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“Time magic,” Tomoe-senpai muttered, examining the battered remains of the metal can Homura had just demonstrated her abilities on. “This is incredible, but…it’ll be difficult to fight with.”
The words rang unceasingly in Homura’s ears as she made her way home. Tomoe-senpai was right, wasn’t she? Homura might have magic now, but if she couldn’t fight well, how was she going to protect Kaname-san? The idea that Homura could protect Kaname-san—or even Tomoe-senpai—at this level? Ha—what a joke. She might as well not have contracted at all—with the meagre skills currently at her disposal, it wouldn’t make much of a difference—she would simply become a burden to Tomoe-senpai and Kaname-san yet again, exactly like before.
Homura must learn to fight…but how? Just now, upon Tomoe-senpai’s insistence, Homura had frozen time to pummel the metal can into a crumbled heap with a golf club. But even with the assistance of her magically enhanced strength and stamina, the action had taken so much out of Homura that she could barely stop herself from passing out afterwards, let alone continue to move. If that had been a real battle instead of a simple demonstration, Homura would already be dead ten times over.
Homura could barely imagine herself fighting witches on a regular basis—but she could picture herself with a melee fighting style even less. What she had demonstrated on the metal can…Homura was not about to replicate that in real life anytime soon.
If she couldn’t be a melee fighter, Homura’s only option was to become a ranged one. Except she couldn’t conjure bullets made of ribbons or arrows formed from pure magic—Homura’s magic was barely defensive, and definitely not offensive. She could use her magic to flee from a battle, but that would only defeat the purpose of watching Kaname-san and Tomoe-senpai’s backs. She couldn’t rely on her magic to fight, which meant…
To be able to fight, Homura was going to have to rely on more…traditional methods.
Her mind drifted to the news. Wasn’t there a group of teenagers—purportedly new recruits of a terrorist organisation or something—who were arrested for making pipe bombs and planning to plant them near the Mitakihara Municipal Building? That had been a few months ago, back when Homura was still bedridden in the hospital. She didn’t remember much about the details of the case, but that was hardly important.
That night, Homura searched how to make pipe bombs on the internet.
It was…concerningly easy to discover how to create pipe bombs from materials available at hardware stores and conbinis. Homura took a sick leave from school the next day—she didn’t even have to fake paperwork for the administration office to accept her absence, and it was the only time Homura had been grateful for her long bouts of illnesses. She spent the entire day in her pyjamas, hunched over her desktop computer and fiddling with the makeshift bomb components.
By the end of the day, Homura was holding her very first bomb in her hands.
Homura smiled, wiping her hands on her pyjamas. A strange sensation welled within her chest, vehement and all-encompassing. The feeling swelled the longer Homura stared at her creation—the one thing she had wrought by her own hands—and Homura suddenly felt as if she could accomplish anything.
Was this…was this pride at her accomplishments?
…huh.
Under the cover of the night, Homura transformed to sneak out to the harbour, aiming to test her pipe bomb. She found an abandoned warehouse in the district, barely lit by the dim streetlights streaming through the boarded windows. It was perfect for Homura’s purposes.
Homura took a deep breath, her knuckles white as she gripped the bomb more tightly than was probably advisable. She tried not to think about the sheer implications of what she was about to do—that would only cause her to hyperventilate, and how could she even hope to protect Kaname-san if she panicked over such small details—
Without giving herself a chance to start second-guessing her choice, Homura threw the bomb as hard as she could, and pressed the trigger.
The device sailed into the empty space of the warehouse, easily swallowed up by the darkness. There was a moment of silence.
Homura panicked, beginning to wonder if her bomb was a failure after all, but then—
Boom.
Light expanded and exploded, like a star going supernova, filling Homura’s eyes with nothing but pure, blinding white. The warehouse shook, the sound of shattering concrete accented by the rattling of the boarded windows. Shrill ringing echoed in Homura’s ears. The resounding shockwave leapt out of the darkness, throwing Homura onto her back.
