Despite promising herself she wouldn't transform into Lightweaver again, Qiluo only managed to hold out for a few days.
One night, an Erosion Body appeared in the back alley of the shopping district, right along her usual route home from work.
She was carrying a bag of oden from the convenience store at the time. Standing at the mouth of the alley, she watched the low-tier Erosion Body crawling around the trash cans, its spindly legs scraping against the asphalt with a sound that set her teeth on edge.
She placed the bag of oden in a corner, confirmed there was no one around, and sighed. A warm white light began to glow from the back of her hand.
From then on, it happened at least once or twice a week. The frequency wasn't high, but it was consistent, almost as if she were scheduling her own shifts: the convenience store on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and Lightweaver on varying Tuesdays and Thursdays.
She realized she didn't actually dislike fighting. It wasn't that she enjoyed the violence, but rather the sense of control that came with precisely flicking out mana threads and pinning an Erosion Body to a wall.
After standing behind a convenience store register for so long, she occasionally felt the urge to stretch her limbs.
Moreover, she managed to clear the battlefield before Mingyue arrived every single time.
It was a good feeling, like being an anonymous janitor cleaning the streets before everyone else woke up.
Mingyue’s reaction was different every time. Sometimes she would stand in the center of the freshly cleared battlefield, looking up at the roof of the tallest nearby building as if expecting Lightweaver to be perched there waiting for her.
She would say “thank you” to the empty rooftop before shouldering her scythe and departing.
Other times, she would walk a circle around the scene, crouching down to carefully examine the remains of the Erosion Bodies that had been shredded by the light threads.
“Isn't this great? Helping the Magical Girls lighten their load.”
“Shouldn't you thank me more?”
Nuomi lay on her shoulder, its ears twitching back and forth, before finally shaking its head in frustration. Shizuru rubbed its head, said nothing, and shouldered her scythe to patrol the next area.
Qiluo watched from the shadows nearby every time, feeling like she was doing something slightly immoral, yet these reactions were quite addictive.
She finally understood why so many people enjoyed being anonymous heroes—finishing the fight just as reinforcements arrived!
Swiftly eliminating the enemy, and then, when the support showed up...
Saying coolly, “Too slow. It’s already over,” before flying away without a backward glance, leaving behind only the upward-staring gazes of those on the ground.
That feeling was truly satisfying.
The Erosion Bodies that night consisted of one mid-tier and four low-tiers, appearing on a riverbank at the edge of a residential area.
By the time Qiluo arrived, they were gnawing on the metal coating of the lampposts, leaving behind dark green corrosive marks. It took her about three minutes to handle all five. She shredded the low-tiers all at once with a web of threads, and for the mid-tier, she hooked its carapace gaps with light threads, dragged it from the bank to the water's surface, and finally pinned it to a bridge pier in the middle of the river.
She stood on the pier and retracted the last light thread, her warm white short hair blown into a mess by the river wind.
She combed through her hair with her hand, the red highlights at the tips dancing in the moonlight. Her mana consumption was around thirty to forty percent, much better than her first transformation at the amusement park. She had learned to incorporate energy-saving structures into her temporary circuits; while her endurance was still nowhere near her main body's mana capacity, at least her legs didn't turn to jelly after every fight.
She prepared to cancel her transformation and began walking up the steps of the riverbank. Just as she reached the top, she stopped.
A person was standing under the streetlamp. It wasn't Mingyue.
It was a Magical Girl wearing a black lace mask that covered the upper half of her face and a deep purple long dress. The hem of her skirt trailed on the ground, adorned with tiny silver bells.
She leaned against the lamppost in a relaxed posture, a thin business card held between her fingertips.
“Lightweaver.” Her voice was slightly distorted by interference, but her tone carried a hint of a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
Qiluo didn't speak. She stood at the top of the stairs, her right hand still maintaining the subtle micro-movements of retracting threads—a habit she had formed during combat; her fingers wouldn't listen to her.
She stared at the mask for two seconds. A deep purple dress and a face mask? She wasn't from the Association.
The Association's Magical Girls didn't wear masks after transforming; the cognitive interference of the transformation itself was the strongest mask possible. Mask-wearers were extremely rare within the Association.
