Chapter 7. Enemies in the Same Boat (2)
The incident from that day was splashed across the front pages of nearly every major news outlet.
As a rule, the Galaxy Federation—and most of the corporations that stood opposed to it—shaped whatever information they released about an incident to their own advantage before it ever went public.
Which was why most newspaper articles were fragmentary by nature. The only way to assemble one was to stitch together photos taken by passing civilians on their phones and cameras, whatever the two organizations chose to make public, and whatever testimony happened to leak from the inside. Of course, most news companies simply cherry-picked the 'official statements' that suited their taste and called the result an article; hardly any of them went to that much trouble.
But what had happened in the heart of downtown Seoul was impossible to hide from anyone, no matter who announced it—or didn't.
Several police cars had been wrecked. An armored vehicle carrying a special forces unit had been flipped clean over. No one had died, but the number of people seriously wounded came to thirty-two.
...There had been a shooting in downtown Seoul. And not with pistols—with rounds fired from rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns. Among those rounds were live bullets.
Every last one of them had been aimed at a single person: an underage girl.
Bullets were sometimes used to subdue kaijin. If a situation was genuinely dangerous, live fire was a necessity, and citizens more or less accepted that—as long as no one got hurt by those live rounds, it couldn't be helped.
But opening fire on an Earthling—and on a single underage girl, no less—was the sort of thing that earned you the hostility of an awful lot of people.
"It was a necessary measure."
So said a police official.
"The fleeing girl possessed a circuit capable of harming people, and she was moving without any real impairment even under live fire. Subduing her required it."
"Then how do you explain allowing her to escape after carrying out this 'necessary' act?"
"......"
Opinion on the use of live rounds was more or less divided. If even a minor went on a rampage with a blade in hand, they had to be stopped with live ammunition if it came to that—otherwise people could genuinely die. There was room to debate tasers and other less-lethal options first, but if what the person held wasn't a mere knife but a circuit, they were no different from a kaijin.
So then—had all of that actually stopped the girl? Everyone knew how that had turned out.
That day, in the middle of Seoul, a new magical girl had been born. She had soared up into the sky, created a black hole, and fled inside it.
There was plenty of debate over whether it had truly been a black hole, but one thing was beyond dispute: if that girl wished it, she could reappear anywhere.
They had fired live rounds at a rampaging minor—and failed to stop her or neutralize her, achieving nothing except that she escaped, still carrying that extremely dangerous thing called a 'circuit.'
On that point, even the police had nothing to say.
"...We apologize."
If they absolutely had to say something, that was all they could manage. A failure was a failure.
The Galaxy Federation kept its mouth shut. Noir Corporation kept its mouth shut as well. The only ones still talking were the people who had commanded the forces mobilized that day, and even they didn't say much.
It was more than enough to look, in the public's eyes, like an evasion of responsibility—though inside both of those organizations, things were seething in more ways than one.
The magical girls were no exception to the seething.
"I just came back from turning down another interview request. That's already the fourth one from that channel alone. You'd think they'd get sick of it."
"Probably not. Even getting rejected lets them put words in the story—as long as they can squeeze out even one article, they'll pull the same stunt again and again."
"Yeah, it felt like they kept trying to needle us. 'Weren't there magical girls at the scene?' 'And you still couldn't stop her?' ...That sort of thing."
Rose let out a long, heavy sigh. About a week had passed since that day.
You could call it a mere week, but in modern society a week is plenty of time for a great deal to happen—long enough for a light rumor to sink without a trace.
And yet the story of that incident kept flowing no matter how much time passed. It would take longer still for things to settle down. Assuming the black magical girl never appeared again, that is.
Since then, Noir Corporation had made no moves. For an outfit that had so boldly named Jieun a suspect, they had offered nothing further; whenever anyone came asking for an interview, they stuck to boilerplate and nothing more. The Galaxy Federation had gone quiet on the matter as well, so the magical girls could only suspect that something important—something beyond Jieun's escape—was unfolding somewhere out of sight.
