Chapter 26 | This Magical Girl Is a Bit Strange

Tonight, she was only going to take a look. She would absolutely not sign anything on the spot. She would absolutely not give her real name. And she would absolutely not return the bell to Night Sakura. She had already left that bell on her low table, placed in the same drawer as Yuki Kurokawa's cookie sticky note and that receipt with the smiley face.

She had just forgotten to throw it away, nothing more.

Night Sakura led her through most of the residential area, turning into an alley she had never been to before. At the end of the alley was an inconspicuous iron door, its paint mostly peeled away to reveal the rusted metal plate beneath.

A handwritten wooden sign hung next to the door, featuring a crooked wing drawn in chalk. Having been rained on, the chalk marks had smudged into a blurry mess.

“We're here,” Night Sakura said as she pushed the door open. Behind it was a staircase leading downward, with rows of warm yellow magic lamps attached to the walls on both sides of the steps.

The air smelled faintly of dust, mixed with a floral-scented air freshener.

Qiluo stood at the entrance, looking down at the tips of her shoes.

It wasn't too late to run now. Waiting below was an organization she knew absolutely nothing about, and even the makeup of their combat strength was a complete mystery.

What if they were some dangerous group and she got dragged into their mess?

But on second thought, Night Sakura had staked out outdoors so many times just to follow her. She kept smiling despite being rejected repeatedly, and always brought her food and drinks in various creative ways.

How dangerous could a group with an idiot like her in it actually be?

She followed Night Sakura down the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase was a fire door that looked like the entrance to an abandoned storage room, but the mana fluctuations seeping through the cracks of the door were clean—a meticulously maintained barrier. Once the door was pushed open, she stood at the threshold, taking a few seconds to process the scene before her.

It was a repurposed underground parking lot. The ceiling was about two stories high, and the original parking space lines had been wiped completely clean with magic cleaner. The floor was covered with mismatched patchwork carpets of varying shades, looking like they had been sourced from various different places.

In the corner stood several rows of server racks, humming as they ran, their indicator lights blinking in an orderly rhythm. On the other side was a lounge area, where several old, multi-colored sofas were arranged in a semi-circle. On the coffee table lay a few open maps and several cups of steaming coffee.

The walls were covered with handwritten combat briefings, regional Erosion Body distribution maps, and an exaggeratedly large poster of the “Wings of Freedom Member Code of Conduct.” The first rule read, “No eating natto at headquarters.” The second was, “Anyone who violates Rule 1 is responsible for buying snacks for a week.” The third was, “The boss has the final say.”

Next to it was a sticky note that read, “I was set up!” followed by three exclamation marks.

A few people were sitting in the lounge area. A short-haired girl in a tracksuit was sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Seeing Night Sakura bring someone in, she waved her hand. “Oh—she's here, she's here! Night Sakura, you actually managed to bring her! What do they call this—the eight-visit cottage treatment!”

The short-haired girl jumped down from the sofa and limped over to Qiluo. She was half a head shorter than Qiluo, and her left leg was wrapped in bandages. The bandages were covered in little animal doodles, looking like the handiwork of other members who had nothing better to do while she was recovering.

She looked up at Qiluo without any hesitation. “So you're the Lightweaver that Night Sakura stans? Whoa, you're so tall.”

“Don't add '-sama',” Lightweaver said, turning her face slightly away.

“Then Lightweaver it is!” The short-haired girl readily corrected herself. “I'm Kohinata. The one still sleeping on the sofa is Amamiya. Don't let her looking like she's completely powered down fool you; she's our strongest close-combat fighter.”

She paused, looking Qiluo up and down. “To be honest, you don't look as scary as Night Sakura made you out to be. She said you were like a walking refrigerator.”

“A walking refrigerator,” Lightweaver repeated, turning her head to look at Night Sakura.

Night Sakura was pushing her mask up slightly to expose her chin so she could drink her boba tea. Meeting Lightweaver's gaze, she said with a straight face, “It's a compliment to your cooling effect. Look at how brittle the remains of the Erosion Bodies get after you finish a battle. They freeze up and shatter instantly.”

“That's from being shredded by my light threads, not from freezing.”

“Then it's thermal cooling. The heat of the light evaporated the moisture, making them brittle.” Night Sakura took a sip of her tea, speaking with such confidence as if she had actually studied physics.

In her heart, Qiluo silently revoked all her previous positive assessments of Night Sakura. Right now, she just wanted to splash the cup of taro paste boba in her hand right into this woman's face.

