Chapter Text
Rain poured down relentlessly from the sky, washing over the remains of the city as if trying to erase the destruction, the lost. Homura stood alone in the aftermath, unmoving. The fight against Walpurgisnacht was over – leaving behind only silence and ruin.
And there, Madoka laying before her.
Her body rested amid the rubble, pale and lifeless. Pink ribbons dulled by rain water. Her school uniform torn and stained with blood. Homura’s finger trembled at her side, curling slowly as the weight of the moment settled in.
This isn’t the first time she had seen this scene. Timeline after timeline yet it still hurt.
Guilt twisted deep in her chest, sharp and suffocating. She had warned her. She had begged her not to listen to the incubator’s nonsense and make a contract with it. But in the end, in the middle of the madness, Madoka still had that gentle smile and made her contract anyway , jumping straight to battle.
Her stubbornly kindness is something Homura learn to love and hate at the same time. If only she had listen maybe she could see the first of March. No, if only she was stronger then maybe there is a happy ending for them.
This timeline hurt more than the others.
Here, Homura was able to stay close –not just with Madoka, but also with Mami as well. She had tea parties with her, fought with her, shared quiet moments with her. She had become Mami’s companion instead of her enemy, just like old time when she was the naïve girl who hadn’t known about the incubator’s deed. And for once, the world almost seems…bearable. The once hidden feelings for the two girl had almost resurface. Feelings she never allowed herself to name, buried under her singular goal.
And now, Mami was nowhere to be seen.
No familiar silhouette, no musket shots echoing through the rain, no calm voice of encouragement and no cup of victory tea. The possibility settled heavily in her mind, unspoken but unavoidable. Maybe she too might be gone, under the rubble, somewhere—just simply gone.
Now there was nothing left here. They are gone, the city is in ruins.
The pain dulled into something cold and familiar, sharpening her resolve as she lifted her arm.
The shield gleamed faintly beneath the falling rain.
Homura adjusted it with steady hands, her expression empty as time itself bent to her will once more. If this timeline held nothing worth saving anymore, then she would abandon it without hesitation.
With one final glance at Madoka’s still form, Homura activated her shield—and let the world rewind.
___________________________________
Homura woke up with a sharp inhale and immediately squeezed her eyes shut.
“—Ugh. Too bright.”
Yep. That was familiar.
She groaned softly, blinking a few times as the white hospital ceiling blurred into an indistinct haze.
Instinctively, she lifted a hand toward her face, reaching to adjust her vision the way she always did—drawing a thin thread of magic, letting it settle behind her eyes, sharpening the world into focus.
She paused.
Tried again.
Nothing happened.
Homura frowned, fingers still hovering near her temple. She concentrated harder, expecting the familiar feeling as magic corrected her vision.
Still nothing.
“…Why is it still blurry.”
A chill crept up her spine. She reached inward, searching for that quiet reservoir of magic she had relied on without thinking for so long.
There was nothing there.
Her heart began to pound as she slowly lowered her hand and looked down at it. Her vision wavered, unfocused, but one thing was painfully clear.
No ring.
Her fingers trembled as she turned her hand over, then back again, as if the angle might magically change reality. Empty. Completely, undeniably empty.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”
She pushed herself upright, ignoring the protest from her chest, and scanned the surrounding in a rising panic.
No soul gem in sight.
Just her red folded pair of glasses.
Glasses.
With trembling fingers, Homura picked them up and slipped them on.
The world snapped into focus—and she froze.
In the hospital window across the room, her reflection stared back at her.
But it wasn’t face she remembered.
The reflection was taller, her face more defined, her eyes sharper beneath the familiar black hair. The softness of a middle schooler was gone, replaced by someone older.
Homura slowly raised a hand. The reflection mirrored her perfectly.
Her breath caught in her throat.
“…That’s not me,” she whispered, even as the girl in the glass mouthed the same words back at her.
This timeline wasn’t just wrong.
It had somehow moved on without her.
Before she could spiral any further, the door slid open.
“Oh—! Akemi-san?!”
The nurse hurried in, eyes wide, nearly dropping her clipboard. “You’re awake!”
