Chapter 13. Counterattack (3)

It was the worst. Simply the worst.

Again and again, I couldn't help noticing that the most useless one among us ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was me. We were all caught in the same predicament, yet it was always the magical girls who managed to dredge hope out of it.

I would stride out convinced I could handle everything on my own, only to end up accomplishing nothing by myself, leaning on everyone else for help.

...Was Pangpang all right? What if the police had come to investigate after I disappeared?

What if the people around her had found it suspicious—the girl she lived with vanishing out of nowhere—and reported it?

If anything, reaching out now would only deepen their suspicion. I had run away precisely to keep more suspicion from falling on her; showing up out of nowhere would make me look impossibly shady.

I did have a mask of sorts, but...

"Whew."

Having fled from Hayun, I sat back down against the wall.

The moon was so bright that the stars had all but vanished.

Were it not for the circumstances, I might even have come to like this place. There was no one around—which was a little unsettling, but far better than being uncomfortable in a crowd.

But even beneath a sky so thick with stars it seemed ready to spill down, I couldn't steady my heart, and so all I felt was that vague unease.

I didn't want to think about anything.

I had no idea how Hayun would take what I'd just done.

Impulsive or not, that was not something a person should do. It should go without saying that when someone offers to do anything for you, taking the offer literally is absurd. The me of ordinary days would never have thought otherwise.

Had I... been looking at Hayun that way?

I wanted to believe I hadn't. I wanted to believe that the reason I kept lingering at Hayun's side... was simply that I wanted to help her. That it was only because we were friends.

Though the fact that I couldn't be sure of even that, in a situation like this, was proof enough that things had already gone wrong.

How long had I been staring up at the sky?

Then came the soft, unhurried sound of footsteps.

"Jieun."

It was Hayun. Had she failed to grasp what had just happened to her?

Or perhaps she'd assumed that since it was me, nothing of the sort would happen. To be fair, people rarely imagine that kind of thing happening between two girls. It's precisely because no one imagines it that places like public bathhouses can exist at all.

Hayun and I had even bathed together once, hadn't we? Back then, keeping my eyes off her had been my own form of courtesy. Of conscience.

The urge to flee rose again.

But where would running even take me? Aside from when I washed, I wore my circuit at all times—so technically I could go anywhere. Mask over my face and all.

The trouble was, I hardly had any decent clothes left. My cards were obviously useless now, and my cash wasn't exactly plentiful.

It wasn't as if I could wander off and spend money just to put my own mind at ease, not while everyone else was stuck here with me.

So I simply stayed where I was.

"Jieun."

Hayun called my name again, stubbornly. She didn't seem to have come to reproach me for what I'd done—that simply wasn't Hayun's nature.

She wasn't the type to be unfailingly sweet to everyone and incapable of a harsh word. Toward anyone she judged an enemy—judged evil—she showed no mercy.

She'd been that way with me, back when we met in battle. Those shining eyes, so certain that my smashing the Generator was wrong, and that she—the one defending it—was justice.

But if Hayun had known back then that the combatant was me, the story might have unfolded differently.

At the very least, Hayun had never said such things to me.

Even knowing I had been a combatant—even with me branded a terrorist and a public enemy of this nation—Hayun had followed me all the same.

Thinking of it, guilt bloomed from somewhere deep in my chest.

Whether I liked it or not, Hayun was here for me and me alone. Giving up her own future to be here. And in truth, she had done so much for me in this place.

Not everything was perfect—but there were things that would never have reached my hands if not for the magical girls.

So I didn't answer. I had nothing to say.

A rustle came from beside me, then the familiar scrape of sneaker soles over bare dirt.

Warmth drew near, and soon a weight settled against me—not quite heavy.

Hayun's head came to rest gently on my shoulder. At the edge of my vision, I could see pink hair catching the white moonlight, glimmering. A scent like flowers rose from her.

No one living here had the means for any real grooming. Perfume and the like were, naturally, out of the question.

She'd washed with little more than water, but she washed as thoroughly as she could, so it wasn't simply the smell of an unwashed body, either.

Ah, right. We did have shampoo, at least.

The bag Jihye had given us held shampoo. Not much of it, of course—the travel-sized kind sold at convenience stores, small enough to tuck into a bag.

Each time one of us bathed, we rationed out the tiniest dab. Even Rose, whose hair was the shortest, wore it bobbed—nowhere near enough for all of us to share properly.

We couldn't have used it properly, and yet Hayun's hair carried that fragrance.

Or was this, too, something to do with magic?

"...Aren't you scared?"

"Scared? Of what?"

When I asked, Hayun asked right back.

"Just now."

"Just now... why?"

Every time I spoke, Hayun countered with another question. Even though we both knew perfectly well what "just now" referred to, she insisted on talking as though it had been nothing at all.

That... irritated me.

Why, I wondered. Because it felt as though she was saying she'd accept whatever I did to her.

In the end, wasn't I simply jealous again—jealous that Hayun was the better person?

My circuit was beginning to turn, little by little.

