Murmurings
How do reincarnators or possessors confirm their past memories? Memories are stored in the brain, after all. Why do those guys in every story know their previous lives for sure? Where do the memories of this new body come from? Have they never considered that the past memories themselves might be fabricated? Nah, no way.
Muttering useless suspicions like that, I trudged down the lonely street. With the naked eye, I'd only seen the black of monsters and the pretty colors of magical girls. Then, for the first time, I looked at a person's colors. Not as vivid as during transformation, but they hazily surfaced. I'd known from detection magic, but still. Human colors are pretty dull. No—clear, murky, dark, all mixed together.
I stared at the colors of the few passersby. A pet dog's colors are prettier, honestly. Seeing the colors of existence is natural. Suppressing mana is natural. Using magic freely is natural. Joyfully slaughtering monsters is natural. All these concepts planted so obviously in me. Am I a magical girl? Or some foreign object dropped from outside?
Screw it. No more depressing thoughts. Magical girl! Awesome! Awe... The girl's shell is intact, but the uncle inside is rotting. Or has it already rotted away? I can't ride in cars. Becoming a magical girl is great. Hating to walk is unavoidable. Hating to go outside is natural. This is all natural, natural, natural, right?
A family reduced to not even a speck of dust—did they even exist? Or is it just some fabrication from what I assume are my memories? Only regular heartbeats echo, highlighting the disconnect between unmoving emotions and the festering rot. Stop, stop it. Magical girl! Awesome! Awesome!! Love it! Love it! Magical girl love!! Magical girls are the best! Love it! Magical girl! Hooray!! TS is the best!! Beautiful girl TS!! Magical girls are gods, and I'm invincible!!
My expression didn't change as I screamed internally. Not even a scream, really. No emotions stirred at all. No sweat, no sighs, no tears—nothing flowed. Going outside doesn't faze me. Walking doesn't faze me. Becoming a magical girl doesn't faze me. Cars don't faze me. Just murmurings. It was just mumbling.
The uncle's murmurings echoed tiny inside the vast girl's shell. The girl moved toward her destination like a well-made machine, no orders needed. Her expression blank but refined. Her steps precise and elegant. Processing the programmed routine calmly. Or maybe a marionette I control myself.
A pale white hand pushed open the bright glass door of what I estimated—remembered—judged to be a convenience store in the same spot as the old world. Same spot? Wasn't my whole existence in a world of vague delusions to begin with? Touching the cold, long-cooled doorknob that no one else had warmed didn't faze me. Can't even grab something like this, you coward.
I eyed the colors of the human I assumed was the part-time clerk at the counter. Not black. No need for the magic wand. No need to transform. Just an ordinary human. I could crush her to death with telekinesis. No! Magical girls don't do that.
My mechanically moving legs glided silently—no slipper drag—to the freezer, scanning ice creams. An ice cream licensed from an American company with a deceptively Danish vibe, produced in France, imported by a Korean company: 39,800 won. Over twice the old world's price, but it didn't faze me. Same stuff, different name, right? Old world? Imagination, delusion, fantasy, illusion?
No buy-one-get-one, but it didn't faze me. No, this world's supposed to not have that anyway. My bank balance can handle this no problem. Even pulling out the absurd blood money from my family's deaths—would it even make a single drop? Blood money? I'm a top-tier Awakened ability user. Saving this much is natural. No. Delusions running wild. The money was just transferred by the world's will! That much? No, I invested in crypto. Gambled on coins. What's crypto? Virtual currency doesn't exist in this world.
My warm white hand—not chilling—picked up the white ice cream and headed to the counter. The clerk's eyes darting around annoyingly. But her color isn't black? Still, is it okay for a guy to stare at a girl like that, manners be damned? That's bad, right? Shouldn't kill her? Why? Why not? Killing people is bad. Have I already killed tens of■■■ people or some■■■? Forgotten all those■■■ people I■■■ inside the■■■? No way. Magical girls are pure, innocent, brand-new white.
