Misaka Rules the World

After breakfast, I told the family and set off to attend what might have been the most brutal parent-teacher conference in history.

This was the kind of conference where you could guess at a glance how absurd it would become. Once the shameless beauties of all ages at home heard about it, they repeatedly praised the Military Academy teachers as geniuses. When Lilina said goodbye to me, she even made it feel like a farewell by the Yi River. That should tell you just how little loyalty she had.

But no matter what, since I had accepted the invitation, I had to go.

Parent-teacher conferences. Everyone knew about those, right?

At any rate, they had left a deep impression on me. During my elementary and even junior high school years, these events accompanied me through several full years of campus life, and they left me with an unforgettable memory: I had no parent to call.

Back then, my only family was Older Sister, a girl merely four or five years older than me. She had still been a student herself at the time, so every parent-teacher conference put tremendous pressure on both of us. Older Sister, who was in high school then, had to take leave and cross half the campus to meet her little brother's teacher in the elementary school department—possibly even a homeroom teacher who had taught her only a few semesters before. Meanwhile, I had to endure all kinds of stares because of it. Those were difficult times, and even now, remembering them still made me feel a little wistful. But whenever Older Sister and I talked about those days, we would both laugh heartily for a while. Those bittersweet memories had somehow become precious things.

In short, something as ordinary as a parent-teacher conference held a