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Magical girls were a curse.
Nanami Yachiyo could say this with relative confidence.
Did she realize it when Anna Mel turned into a witch?
Was that what she thought when she lost Yukino Kanae?
Or did she know even before then?
---
“Yacchan… You have this comforting smell all about you,” her childhood friend placidly said one day, a sudden change for someone who had previously been irritable and snappy after awakening as a predator and losing her sense of taste.
“Huh? That’s from my new shampoo.”
“No, it’s more than that. It smells like the matcha tea your grandma always drinks.” Her friend approached Yachiyo, who stared in shock at how she’d returned to normal, and carelessly threw her backpack onto the sofa. She wrapped both arms around Yachiyo’s neck and pulled the two of them together, burying her head in the crook of her neck. “It’s bitter, but there’s a sweet aftertaste…”
“Ah?!” Something wet touched her collarbone. Yachiyo looked down to see her friend lightly licking the area.
“Yacchan…” The calm in her friend’s voice gave way to frenzy. “Can I bite you?”
That one sentence clarified everything.
Yachiyo felt her innards turn to ice, as if the cold sweat she’d broken out into was leeching away her warmth.
She comprehended the fact that she had turned into a prey.
This just so happened to be the day after she contracted with Kyubey.
Only later did she learn from the unforthcoming white tanuki that whether predator or prey, humans with special natures were more likely to have the potential needed to become a magical girl.
Those two aspects fed into each other after all, since having a special nature changed one’s karmic destiny, while greater karmic destiny meant a greater likelihood of having a special nature. While a case like Yachiyo’s was rare, where making a contract had the side effect of changing her nature, it did happen.
Kyubey was callously saying, “It’s better that you turned into a prey than a predator who’s going to end up a criminal. Shouldn’t you be grateful, Nanami Yachiy-” when a halberd formed from magic pierced its face. A white figure leapt out from a corner and continued, “There’s no way for you to get out from this situation, so why don’t you just accept it?” It then ran away.
Wrecking the vacant lot with magic also didn’t make anything better. In the end, her attitude towards the issue changed faster than she thought it would. Although she didn’t like it, Kyubey wasn’t wrong. Prey were different from predators who lost their sense of taste in their teens and could only taste the bodies of prey. People who were born as prey pretty much led a normal life. They might be taken by surprise by a ravenous predator, given prey couldn’t detect their own natures, but even that wasn’t much of a problem after becoming a magical girl. They weren’t discriminated against like predators were, and sometimes society at large would even sympathize with them, given they needed protection. Of course, that didn’t mean being a prey was a good thing, but it wasn’t the worst.
That’s what Nanami Yachiyo tried to convince herself of with this twisted logic.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to accept what she experienced later and the injustice of it all, layered on top of being a magical girl.
---
Tamaki Iroha’s awakening happened one morning soon after she started junior high school.
She was preparing breakfast for her family like usual when she took a sip of the boiling miso soup and found it didn’t taste like what she expected.
What was going on? Did she not put in enough?
She opened the miso paste container and dumped one spoonful into the soup, then another. The seasoning dissolved in, but what she tasted a second time was the same as before.
“…Ah.” She suddenly remembered what the intelligent girl who lived in the same hospital room as her little sister once said about people with special natures. Iroha reached towards the spice rack, her eyebrows scrunching up more and more as she sampled each item. “What do I do now…? I can’t tell if Ui’s meals are too salty like this…”
---
Nanami Yachiyo would categorize Tamaki Iroha as one of those people who were “skilled at hiding themselves”.
Even though she had seen this girl stubbornly ignore her warnings, believe anything that came out of Mitama’s mouth, and be helpless against Tsuruno’s excessive friendliness, Nanami Yachiyo was resolute on that matter.
Having been a prey for close to half her life and being a master of all the little tricks like using perfume to cover her scent, Yachiyo reckoned she had an excellent eye for predators. There were countless details she could pick up on to identify them, such as their expression when they ate, if they noticed the smell of food out on the streets, and the way they looked at her.
When fighting her, when walking together, when battling the witch at the supermarket, and even when she ate with Yachiyo in Mikazuki Villa—a place filled with Yachiyo’s scent—Tamaki Iroha acted the same as anyone else would.
Normal people could be magical girls too, after all. As the leader of West Kamihama, Nanami Yachiyo had come across many magical girls and experience told her Tamaki was a normal person. After categorizing her this way, she slowly let her guard down around her.
The night they went to Mizuna Shrine, Yachiyo didn’t put on perfume like she normally would.
It was also only natural that she would sweat when fighting the uwasa and then when fleeing for their lives.
Tamaki's breaths rasped by her ear, as she limply hung over Yachiyo’s back. She had to be in great pain. Yachiyo had to hurry. Tamaki might not know what happened after soul gems completely darkened, but Yachiyo knew too well.
