Qiluo found that she didn't feel nervous at all, perhaps because Misa Tachibana looked more like a convenience store manager who was barely holding on after being beaten down by life multiple times.
“Did you found the Wings of Freedom right after you retired?” Qiluo asked.
“Not immediately after retiring. I spent a few years in the hospital in between,” Misa Tachibana said, her fingers unconsciously stroking the edge of the blanket.
“After I was discharged, I wanted to figure out a few things. Why was the number of the Association's Contract Spirits decreasing year by year? Why was there such a clear imbalance in the contract crystal rationing system? And why was there absolutely no follow-up support for retired Magical Girls who, like me, lost their Contract Spirits in battle? I went to the Association headquarters to request access to the relevant files, but I was rejected. The reason given was that my authorization had already been revoked upon my retirement.”
She pushed a stack of folders from the corner of the desk over to Qiluo.
“This isn't just unfair.” Qiluo flipped through a few pages and looked up. “They are using the rationing system to filter who gets to continue being a Magical Girl and who doesn't.”
“You're quick on the uptake.” Misa Tachibana leaned back in her wheelchair. “Statistical data shows that the retirement rate for Magical Girls in the peripheral areas is more than three times that of the core areas. It's not because they aren't strong enough; they just don't have enough mana supply. Once their Contract Spirits are gone, contract crystals are the only things that can stably provide mana. And the authority to distribute contract crystals is held entirely in the hands of the Association's high-ranking officials.”
“Is that why the Wings of Freedom was founded?”
“In the beginning, the Wings of Freedom was just a mutual aid group for a few retired Magical Girls. Later, we started taking in active ones who were unwilling or unable to register, and eventually, we began conducting our own investigations into the correlation between the frequency of Erosion Body appearances and the distribution of mana concentration.”
She looked at Qiluo. “We aren't affiliated with the Association, and we don't accept their jurisdiction or rations. All members have to secure their own combat resources. Sounds like an organization that's dirt poor, doesn't it?”
“...It's alright.” Qiluo recalled Night Sakura's old t-shirt with the rabbit print and those sneakers with the fluffy pom-poms, and her lips twitched slightly. So it wasn't just one person who was poor; the entire membership was broke.
“That's good. At least you don't think we're a cult.”
“My standard for defining a cult is somewhat different from the Association's.”
“So, Lightweaver. Are you willing to join the Wings of Freedom?”
Qiluo didn't answer immediately. She looked down at the cup of taro paste boba on the corner of the desk; the taro paste inside had already settled to the bottom.
“I—”
“If you can't decide right now, don't force yourself. You can start by participating as a temporary member. You won't have to sign anything, and you won't have to register any personal information. Night Sakura will give you a temporary communication frequency. If you want to pick up, pick up. If you don't, you can act like it doesn't exist.”
Misa Tachibana's words were precise, perfectly dancing along the edge of all of Qiluo's concerns.
“...Are you like this with all newcomers?”
“No.” Misa Tachibana's gaze fell on the open observation report at the corner of the desk. Night Sakura's codename and the date were printed on the header, and on the third page of the main text, a few lines of writing were highlighted in neon yellow.
From Qiluo's angle, she couldn't see exactly what was written, but she could see the page was densely packed with analyses and annotations.
“In her observation report, Night Sakura wrote that you excel at long-range, multi-target suppression, light-attribute mana construction, and that your most commonly used technique is high-precision mana threads. She also noted that you never leave any mana residue behind when you retreat. Most importantly, you never proactively attack humanoid targets. Even after being stalked so many times, you never laid a hand on her.”
She paused, turning her gaze toward the door, her voice raising slightly—just enough to penetrate the half-open door.
“By the way, in the third draft of Night Sakura's observation report, there's half a page dedicated entirely to describing the way you retract your threads. She used quite a few flowery words to describe your hands.”
A choked cough from being startled while drinking boba tea came from outside the door, followed by hurried footsteps and a hushed, “I didn't write that much!”
Qiluo didn't know which matter she should address first. Within seconds, she had subconsciously hidden her fingers beneath the edge of the desk. Misa Tachibana did not rush her.
Well, then... should I give it a try? Although this Night Sakura didn't seem like a particularly good person, the people here all seemed like decent kids, right?
