You brought this upon yourselves, I hope you know that.

In Academy City, there are many rumours, ranging from the superstitious to the most unimportant details that slip in between the lines on the online message boards where they are discussed. One such rumour is that everything in their world is being catalogued in a Light Novel series, which is why the supernatural can exist in the first place. Because it's all just a Light Novel series. Of course, there's no conclusive proof of this, even in a world of Espers, magic, and the like. There's simply nothing to go off of. So the rumours are simply glossed over by many in the community in favour of other, more feasible urban legends to latch onto and follow.

However, the legend isn't as farfetched as one would think, and it is in fact true. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Toaru Majutsu no Index is nothing but a Light Novel series, written by one Kamachi Kazuma. This truth is known to only a select few. Not even the supreme intellect behind Academy City, Aleister Crowley, knows of this. However, in a dark room, lays a stack of books, all about 240 some-odd pages long, and also occupying this room are several "readers" dressed in dark brown cloaks, experiencing this series again for yet another read-through. To the rest of the world, they are known as the "Re-readers", a bizarre cabal only consisting of a few members, in the same vein as New Light and other independent magician cells. However, they never take any jobs. They only emerge into the world to pick-up supplies before retreating back to their secret base, where only those allowed by a mysterious entity can enter.

So here they are, hunched around the sacred tomes as they take turns presenting excerpts from the text.

"...Lidvia suppressed laughter and continued speaking." One member read aloud, looking up briefly from his text to grab a half-full can of warm soda. Gulping the rest of it down, the man chucked the can into an ever-growing pile in the recycling bin in the far corner of the room before returning to the novel.

"Has it ever occurred to you that whenever Kamachi decides to name his Italian characters something, it sounds normal, but the moment he tries to name any other European you get the most hilarious shit ever? I mean, who has a name like 'Gorgouspalace?' I would never want my kid to be named that." Another pointed out, to the laughter of the other degenerates in the room.

"Platinumburg~." Another said in a mocking tone, to another round of laughter.

"But then we get to the nuns, who all have really normal names, like Lucia, and Angelene. It's honestly stupid how Kamachi names his characters." The first one pointed out. "And then we get to Orsola."

"Orsola~~." The rest of the room sighed in admiration. Yep, they're degenerates.

They admired everything about the nun, from her perfect proportions to her airheaded tendencies, and her beautiful visage. Her actions were scrutinized, her every detail was poured over with extreme care. They were pretty sure at least one of them had a body pillow of her. Of course, they would never tell.

"I want to meet Orsola…" One sighed in a manner befitting a 12-year old boy.

"I want to hug Orsola…" Another said breathily in a manner befitting a secret admirer.

"I want to bang Orsola…" A third said in a manner befitting a sex offender, much to the chagrin of the others. This was not the first time.

"I want Orsola to fuck me…" A fourth said in a manner that could not be explained through simple text.

"Dude, what the fuck!" The first one yelled and his compatriot who simply shrugged and smirked.

"We all know what she's packing underneath that habit. A weapon on the same calibre as the Imagine Breaker, Shichiten Shichitou, or the Railgun! Her legend-" The man's ranting was cut short by a hard right-hook thrown right into his face, Kamijou-style.

"Anyways, what were we on again? Stiyl and Agnese interrogating the Romans?" The first one said, smoothing out his dark brown reading cloak.

"Yeah, and then we got sidetracked…"

"Again…"

And so they continued to read.

Meanwhile, in a library in England, Orsola Aquinas threw her blueberry muffin across the room right into the face of her fellow Church member Sherry Cromwell, who sputtered in a mix of rage and confusion. At this point, Orsola felt white-hot rage flow through her veins like never before, killing intent flowing off of her and crashing onto the other people in the room like waves crash into the cliff sides, slowly eroding any form of stability they had.

Of course, the readers in the room felt none of this and continued with their day. But as they continued reading, they reached a state of confusion?

"Hey, what was our reading goal for today?" One asked. In this room, they had a goal that they would reach by the end of the session, and then the fellows would head home and go on with their normal lives.

"Wasn't it OT12?"

"No, you idiot! We're on OT14, you're still stuck on those damn Ice Boats!"

"You utttttteeeerrrr ffooooooolllllss!"

"Oh, you assholes are gonna get it…"

And so another argument started, ending with all of the members of this reading club on the ground covered in bruises.

"Dammit, who's the goal-setter today?" One griped as he picked himself up from the ground. "It was him, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was him. He barely even shows up here anymore. And to think he's the guy who manages all of this. Slacker." Another shook his head in disapproval. "What a disappointment. To have all this authority, and not even think about using it. Truly the dreg of humanity."

Killing intent filled the room, as the door opened. It could only be one man. He was tall, over six feet, and spoke with a very pronounced accent.

"Hey, sorry guys, I forgot to set a goal todayyyyyyy… Can't we just talk this out?"

There was a single loud blasting sound, akin to that of a shotgun, and then there was silence.

Reading was concluded for the day, and after mailing a parcel bound for a morgue in India, the crew said their goodbyes and made their way back to their respective homes. That night, the various members of the Re-readers returned to the monotony of daily life, but every day, they knew that fun and degeneracy would await them. If they managed to actually get on track, that was, considering how much good artwork there is of Orsola. Oh yes, Orsola.

This is the dumbest shit I've written, and it's all your fault. You know who you are.