Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The early days of the MSY were a nightmare. Granted, far less of one compared to the earlier days where it was every girl for herself, but a nightmare nonetheless, of a different kind. When you're used to your problems being of a more existential nature, it's somewhat difficult to transition into the relatively more mundane affairs of organizational management. We were all flying by the seats of our pants, no matter how much Akemi‐san always projected an air of being in control. Things weren't made any easier by the girls who either didn't know or didn't care about us; sometimes, when you've been on your own for long enough, you get set in your ways, and you don't want to hear about other possibilities.

We didn't really think of it this way at the time, but in hindsight, probably the most important issues we faced were the rogue magical girls. The ones that had gone drunk with their newfound power, or gone insane under the stress of their new realities. It took us a distressingly long time to form the Soul Guard… far too long. It's easy to think that we did the best we could, without the systems we have in place today, but in reality we had everything we needed to make the decision much sooner. We were too concerned with operations, too concerned with expansion, to spare enough thought for those poor, lost souls…

— Tomoe Mami, "Building a Better World: Reminiscences on the Growth of the MSY from Someone Who Was There," (MSY Internal), 2373, excerpt.

"Happiness is nonetheless true happiness because it must come to an end, nor do thought and love lose their value because they are not everlasting."

— Bertrand Russell, "What I Believe," 1925, excerpt.

June 17, 2039

Five meters away from where Yamamoto Ikuyo lay prone behind a parked car, the ground exploded.

Knowing what she would see, she glanced over anyway to see the steel kunai sticking out of the ground, telltale dark‐blue cloth identifying its source. As the fragments of dirt and asphalt settled, a loud, mocking voice rang out through the otherwise empty street.

"Ikuyo‐chan, Ikuyo‐chan… where are you, Ikuyo‐chan…?"

Ikuyo shivered. Aoi‐senpai had been so kind, so helpful… a far cry from the crazy, derisive girl who was now hunting her like a cat hunting a mouse. Ikuyo clutched tightly to her morningstar; while it usually gave her comfort, here it simply reminded her how useless she was against enemies that could keep their distance. Especially when those enemies knew where she was hiding.

You need to think outside the box, Aoi had once told her. You're really great once you can get up close and personal, but demons can fight at range. Focus on closing the gap.

Aoi had never told her that Ikuyo might be fighting against her one day.

Ikuyo pushed herself up, gritting her teeth. It had been a difficult time, the past few months, but she had had no clue that her senpai was cracking. They had lost Manami‐san to a demon attack back in March, and Sayuri‐chan in May. Ikuyo had tried to convince Aoi that it wasn't her fault, that there was nothing that they could have done, and she'd thought that she had succeeded. Then, this afternoon she had gone over to Aoi's apartment and had needed to duck as a kunai buried itself in the door.

What are you doing? she had cried, instantly transforming into her light yellow dress. Aoi, of course, was already garbed in her own dark blue outfit, a stylized shozuku that left her head exposed.

You know exactly what I'm doing, Aoi had replied, leaping down from her perch atop the cabinet. You're going to leave me too, you're going to leave me all alone, you're going to make me face those monsters all alone!

Ikuyo would have gaped, if Aoi hadn't hurled another pair of kunai in her direction. With no other choice, Ikuyo had turned and fled, with Aoi in hot pursuit.

Tears burning hot in her eyes, Ikuyo sprang out from behind the car, leaping and tumbling the way Aoi had taught her, dodging the rain of blades that hailed down from her former mentor. Luckily for Ikuyo, Aoi's aim was off, uncharacteristically so; the elegant and efficient dance of the girl she knew was gone, replaced with brutal force. She found shelter behind another car, moments before three more of Aoi's seemingly infinite supply of magical kunai buried themselves into the metal with a quick series of thunks.

"Oh, Ikuyo‐chan, Ikuyo‐chan, stop running from me Ikuyo‐chan… Why are you running from me, why are you leaving me? Why is everybody leaving me?" Each question was like an arrow through Ikuyo's heart. I'm not leaving, I would never leave you! And it's not as if Manami‐san and Sayuri‐chan left by choice… Ikuyo desperately wanted to cry out these heartfelt words to her senpai, but somehow she knew that they wouldn't help. She had no idea what could help her erstwhile friend and mentor. Completely out of options, she desperately reached out.

Please, she cried out mentally, broadcasting her thoughts as widely as she could, hoping against hope that someone, anyone, might come to rescue her. Please, help me, Aoi‐san has gone crazy, anyone, please, save me!

With a raucous twisting and buckling of metal, heavy feet landed on the roof of the car. Trembling, Ikuyo raised her eyes to meet their owner. She instinctively gripped the haft of her mace so hard that her knuckles went white.

A jagged smile gazed down at her. A hand raised, three small blades between its fingers.

"I found you, Ikuyo‐chan. Now we can be together forever."

June 22, 2039

Mami swallowed a retch, suppressing an involuntary urge to vomit at the scene laid before her.

Two days ago, the MSY leadership had received news about troubling events in Kyoto. An emergency meeting of the Leadership Committee had been convened, and Mami, the MSY's tactical coordinator, had been directed to form a team to investigate. By mid‐day yesterday, Mami had drafted a list of team candidates and presented it for review; by evening, the impromptu squad had been assembled, and they had trained late into the night in order to prepare.

What they had found when they'd arrived was not what they had been given to expect.

Firstly, there was an overabundance of miasma—an unusual occurrence, but not unheard‐of. The team had quickly set about clearing them out, completing the job with crisp efficiency; these were, after all, hand‐picked fighters, each member a veteran demon‐hunter. Once this task was completed, they had proceeded toward Nakamura Aoi's apartment, approaching with the stealth and practiced caution of true professionals.

It turned out that they needn't have bothered.

Every single girl in the team could feel the immense magical energy radiating from the flat; they had exchanged glances, and not a few telepathic queries regarding their pace. Mami had felt their urgency; there was only one thing that could cause this kind of magical signature. Hurrying their tempo, the team had rapidly spread out; most of the team rushed to secure the perimeter, while Mami and Yuma—the team's primary fighter and healer, respectively—ventured inside the domicile.

Despite having experienced far more than could be said for most people their age, very little could have prepared them for the grisly scene that had greeted them in the apartment's bedroom.

Yuma… Mami thought in a horrified voice. What do we do?

Yuma could give no immediate answer. Her own unique life experiences had provided her with a somewhat stronger stomach than the sometimes overly‐emotional Mami, but even she was somewhat shaken.

I think… she began, slowly. I think that at the very least, there is no immediate threat to ourselves or the rest of the team. As ever, she managed to suppress the visceral, reactive part of her self, instead focusing on the exigencies of the situation.

What about… Mami gestured helplessly at the bed. Of course, she was well aware of the fact that the physical bodies of magical girls were not their true selves; it didn't make it any easier to see the daggers wrapped in blue cloth skewering the limbs of one of the girls on the bare mattress, pinning her in place.

In the past, Mami would have leapt forward and attempted to deliver first aid. She had by now trained herself to suppress this instinct, simply because it wasn't immediately helpful—the girl was clearly catatonic, having dissociated her true self from her body in order to numb the pain. Not to mention that there was no telling what the other girl on the bed might do if she got too close.

So far, the girl in question had not reacted to either of the intruders' presences, electing instead to remain curled tightly into the body of her victim. She clung onto the other girl with a demonic possessiveness, muttering to herself incoherently, seemingly senseless to the world around her. Experience, however, told both of the veterans that it would be a mistake to attempt to extricate the target of the girl's attention.

This is beyond the pale, Yuma thought silently. We were hoping to use Protective Confinement. I think that more drastic action may be necessary.

Mami cringed, internally. She knew what Yuma was suggesting, loathe though she was to acknowledge it herself. Outwardly, though, she gave no reaction, remaining carefully still.