“...A temporary member,” Qiluo finally said. “I won't sign anything. I won't register any personal information. And if I don't feel like coming, I won't.”
“Alright.”
“You can have a communication frequency, but I don't guarantee I'll pick up.”
“Alright.”
“Also, Night Sakura is not allowed to camp at my spawn points anymore, and she is not allowed to wait for me to get off work in front of my convenience store. Neither of those things is allowed.”
The coughing outside stopped, followed by a brief silence, and then an extremely faint sound of a boba cup being pressed against the door panel to continue eavesdropping.
Misa Tachibana glanced toward the door, then turned back to look at Qiluo, the curve of her lips deepening slightly. “I'll convey the first rule for you. As for the second one... I suggest you tell her yourself.”
Qiluo stood up from the folding chair and picked the cup of taro paste boba back up from the desk. The straw had been bitten slightly flat by her.
Turning around, she saw Misa Tachibana still sitting behind the desk, her hands folded over the blanket, the light from the desk lamp casting deep shadows under her eyes.
Qiluo looked at her and suddenly realized something: when this woman spoke of her Contract Spirit dying in battle, her tone was incredibly calm, as if she were telling someone else's story.
It wasn't that she didn't care; it was that over the course of twelve years, she had twisted the pain into something far sharper.
A form of self-judgment.
“Manager Tachibana,” Qiluo spoke up, her voice softer than she had anticipated. “If—and I do mean if. If there was a chance for you to become a Magical Girl again, would you want to?”
Misa Tachibana lifted her hand from the blanket, her fingers unconsciously pressing against the area just below her left collarbone. It looked like she was merely adjusting her collar, but Qiluo noticed her knuckles tensing slightly.
“That question...” Misa Tachibana closed her eyes. “I asked myself that many times twelve years ago. Later, I stopped asking.”
Qiluo didn't speak. She knew Misa Tachibana was reminiscing about the past.
“My magic circuits are completely ruined, and my Contract Spirit is gone. What lies between me and the title of Magical Girl isn't just a closed door; it's an entire building that has been demolished.”
She lowered her hand from her left shoulder and rested it back on the blanket. “A retired Magical Girl is no longer a Magical Girl. Someone without a Contract Spirit has no right to form a new contract. Contract crystals have a minimum mana threshold requirement for circuits, and my circuits can't even reach that baseline. Every single path is a dead end.”
“You didn't answer my question. I wasn't asking if you think it's possible. I asked... if there were a chance, would you?”
Misa Tachibana raised her eyes to look at her, remaining silent for about three breaths before pushing her wheelchair forward a few centimeters.
“If there were a Contract Spirit that could accept a wheelchair-bound convenience store manager with ruined magic circuits who retired twelve years ago as its contractor, and if that spirit itself was fully prepared...”
Misa Tachibana delivered her answer very seriously, word by word.
“Then I would prepare myself fully as well. Just as myself, I would become a Magical Girl once more.”
She unclasped her fingers. “But there is no such Contract Spirit now. Even if there were, it probably wouldn't choose me. So this 'if' is highly unlikely to ever happen.”
Qiluo wasn't sure if Star-trail could reactivate a contract mark that had been dormant for twelve years.
But she was absolutely certain of one thing: deep within that old wound on Misa Tachibana's left shoulder, the dormant mana anchor was still waiting for her.
It had waited for twelve years, waiting for a Contract Spirit with high enough compatibility to knock on the door.
“...I see. I was just asking.”
Misa Tachibana looked at her and nodded slightly. She gathered the stack of folders on the desk and put them back in the corner, then turned to the next page of Night Sakura's observation report and began making annotations.
Walking to the door and pulling it open, a figure nearly tumbled into her arms.
Night Sakura stumbled back several steps, adjusting her mask. The boba cup in her hand was already empty, with the straw still held between her lips.
“You—”
“I was closing the door. It wasn't closing very well.”
“The door was half-open. There's no such thing as it 'not closing well'.”
“Then I was wiping the door.”
“...Whatever.” Qiluo decided to save the energy of bickering with this person for the next time she showed up in front of the convenience store.
Rate on N.U.
