I'm Going to Change the Genre of This Novel - 2

A magical girl who carries the direction of a vast destiny within her blooms two brilliant starlights and is reborn as a true magical girl. Then did that mean a magical girl holding only one starlight could never bloom, never wield the power of destiny?

No.

The moment she grasped a hope even she herself had never realized, she could bloom together with a single small starlight. Finding the thing you wish to protect. That was the true identity of the dream the stars pointed to — and the glittering light that humanity, blinded by power, had let slip from its own hands.

Growing stronger by striking others down through battle rather than through dreams. It was the very portrait of a world that lived on, grotesquely, by scavenging the leftover dregs of dreams others had left behind. In that world, the only one who had ever realized it for herself was the protagonist, Shikishima Yuki. But even she could not change the world.

A world where only the strong survived — those few who carried within them the possibility of moving the world alone. The protagonist, the sole one to endure to the very end as a true magical girl, is acknowledged at last as the master of a world where nothing precious remains. That was the hollow ending of Magical Girl HAZARD.

To the shadowy puppetmasters of this world — who were no doubt smirking behind the scenes, having loosed the two of us with an open invitation to fight — it could only be displeasure. But they were still in a place beyond my reach.

If I simply stay quiet and wait the one year until the main story arrives...

This world would flow toward the very apocalypse I knew. Thankfully, I had enough money set aside to look after myself, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and over the past two years I had quietly arranged more than a few contingencies beyond my cafe part-time job. Nothing grandiose — but merely preparing for the apocalypse would be enough to hold higher ground than anyone else. If anything, I was the one who had to survive by putting that knowledge to full use.

And yet, a question brushed through my mind.

Really. Was this truly the right thing to do?

With even the smallest help from me, the future these girls were headed toward would be a little brighter. Even if the original story bent a little out of shape — could I really just look away and leave all of them behind?

Two years. It had been two years since I came to this world. There were people who had given me help I couldn't have pretended not to see even if I'd tried. Right before my eyes was someone who could return to an ordinary life with nothing more than a little help.

Become a person who walks the great road.

Father...

My reason warned me that this could become a decision I would regret for the rest of my life. Even so... The future of this world was too terrifying, and my hands were far too small — there was so little I could protect. Even so, there were things I simply could not close my eyes to.

"Busujima-san."

"Yes?"

"Do you want the power of a true magical girl?"

"Wha—?! Shirogane-san, what on earth are you—!"

"It's something only I know. I'll tell you specially."

From the very beginning, I had thought stories about gods driving humanity to its limits and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then lecturing on human nature were nothing but garbage. What I had seen in Magical Girl HAZARD was the protagonist, and the protagonist alone. Her words — wishing for a bright future and for happiness — had moved my heart. No one had ever forced a responsibility on me. But as someone who knew the original story, I felt that if I left all of this to rot, the regret would be crushing.

With that one resolve, it felt as though the guilt that had nested in a corner of my heart for two years finally slipped away. I told Haruko what she needed to prepare, and after a short rest, we moved into action.

"Master, I don't think I'll be able to come in today."

Moved by the master's magnanimity — waving off an employee's absence without a flicker — I hung up the phone.

In a corner of the rundown apartment complex's empty lot, a prismatic space of five brilliant colors sat crouched, scattering away every ray of light that dared touch it. Dream ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠World — a unique skill awakened through the destiny of [Deception]. And beyond that shimmering light, Busujima Haruko was wandering through an illusion.

"Huaaah..."

Haruko couldn't help but gape at the scene unfolding before her. The dry scent of old paper, the smell of wood, shelves packed so full there wasn't room to spare — and beneath them, piles of manga stacked across the floor, every single one bearing its own title. [Haruko's Diary]. [Haruko's Meals]. [Memories of the Nights Haruko Couldn't Sleep]. [The Day Haruko Danced].

She had known the space born of her own heart would take the form of her life, arranged in the shape she knew best — but this was on another level entirely. Who could have guessed that after somehow causing trouble, somehow running away, somehow being chased down by the police, and somehow meeting yet another magical girl, she would end up living through something this incredible?