Yuma was familiar with Mami's reservations. It's okay, Mami‐nee‐san, she thought. Though she used the endearing honorific, her mental voice was deadly serious, exhibiting none of the usual undercurrent of teasing playfulness. We came as soon as we could. There was nothing we could have done.

Mami turned to face her friend, wearing a stricken expression torn between wanting to explode in righteous fury and drown in infinite sorrow.

Did we? she thought angrily. Did we really? There was a full day between when we heard about this, and when we came. Not to mention how the information didn't even reach our ears until an entire weekend had passed! Why? Is the MSY's duty to protect magical girls suspended on the weekends? Do morals only apply on business days?

Though the air remained silent between them—save for the inane mutterances of the girl in blue—her questions hung in the air with a heavy weight.

Yuma looked into Mami's eyes—there, she saw a wild desperation, tempered only by the sure knowledge that Mami knew, deep in her bones, that there really was nothing more that they could have done. Not with the clearly woefully‐inadequate system that they currently had.

That didn't make the sight of the two bodies lying on the bed next to them any easier to bear.

Yuma chose her next words carefully.

Mami‐san, she thought slowly, deliberately changing the honorific. I understand what you are feeling. I promise that when we get back to Mitakihara, I will personally speak with Homura‐nee‐san about reforming our information network, and our rapid‐response protocol. But right now, right this second, it is very important for you to be calm, so that we can complete this mission. She emphasized the point by reaching into her dress and pulling out a few grief cubes.

Mami stared dully at the proffered cubes for a few moments, her eyes glassy and unfocused, before mechanically reaching out and accepting them. More from muscle memory than any conscious action, she lifted the cubes toward her hat; the resultant proximity to the hairpin housing her soul gem caused the grief cubes to begin drawing corruption from the jewel. Immediately, Mami felt better, as if a salve had been applied to her heart; a deep‐seated agony still lurked quietly beneath the surface, though, like a grenade threatening to explode.

She looked at Yuma, who was in turn looking back with an expression of concern, and managed a weak smile.

Thank you, she thought, attempting to project an air of having her emotions under control. She glanced at the girls on the bed one final time, before turning away. Since there doesn't seem to be any further need for a full fighting squad, I think I will head back to Mitakihara and begin writing a mission report. I will leave the… jurisdiction here to you. With that, she strode out of the bedroom; in seconds, her footsteps exited the apartment, and Yuma was left alone.

Exhaling a sigh, Yuma turned, silently regarding the gibbering girl and her unfortunate victim. Mami had always been the most emotionally vulnerable of their foursome, and Yuma had privately wondered whether Mami was fit for this mission, given the subject and the stakes. She had held her tongue, back during the team planning, when Mami had placed herself as the team leader; Mami was a formidable fighter, after all, perhaps the best the MSY had. However, Yuma knew from experience that her temperament when it came to rogue magical girls could be… unpredictable.

Ripping her eyes away, Yuma glanced around the room. She spotted a small stack of grief cubes on the nightstand; seven of them were completely saturated, and the eighth—and final—one was very nearly full. The soul gems standing beside them were stained with a deep blackness; the yellow gem, though weak, was glowing as brightly as it could to fight off the oppressive corruption, while the blue one was dim and dull, as if it had already given up. She walked over; as she passed the pair on the bed, she caught a few of the words falling out of the mumbling girl's mouth.

"—forever. Together, you and me, forever. You'll never leave me, and I'll never leave you, we'll be together forever…"

Yuma shook her head. She wanted to feel anger, or even discomposure, at the figure in blue, but all she found within her was sadness, and pity. Sadness at knowing the level of desperate despair that must have driven the girl to do what she had, and pity for the innocent target of her obsession.

Taking her own advice, she reached into her pocket once more and availed herself of a grief cube, clearing her mind, before summoning her hammer. She made it smaller than usual, almost toy‐like; there was no need for the enormous mace she usually used in combat.

Most magical girls would have balked at the task. Yuma, however, had some experience in these types of affairs, and it took only a little effort for her to steel herself for the work. The work was what mattered, after all.

She raised her hammer, reverently, with a profound solemnity.

June 23, 2039

Akemi Homura's face remained impressively impassive as her eyes scanned the page.

Mami had returned unexpectedly early, and, even more unexpectedly, alone. She had had a strange look in her eyes, as if she had seen something she wished she hadn't. Homura had decided not to pry, electing instead to wait until Mami submitted the report that now sat in her hands.

Letting out a breath, she lowered the paper onto her desk and shifted her attention to Mami herself, who was sitting across from her with an unreadable expression. Next to Mami sat Yuma, who had arrived back at the D&E offices hours later, with the rest of the team. Though Yuma could be decidedly more stoic than Mami, even she had seemed out‐of‐sorts. Homura had raised an eyebrow at this, but, as with Mami, had chosen to hold her questions until the debriefing.

Her questions were indeed answered, but the contents of the report spawned more. Her first question, though, was the most important.

"Are you okay?"

Mami stiffened momentarily as Homura's voice broke the silence, before relaxing. Slightly.

"Yes. I think so, anyway," she said. Her voice was uncharacteristically shaky, though it was clear that she was making an effort at maintaining her demeanor. "I've seen all sorts of horrible things, of course, we all have… but nothing like this."

"It was highly unsettling," added Yuma. "Magical girls have conflicts all the time. We know that better than anyone. But this seemed different, somehow. Not so much a conflict, as a neurotic obsession. One that manifested rather… violently."

Homura made a thoughtful noise, steepling her fingers. "Do you have any ideas on how or why this may have occurred? Any hints as to what may have prompted this obsession?"

Yuma shook her head. "Nothing concrete. I did hear Nakamura mumbling about being with Yamamoto‐san 'forever', for what it's worth."

"Hmm… I suppose we will simply have to ask Yamamoto‐san herself, when she is cogent. I take it that she is under Protective Confinement?"

Mami nodded. "Yes. We've treated her physical injuries, but it will take some time for her psychological wounds to heal. We have Tanaka‐san working with her."

"Good." Homura leaned back, her face becoming thoughtful. "I wonder if Kuroi‐san would be willing to try to see what occurred… I will ask her about it later."

"Which project is she on right now?" Mami asked, glad for the temporary change in topic.

"At the moment, she is doing preliminary investigations into the local government," Homura replied. "There are many policies that would be beneficial to the MSY, and to magical girls in general, and we're trying to establish a lobby, of sorts. From her reports, this is seeming to be more difficult than anticipated."

"Speaking of influencing policy," Yuma interjected, "I think that we need to give some serious thought toward some of our own systems. This sort of thing doesn't happen in a vacuum. It must have taken months, maybe even years, for Nakamura to be pushed to this extreme; there is no way that no one noticed anything wrong. We should have heard about this a lot earlier; maybe we could have prevented this from happening."

Homura drew a slow breath, wrinkling her brow as she thought. "Kyoto is at the very outskirts of MSY territory, but it's our territory nonetheless. You're right; surely the other girls in the Kyoshimi locality must have noticed something. We can certainly go and ask them why they didn't report anything to the leadership; until then, we can only speculate."

"It still bothers me that we needed to fracture," mused Mami. "I understand why it was necessary, and really it's a good thing that the MSY has grown large enough to make it necessary, but it leads to problems. Things fall through the cracks. Important things, like this."

"The additional bureaucracy has made things somewhat… slower," acknowledged Homura. "For however much as it's improved the overall stability of the MSY, it's clear that our reaction times are sluggish."

"Not just organizationally," said Mami. "Procedurally, too. It took us an entire day to mobilize after we learned about Nakamura, putting aside how long it took for us to learn about her. That's unacceptable."

"Indeed," agreed Homura. "I'm not entirely sure how to address this right now; we will need to discuss this at the next Leadership Committee. I do think—"

A knock at the door interrupted her line of thought. Executive Akemi‐san, her secretary thought, through the wall. Excuse me for interrupting, but Kuroi‐san is here for you.