"What's... what's going to happen to us now?"
Iris asked, a thread of anxiety running through her voice. She always worked to keep her composure, but this time she couldn't help worrying.
Over the past two years, Iris had built her identity as a magical girl. She took pride in it now. In a sense, she drew her self-worth from the position itself.
If she were made to quit just like that—
If the research she had been pursuing was left unfinished—
The thought alone made her restless.
And then there was—Hayun, sitting in the corner of the break room with a gloomy expression on her face.
For Iris, at worst, it would only mean no longer being a magical girl. However much of her self-worth lived in that role, at bottom she thought of it as a 'job.' A very good job. A job she loved. But if quitting became necessary, she would quit; she couldn't go on calling herself a magical 'girl' forever.
But Hayun had lost a friend.
No one could bring themselves to say it to her face, but it seemed everyone was thinking it. Even Hayun herself.
"......"
Delphinium, seated in the opposite corner, kept stealing glances at Hayun as well. Normally she would have been buried in her book without a thought for anyone, but today the mood was nothing of the kind. Dalia was the same. If anyone's pride had taken the worst battering in that battle, it was hers—confident in her magic and confident at close range, she had been defeated almost effortlessly, and her wand had been snapped in two. She was repairing it now, but the fact itself could not be repaired. And yet Hayun's expression was dark enough that even Dalia set her own grievances aside just to watch her.
Hayun knew it well enough herself. It was a mercy that no new incident had broken out, but if she had to fight again in this state, she would do nothing but trip up the other magical girls.
Hayun was regarded as possessing the finest energy among all the magical girls. Delphinium's magic covered a vast area; Dalia's lent itself to endless applications; Iris's strikes were long-ranged and precise; and Rose could meet head-on, in close combat, any threat pressed against the others. And Hayun—Blossom—could sever anything with that energy. No matter how thick the armor her opponent wrapped themselves in, nothing could stop the light that poured from her wand. And since it never harmed a person, it was an extraordinarily useful ability.
More than that, that powerful energy reached into the other magical girls' circuits as well. With Hayun anchoring the center alone, the others' strength nearly doubled.
But not now.
Hayun had lost her hope.
Not entirely. She could still transform, still summon her blade, still manage her other techniques. But she could no longer produce the power she once had.
When exactly had the decisive moment come? And how was she supposed to bring hope back to life? Hayun turned the questions over and over. Whatever state she herself was in, she had no wish to become a burden to her teammates.
And no matter how she turned it over, the end of that road was always Jieun.
Jieun, who had grown up beside her since those earliest days. Even after Hayun became a magical girl and the way people looked at her began to change, one pair of eyes at a time, Jieun stayed exactly where she had always been. Where others wanted things from Hayun, Jieun wanted nothing at all. She simply stayed at her side and smiled, the same ordinary friend as ever.
So why on earth had that Jieun been working as a combatant? ...The answer surfaced before long.
Noir Corporation had meant to keep its mouth shut to the very end, but one tenacious reporter dug up the fact that the company had been making steady donations to a certain orphanage. Not once had Noir Corporation donated anonymously, and that was the tail it had stepped on. Had they been trying to build an image as a socially conscious business?
But the reporter also uncovered that a girl named 'Jeong Jieun' was living at that orphanage. After lying in wait with maddening patience, she ambushed one girl on her way to school with an out-of-nowhere interview request and, while the girl was still flustered, drew out the words 'she's the one who shared my room.'
Jieun had been living at an orphanage.
Without a single family member to look after her.
Of course, the reason Jieun had managed to grow into such a bright child must have been that the orphanage's teachers and the children she lived with were all good people.
Hayun had known none of it. A magical girl, leaning on her friend that heavily—and yet she hadn't known a single thing about the circumstances that friend was living in.
Jieun's bones had been broken by Hayun time and time again. Hayun's magic couldn't injure a person—but Hayun's body could.