Somehow. How on earth had it all come to this?

She had loved manga since she was small. The sight of drawings coming alive panel by panel, weaving a story all on their own. She had loved it so, so much. Yes — Haruko had fallen in love with manga itself. And at some point, she had come to realize something: among the countless panels and countless lines of dialogue, there was no story of her own. She could never be the protagonist of this world. She could hear the sound of countless lives flickering past in countless tales, but not one of them held Haruko's.

Walking between the shelves, Haruko suddenly realized that the rows stretched on without end.

"Huh? Wh-what?"

It was eerie enough that this space, shaped like the familiar manga shop, was stuffed edge to edge with her own story — and the forcibly stretched, endless shelves began to look more and more frightening the longer she stared.

"Where am I supposed to go..."

Would it be better to call Hikari, even now? When she thought of that person — the one whose red eyes gleamed so charmingly between narrowed lids — she had a feeling the woman would nonchalantly pull out the answer to everything, radiating the composure of someone who already knew it all.

"We've only known each other for a single day."

Yes. She had wanted to become that kind of special person herself.

"A special person."

"Ken-chan! I'm telling you, I became a magical girl! So that means I'm 'special' now too, right?"

Thinking back on it, that one remark from Yamahara had been the spark set to a warehouse packed to bursting with gunpowder called hatred. If the fire never caught, the powder would only dampen with the years — the kind you could reopen one day, think oh, was that all it was?, and pass over without a second thought.

Someone like you. You aren't special. You shouldn't be special. What does being special even mean? Whatever the answer, it wasn't you. Because I had no interest in stories that weren't special.

Thump.

As Haruko stood there dazed, a single manga volume dropped at her feet. So plain a cover that if not for the sound of it falling, she might never have thought to pick it up. She lifted it carefully, and with every page she turned, a wave of nostalgia washed over her.

"Ah."

There had been a time when she tried to draw her own manga. Ten straight days bent over guidebooks on the craft — and the result had been a complete, unmitigated mess. She'd been too ashamed to show it to anyone, and she remembered leaving it in a corner of the school incinerator to burn. Watching her handmade manga slowly curl and blacken, she had finally burst into tears. And that very manga was here, right now, in this moment.

"Hm?"

Something was sticking out from between the pages. A bookmark made of rolled maple leaves — a gift from her classmates back in elementary school, the day she won first place in the drawing contest with manga she had drawn herself.

"That's right, it happened. There were... there were people who wanted to hear my story."

A story that wasn't special — and people who loved it anyway. I'd forgotten. An ordinary story. The people who loved my ordinary story, and the true story I wanted to tell. Haruko hugged the bookmark and the manga tightly to her chest. And from between ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her quiet smiles, a memory she had forgotten for far too long spilled out and became tears.

Within the changed world, the second magical girl to be truly born was the Magical Girl of [Fairy Tale]. She was not special. She bore no vast destiny. And yet, drawn by a vast and colorless starlight, she found her own small light.

When Haruko opened her eyes again, what met them was the shabby apartment lot and the containers standing on it. And a silver girl. The mysterious girl who had guided her here — Hikari smiled at her.

"It worked, huh?"

"...Yes. It feels like I remembered something I'd... I'd forgotten."

"Congratulations, bloomed magical girl. We're comrades now."

"Huh?"

"Busujima-san. Let's do a job together — just one."

"WHAT?!"

Each time Haruko heard why the police were chasing her, and why Hikari had awakened her, her face drained whiter and whiter — and then, the moment she finally heard the plan that would overturn all of it, she burst out laughing. Three meanings were folded into that laughter.

The first was that the plan's name was simply too absurd. The second was that it was a scheme as thrilling as something straight out of a manga. And the third was that Hikari, laying it all out before her, looked far too cool doing it.

So even someone that incredible has absolutely hopeless taste in names.

Haruko considered it a blessing in disguise. Every little slip like that was a kind of seasoning that deepened a character — and besides, the sight of Hikari guiding her with such human, endearingly fallible warmth somehow made her shine all the brighter.