In other words, she wasn't part of the regular forces.
Besides, she’s even better at posing than me? I don’t even wear a mask! Do you think you’re cool? You’re stealing my spotlight right as I appear.
“Who are you?”
The person stood up straight and held out the business card. “I am Night Sakura. I’m not here to fight; we’ve been watching you for a while.”
Qiluo didn't take the card by hand. She used a thread to hook the edge of the card, snatching it directly from Night Sakura’s fingers, and glanced at it under the streetlamp.
The card was printed with a logo she had never seen before, with a line of neatly written text: Independent Magical Girl Mutual Aid Group (Non-Association).
Below that was a handwritten contact number. On the back, an address was printed.
“‘We’?” Qiluo flipped the card over. “What kind of organization is this?”
“Wings of Freedom.” Night Sakura leaned back against the lamppost, crossing her arms over her chest in a lazy gesture, as if sharing a piece of trivial gossip.
“No need to report battle results to the Association, no need to follow their jurisdictional boundaries, and no need to submit subjugation records for review by a committee of old men who’ve forgotten what a Contract Spirit even is.”
While Qiluo flipped the card back and forth between two fingers, she mentally filled in what the other woman was trying to say.
You know why you can't be found in the Association's database? Because you haven't registered at all. And the fact that you haven't registered means you don't want to be controlled by them. Since you don't want to be controlled, why not join us?
As expected, Night Sakura continued, “We’ve been observing your recent battles nearby. Your combat style is mature, your mana structure isn't any known type in the Association's database, and your patterns of action don't resemble any registered Magical Girl. You’re an independent operative, aren't you?”
Qiluo didn't answer immediately. She stood on the riverbank steps, the streetlamp shining from above and casting long shadows from her eyelashes.
Wings of Freedom—she felt like she had seen that name somewhere. Among the pamphlets at the Association's registration desk, there was occasionally one with “Caution: Beware of Illegal Magical Girl Groups” printed on the cover.
However, her own name wasn't on the Association's books either. Between the two, there didn't seem to be much difference.
“You want me to join?”
“I want you to come and learn about us. Learning doesn't cost anything. We have several Magical Girls in similar situations to yours—some who refuse to register, some who were expelled from the Association, and some who used contract crystals to transform after their Contract Spirits left and felt the Association's crystal rationing system was unfair. Whatever the reason, as long as you still want to fight Erosion Bodies and don't want to be boxed in by the Association, there’s a place for you with us.”
After saying this, Night Sakura added another sentence, her tone gaining a bit of unfeigned sincerity. “So, how was it? I practiced that pitch pretty well, right? The boss made me memorize a script before she sent me to ambush you tonight.”
“...‘Ambush’ isn't the right word.”
“Is it? I think it fits. Look, it’s night, we don’t know each other, and I suddenly approached you. If that’s not an ambush, what is?”
Why are all the Magical Girls in this world like this?
Qiluo tossed the card back toward her, and Night Sakura reached out to catch it.
“Keep the card. Whether I accept the invitation depends on my mood.”
Night Sakura tucked the card back between her fingertips and tilted her head. The half of her face visible beneath the mask broke into a smile.
“Fine, then. Depends on your mood. Our address won't change anyway; you can come whenever you like. Oh, right—” She detached a small silver bell from her skirt and tossed it to Qiluo. “This is an access permit. Bring the bell, and the barrier won't stop you.”
Qiluo caught the bell and spun it between her fingers. It was very small, much smaller than Nuomi’s bell, with a micro-mana mark engraved inside—a type of one-way pass.
She put the bell in her pocket, where it clinked softly against the loose change from the convenience store.
“I’ll think about it.” She turned and walked up the riverbank, not looking back.
Night Sakura remained where she was after Qiluo left, looking up at the moon. She pressed a communication button on the side of her mask. “Boss, she didn't reject us on the spot. Better than expected.”
A fragmented voice came from the other end of the comms, accompanied by the sound of wind and something light brushing through tree branches. Night Sakura replied with a “Got it,” then switched off the communication and walked toward the other side of the riverbank.
Rate on N.U.