I stared at it with dry eyes. It quickly looked down and rang me up. The calculator's beep announced the price, and its filthy voice wormed into my clean ears.
"D-do you n-need a b-bag?"
"No."
My response rang out aloof, dry, and clear. Pathetic, its heart pounding like that. Not even worth a handful of blood. The flow of its bloodstream was an eyesore. Crush it now... Stop.
"Sh-shall I th-throw away the r-receipt?"
"Yes."
Cautious not to let the filth touch, I picked up the ice cream. Winter ice cream, but droplets formed and dripped where my hand gripped. I pushed open the clear glass door again. The pitiful ice cream melted mercilessly under my warm touch, shedding tears. The drops shattered on the floor. Pathetic sight.
A white fingertip dug into the cylindrical ice cream, crushing it. Why—no black? I need the black ones. Expand senses? Need to suppress mana? No need? Why? No? No? No? Why? Why? No? No? No? Why no why no why???
Stop. Not black. Stop, stop. Hallucination. Illusion. Auditory hallucination. Olfactory hallucination. Tactile hallucination. Visual hallucination. I headed home naturally, flowing like water. Steps didn't waver, breath didn't quicken, no robot gear clunks, no puppet strings taut like violin strings—just serene, aloof, noble silence. Moving legs in utter quiet, only the dry rustle of winter wind.
I pressed my fingerprint on the front door and entered home. Fingerprint on the entryway and entered home. The door clicked locked with a beep. When did I register the print? When was I registered? What am I?
"Aaaah, aaack!"
Screaming like grinding metal, I hurled the ice cream to the floor. Splat.
I'm a magical girl! Magical girl! What else! Magical girl! Magical girl! Uncle but magical girl! Invincible TS! Magical girls are invincible gods! Purify! Purify! Purify!!
At least back inside, sanity returned. I restored the smashed, guts-spilled ice cream breaking through the entryway floor. Eh, wrong flavor. Thought it was milk, but vanilla. The pinkish blood-guts vaporized, purified; mana substituted the missing parts, materializing. Purification and restoration. Magical girl basics.
The uncle's freakout was worse than expected. Help out a bit—don't just move so coldly. Anyway, no big deal. Fun TS! Fun magical girl! My life's great! Great! Great! Great! Exciting! Exciting! Exciiiiiting!!! Thought the uncle soul was the core, but it feels foreign now. Is the uncle soul the intruder? Was I originally a magical girl? Eh, can't be sure. No proof uncle existed. Does the soul even exist? This world with Awakened abilities can't answer that either.
Who is the thinking me? What is the created me? Pointless. I turned this pretty—live enjoyably. Magical girl!! Hooray!! Awesome!! Awesome!! Quick extra purification blast, then shed outdoor clothes fast. Bra off!! Slumped, I wrapped clothes with telekinesis, tossed into washer. Entered room, pulled spoon, dove into bed.
Shower's too much. Purification's fine. Obsessions, purify too. Come to think, first time lying on bed. Buried in spotless purification scent, no trace of outing. Pretty nice. Habitual thoughts rising... no. Don't dwell. Pretty nice.
Sunk into soft thick winter blanket, head on plump pillow. Max lazy pose, ice cream on boob cushion. Ah. No matter how big, doesn't wedge like manga. Flesh too soft? Sitting might work. Eh, too lazy. Telekinesis pops pricey lid. Mouth gaping slack like baby bird, tele-spoon feeds me. Smooth sweet vanilla wafts subtly. Ah, milk's dainty creamy hits my taste. Yeah. Good. Having tastes is good sign. Positive. Love it. Cold and tasty. Yeah.
Sunk deep in blanket, body limp, degenerating human-style. Nom nom. Scoop deep, nom. Deep scoop, nom. Skinny girl pigs whole tub. Oink oink. Kihihi. No chewing sensation. Satisfied, though. Done. Purify, compress trash max density, bin it. Cheerful roll rumble. Gotta trash eventually. Purification hooray. Barely any trash anyway. No lived-in feel. Purification maaaansee.