Homura turned slowly to face the nurse.
“oh dear, you shouldn’t be sitting up yet.”
The nurse said as she gently but firmly pressed Homura back against the pillows, adjusting the bed until she was properly reclined. “Please rest. Your body’s still recovering from the heart surgery.”
Homura’s lips moved before her brain could catch up.
“…How old am I?”
The nurse blinked, clearly surprised by the sudden question. “Seventeen,” she answered casually, adjusting the clipboard in her hands. “Why did you—”
Time stopped.
Seventeen.
The sound of the heart monitor behind Homura suddenly grew louder.
Beep… beep… beep…
Her eyes widened as the color drained from her face. “S-seventeen…?” she echoed, her voice barely audible.
The beeping accelerated.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Homura’s breathing became shallow. Her hand clutched her chest as her heart slammed wildly against her ribs, completely out of rhythm.
“A-Akemi-san please calm down!”” the nurse started, glancing toward the monitor.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
“That’s… not possible…” Homura whispered, staring straight ahead as if reality itself had betrayed her.
The monitor shrieked faster.
BEEEEEPBEEEEEPBEEEEEP
“Code—!” the nurse shouted, rushing forward as the screen flashed frantically.
The last thing Homura heard before darkness claimed her was the relentless, panicked screaming of the machine.
___________________________________
A week later, the hospital room felt… quieter.
Sunlight spilled through the half-open blinds, painting soft lines across the floor. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor filled the space now—not frantic, not screaming, just calm.
Beep… beep… beep…
Homura sat upright on the bed, legs dangling over the edge. She flexed her fingers slowly, then her wrist, watching carefully for any sign of dizziness.
Nothing.
“…Seventeen,” she muttered under her breath.
The word still felt unreal, but it no longer sent knives through her chest. The shock had dulled, replaced by reluctant acceptance. She had spent the first two days staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over, heart racing for no reason other than disbelief.
Now, it was different.
Her body was weak—there was no denying that. Now without magic to repair it. Standing for too long made her lightheaded, and walking more than a few steps required focus. But somehow, against every expectation, she was adapting.
Faster than she should have.
The nurse entered, glancing at the monitor before looking back at Homura. “Vitals are stable again,” she said, sounding faintly impressed. “You recovered unusually fast for a heart patient.”
Homura tilted her head slightly. “Unusual…?”
The nurse nodded. “Most patients take weeks or months to get used to this kind of condition. You’ve been adjusting in days.”
Homura looked down at her own hands.
“I’m just… adapting,” she replied quietly.
The monitor continued its calm rhythm.
Beep… beep… beep…
Homura took a careful step forward then another. Her legs trembled, but she didn’t fall. Her heart stayed steady.
She exhaled slowly.
Seventeen years old. A weak body. A heart that had betrayed her.
“…I’ll be fine,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
And for the first time since waking up a week ago, she almost believed it.
The knock on the door was gentle, familiar.
“Homura,” a calm voice called, “are you ready?”
She looked up. Standing in the doorway was Dr. Arai—the same doctor who had been there for as long as she could remember. Childhood admissions. Long nights. Close calls. If there was anyone who knew her heart better than she did, it was him.
“Yes,” Homura answered, pushing herself up carefully.
The walk to his office was slow but steady. No alarms. No sudden dizziness. Just the quiet hum of the hospital around them, a place that felt uncomfortably like home.
Dr. Arai sat across from her, folding his hands. “Your recovery has been remarkable,” he said. “Faster than any patient with your history should reasonably manage.”
Homura didn’t respond. She already knew.
He continued, more serious now. “You’ll be discharged soon. But life outside the hospital will be different. You’ll need to avoid overexertion, manage stress, and—most importantly—decide how you want to live with this condition.”
Homura’s gaze drifted to the window.
“…I’ve thought about that,” she said quietly.
Dr. Arai nodded. “Good. That brings me to something else.” He paused, studying her expression carefully. “There’s one more thing we need to be clear about,” he said. “You don’t have a legal guardian to return to.”
Homura’s eyes shifted to him. “…Right.”
She had known that. No parents waiting. No family home. Just empty spaces in records and hospital forms filled out long ago.