Not every fight ended cleanly with magic. To subdue someone, you struck them again and again, kicked them, slammed them into the ground. And Jieun had always been the stubborn type in a fight.
And the reason she had fought so stubbornly was, perhaps, to earn the operating funds that went to the orphanage. The company must have noticed some kind of energy in Jieun and made its approach. And then, with those conditions attached, it must have sent her out to fight, over and over.
...Which meant that, in the end, Jieun must have fought again and again while looking at Hayun's face.
At the face of Hayun, beating her without mercy.
......
She looked down at her hands. They were trembling.
Justice.
Hayun had fought for justice. The Galaxy Federation could hardly be perfectly just, but she had wanted to fight Noir Corporation, villains beyond any argument. Her parents had supported that decision. So had Jieun.
Every time they met at school, what had Jieun been thinking?
The day after the bones in her fingers bent backward blocking one of Hayun's kicks. The day after an elbow to the stomach left her rolling on the ground. The day after a fist came down on the gauntlet a blade had already split open, caving in her collarbone. Jieun had met her all the same. In truth, everyone had been wearing helmets, so there was no telling exactly who had struck whom, or how. Only one thing was certain: Jieun had been inside that helmet.
Had she known Jieun was in there, Hayun could never have fought in earnest. But Jieun had seen all of that Hayun—in the moment she was beaten down, and the day after.
Had it given her chills? Had she thought—there goes Hayun, the one who beat me to this state, the one who made me into this, whining in front of me? And even so, had she smiled for her?
Jieun had never wanted a thing from her. If she had ever wanted Galaxy Federation intelligence, or the magical girls' weaknesses, or anything at all that would give her an edge in battle, Hayun would almost have felt better about it.
But Jieun had never wanted any of it. And Hayun had never offered, either. She had been conscious of her position as a magical girl.
Had every one of those smiles Jieun made for her been a lie? Smiles forced out past the fear, past the revulsion? And even so, had Jieun really been that kind to her?
Was she safe now?
Even in the moments right after becoming a magical girl, Jieun had been wounded all over. Hit by several bullets, knocked to the ground, that thick steel cable lying across her body, barely able to move.
She remembered Jieun's expression in that final moment. That face gazing down at her, frozen cold. Completely different from any expression Jieun had ever worn before.
She clenched her teeth and tried to hold it in, but the tears spilled out again. She hurriedly scrubbed them away with her hand, and still they kept coming, and coming.
"......"
Someone held out a handkerchief. She looked up. It was Rose.
"...I'm sorry."
Hayun took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes.
Rose opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again—as if she understood that no words could reach Hayun now.
Hayun kept crying. She didn't even want to go home. Every time they crossed paths there, her parents told her only that it had been something she simply had to do.
How could beating Jieun have been something she had to do? Why had Jieun never once asked her for help?
...She knew why. Because if Jieun had ever said those words, Hayun wouldn't have been able to think of her as her special friend anymore. She would have lumped her in with everyone else.
Jieun must have known that, and endured it for her sake all the same. Must have shaped herself to fit Hayun's selfish heart—swallowing that much pain to do it.
She wanted to see her, even now. She didn't care what she'd have to hear; she just wanted to know, first of all, that she was safe.
The next time they met.
The next time, if they met—
......
What... what was she supposed to do?
Hayun never found the answer that day, either.
"Jihye."
At the sound of her own name, Jihye flinched. She had been like this for days now.
The room was still hers alone. The teacher hadn't moved anyone else in, keeping it ready so that Jieun could come back at any time. Jihye felt the same. She wanted Jieun to come home.
As for what was actually happening, Jihye knew nothing. The people around her kept pressing her about it from every angle. Ever since the reporter who had blocked her path on the way to school and hammered her with questions until she got an answer, reporters had taken to turning up at Jihye's school now and then. One had even come in the morning and gone rummaging through her desk without permission.
After that, the school refused to let a single reporter through its doors—but once the reporters were gone, the children became the problem.