Thank you, Akada‐san. Tell her I will be with her shortly. She returned her attention to her friends. "Apologies, but Kuroi‐san has finally arrived. Let's go with this: you two take the rest of the week off. Clear your heads, maybe have a chat with Tanaka‐san to make sure that you're actually fine. After that, think of some ways that we can improve our organizational communication and speed. In the meantime, I will send some girls over to Kyoshimi and ask some questions. Is there anything I've missed? Then I will see you next week. Please send in Kuroi‐san."

May 3, 2042

Kasuga Nanae's ringing laughter pierced through the heavy, viscous atmosphere of the miasma. "This is amazing!" she shouted, nerves tingling and senses alight. "I've never felt so alive!"

"That's great, Kasuga‐chan, but rein it in a little," warned Fukushima Fumi. The elder magical girl nimbly dodged a beam from one of the demons, before landing next to the newly‐contracted girl with a swish of her red yukata. "It seems crazy, right now, trust me I know, but you need to manage your power usage—"

"No way! I feel brimming with power! I'm gonna show these 'demons' or whatever a thing or two!" With that, Nanae leapt out ahead of her senpai, brandishing her twin scimitars. Fumi sighed, before rushing off after her.

May 12, 2042

Nanae gazed down at Fumi's body, startlingly dispassionately for a teenage girl who had just witnessed her senpai die.

I always thought you were slow, she thought. You were always too cautious with using your power.

Even though it was somewhat of a universal tradition for older, more experienced magical girls to mentor and nurture those who came after, Fumi had, from the moment she met Nanae, been on the back foot. In her own experience, it was safest to be risk‐averse: don't go after demons if they were too far away, don't get into unnecessary conflicts outside of the hunt, don't overuse your magic and risk running out. Nanae, on the other hand, was a loose cannon: actively hunting down swarms, bullying magical girls on the fringes of their territory, playing fast and loose with her magic. In fairness, Nanae had what one might consider to be an overabundance of natural talent; where a lesser magical girl might have stumbled at any of these aggressive behaviors, Nanae instead seemed to thrive.

Even if she had been so inclined, Nanae had no time to mourn or grieve for her fallen ally; the miasma around her was still thick, and she was now completely alone against the horde of demons. Around the hilts of her blades, her grip tightened.

Demons, as far as anyone could tell, did not experience emotions. However, if they did, then certainly they would have balked at the expression worn by the girl who raised her eyes toward them. Far from the defiant fear that one might have expected, they shone instead with a wicked gleam.

With a kick, Nanae launched herself at the interlopers, blades slashing at the air in a furious, joyful rapture.

May 29, 2042

"We need to do something about Kasuga."

Ordinarily, the lack of honorific would be notable, but all present at the current meeting shared the speaker's disdain for the out‐of‐control magical girl.

The speaker, one Saito Kuriko, continued. "She's just one girl. There's no reason why she should be as aggressive as she is."

"It's ridiculous, the way that she's able to push us all around," observed Fujiwara Ayaka. "We've been here longer, we're more experienced. She's just freakishly strong."

"I miss Fumi‐san," said the quietly bookish Imai Mio. "She was always so nice…"

"We all do," Kuriko said gently. "If Fumi‐san was still around, I don't doubt that none of this would be happening. But we need to face facts; Fumi‐san is gone, and in her place is… her."

The already dour atmosphere turned even gloomier as the three girls lapsed into morose silence.

For the past two weeks, Nanae had gone on a rampage; every night, she went out hunting, and cleared out miasmas with a brutal effectiveness. At first, the neighboring girls had been appreciative; for however much they liked Fumi as a person, they had to admit that she was somewhat lackluster as a magical girl, and so it was refreshing to have someone picking up her slack. However, Nanae's thirst for violence soon exceeded the capacity of the demons in her area to provide, and she had started to encroach on the territory of the other girls. At first, they had figured that Nanae was just an ignorant newbie, and so they had tried to explain to her that each girl had domain over specific areas of the city. This notion had been quickly disavowed once Nanae turned her swords on them instead, insisting that if they wanted to defend their territory, then they could "try to match her power".

Of course, none of them could, and Nanae gradually laid claim to more and more of the city. As she did so, she began to have less and less regard for trifling matters such as stealth, property, and safety, for either herself or innocent bystanders. Normally, the reality‐warping effects of a miasma would limit or negate the property damage, at least, but Nanae's insatiable hunger for flexing her strength started to bleed outside of demon hunting; incidents where walls or vehicles would be found inexplicably sliced to ribbons were becoming worryingly common.

Surprisingly, it was Mio who broke the silence.

"I think… I think we need to team up. Maybe together we can stand up to her."

Ayaka stared down at her tea. "I don't know… she's really powerful. And she's been fighting every night, a lot more than we have. I don't know if we'd be able to do anything to her, even if we all came at her at the same time."

"And what happens if she beats us?" Kuriko asked. "If she can show that she's stronger than all of us combined, then there'd be nothing stopping her from bulldozing her way through all of Sapporo. Maybe even all of Hokkaido."

"I've been hearing stories about that magical girl organization to the south, the MSU or something," offered Mio. "Maybe we could go to them for help…"

"The MSY, Mio‐chan," corrected Kuriko. "And I'm not sure if that would be the best idea. We've pretty much ignored them until now. It would be somewhat awkward to go ask them for help."

The small coffee table around which they sat jumped slightly as Ayaka's open hand made contact.

"No." Ayaka spoke with a firmness of resolve that belied the rather untenable nature of their situation. "Whatever is going on down there, it doesn't concern us. We need to clean up our own messes. So to speak."

Kuriko clasped her hands together. "Well then, I guess we're in agreement. Tomorrow night, we confront Kasuga. And if she refuses to back down, then we fight." The other two girls nodded.

"Kasuga delenda est," Mio said with a small giggle.

"What?"

"Never mind."

May 30, 2042

"Slow! So slow! So weak!" Nanae's taunts hung in the air, each word a shot through Mio's heart.

They had indeed met up with Nanae; they knew that the trigger‐happy magical girl wouldn't be able to resist a large miasma, and so they had camped outside of the biggest one they could find. Then, once they'd detected the all‐too‐familiar signature of her magic, they'd entered the miasma, ready for a fight.

Regarding the demons, there wasn't much of a fight to be had. Nanae had gotten too skilled at cutting them down with effortless style, to the point where she could fight them off while simultaneously confronting the three girls who were at this point trespassing on her turf. The irony was not lost on any of them.

"Oi," she called out, hacking another demon into strangely‐digital mist. "What are you all doing here? What happened to respecting territory?"

This was Mio's territory, bitch, Ayaka thought angrily. You took it from her. She held her tongue, however, despite the sarcasm dripping off of Nanae's aggressive words. Instead, she got straight to the point, leveling her spear at the dual‐wielding swordswoman. "We've come to take back what's ours, Kasuga. And to teach you a lesson in manners and humility." To her sides, Kuriko and Mio nodded, each preparing their own weapons.

Nanae laughed. "Oh, really? You pansies couldn't take me on alone, so you teamed up to fight me three‐on‐one?" Another slash; another demon dissolving into nothingness. "Fine then, cowards, come at me! Test your mettle against my steel!"

It was a strange fight. Though the three girls were fighting the same enemy, they hadn't had much experience working with one another. Ayaka's skill with her spear was honed on working solo, and she'd never needed to consider things like blocking Kuriko's arrows; Mio's teleportation got them out of some risky situations, but sometimes interrupted what might have been a decisive blow. Nanae, on the other hand, had no such interference, and was free to swing her scimitars in a frenzied dance of blades.