God, I was pathetic. Despairing over every little thing, even in a situation like this.

What I hated most was, as ever, myself.

"Do you really not know, and that's why you're asking? Or are you waiting for me to say it out loud myself?"

I knew the words I owed her right now were an apology. But they wouldn't come out. Of course they wouldn't.

Hayun said nothing at all. She simply rested her shoulder against mine.

Save for the thorns in our exchange—thorns, admittedly, that only I was raising—this, too, felt something like the old days.

Those times when we would sit side by side without saying much, simply passing the hours together.

Hayun loved these stretches of silence. There had always been people around her, and for whatever reason, no shortage of them eager to strike up conversation—perhaps that was why she cherished those moments of doing nothing at all.

Maybe that was all she wanted now, too.

There was only one difference from back then.

I could no longer be certain that I understood Hayun the way I once had.

She had to know that this situation was "wrong." She surely knew that I was "at fault."

So why wouldn't righteous Hayun press me about it? Why not say something, even gently?

...I couldn't understand it. And so, I was a little afraid.

There was no longer any reason to be afraid. Because now, she understood.

With her head resting softly against Jieun's shoulder, Hayun thought this.

In truth, until only recently, she had been a little afraid.

What if she didn't truly understand Jieun's heart? What if, in a situation like this, offering help was worse than none at all? What if Jieun had simply stopped needing Hayun?

It was a natural anxiety.

Jieun had never once looked at Hayun and said she needed her. Never once asked for her help.

...And that had been the greatest reason Hayun's heart was at ease whenever she was at Jieun's side.

So perhaps it was strange to grow restless only now. After all, the very reason Hayun had come to love Jieun was that Jieun had asked nothing of her and stayed a pure friend—and now, to want all of that in return—

—was far too selfish a thing.

Everything up to now had already been selfish enough. Simply being here with her was selfish. Jieun had never wished for any of it.

But then, a moment ago.

When Jieun had stepped close to Hayun. When their eyes drew so near that neither face fit fully within the other's view.

For the first time, she had felt it. That Jieun wanted something from her.

She still had no certainty whether it was something one could give in the ordinary sense. Nor what, exactly, "it" was.

Chasing after Jieun when she ran off alone, Hayun had managed to narrow it down somewhat—but only to "a few" among those few.

Feelings far too tangled—and perhaps far too convenient—for the harried Jieun of today to choose. Feelings she couldn't tell were genuine, couldn't confirm were real, couldn't even be sure she herself truly wanted.

Whether they were seeping up, faint and gradual, from beneath her heart because of this situation, or whether she was merely mistaking them for the tenderness she felt toward Jieun and the affection built up over so long—such unknowable feelings were best set aside.

If it was a mistake, it would be one too irreparable for either of them to take back. Hayun didn't want to wound Jieun that way. If she'd intended to, she would never have followed her here in the first place.

So she had reasoned it through calmly and pushed that possibility to the back of her mind.

What came next was the thought that she might get slapped across the cheek.

...Considering everything Hayun had done until now, ending at just that would almost have been a mercy. Whatever the circumstances, Hayun had already struck Jieun more times than she could count. And it had never ended at mere blows.

More thoroughly than anyone who had ever tormented Jieun, she had done harm to Jieun's body.

For an instant, perhaps, Jieun had felt that same impulse.

So—so, Jieun did want something from Hayun.

And that fact alone let her fear recede, if only a little.

That Jieun might vanish from before her eyes as though nothing had happened—as though such things were no concern of hers at all. That, wanting nothing from Hayun, Jieun might simply disappear. That because of the Jieun Hayun had always admired, Jieun might come to treat Hayun as "someone who has nothing to do with her."

That was what had frightened her.

But once you understand even a fraction of the feelings involved, the story changes.

Even in hatred, so long as the bond doesn't sever and can carry on.

Perhaps someday, things could return to how they once were... no, however she looked at it, that was hoping for far too much. But even so—couldn't they return to something like it?

At the very least, a relationship she could still call friendship.

Then she heard a faint vibrating sound.

Not the buzz of a phone—something subtly awkward, strangely off. It was coming from Jieun's wrist.

The circuit Jieun wore. With Hayun beside her, Jieun was feeling—at the very least—some kind of emotion.

Iris—that is, Jua—had surmised that Jieun's circuit ran on negative emotion. Certainly it looked that way to Hayun as well. Jieun's expression while using the circuit had never once been a pleasant one.

And yet. Truly, just maybe—

Could that circuit, too, run on good feelings? Could it turn because of them?

Even as she judged the very act of thinking this to be nothing but selfish fantasy—

—Hayun could not bring herself to stop.

Whatever state my head was in, I needed to set my sights on something, and fast.

Anger was fine, but rage with nowhere to go accomplished nothing. And taking my frustrations out on Hayun wouldn't improve my situation one bit.

Food, at least, was more or less secured. We could just barely hold on to the basic necessities of living. With the weather turning warm, we no longer had to worry, at the very least, about freezing to death.