"So what was this Jieun girl like?"
The kids were asking about a topic they had never shown the slightest interest in before. They had all known that Jihye lived with a girl called Jieun. They knew where and how Jihye lived, too. They had simply never used it against her. Jihye talked about Jieun, sure, but she had never gone out of her way to show her face to the other kids or introduce her—because she knew Jieun's personality.
And naturally, Jieun had known that too. As if she'd judged that hiding it forever was impossible, Jieun was the one who had said that merely talking about her was fine.
But ever since Jieun became a magical girl, the kids around Jihye had suddenly begun asking questions about her. Why, though? Did they want something to spout in front of the reporters? Or were they planning to post it online?
Jihye grew anxious. She herself knew nothing about what Jieun had actually been doing. She understood why Jieun hadn't told her, too. If the teacher had known what Jieun was mixed up in, she would certainly have refused Noir Corporation's donations.
...And these kids knew about that, too. They knew, and yet—
"Kids from other schools say she never got along with people."
"Right? I heard the same. Apparently she was super sharp-tongued even when other kids just tried to chat with her."
"They say she only got close to the magical girl for the information."
"Probably figured being friendly would let her dig up all sorts of things."
The chatter burst out from every direction, and Jihye couldn't gather her thoughts.
Jieun? No—she had never seemed like that, not even a little.
Jieun had treasured the CDs on her desk. The ones she had picked out herself, naturally—but she treasured the ones Hayun had bought her even more. The way she would gingerly open a case and lift out a disc, as though the mere act of picking it up might scratch it, had been almost funny to watch. And every so often, whenever Jieun brought up Hayun, her face would light up.
She had of course mentioned that Hayun was a magical girl. But that was all. Most of what Jieun said about Hayun was just stories about places they'd hung out—how long they'd known each other, how they'd met, how close they were.
There was no way a girl like that had done something like that to Hayun. That was what Jihye believed. And yet she couldn't bring herself to contradict them.
Because the news said so. Because the online papers said so. Every one of the kids seemed to believe those articles. That was why they could say it so boldly, right to her face.
"Well, at least it's a good thing you weren't dragged into it."
......
The night it happened, Jihye had run straight there the moment she saw it on the internet. By the time she arrived, of course, it was already over. It was late enough that the buses had stopped running, so all that sprinting had done was drain her.
The whole area was sealed off by grim-looking men standing guard. The only things she could make out were an overturned car and debris scattered across the pavement. Even that was enough to imagine how fierce the battle there must have been.
Just knowing Jieun had been in that place made her heart lurch. Was she safe? She had to be. She got away, so she had to be okay.
And the only place she had read any of it was an article. One of those articles Jihye couldn't bring herself to believe. From an article insisting that Jieun had 'fled'—
"...Sorry, I'm going to run to the restroom."
With that, Jihye sprang up from her seat. Seeing how pale her face had gone, a few of the kids stood up too, offering to come along. She waved them off and hurried out of the classroom.
Her stomach heaved as though she might bring up everything inside her at any second. While Jieun was being talked about like that, Jihye hadn't managed to say a single word. Because she was afraid that if she did, the kids would look at her strangely for defending Jieun. That the teacher would, too.
The orphanage teacher had told her to say nothing, whatever questions she was asked, for the time being. So this was only natural behavior, and yet...
She went into the bathroom. Fortunately—perhaps because break was winding down—there was no one inside. Jihye slipped into an empty stall, shut the door quickly, and dry-heaved over the toilet. Whether by luck or misfortune, nothing came up. But her strength was gone all the same, and she sank into a crouch on the floor.
"...Jieun."
I'm sorry.
Should she have pushed back, right there? Should she have shouted that Jieun would never do such a thing, that she was absolutely not that kind of person?
But she had been afraid. Yes—it wasn't because the teacher had told her to stay quiet. She had simply been so terrified by the whole situation that she had chosen to say nothing and run.
And she felt utterly pathetic for it.