Of course, the demons were looming the entire time, firing beams of negative energy and grasping with insubstantial coldness. Recognizing no distinction between the warring parties, they attacked with an indiscriminate indifference.

With a pant, Ayaka nimbly landed next to Mio as Kuriko covered her with a tautly‐drawn bowstring. Some distance away, Nanae chuckled, twirling her swords as she casually slew yet another of the seemingly endless numbers of demons. Truthfully, the demons were not a serious threat to any of the girls, but they turned out to be a substantial annoyance when a more skilled, more dangerous enemy was afoot.

"This is… more difficult than I expected it to be," Ayaka muttered.

Kuriko kept a draw on Nanae, wary of another potential flurry of blows. "Yeah… I've never needed to worry about firing around other teammates before. Maybe we should have practiced…"

"On what?" Ayaka's voice was bitter. "It's not like any number of demons would give us this much trouble."

"I think we need to just try the best we can," Mio said quietly. "I'll do my best to keep us safe. I can't really help much fighting her directly, though… my hammer wouldn't do much against her swords."

Without looking, Ayaka ruffled the shorter girl's hair. "We know, Mio, it's okay. You're doing great. You definitely saved my ass a few times. Just keep it up; we're going to need every ounce of all of our strength if we're going to win this."

Every ounce of all of our strength… wasn't enough… Mio thought as she ran through the miasma, trying to conserve her magic.

After the battle had reengaged, things had been looking up slightly for the magical trio; Kuriko was slowly getting better at aiming around Ayaka, and Ayaka had managed to land some blows that sent an impact rippling through the sword‐wielder's arms as she parried. Unfortunately, it was too little, too late; they just couldn't keep up with the raw natural talent of Kasuga Nanae. Though it felt an eternity of flashing colors and swirling blades, it was only a few minutes later when Ayaka overcommitted to a swiping slash, and Nanae capitalized by ducking low, getting close, and cutting a slice deep into Ayaka's body.

An ordinary human would have died instantly; a magical girl was made of tougher stuff. Normally. With the paucity of grief cubes that they had suffered in the recent weeks due to Nanae's overhunting, though, Ayaka was unable to muster enough magic to heal herself. She fell to her knees, coughing blood, and Nanae jumped in, hacking away at the now‐defenseless Ayaka.

Even with Mio's teleportation, there was no way for her and Kuriko to get to Ayaka and help. In seconds, Ayaka lay motionless on the ground, a deep‐red pool expanding underneath her from countless gashes; their alliance had dwindled to two.

With their primary offensive power gone, they stood no chance. Kuriko sent volley after volley of arrows at the power‐mad magical girl, but Nanae either deftly dodged them or batted them out of the air with her scimitars. Now in full retreat, Mio had tried to teleport them away, but her own magical reserves were running low; she couldn't even get them outside of the boundaries of the miasma. Forced to run, the pair reached deep inside for the last vestiges of their stamina, drawing upon the superhuman abilities that set them apart.

Even these superhuman abilities had limits, however, and, as the two of them hid inside an alley, Mio doubled over, retching and trying to catch her breath. As if to encourage, or comfort, her, Kuriko placed a hand on her back. The other she held out to the smaller girl.

"Here."

Mio's eyes widened as she looked at the small grey cubes.

"No… no, I can't. We need to share them, Kuriko—"

"We can't," Kuriko said, somehow managing to find the gentle, almost tender tone she always preferred when speaking directly to Mio. "There are two of us, and only two grief cubes. That's not enough for both of us. You… you can get out. You can get away, with your powers. I can't; I would only drag you down. Hold you back."

For not the first time in the day, Mio's eyes watered. "Kuriko… I can't leave without you, I can't leave you behind…" She clamped her eyes shut, as if closing off her vision could close out the awful truth of the reality of the situation. It was in vain; she felt the miasma pressing down, compressing her soul, threatening to crush her with its dark, insidious weight.

Then, lightness. Timidly, she opened her eyes, and gazed in silent shock as Kuriko held the grief cubes up against her soul gem, nestled on her chest. She watched, captivated, as the dark flecks of corruption fled from her soul and were absorbed by the infinite darkness of the cubes, filling her with a newfound energy.

Yet, even as she felt uplifted by the purification, a different despair, a more subtle and painful one, lurked beneath, and no amount of cleansing could heal it. Tears still lining her eyes, she tore her gaze away from the cubes and looked up into Kuriko's face.

The eyes she found were looking at her with a strange expression, a mixture of sad and hopeful; soft, but intense. There was something else, too—deeper, and more passionate. Mio searched her eyes; Kuriko caught her gaze. Then, with a wan smile, Kuriko leaned down and gently placed her lips against Mio's.

The kiss lasted just a moment, but it carried the weight of the entire world.

Kuriko let out a tiny giggle as she pulled away. "I've always wanted to do that," she said wistfully. "I wish I'd done it sooner." She looked down; the cubes had finished their business and sat in her palm, inert. "There's still a little bit of juice in them. Take them. Use them to get away. Go south, to the MSY. Tell them what happened. Maybe they'll take you in."

Mio was still dazed by the kiss, but managed to break out of it to take the cubes from the other girl's hand, closing her fist around them with a new resolve. "I will. I… I'll get them to come here and take care of Kasuga. I will… I'll…" Her babbling was silenced by another kiss from the Kuriko, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to melt into the taller girl's arms—forgetting Kasuga, forgetting Ayaka, forgetting the miasma, forgetting the entire world except for her.

Kuriko, however, pulled away once again, this time fully breaking contact and leaving Mio with a sudden feeling of loss.

"I know you will. Now go. I love you."

Kuriko's voice broke as she finished, but she managed to stand tall as she rose. She held out her hand with a smile, helping Mio to her feet; then, with a final squeeze, let go for the last time. A moment later, and Kuriko was around the corner, bow drawn, shouting taunts and firing volleys at their predator in an attempt to buy time for Mio to escape. Only the most discerning listener might notice, buried beneath the layers of calculated aggression and cajolery, the pain and sorrow in her voice, threatening to crack every word, shatter every syllable.

As the sounds of battle and of Kuriko's voice faded into the distance, Mio closed her eyes, touching a finger to her lips. I swear to you, she thought. I swear to you, we will have our justice.

And, in a small, tremulous whisper: "I love you too."

A blink, and she was gone.

Chapter Text

Demon‐hunting team composition, a subject given sparse—if any—consideration in the times prior to the foundation of the MSY, was a luxury that could be enjoyed by the magical girls comprising the organization's population. Before large‐scale alliance and cross‐team resource‐sharing became the norm, teams of magical girls were essentially restricted to the girls who happened to form a contract either in close proximity to each other or within the territory of an already‐established team. This led to significantly suboptimal compositions, as there was no guarantee that girls in close proximity would have synergizing magical specialties. For example, one team might have two melee fighters and no logistics, while another could have a teleporter and a healer with no upfront damage. This was a particularly significant problem when it came to the matter of rogue magical girls, as the aberrant malefactor might prove too powerful for a nonsynergistic group to handle.

These issues largely disappeared with the MSY, as the tactical and strategic study of magical girl fighting squads was an early and highly‐prioritized objective for the fledgling organization. In the very beginning, the high variance in the abilities and powers of the available magical girls precluded a cookie‐cutter approach. However, as death rates fell and, consequently, the magical girl population surged, the sample size of magical girls grew such that statistically significant generalizations of powers classifications could be made. By 2036, a mere fifteen years after the signing of the original Charter, the beginnings of the modern demon‐hunting squad had taken form.

An important early observation was that team sizes were too small. The haphazard, pseudo‐random nature of contracts (combined with atrociously high death rates) resulted in teams whose number could often be counted on one hand; sometimes, a girl would even need to patrol a territory the size of a small city by herself. This was obviously unacceptable, and an early decision of the organization was that teams would consist of no fewer than eight magical girls (this number would be revised and excepted numerous times over the following centuries; as of this publication, the MSY Demon Hunters' Handbook recommends a minimum of four magical girls, depending on the capability of the girls in question).