She had already figured out this person's pattern.

Smart-mouthed, attentive, possesses a great memory, and completely unafraid of her.

“...Don't describe me like that to others in the future,” was all she ended up saying.

“Don't worry, I've only said it to our own people. To outsiders, I say you're a highly powerful, mysterious Magical Girl with beautiful hair, sharp moves, and exceptionally pretty fingers when you retract your threads—”

“That's enough.”

Kohinata beside them laughed so hard she couldn't stand straight, nearly loosening the bandages on her leg. Over on the sofa, Amamiya rolled over, mumbling a sleepy, “Is it time to eat?” before falling silent again.

Night Sakura set her boba tea down and pointed toward a half-open door at the end of the hall, through which a soft, warm light leaked. A cardboard sign hung on the door, with “Boss's Office” scribbled crookedly on it, followed by a note underneath: “No need to knock. It won't make a sound anyway.”

Night Sakura walked to the door, pushed it open, and leaned half her body inside. In a serious tone that Qiluo had never heard her use before, she said, “Boss, she's here. She agreed.”

Standing at the entrance of the boss's office with the taro paste boba still in her hand, Qiluo had three choices.

First, turn around and run. Second, stand right there, finish her boba tea, and then run. Third, walk inside.

She chose the third.

As Qiluo pushed the door open, she was still wondering what kind of person the leader of the Wings of Freedom would be.

Given Night Sakura's usual easygoing and overly familiar attitude, someone who could make her obediently call them “boss” should be more powerful and sharp. Perhaps the type who wore a sleek suit and had eyes sharp enough to be used as weapons.

The door opened, and what she saw was an old desk, two folding chairs, a warm yellow desk lamp, and a woman sitting in a wheelchair.

The woman looked to be in her late twenties. Her dark brown hair was loosely tied into a low ponytail at the back of her head, with a few stray strands draping over her pale cheeks.

Her facial features were on the softer side, but she had deep dark circles under her eyes—telltale signs of chronic sleep deprivation that even concealer couldn't cover.

She wore a slightly faded convenience store uniform jacket with a high collar, buttoned all the way to the top. A dark red blanket covered her legs, its edges worn and pilling.

Qiluo had seen this face before. Not as the founder of the Wings of Freedom, but as Manager Murai's colleague.

At the regional manager meeting for the convenience store chain, she had sat next to Murai, a notebook open in front of her, barely speaking the entire time.

Once the meeting was over, she had rolled her wheelchair to the smoking area alone, lit a cigarette, held it between her fingers, and watched it burn down.

“...It's you.” Qiluo stood at the door, momentarily forgetting which hand was holding the taro paste boba.

“You know me?” Misa Tachibana looked up.

“The regional manager meeting. I filled in for Manager Murai once. You were sitting in the second row on the left.” She set the taro paste boba on the corner of the desk and sat down on a folding chair.

Her mind was rapidly trying to piece the quiet store manager and the founder before her into the same person.

“I didn't expect the boss of the Wings of Freedom to also be a convenience store manager.”

“To pay rent,” Misa Tachibana said, pulling the blanket slightly higher over her legs. “I pay the utility bills for this underground base too. Half of our members' combat allowances come from the night shift subsidies of another branch.”

Judging by Misa Tachibana's mana fluctuations, there was almost no active magic circuit below her waist.

Her circuits had been withered for many years—so long that her muscles and nerves had already adapted to a state without magic to support them. This person used to be a Magical Girl, but she wasn't anymore.

“You're looking at my legs,” Misa Tachibana said in a calm tone. Qiluo looked away.

“It's fine. Everyone who comes here looks at my legs first. The second thing they look at is the wheelchair, and they only look at my face third.”

Misa Tachibana rolled her wheelchair forward slightly and folded her hands on the desk. “I am a former Association Magical Girl, codename White Night. I retired twelve years ago. The reason for my retirement was the permanent destruction of my magic circuits, which cost me the use of my legs. My contracted Contract Spirit's mana core shattered while covering my retreat, and it died in battle on the spot.”

“...I'm sorry,” Qiluo said, her fingers tightening slightly against her knees.

Twelve years ago. Her retirement age must have been around seventeen, which meant she had become a Magical Girl even earlier.

A shattered core was not something that could be simply summarized by the words “died in battle.” Once a Contract Spirit exhausted all its mana, its physical form would disintegrate, leaving not even a body behind.