from any female students she saw on streets ahead. Nothing good would've come from such encounters.

What a busy life Mr. Kamijou led. A single day seemed like a week with this person.

...And here they were.

Waiting on a line.

For about... two hours now.

Having done extensive observation on her own the past night, Kuroko was well aware of Touma's reasons. The main issue here was that, perhaps most likely due to his low Esper status, he was rather strapped for cash, and found it necessary to 'clip some number of coupons', so to speak.

Hence this two hour wait for discount eggs.

And she was also in the line, a length or two behind him.

It was becoming admittedly boring, but Kuroko was used to such lack of activity during her patrols. At any case, she needed to keep a constant eye on him.

Kamijou Touma, at that moment, was a nervous wreck.

For some odd reason, he today so far managed to avoid any sort of unfortunate incident. He oddly took prompt notice of his surroundings and took control before it was too late to act.

That could mean only one thing: the day itself was charging up for some concentrated dose of misfortune to crush him with. That was the most likely conclusion.

With bated breath he waited until it was his turn to purchase that carton of dozen eggs. Perhaps... they could run out right when his turn arrived. Who knows.

But that didn't happen either. With extra to spare he was able to buy his carton of discounted eggs, and he left the store safe and sound.

With apprehension, and careful scanning of the skies (perhaps, he may get hit by a stray piece of hail; it did happen before), he headed home with vigilance.

Then, on the way, he caught a glimpse of his favorite ramen stand, in the same corner it always was located on.

A bowl of ramen, bigger portion than in other stands he saw, for measly 300 yen.

That particular stand had quite an infamy. Upon once being asked as to what was inside those ramen, the apathetic chef famously replied: 'I dunno, some chemicals, I suppose?'

"..."

gulp.

He was seriously testing his luck today. But he was craving for a bowl of ramen.

After another careful scanning of his perimeter (...as for what, though, he couldn't fathom. A stray dog droppings, perhaps), he carefully marched on toward that ramen stand.

The thing about poverty was, you didn't really perceive it as what it was until you've experienced it.

In this case, she was witnessing a lot of it, today.

In this instance, she didn't really expect him to actually order something from that... (to put it mildly), questionable looking ramen stand.

And now, she was watching him, that Mr. Kamijou, wolfing down on those... questionable looking noodles...

At that moment, that image, that scene of Mr. Kamijou happily going to town with that bowl of ramen... that unsavory looking bowl of noodles girls at Tokiwadai wouldn't even look twice if they saw a dog eating it...

Kuroko suddenly felt again a tug in one of her heartstrings. It just looked... bleak. The whole situation, bleak.

What they both did not realize then, was that that unfortunate boy's string of misfortune was not yet over.

Kamijou Touma heard fire sensor sirens before.

For example, ones in any typical facility. Or ones on a fire truck. Carbon Monoxide detectors also were a common feature in modern times.

But this particular siren that hammered directly down on his ear this moment... that amount of noise... it was really something else.

It initially struck him with such a force to the point where his vision blurred. In confusion he rung his head to and fro, dazed.

BRRRT. BRRRT. BRRRT.

A pause.

BRRRT. BRRRT. BRRRT.

A pause.

BRRRT. BRRRT. BRRRT.

And repeat.

Like a jackhammer directly on his ear.

It numb his hearing to the point where he couldn't even coherently make out the surprised shouts of others around him.

Apparently, the cause of that alarm was a ruptured sewer pipe located underneath an adjacent building.

Most conveniently, Kuroko was right there, so she filed the Judgment paperwork that detailed that event that took place.

Though, really, she had to say... that alarm was quite loud. Even now she massaged her ears here and there, fluttering her eyes.

She actually began to feel fatigue, believe it or not. Attempting to counter Mr. Kamijou's misfortune was... rather exhausting. This level of effort was not something she expected to put in today–

"–It's a massacre."

Kuroko turned to see Mr. Kamijou squatting on the floor, examining the groceries he bought, some of which had been unfortunately crushed while nearby bystanders rushed away from the fire alarm.

He just couldn't catch a break, could he.

"My vital source of protein..." he held up his carton of egg, more than a half, shattered. "After all this... after lining up for two hours... "

Then, as if sensing her presence, he turned around his head to spot her staring at him.

"..."

"..."

"...Mr. Kamijou." Kuroko first initiated the flow of the conversation.

"–Shirai-san," Touma replied, surprised to see her.

"My... condolences on your interrupted meal."

"Ah, well, you know... it happens."

No, not really, not to rest of us... Kuroko internally doubted.

They say that the way a person looks like to you changes as you continue to see them often.

Anthropologists seem to theorize that such is so because of human beings' innate urge to continue the survival of the species; over time, anyone begins to look more endearing.

Right now, Shirai-san, illuminated by that orange azure of the sun sinking into the horizon, seemed to appear to him in a... different light, factually speaking, and metaphorically speaking. He couldn't exactly tell why, but as he continued to look at her, standing there, her towering legs, her left hand at her hip, her arched and proud back, her pursed pink lips, her flint-like gaze of brown, her ever-so-slightly furrowed brows... despite her child-like stature, she looked, well, professional. Much professional.

...Like some sort of dorm manager, almost.

"–Well, you are in luck, Mr. Kamijou," Kuroko continued, "I myself have not yet dined tonight. In the light of what happened just now, I will treat you to a meal tonight, on me."

With a swift spin of her heel Kuroko spun around and walked off, trying not to think about what she just did.

"...Hai?"

She took him to a real ramen stand. Not like that decrepit derelict wreck of a wayside stand that insisted upon being considered to be some sort of legitimate source of food dispenser, (though, Touma would mightily protest upon hearing his beloved ramen stand being described as such), but to a real ramen stand, one actually under a proper roof.

"S-Shirai-san," Touma gulped, "Is this..."

"Well, it was protein you wished, was it not?"

A Short-Rib Ramen.

Something he didn't even knew it actually existed. This was something he only saw on TV, while Index eagerly devoured the glass screen with her rapt gaze.

Touma cast an uncertain glance toward her. "–How much...?"

"It's impolite to ask about the price to the one picking up the tab, Mr. Kamijou. Come, let us eat."

Touma had to put in effort to not let tears escape his eyes, while he ate.

In fact, he, being so focused on his own bowl, did not notice how Kuroko was not eating much at all. She was observing him too closely for her to remember to actually eat.

(One might actually mistake those two, with how intently she was gazing at him).

She initially thought that she'd get some answers if she analyzed him long enough.

But... she only found herself asking more questions now.