I still slept inside the tent, but these days I left the entrance at least partly open. I no longer had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the luxury of minding that magical girls were within sight.

Besides, we all stayed inside together anyway.

For a very brief while, I had toyed with the idea of putting up walls inside to give everyone a room of their own.

But even to me, the idea seemed half-baked. If I proposed it, the ones doing the work would inevitably be the five living alongside me.

And then I'd be the one nursing the guilt all over again.

So for now, we would live as we were and think it over slowly, watching how things developed.

"I intend to fight."

It was a week after the last battle that I said those words.

April. By now, the frequency with which our names appeared on the news had dropped off noticeably. Government suppression was one thing, but public interest itself was fading.

No one can spend a lifetime fixated on a single story. People had their own lives to lead, and naturally, given time, their attention drifted elsewhere.

As for whether I needed to worry about public opinion—honestly, I still didn't know. They'd try to smother it regardless, so beyond delivering a proper message to the factions hostile to me, what other option was there? Like when I struck Noir Corporation's headquarters.

At my words, the girls glanced at one another, then looked back at me.

Go on. We're listening. That was what their faces seemed to say.

I nodded, needlessly, and pressed on.

"I don't think hitting the headquarters again would accomplish anything. We've already taken everything worth taking there, and if we went back, we'd only find another wave of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heavily upgraded kaijin waiting."

Last time, we'd won by the skin of our teeth. Granted, I'd dropped out partway through—but there was no guarantee that my presence this time would secure a victory.

The kaijin's armor had been reinforced since then. We'd shattered the reinforced version once, so who knew how many more upgrades it had undergone since.

If they'd stockpiled piles of them inside the headquarters, winning a fight there this time would be another matter entirely.

Which meant—

"So this time, we make for the Complex."

James took over from there, laying out the plan.

"The Complex? That place..."

"Right. The site of the last 'terrorist attack.'"

To Iris, whose voice wavered slightly, I nodded as I answered.

I'd heard the collapsed section had ultimately been written off. Even if they rebuilt, they'd have to start over from those massive pillars.

What's more, the blast and the collapse had strained the surrounding framework so badly that using it as it stood was impossible.

So now, from what I heard, they'd simply cut the ruined portion away and split the Complex into two separate facilities.

"The research itself was definitely being done there."

The kidnapped scientist had been there too, and died in that attack. At the very least, there really had been a room inside that pillar.

Whether it had been a hidden laboratory or merely something like an interrogation room, we would never know now.

"Whatever they're researching now is probably nothing like what went on under the former Chairman."

"Then wouldn't there be kaijin there too?"

Dahlia asked the eminently sensible question.

Probably. Naturally, there'd be kaijin there too.

"What we need to know is what it costs them to produce those kaijin."

I looked at James.

This was the conclusion I'd reached in a private talk with James the day before. He'd been delighted by my idea, running all manner of calculations for me.

Say what you would about him—he seemed dead serious when it came to making the ones who'd stabbed him in the back pay for it.

"Honestly, the cost of producing the armor isn't all that high. The improved models did, in fact, roll out very quickly. The crux is the kaijin that goes inside—and the armor would have to be custom-fitted to each one."

The corner of his mouth curling upward, James continued.

"Resonance circuits can be built to a single standard indefinitely, and their internal structure allows for mass production... but the casting of armor must be bespoke, one kaijin at a time. Factoring that in, they likely couldn't have produced anywhere near as many as one might fear. Enough to send against us as they did before, perhaps—but what we saw in that building that day was probably the ceiling."

A stable supply of kaijin.

Simply reusing the kaijin we'd already defeated was out of the question. The Federation wasn't so foolish as that.

Whether manufactured artificially or secretly abducted wherever one happened to appear, mass production was impossible for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now. If it were possible, magical girls would already have become entirely unnecessary, and the controversy would have died down long ago.

Besides, most people didn't even know those things were kaijin.

"The Complex is vast. The notion that it's packed full of kaijin is... impossible, no matter how I look at it."

Having said his piece, James paused briefly before speaking again.

"Ah, but still—if the share of kaijin were spread a little wider, seeded across every corner of the country, nothing could suit us better. So: fix the Complex as the final objective, but strike elsewhere first to sow confusion. That much should be within our means, shouldn't it?"

"Well, yes."

At my nod, uneasy expressions crept over the magical girls' faces.

Of course it would. When kaijin appeared and you went out to subdue them, that could be called a deployment.

But going out to attack first—that isn't a deployment or anything of the kind. It's just terrorism.

It was the same even if no one died.

However little we cared about our reputation at the moment, the prick of individual conscience couldn't be helped.

But—

Among the girls wearing those faintly uneasy expressions, Hayun alone wore none. She was simply looking straight at me.

"...This operation is also about properly freeing the kaijin being used. I don't know their circumstances, but I hear being a kaijin is miserable."

Only after I said that did the girls' expressions ease a little.

Hayun's face still held that same look of trust in me.

That expression I couldn't quite understand—and in the end, I turned my head slightly away.