Homura shakily sat up. Her vision consisted of nothing but white spots, and she couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears. The back of her head ached from being slammed against the floor by the shockwave, but…
Homura had succeeded.
An uncharacteristic grin crept upon Homura’s face. She would have to adjust the force of the explosions, and it would be wiser if Homura froze time so she could get a safe distance away before activating the bomb, but still. This was certainly a step in the right direction.
Homura healed her bruised head when she finally regained control over her senses. She hurried home, and continued to create bombs without a moment’s rest.
Homura was so absorbed in her bomb-making that she forgot to inform the school of her absence on the third day, or even to change out of her pyjamas from the previous day. This must be what artists meant when they said they were in the zone, Homura thought idly, before pulling up a new tab that described how to add nails or metal fragments to a bomb to make its explosion more potent.
And then, during that night…
A loud bang rang in Homura’s ears, awakening her from her trance-like state. Homura glanced up, only to find her apartment’s door splintering into a thousand fragments as it caved under the force of a strong kick.
A dozen armoured men streamed into the room, guns—rifles?—in their hands, surrounding the young girl. Homura eyed the rifles pointed at her in confusion. What…?
“Akemi Homura,” one of the men barked, “you are under arrest for the suspected creation and possession of improvised explosive devices!”
Ah.
Homura glanced between the men—they must be part of the counter-terrorism task force or something—and the small heap of pipe bombs on her desk. Her computer screen glowed in the dimly lit apartment, attracting everyone’s attention to the incriminating websites depicted on the screen.
…opps.
There was no denying it, huh?
Homura took a deep breath. She eyed the dull glint of the rifles in apprehension. She should be terrified out of her mind—and she was scared, to some extent—but…
After experiencing the reality-breaking might of even a single familiar, after watching Mitakihara break beneath the surrealistic power of Walpurgisnacht, after witnessing Tomoe-senpai and Kaname-san die before her own eyes only to be powerless to prevent it…this threat felt so small, so mundane. How could Homura hope to protect Kaname-san from Walpurgisnacht if a dozen armoured men were enough to take her out?
Homura exhaled, and summoned her magic to transform her pyjamas into her magical dress.
The men startled at the flash of purple light that momentarily encased the girl. Their fingers pressed down on the triggers, and shots were fired, but—
The bullets never found their target.
When the afterimage of the muzzle flashes faded, both the girl and the bombs she had created were long gone.
Homura didn’t allow time to resume its usual course until she was standing in front of Tomoe-senpai’s apartment, her chest heaving. She had run the entire way there, not wanting to use her time magic more often than she had to. The pipe bombs Homura had stored in her pocket dimension held no physical weight, but she could feel them weighing heavily on her shield all the same.
She would’ve preferred to hide in Kaname-san’s house, but…perhaps it was selfish, but Homura couldn’t bear the thought of inviting trouble in Kaname-san’s general direction. Besides, Tomoe-senpai lived alone, so there was less chance of discovery if Homura stayed there.
Homura knocked on Tomoe-senpai’s door. It took a moment for anyone to respond, but before long, a groggy Tomoe-senpai was opening the door.
“Who…?” Tomoe-senpai muttered as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Homura-chan?” She blinked, and straightened her back, infinitely more alert. “You’re transformed.” She observed with a concerned frown, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you find a witch? Or a familiar? Or—”
“I—I’m fine!” Homura exclaimed, hastily waving her arms in the air to assuage Tomoe-senpai’s worry. “Really! I just…can I stay with you for the night?”
“Of course!” Tomoe-senpai’s eyes shone a bit too enthusiastically as she agreed. “But…can I ask why?”
“N—no reason!” Homura stammered. “Absolutely no reason at all. I’m definitely not being hunted by the government for suspected terrorism, because that would be so silly—haha.”
Tomoe-senpai raised an eyebrow. Homura blanched—she was such a terrible liar! But after a moment, Tomoe-senpai decided that line of thought was not worth pursuing, and simply allowed Homura into her apartment.
Homura didn’t return to her own apartment or school for the rest of the timeline. And somehow, nobody brought up the suspected terrorism thing ever again.