The most important development, however, was that of the optimized synergistic team composition. Basic study of military history suggested a balanced roster of offense, defense, and logistics; in magical girl terms, this translated to attackers, healers and shields, and teleporters and telepaths. The job of the attacker was relatively straightforward: bring your favored weapon to bear against the foe that you were directed to eliminate. Healers and shields, as their titles implied, were responsible for maintaining the physical health of the team via medical attention and prevention of physical injuries, respectively. Teleporters used their unique spatial warping abilities to transport healers around the battlefield toward the wounded, or attackers to a more advantageous vantage point. Telepaths coordinated the entire affair; while all magical girls have an innate ability to communicate nonverbally, telepaths reduced the strain on combatants by assuming the role of command and control.

These early optimizations to demon‐hunting, the universal task of magical girls, led to both a sharp decrease in magical girl deaths and a sharp increase in grief cube surpluses. Further advancements, such as statistical modeling of likely demon spawns and refinement of team compositions based on particularly skilled individuals, dropped the death rate to near zero.

For the first time in recorded history, magical girls could finally afford to relax.

— Julian Bradshaw, "Mahou Shoujo: Their World, Their History," excerpt.

〈In the following text, 〈〉① indicates content redacted to those without security clearance. The number indicates the degree of security clearance required to access enclosed content.〉①

The MSY has demonstrated outstanding record‐keeping, going all the way back to its inception. While one might hold justifiably low expectations for the parliamentary procedure of then‐teenage girls, the briefest inspection of the earliest documents, such as the original MSY Charter, quickly disperses such notions. The interested scholar can freely access any records of official MSY business, including notes from early General Meetings, Leadership Committee minutes, and records of various Subcommittees. 〈These records are, of course, subject to standard classification, and do not necessarily reflect the full and complete transcript of particularly sensitive business. 〉① 〈In some cases, where simple classification is impossible, records have been falsified.〉② 〈In 〈most of〉④ these instances, the true records are available at the requisite clearance level.〉③

〈Of course, as with any major organization, no such records exist for the backroom and closed‐door meetings and discussions that must have taken place at the highest levels.〉②

Investigation of these minutes and records, particularly those from the MSY's early history, is a fascinating study, for both lawyers and historians alike. Each document exhibits the familiar feel of meeting minutes, the same as one might find when inspecting the minutes for any arbitrary corporation. However, there is also a distinct undercurrent of what can only be described as amateurishness; prior to the time when D&E became a national and international heavyweight, very few (if any) of the MSY's leadership had any experience with conducting official business. One can find humorous exchanges in many purportedly‐official documents, though these become fewer and further‐between as time passes and the leadership becomes more practiced at maintaining professionalism.

Of course, as with any organization, there are frequent times when the members of a Committee or Subcommittee do not agree. Each organization has its own way of notating such disagreements; indeed, the method may vary from secretary to secretary. Within the MSY, such occurrences are typically transcribed with a summary of the general positions of each party and the outcome of the discussion, if any, omitting the finer details. While this is an understandable shorthand, given the particularly unique characters comprising said parties it is almost a shame that we cannot peer into the past and read the direct transcripts, cheering from the sidelines.

— Julian Bradshaw, "Mahou Shoujo: Guild, Government, and Matriarchy," excerpt.

June 1, 2042

Five figures dotted the executive suite of D&E's corporate office. Until recently, a sixth figure had joined them, but she had left after recounting her story to the others.

"So… what do you think?"

The stillness in the air was broken by Kyouko, in the semi‐tactless way that she had. While she had managed to abstain during Mio's tearful testimony, one of her signature Pocky now dangled from between her teeth.

Yuma shook her head. "It's more of the same, isn't it? We must have heard Imai‐san's story, or a variation of it, a dozen times. The question, of course, is what we do now that we've heard it."

Homura gazed out of the window, her face bearing the mixed expression of thoughtful neutralness that was her trademark. "A dozen times, sure. Several dozen, in fact. It really shouldn't be surprising; we all know what it used to be like…" Her voice trailed off in that way that it sometimes did, as if to suggest that even though she was nominally the same age as the rest of them, she had accumulated another lifetime's worth of experience. Though the others were often perplexed by her mysterious woolgathering, they had by now learned not to probe.

Instead, Mami took the opportunity to add another observation. "It's a bit alarming that these stories are becoming more frequent, though. I'd hoped that after we formed the MSY, these incidents would dwindle. It seems as though we hear about a new rogue every couple of months now. At this rate, that might go down to every couple of weeks."

"They're becoming too common for us to continue with our current approach," added Kuroi Kana. "A few years ago we could make do with throwing together a team whenever one of these instances showed up. It's not sustainable to keep pulling girls off of their normal duties with this kind of frequency."

The room lapsed into another pensive silence as its occupants pondered the problem.

It was Mami who spoke up first. "We can't just ignore these rogues," she said slowly. "They are obviously causing harm in their own domains, and if they keep popping up at an increasing rate, they may come to threaten the MSY itself."

"So what do we do, then?" asked Kyouko. "We've already said that we can't keep throwing teams together on a case‐by‐case basis. Should we just have one permanent 'rogue hunting' squad?"

The room fell silent once more, this time mulling over Kyouko's suggestion. It was… somewhat distasteful, but the more that each of the girls thought about it, the more sense it began to make.

"If we create dedicated assignments, we won't need to pull girls off of their normal rotations…" murmured Kana.

"We would obviously need to thoroughly vet each member for willingness to commit to the job," mused Yuma.

"We'll need to create a training system for developing anti‐magical girl tactics," added Mami.

Homura turned away from the window, the movement commanding the attention of the room once more. Even though she wasn't in her capacity as First Executive, she still had an aura that demanded a certain respect. "We won't be able to hammer this out right now. We should form a subcommittee." She held up a hand to preemptively stop Kyouko's groans. "We'll bring this up at the next meeting of the Leadership Committee in two weeks. Until then, please think up any ideas or potential issues and be prepared to discuss them at that time." She crossed over to the large, oaken desk that dominated the space, upon which was placed a moderately‐sized strawberry shortcake. Originally intended to put their interviewee at ease, it had remained mostly uneaten, its only blemish the small void where a piece had been cut and insistently placed in Mio's hands.

Cutting herself a slice, Homura proceeded to take a bite, savoring the taste; glancing around, she gestured toward the rest with her plate, as if wondering why they hadn't already followed suit.

October 3, 2042

With a small groan, Mami let her head fall forward to rest on her interlaced fingers.

The Subcommittee on the Creation of an Anti‐Rogue Task Force had indeed passed the Leadership Committee; very few things didn't, as almost every major motion that was brought up was discussed in private before being proposed in session. Mami, Yuma, Kana, and even Homura had all done a certain amount of homework, bringing to bear several creative ideas, pertinent issues, and, in Homura's case, charts and graphs displaying simulated projections of benefits in terms of prevention of loss of life and property. It was only after the sixth slide, on the topic of lost profits in opportunity costs from reallocation of resources toward ad‐hoc squads, that Mami had, politely, interrupted Homura to inform her that the rest of the Leadership Committee already been convinced, with Kyouko demonstrating the point by pantomiming having fallen asleep.

With the overwhelming support of the Leadership Committee already obtained, Mami had hoped that the Subcommittee's existence would be relatively brief; draft up a charter for the task force, give it a once‐over, and send it back to the Leadership Committee for review. This had, however, proven to be a pipe dream, and now, four months later, the Subcommittee was embroiled in yet another argument.

Resignedly, Mami rotated her head on her hands and allowed the barely‐civil sounds of the room enter her ear once again.