Dr. Arai continued, carefully. “Which means, upon discharge, there’s only one place you can go.”
Hearing this her brow going upward, waiting for the doctor next word.
But nothing going to prepare her for what he say next.
“You’ll have to got to your wife’s house”
Silence dropped heavily between them.
“…My what’s house?”
Her voice came out flat, like her brain refused to process the words properly.
“Y-you’re saying I—” Homura’s breath hitched. Her vision tunneled, edges darkening instantly. “I’m… married…?”
That was as far as she got. Then she fainted again.
___________________________________
Homura was discharged the next morning.
No ceremony. No long goodbyes. Just a thin envelope handed to her by Dr. Arai, his handwriting unmistakable on the front.
Discharge Notes
Medication Schedule
Emergency Contacts
—and, written separately at the bottom of the page—
Residence upon discharge:
{Address listed under legal spouse}
Homura stared at the address longer than she probably should have.
This address is strangely familiar to her—too familiar
No, it must be her imaginary, just her being over thinking.
“…So it’s really happening,” she murmured, letting out a small sign.
The hospital doors slid shut behind her with a soft hiss, cutting off the familiar smell of disinfectant and the quiet hum of machines. For the first time in her life, she stepped outside normally , not stopping time to sneak out of the hospital which undeniably had made the hospital staff worried and started looking for her.
She boarded the train slowly, sitting by the window, the envelope clutched in both hands. The city passed by in fragments—rebuilt streets, patched buildings, empty lots that never quite got filled.
Finally her mind had room to rethink the whole situation.
Twenty years ago, Japan was hit by catastrophic event which left one third of it’s population left. So to bring the number up, the government decided to make a population recovery program. At sixteen, the government will randomly arrange marriage for them. Divorce is only permitted only upon verified incompatibility or ongoing relational harm.
And apparently polygamous relationship is legal now, as she is married to two people.
Great, just great.
The train slowed. Her stop.
The building rose into view as she exited the station, tall and clean-lined against the sky. Her steps slowed without her telling them to. A quiet unease settled in her chest, this is non-other where Mami lived.
Her heart picked up, just slightly.
No, Homura told herself. It’s just a coincidence.
Still, her palms were damp as she entered the lobby.
The elevator ride felt too long.
Each passing floor tightened the knot in her stomach. When the doors finally opened on the listed floor, her unease sharpened into something close to fear.
The hallway was quiet.
Familiar.
Painfully so.
She walked slowly, counting doors, her steps growing heavier with each one.
And then she stopped.
“…No,” Homura breathed.
She stood in front of the apartment.
Mami’s apartment.
Same door. Same decoration that Homura remembered noticing timelines ago.
Her first thought was immediate and desperate.
I made a mistake.
She checked the paper again. The floor. The unit number.
Correct.
Heart thudding now, she looked up at the name tag beside the door.
Three names.
Mami Tomoe.
Madoka Kaname.
And the last one was unmistakable.
Akemi Homura
Her vision swam.
“That’s… not possible,” she whispered.
She stared at the tag like it might change if she looked away and back again. Like it might correct itself, apologize, tell her this was all a misunderstanding.
It didn’t.
Homura was still staring at the name tag, mentally rewriting reality, when the door suddenly opened.
“Oh—!”
Someone stepped out.
Homura’s brain immediately shut down.
Standing there was Madoka.
Older.
Taller—somehow taller than her.
Her pink hair was longer now, styled into two neat pigtails tied with white ribbons instead of the familiar pink ones. Her face was softer, brighter, impossibly cute,. She wore casual clothes, but on her it looked unfairly elegant.
She blinked.
Homura stopped breathing.
And their eyes met. Madoka tilted her head slightly, with her usual gentle smile starting to form. “Um… hello?”
Homura’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Her knees wobbled.
The universe narrowed down to one single thought:
She’s too pretty. This is illegal.
Madoka tilted her head slightly, sunlight catching her just right, like some kind of divine joke.
Homura’s lips trembled.
“I-I’m…Ho… mura…”
That was it.
That was all she managed.
The moment her own name left her mouth, the world went dark.