It felt like the sense of urgency built into a roaring in her ears. An inaudible sound caught her attention. Tamaki was muttering something, but Yachiyo couldn’t make out what, only felt Tamaki’s breath brush against the nape of her neck.
“Tamaki-san, please hold o-”
Her encouraging words that Iroha couldn’t hear abruptly cut off.
A warm, slick sensation passed over the back of her neck, familiar and yet foreign.
“So tasty…”
In a murmur as quiet as if she were sleep talking, this time, Tamaki’s voice clearly reached Yachiyo.
Yachiyo’s footsteps only paused for a moment before she gripped Iroha tighter and commenced sprinting again.
---
Sometime after taking back each member of Mikazuki Villa and reforming their family, something happened between them after they fought a witch.
Iroha was out and about with Yachiyo when they felt a witch. They found the entrance to its labyrinth in a secluded alleyway. She supported Yachiyo from the back while Yachiyo fought in melee range. Iroha waited to use her personal magic to heal Yachiyo’s wounds until the witch was defeated and the grief seed collected.
“Yachiyo-san, please let me see where you’re injured!” She ran towards Yachiyo. Yachiyo undid her magical girl transformation and the short sleeves on her normal outfit couldn’t cover the gash on her right forearm. The fresh, dripping blood looked horrifying. “That must hurt. I’ll heal that right-”
“Iroha.”
Yachiyo’s arm didn’t stop in front of the magic Iroha was gathering in her cupped hands. Reaching past her hands, Yachiyo brought her forearm welling with blood right up to Iroha’s mouth. “Do you want to have a lick?”
“Er, huh…?”
“I promise it’ll taste good. Do you want to have a lick?”
The young leader didn’t appear to understand what she meant, which was to be expected, so Yachiyo patiently repeated herself.
Iroha’s pink eyes, a shade darker than her hair, moved between the blood welling out of Yachiyo and Yachiyo’s calm expression. She was evidently troubled.
“Just what are you saying…?”
“My, you really don’t know?” Acting shocked, Yachiyo quirked up the corner of her mouth. “We’ve been living together for such a long time. Whether we’re making food, taking turns showering, or chatting on the sofa, I almost never use perfume around you, Iroha.”
The light radiating from the magic collected in Iroha’s palms silently died out.
“It just tastes coppery to me, but someone else said it tastes like matcha, sweet with a hint of bitterness. I imagine that would suit your tastes, Iroha.”
Her pink eyes that were always filled with kindness now seemed to fill with something the same color as blood.
The blood welling out from the wound fell onto the ground, landing with a quiet plop.
Iroha viciously grabbed Yachiyo’s arm, her hands shaking just as they had been when they hung in midair.
“One lick…”
“You don’t need to hold back.” Even as she was speaking, Iroha’s damp tongue swept over the wound from edge to edge. Before Yachiyo could say anything else, Iroha’s palm covered the cut, her hand glowing once more. The slashed skin knit like new. “What a waste.”
“…I’m sorry, Yachiyo-san…”
“I’m not saying you did anything wro-”
“That’s not it.” Her head lowered, Iroha brought Yachiyo’s right hand to her forehead with both hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”
Her voice gradually dissolved into sniffling.
The pain of Iroha’s tongue sliding over her wound was nothing compared to the pain of Iroha’s apologies slicing through her heart.
She didn’t expect this.
It seemed she had gone too far with her little prank.
“It’s okay, Iroha. Don’t cry. I let you do this.”
She gently stroked Iroha’s head with her left hand, while Iroha clutched her right. Iroha only shook her head, sobbing.
She probably wouldn’t be feeling better any time soon…
“…Iroha, can I ask one thing?” After five seconds without a reply, Yachiyo considered that to be tacit agreement. Stroking her head, she continued asking, “Did it taste good?”
Iroha sniffed as tears poured down her face. She used one hand to wipe the corners of both eyes before slowly raising her head. Prior placed against Iroha’s forehead, Yachiyo’s right hand now rested against Iroha’s lips.
“…It tasted excellent.”
---
Tamaki Iroha was pretty good at holding herself back.
If that was how Iroha described herself, Yachiyo would change the “pretty” to “extremely”.
She masked herself perfectly in everyday life. She acted happy when eating snacks like anyone else and could give a reasonable assessment even of desserts she had just come across. Although Felicia complained her cooking was too bland, the food she made tasted good to Yachiyo. Sometimes they’d see predators arrested due to assault on TV. Most cast themselves as the victims, bewailing just how unlucky they were to lose their sense of taste due to uncontrollable changes in their bodies. Iroha never avoided those sorts of news, only gave Yachiyo her usual troubled smile whenever she noticed Yachiyo looking at her with concern.
They kept Iroha’s identity a secret between them. But when it came down to it, Iroha wasn’t going out of her way to pass. It was just no one noticed besides Yachiyo.
It felt like a long time had passed since she first discovered Iroha’s identity, but it’d only been a few months in reality. Even now she could vividly recall the way her body tensed when Iroha’s tongue swept over the back of her neck. When the same thing happened now, though, Yachiyo didn’t feel any of her original shock, more of a vague delight.