"—cannot allow anyone less than the most experienced fighters! These rogue girls all are some form of mad‐with‐power, and we need to meet that power with power in order to—"

Mami turned her head back, closing her eyes in enervation. This argument again. The same tired argument that they'd been having for the last four months. Or one of them, at least; there were several topics on which the members of the Subcommittee were in disagreement, and unfortunately they were all topics on which the members steadfastly refused to budge. On this particular matter, that of the makeup of the task force, the two primary issues were of size and composition. Some, such as Kana and Yuma, believed that a smaller, more elite squad would be most efficient and effective. Kyouko advocated, rather strongly, for numbers and raw strength. Mami herself, the nominal veteran and tactician of the MSY, could see the benefits, and drawbacks, of both positions, and held an opinion somewhat compromised between the two extremes. Neither extreme, however, felt much like compromising, on this or any of the other myriad issues that had arisen in the Subcommittee's relatively‐short‐but‐longer‐than‐expected lifetime.

The soothing voice of another member of the Subcommittee, fellow founder Tanaka Yui, roused Mami from her irritated brooding, interjecting between Kyouko and Kana in a rare moment where they'd each needed to take a breath.

"Girls, girls… we've been over this before. Multiple times. Both of you have salient points, but arguing ad nauseum isn't going to get us anywhere."

"This is important! It's essential that we keep teams as small as possible to minimize possible risks—"

"Yes, Kana‐san, we know, you've made this point a dozen times. You too, Kyouko‐san," Yui said, addressing the redhead before she could pile on. "We all know that you think that more girls means more strength. Repeating this isn't helping."

Kyouko looked vaguely put out, though both she and Kana seemed to shrink a little under Yui's chastisement. In honesty, this was a major reason for why Mami had asked Yui to be on the Subcommittee; while Yui was no slouch when it came to combat, and could (and did) add meaningful input toward discussions of logistics and strategy, her best skill was her knack for conflict resolution, honed through years of experience in her day job as a practicing psychiatrist. It helped, of course, that she was a mind‐reading telepath—a fact kept concealed from her everyday appointments.

With the argument paused, Mami raised her head, taking in the room. Kyouko was slouched in her chair, sulking; Kana, who had previously half‐risen out of her chair in agitation, was settling back into her more usual, controlled posture. Yui, for her part, was seated in an exceedingly neutral position, one hand folded over the other as she calmly switched her gaze between the other two. The tension in the air, however, though markedly less than it had been a moment ago, was still palpable.

Fortunately for Mami, as well as the blood pressure of nearly everyone in the room, the First Executive chose that moment to open the door and poke her head into the room. Though her face remained impassive, everyone in the room had known her long enough to detect the subtle hints of anticipation—perhaps even excitement—playing around the edges of her face.

"It's 18:00," she said. "The week's over. Let's go."

Mami held up her fork, critically inspecting the baked confection skewered thereupon.

"You know, Homura‐san," she said, delicately placing the forkful of cake into her mouth, "you should really take the time to learn how to bake." She chewed slowly, considering the moistness, sweetness, and density of crumb structure, before swallowing and continuing on. "I'm sure you could be quite good at it if you put your mind to it."

Homura gazed back levelly, eyes locking onto Mami's over the rim of her teacup. "I suppose I could," she replied, setting her cup back upon its saucer. "Though I would not want to do it when Her birthday falls at the end of the week. There is too much work to do with both D&E and the MSY; I wouldn't have time to properly practice and make a cake worthy of Her."

"October Third falls on a Monday two years from now, nee‐chan!" piped up Yuma. "You could practice all weekend, and feed the scraps to Kyouko‐nee‐chan!"

Kyouko looked up from her plate, from which she was shoveling cake into her mouth, masticating furiously. Pausing, she switched her brain from food‐mode to conversation‐mode, and processed what Yuma had said. "Hey," she protested. "I'm not… I don't…" A single glance down at her own plate was enough to silence her, and the rest of the Mitakihara Four laughed at her embarrassed blush. "Okay, yeah, fine, you don't need to rub it in."

"We're only teasing, Kyouko‐nee‐chan," Yuma said, moving over to her and wrapping her in a hug. Kyouko made a token show of defiant resistance, before resigning herself to her fate and allowing herself to be snuggled.

With a smile, Mami reached over the table and took another slice of cake. "Honestly, though, for a store‐bought cake it's really not bad. The strawberries are sweet and delicious, and I think there's a simple syrup soak in the crumb."

"Not that it would matter to Kyouko‐nee‐chan," Yuma said, raising her head from Kyouko's side. "She would eat cake from the convenience store."

Kyouko didn't even bother to deny it. "Some of those cakes are really good, you know. And they're cheap. Just because we've got money now doesn't mean we can just buy expensive cakes every day."

"You eat cake every day?" Yuma asked incredulously, opening her eyes wide in exaggerated shock. She then disappeared behind the sofa as Kyouko tackled her, carrying both of them over the back.

"The cake is indeed very high quality," Homura said, ignoring the kerfuffle occurring on and around her property. "I purchased it from the high‐end bakery down the street from the D&E offices."

Kyouko's head popped up from behind the couch. "Oh, Pâtisserie Amano? That place is awesome! I get croissants there all the time."

"Of course you do," said Yuma's voice, slightly muffled by the cushions. With a snarl, Kyouko disappeared once more, and the sounds of playful roughhousing resumed.

Some years past, Mami might have expressed concern at the levels of violence being displayed in Homura's residence. Now, however, after years of assurances from Homura along the lines of "She would have wanted us having fun" and "It's okay, this room and everything in it are for Her amusement", she simply turned to face Homura. "No expense spared, I see. This cake must have cost a fortune."

Homura shrugged. "It's not for me." Mami merely hummed in response; she hadn't really expected anything different, after all. Instead, she cast her gaze around the apartment, taking in the décor.

Though the apartment was posh, it was smaller than her former residence at the old Y‐intersection. Nevertheless, she had chosen to decorate the interior in much the same way: bright holographic walls, with virtual screens floating across and along the entire surface. As ever, the screens were incomprehensible; any thread of cohesion was known only to Homura herself. Equally incomprehensible was the exceedingly large, gear‐themed ceiling decoration.

None of this was anything new to her, however, and Mami soon lost interest. She, along with the others, had long given up on asking for any kind of explanation.

"So, Homura‐san," she said, turning her attention back to the host. "How are you holding up? I'm sure you must have many irons in as many fires."

Homura raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. Apologies, by the way, for my and Yuma's absence at the subcommittee meeting today. One of our irons was burning a little too hot."

By now, Kyouko and Yuma had finished their rough‐and‐tumble, and were climbing back onto the sofa.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Yuma said, trying to fix her disheveled hair. She made a noise of contentedness as Kyouko helped her, fingers working to disentangle the verdant strands. "There were some complications with our initial attempts to connect with—ouch!" She swiveled, glaring at Kyouko, who looked back at her sheepishly, wearing an apologetic grimace.

"There were some complications with our initial attempts to connect with our Yakuza infiltration team," Homura completed, as Kyouko worked to rectify her hair‐pulling error. "While not quite at the level of concern where we would consider aborting the mission, it was worrying enough that we needed to devote the entire afternoon. Evidently we missed the mark in our projections of how simple it would be to influence the bosses. It seems that we may need to reconsider some things regarding our approach toward that particular venture."

"You know, I always thought that you guys were taking the wrong tack with that," mused Kyouko. She had swapped positions with Yuma, and was now having her own luxurious locks straightened. "Trying to do incremental change from the inside will never work. Those guys only respect power. They say that the fish rots from the head, so we need to cut off the head." Behind her, Yuma tensed the slightest fraction, but did not pause her ministrations.

"Yes, Kyouko, you've mentioned this before," Homura said. "We voted on it, actually, remember? It was decided that your approach would be too risky. We're highly optimized for fighting demons, but fighting the Yakuza head‐on is probably out of our scope right now. Not due to strength," she said, preempting Kyouko's protest. "We could absolutely overrun them with raw power. But that carries too much risk of exposure."

Mami nodded her concurrence. "Maybe we can try your approach if this avenue doesn't work out—and we're fortunate enough to acquire some magical girls with assassination powers."

It spoke volumes to the growth and scope of the MSY, and the accompanying growing‐up and maturation that had been forced on all of them, that none of them batted an eye to the fact that those words had left Mami's lips.

"Speaking of assassination," Homura said, "how did the subcommittee meeting go? It seemed to be… tense, when I popped in earlier."

"It was rather heated, yes," Mami said quickly, before Kyouko could get started on what was sure to be a rant about how Kana wouldn't listen to reason, how more girls meant more strength, and all of the other things she'd been ranting about for the past four months. "Fortunately, Tanaka‐san stepped in, and kept things relatively civil."

"Yes, she is certainly an important asset," agreed Homura. "I regret that I've attended far fewer of those meetings than I would have liked; as you say, there are many irons to manage."

"Perhaps it's time for D&E to have a new Chief Operations Officer?" Yuma suggested. "There's no real reason that you need to be so directly involved with daily affairs. Kyouko‐nee‐chan seems to be managing just fine." Kyouko preened at the approbation; she—or rather, Fukuzawa Kanako—had been the public face of D&E for the company's entire existence, after all.

"I don't know," Homura prevaricated, bringing her fist up to her chin and resting on it thoughtfully. "I certainly see your point, and I suppose it would free me up to give more attention to our other projects…"

"The banks project could use some more hands‐on attention from the First Executive," Mami said. "Poor Shizuki‐chan is doing her best, but it's a rather large and important task for such a relative youngster."

Kyouko stiffened at the mention of Shizuki Sayaka, the young upstart who had already made a name for herself in establishing the MSY's financial division, and who was now attempting to consolidate the city's banking ecosystem under MSY control. While the other three had thought it touching that Hitomi had named her daughter after their friend, Kyouko had had the opposite reaction, and had needed to excuse herself from the room upon learning that she had contracted.

"Yes," she said, her voice icy. "She certainly could use all the help she can get. Or maybe we could reassign her to the Yakuza project…"

"Kyouko," Mami warned. "She hasn't done anything wrong. On the contrary, she's done the MSY a great service, what with her MSY Finance proposal. I don't remember you ever volunteering to balance the books…"

"I was busy running D&E—"

"Settle down," Homura said authoritatively. "She wouldn't want us fighting." The others immediately complied, chastened; Kyouko shrank in her seat, finding refuge in the last vestiges of her cake.

Ignoring the now somewhat‐dour atmosphere, Homura continued: "Anyway, I think that Yuma‐chan is right; perhaps I should step back from D&E, at least temporarily. I could show up at more MSY meetings, at any rate."

Privately, Mami cheered; while she personally had no doubts as to Homura's capabilities when it came to juggling her responsibilities, her more frequent presence at subcommittees and hearings would be a blessing. She had a way of commanding the room, and of guiding discussions in productive and fruitful directions.

Kyouko clapped her hands together, breaking the tension. "Ah, that's enough shop talk. We're out of cake, but don't think I don't see that bag you're trying to hide, Mami…"

Mami smiled; as ever, arguments and disagreements evaporated before food in the eyes of Kyouko. She reached behind her, pulling out a bag of pastries. "You're too nosy, Kyouko… but yes, I brought some scones…"

February 6, 2043

"I still think that we should change the name," grumbled Kyouko.

Four figures strode down the carpeted hallway, toward the convention floor that was serving as the chambers for this special session of the Leadership Committee. While the MSY could, and often did, use one of D&E's corporate offices for its meetings, large‐scale plenaries such as the one to which they were headed required a larger space. Fortunately, the MSY's recent shadow acquisition of a chain of upscale hotels made providing the necessary area a far easier proposition than it had been in the past.

"For the last time, Kyouko," said Mami, "We held a vote, and this is the one that passed. I'm sorry that your proposal didn't make it past the first round, but The Killer Queens just doesn't have the right feel." Kyouko made a noise of displeasure, and Mami had to suppress a smile. It wasn't just Kyouko's childish fussing that was giving her amusement, though; after all, it had been her proposal that had ultimately won the tally.

"We should start thinking about next steps," said Kana. "I'm particularly worried about potentially getting swamped with applications. We're literally made to fight, after all, and some girls are getting antsy now that demon hunting is less of a constant in daily life. This might sound too good to be true for some of them."

Never a moment's rest for you, is there? Mami thought to herself. Although, I suppose I'm not one to talk.

"We can think about that later," reassured Yui. "Right now, we should just be happy that we have a finished proposal. We can figure out solutions to future problems in the future."

The foursome came to a halt outside the large doors serving as the barrier to entrance; they stood to the side, waiting, as magical girls from the city and surrounding regions filed past them into the expansive room, which had been decked out with rows upon rows of chairs.

"You know," Kana reflected, "it still feels somewhat strange to submit proposals for the approval of the full membership. It makes me feel like a lab specimen, being scrutinized under a microscope."

"That's sort of the point," said Yuma, who had just appeared. She arrived from a different direction, fresh off of a last‐minute meeting with the Science Division. "Large‐scale proposals like this one need to be accepted by the majority of the membership, and there's no better way to make sure that they know what they're voting on than a live explanation."

"Indeed," came the voice of none other than the First Executive herself, coming up behind the assemblage. She joined the circle with a flip of her hair. "Personally, I don't mind it, although I feel somewhat bad whenever we need to call in the full membership. Something like this certainly warrants it, though."

Mami nodded. While many of the magical girls under the MSY's umbrella now lived in—or within close distance of—Mitakihara, there were some girls in more distant locations, who needed to make arrangements to travel for plenary sessions. Of course, magical transportation made this a somewhat easier affair than mundane travel, but it was still an inconvenience.

"It's time," said Homura, though—as always—she referenced no chronometer; somehow, she always simply knew. Her pronouncement made, she strode toward the doors, pushing them open with aplomb. The remaining members of the Subcommittee followed suit.

"—and, as you can see, we predict that implementing this measure will constitute great strides, toward both preventing future tragic incidents and improving the overall well‐being of magical girls."

The presentation itself took over an hour, as it was necessary to bring the general population up to speed with the efforts and debates that had been undertaken over the past eight months. In particular, the rather sensitive subject of authorization of lethal force was met with a rather shocked reaction, and the panel had needed to explain their justifications in far more detail than they had initially expected.

"That concludes our presentation," finished Homura. "Thank you for your attention. We will now begin taking questions. If there is anything that you would like to ask, please form a line behind one of the available microphones."

As predicted, there were numerous takers, though fewer than Mami had feared. As the first of the audience began to speak, Mami felt a nudge in her side.

Not as bad as we thought, eh? Kyouko thought. Me, I thought that we might have a riot on our hands.

That's a little pessimistic, Kyouko, replied Mami. At worst, it would have been a shouting match. Though I'm sure you'll agree that we've had quite enough of those, for the foreseeable future anyway.

Yep, Kyouko agreed. We definitely won't have any more of those, especially not at the meeting tomorrow with the Science Division.

Don't remind me, Mami groaned. She never liked being in the Fiat Lux offices; there was something too sterile and inorganic about them, which just rubbed her the wrong way. Still, Yuma had insisted that they be in attendance, so they could hardly refuse.

Instead of dwelling on that, Mami shifted her attention to the question and answer session. As Kana had predicted, an early question had to do with applying to be on the force.

"The Subcommittee has a shortlist of candidates, and we will reach out to them in the coming days," Homura answered smoothly. "This list was compiled carefully, and considers a variety of factors, not just combat capability. In the future, we may consider the addition of further members, but for the time being you can consider applications to be closed."