It was midnight. For a college student like her, the night was just beginning. She was more than used to staying up late to finish writing reports. For a junior high school student with a regulated schedule, however, being awake at this time felt wrong—even if she was here at Yachiyo’s request. She didn’t know how to turn her down, which was how she ended up obediently slipping into Yachiyo’s room after waiting for everyone to fall asleep.
The discomfort of doing something that went against her habits was soon replaced with a far stronger self-loathing.
She could only see the other girl’s silhouette in the dim room, a bedside lamp the sole source of light. She knew what they would be doing next, but couldn’t speak up first. The conversation between them ended after she entered the room with a “Sorry, can I come in?” “Sure”. Yachiyo sat at her desk while Iroha stood by the door. They were separated by a good stretch of the bed, but Yachiyo seemed to clearly see Iroha's helpless expression.
The razorblade Yachiyo picked up from the desk reflected the glow of the moon into Iroha's eyes.
In one swift motion, Yachiyo split open her palm. She didn't bother using magic to curtail the pain. The sensation of pain arrived a bit later than that of the warmth pooling in her palm and an indescribable eagerness welled up in her heart.
Because in that moment, she could hear Iroha audibly swallow.
She stood up from the chair and moved to the edge of the bed. Seeing Yachiyo's outstretched hand and the wound gaping on her palm, Iroha hurriedly rushed over to her side like a dog receiving a command from its owner and cupped her hand.
The simple, sweet smell of matcha cake gradually permeated the room.
Taking in the scent, Iroha was reminded of how she felt when her mother gave her a cake roll as a child.
Her mother patted her head and quietly told her, a smile in her voice, "Ui can't eat these types of sweets, so be sure to keep this a secret from her." Iroha always saved everything for her little sister, but this was something she couldn't share with her.
Her mother affectionately watching, Iroha bit into the roll. At first she purely felt regret at not being able to share this with her sister, but the cake's sweetness quickly dispelled any conscious thoughts she had. Children couldn’t resist sweet things, and even dependable, obedient Iroha was no different. Consumed by this delight in her hands, she wanted to taste more; she wanted to let the flavor soak into her taste buds; she wanted to have the chance to consume more in the future... Before she knew it, she was only holding the cake roll's wrapping paper. Coming back to her senses after the sugar rush, she immediately knew just how revolting her thoughts and actions were.
Would her mom scold her…?
Feeling ashamed, she slowly raised her head.
Her mother didn’t move her hand from the top of Iroha’s head. Petting her pink hair, she smiled and asked, “Iroha, do you want to eat more?”
Yachiyo-san was just like her mother was back then.
No matter how much Iroha licked, more liquid gushed forth. A skein of bitterness wound through the delicate sweetness. Iroha couldn’t imagine getting tired of it. She could lap it up forever.
The sticky pitter pattering of her licks was the only sound in the room. Yachiyo’s palm itched from much Iroha had licked it. She couldn’t help but laugh.
Iroha jerked back and the moist feeling receded from Yachiyo’s hand, which Iroha had been busying herself with. Yachiyo smoothed out Iroha’s hair. With her long, pink hair undone and hanging down her back, it felt even softer to the touch than normal. She asked, “What’s wrong, Iroha?”
“Yachiyo-san… I…” Unsurprisingly, she sounded choked up. “I…”
A different warm liquid landed on Yachiyo’s palm and trickled towards the cut. The salt it contained stung, rousing Yachiyo.
“Yes?”
“I’m doing… something bad,” Iroha wept. “I know this. I know I’m doing something bad that I shouldn’t be… But- it tastes so good. It’s so delicious. I can’t stop…”
Tamaki Iroha utterly bared her heart in between plaintive sobs.
This happened often. Or rather, it happened every time.
You could even say that this was the moment Yachiyo anticipated every time she invited Iroha to her room at night.
It was the moment when a girl who was usually so restrained and reserved went out of her mind for her, showcasing a base longing that even doppeling couldn’t match. It was the moment when the craving for her, the drinking in, and finally the apologizing gave way to a glimpse of Iroha at her most unadulterated, wracked with the emotions she usually suppressed.
And all Nanami Yachiyo had to do was shed a few drops of her blood.
There wasn’t anything more worthwhile doing.
“Don’t worry about that…” Yachiyo said without hesitation, precisely because she knew that no matter how understanding she was, Iroha wouldn’t feel a smidgen less guilty. “I let you do this, so don’t worry.”
Under the dim lamplight, the younger girl couldn’t see Yachiyo’s expression.
With the help of magic, the younger girl’s expression was completely visible.
Guilt and possessiveness.
Caught between those two emotions, the younger girl frowned unhappily and lowered her head.
This was how things should be.
Yachiyo extended her hand towards Iroha once more.
“Iroha, do you want more?”
The night was still young.