One girl asked what the members of the task force would do in the absence of a rogue to hunt.

"There are many potential external threats to the MSY," Homura said. "Rogue magical girls are just one such threat. We hope that by codifying a team dedicated to the task of protection of not just magical girls in general, but the MSY as an organization, we can turn to them in the case that we require extraordinary measures, without needing to wade through the entire process of proposal, deliberation, and voting that is required at the Leadership Committee. The proposed team was motivated by the need for a rapid‐response protocol in the face of a dire emergency, and bureaucracy is the antithesis of urgency."

The questions continued for several minutes, some more pertinent than others. Eventually, one Shizuki Sayaka stepped up to the microphone.

"I understand that there are numerous financial obligations involved with running operations. How does the Subcommittee intend to fund these operations?"

Mami felt Kyouko go rigid beside her; she placed a hand on Kyouko's leg, though even she wasn't sure whether it was in comfort or restraint.

"Thank you for your question, Shizuki‐san," said Homura. "The Subcommittee has been working diligently with the Leadership Committee, as well as with MSY Finance, to work out a system that will adequately cover most necessary expenditures. Naturally, anything exceeding the agreed‐upon budget would need special approval." Sayaka nodded, seemingly satisfied—however, she did not yield the microphone.

"Thank you for your response, Executive Akemi‐san," she said. "If you will excuse me, I do have one further question. The language of the proposal suggests that the changes to the MSY Charter will grant the Leadership Committee broad power to create further such MSY sub‐organizations, is that right? If so, what is the extent of the Leadership Committee's executive reach, and will the full membership be informed and educated at the formation of each sub‐organization?"

Under Mami's hand, Kyouko's muscles tightened; Mami strengthened her grip.

It's a perfectly reasonable question, Kyouko, she thought. There must be many girls wondering something similar. Calm down.

Homura was, as ever, unfazed by the line of questioning. "The proposal, on which you all will vote shortly, does indeed modify the MSY Charter in such a way as to grant the Leadership Committee the ability to authorize the formation of sub‐organizations. This is not a modification that we propose lightly; rather, this is the result of months of heated discussions and debates. The decisive factor was one of expediency; while neither the Subcommittee nor the Leadership Committee currently foresees an immediate need to further invoke this power, it was recognized that there may be situations in the future where such a power may be urgently required. We feel that the transparency of the Leadership Committee provides enough oversight to allay any fears of misuse or overreach, although we are more than open to listening to any criticisms in that regard. To answer your question directly, the extent of the Leadership Committee's reach is determined by the trust placed in us by you, the membership. And, of course, information about any executive action decided upon by the Leadership Committee is, and will continue to be, available upon request to any member of the MSY." Homura finished with a flip of her hair; throughout her entire response, her tone remained clinical, almost cool.

Sayaka stood silently at the microphone for a moment, before nodding once and moving away to allow access to the next girl in line.

After that, the questions were much more demure, though no less germane. Once the lines behind the microphones finally depleted, though, it was time to hold the vote.

The voting system was simple. When they'd entered the conference hall, each girl had been given a small pad, which bore three brightly‐colored buttons labeled "Support", "Oppose", and "Abstain", respectively. All members in attendance could submit a vote on the proposal, reflecting their opinion on whether the proposal should pass; these votes would be electronically tallied and reported to the leadership. Though many organizations still liked to use paper ballots, the MSY was exceedingly confident in its electronic voting system; there were a few technomancers in their number, after all, ensuring nothing less than the strictest ballot security.

Mami couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety as the votes came in. Though most referenda required only a two‐thirds vote in order to pass, a direct modification to the charter itself required a four‐fifths majority; this was the percentage required for the vote at hand. While she was sure that they had made as clear and persuasive an argument as they could, it was always possible that she was wrong, or that the membership would simply not buy what they were selling. If the referendum failed, then all of the work of the past eight months would be for naught, and they would need to start over. She shuddered; she did not want to rehash all of those arguments again.

Finally, the last votes were registered, and the vote was tallied. After verifying the result with the girls overseeing the ballot, Homura once again stepped up to the main podium.

For not the first time, Mami cursed Homura's ability to reveal nothing in her posture or expression.

"Firstly," Homura began, "I want to thank you all once again for your attendance at this session; I understand that it was inconvenient for some, and for that I apologize. However, the Leadership Committee felt that this was a matter of enough importance that it should not be decided except by the full membership of the MSY."

She paused, for effect; nearly everyone in the room leaned forward, anticipating the results.

"You, the membership, have come here, and you, the membership, have decided. By a vote of 1042‐53, with seventeen abstentions, the vote passes." As an electric cheer filled the hall, the First Executive raised the small wooden gavel that had been placed on the podium in preparation. "Let it be then declared," she said, raising her voice over the din, "for the continued safety and prosperity of the MSY and of all magical girls, the foundation of the Guardia di Anima!"

To Mami's left, Kyouko rolled her eyes.

With a firm tap, the gavel fell.

June 14, 2043

Lungs screaming for air, Kishimoto Eriko ran for her life.

This wasn't the first time she had pushed her body to its limits; there were at least three occasions where a particularly virulent miasma had been a severe drain on her magic. However, right now she wasn't in a miasma, and she wasn't using magic, except to dodge and defend. Behind her, the raucous laughter of her pursuer rang through the night.

"What's the matter, Eriko‐san? What happened to all that bravado? Where has it gone? Where have you gone?"

Eriko shuddered at the voice. Sure, she and Rurika had never been the closest of friends—or even friends at all—but at least they'd had a professional, stay‐out‐of‐each‐other's‐way sort of relationship. Then, out of the blue, one day Rurika had decided that she wanted to expand her territory, and that Eriko would get the short end of the stick.

Eriko had, of course, objected, but Rurika had insisted. Rather strongly.

Violently, even.

And so, Eriko, who had never been a combat specialist, had been forced to flee.

In the brief moments when she managed to suck down enough oxygen that some got to her brain, Eriko wondered why Rurika had decided that now was the time to attack her; they'd been neighbors for over a year. She couldn't spare enough energy to ponder closely, however, as Rurika's pursuit was rapid, and getting closer.

Even if Eriko had been inclined toward fighting, she would have been at a disadvantage. Rurika was a ranged fighter, preferring a sort of heavy crossbow that fired incendiary rounds, while Eriko's weapon was simply a dagger, albeit a vorpal one. Against demons, both were effective tools, but against other magical girls there was a clear favorite. Indeed, Eriko had already suffered burns and injuries from Rurika's shots; her magic was working hard to counter the damage, but the magical bolts were powerful. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up.

Gasping and panting, Eriko dove behind a car as another shot landed not three meters away, kicking up asphalt. Closing her eyes, Eriko found herself losing hope; if Rurika had pursued her this far, then it was likely that she intended to continue until the hunt was finished. And if that was the case, then why not just give up and let her finish?

She shook her head. No, she resolved. No, I can't let it be like this. I can't just let her kill me! She gripped her dagger tightly, willing herself to have the strength to fight back.

If only I weren't alone, she thought desperately. Is there anybody out there? If there's anybody out there, please, help me!

Very well, a telepathic voice answered. Since you asked.

At that moment, Eriko felt a new warmth, a flood of strength, as if her soul gem had been cleansed. She quickly checked; no, she was still out of grief cubes. She looked all around, but could find no source. Then she looked up, and saw an angel.

Don't worry, the angel thought, floating on alabaster wings, violet aura radiating its comforting presence. In the distance, the muffled sounds of battle could be heard: a shout in Italian, a blast enormous. Nevertheless, Eriko could not tear her eyes away from the purple seraph hovering above her, wearing an expression of utmost serenity. The rest of my team is taking care of Rurika‐san. For now, just rest.

The Soul Guard will take care of everything.