The Story That Began (3)
“The odds of the Waning Moon surviving are close to a miracle.”
That was the medical team’s verdict after examining Ian-na’s ruined body.
Even to an untrained eye, her condition looked hopeless. There were no conspicuous external wounds, yet the internal damage had been catastrophic. A smile still lingered on her face as the last warmth drained from it, leaving no trace of life.
“…And the artificial body? Is it ready?”
“Not yet. Development is nearly finished, but we can’t place the Waning Moon inside it now. The circuits that would interface with the brain and spinal cord still aren’t optimized.”
“I see.”
Cold sweat began to bead on Han Ho-jun’s exposed forehead. Even he had not anticipated this. He could not lose Ian-na now—not now, and not at any moment. He did not want to lose her.
Forcing the chaos in his chest into stillness, he adjusted his glasses with deliberate calm.
“Begin treatment. Spare no means, no methods. I will hold nothing back in support.”
“…Understood.”
Every technician and physician of note within the Bureau had been summoned. They might not have been on the level of Dr. Mikhail Filippov, the foremost authority in the field, yet talent of their caliber ought to be enough to snatch Ian-na back from the brink of death.
No—it had to be enough.
In whatever form, Ian-na had to remain alive.
“I… I… no, we…”
The two magical girls, lost in panic, could only stare helplessly at Ho-jun.
“…Follow me.”
His expression was perfectly composed. He treated them exactly as he always had, as though nothing were amiss. Cowed by his bulk, the two trailed after him in awkward silence.
And so the “minor disturbance” that had shaken the Bureau came to an end.
“If only you hadn’t been born.”
“…Mom?”
“If you had never been born, none of this would have happened. If only you weren’t here. I could have stayed with him. Why were you born? Why…?”
“Th-that’s… what do you…”
A memory from early childhood.
“Why did you follow me? Go to your father, please… Stop ruining my life any further…”
“W-what… are you saying…”
“Giving birth to you is the single greatest regret of my life. Enough to make me want to die…”
“…I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’ll do anything, so please don’t die… Mom…”
Ian-na’s mother had been a prostitute. There had been no other choice. In those days the only work open to a woman was the factory floor or selling her body. She chose the latter to support her family.
The money she scraped together for their sake vanished in an instant on luxury goods. Still, she had become something of a local name. One night she spent with a country bumpkin who had come to the city and struck it rich through real-estate speculation—Ian-na’s father. It was a purely transactional arrangement: whore and client. Yet somehow, between those two foolish people, love took root.
A single night’s mistake conceived Ian-na, and they married in haste. That was the beginning of the misfortune.
“…You’ll really do anything?”
“Mm… if it makes Mom happy… I’ll do anything… Please, don’t die…”
“Then… die for me… I’m begging you…”
Anna. In Hebrew the name meant blessing or grace. Yet Ian-na’s existence was neither. It was a curse. Her mother cursed her for it, feeling as though a shackle bearing the name Ian-na had been locked around her ankle. Every seed of unhappiness, she believed, had sprouted from Ian-na.
“O-okay… I… I understan—”
Her mother’s large hands closed around the child’s slender throat and began to squeeze without pause.
“…Nn… it… feels good…”
Ian-na did not resist. She accepted her mother’s touch with joy. Only at moments like this could she ever feel those hands on her at all.
The pressure tightened. Her mind grew hazy; her mother’s delighted face blurred.
…I’m glad.
Ian-na thought it fortunate. If merely being strangled could make her mother happy, could make that face break into a full smile for her, then she would let herself be choked anytime, anywhere, as many times as it took.
She had grown up far too early. She understood her situation with perfect clarity—why her mother hated her, why she must never go outside. And so she offered body and heart to her mother. In this world there was no one else to lean on.
To a woman who brought men home every day or drowned herself in drink, who spent each day lost in sex, Ian-na was the only family she had left. Family was supposed to rely on one another. No matter what happened, always.
Ian-na spread her arms wide, trying to embrace the mother who was still choking her.
“F-fuck… you crazy bitch…”
Startled, her mother finally tore her hands away. Gasping for breath, Ian-na looked up and smiled radiantly. She was far too young to know what “fuck” or “crazy bitch” meant. She took them for affectionate nicknames.
To the little girl, her mother was the single most precious person in the world.
Red handprints never left Ian-na’s throat. She regarded them as tokens of her mother’s love. At an age when a child most desperately needs parental affection, affection was the only thing she truly hungered for.
When the strangling went on long enough she would sometimes lose consciousness. Each time, a vast green meadow opened beneath a cloudless blue sky, a shallow river cutting a straight line through its heart. Instinct told her that once she crossed that river she would never return.
And every time, Ian-na tried to cross it.
Because that was what her mother wanted.
Death itself did not frighten her. What she feared was being abandoned by the only family she had. So she did everything she could to keep from being cast aside.
“Uh… uuh… ugh…”
My stomach heaved violently. I wanted to vomit up everything inside me. My head spun.
…Ah.
I was still alive. Every nerve in my body felt sharp and clear. For some reason the sense of pain was fully awake—nothing like the usual dull haze. It was almost as stimulating as when Illusion attacked me.
“Urgh…”
The mere thought of Illusion’s face brought bile rising unbidden.
“Waaagh…”
I could not hold it back. I emptied the contents of my stomach across the bed. Blue fluid everywhere.
Blue…?
When I finally focused, I saw thin lines trailing from every part of my body. Harsh white light flooded my vision, bright enough to sting. Aside from the plate-glass window ahead, everything was painted sterile white.
The medical wing. As far as I remembered, this was the medical wing. I had been rescued safely, it seemed.
And for some reason tears kept coming. The childhood I had lived through while unconscious—Ian-na’s past—was still too vivid. These were not tears of nostalgia or relief at still being alive.
Joy.
For a brief moment, inside that memory, I had received “affection” from the mother I had forgotten. That made me happy beyond measure. Only for a little while, only while I slept, yet it had felt as though I was not alone.
White hair. Dry, brittle white hair filled my sight. When I touched it, I could tell it had been far too long since it was last washed.
How long have I been lying here…
I forced myself upright. My head still reeled; the slightest movement sent a sharp ache through my gut. Just remembering it was terrifying. It was something Ian-na had to forget. Dwelling on the past would change nothing, so I had to erase it somehow and move on. There was nothing else I could do.
“Hic… hhk…”
I never wanted to experience anything like that again. It felt the same as the torture. Above all, my heart hurt. It felt as though my chest were breaking apart. The betrayal from those two cut too deep.
If it had merely been violence born of misunderstanding, there would have been room to forgive. I could have smiled and let it go. I was alive, after all; I could have moved past it. As the Magical Girl of the Waning Moon, Ian-na had a duty to look after her juniors.
But they had murdered an innocent man.
I could never face those two with a smile again. My heart ached so fiercely it drove me mad. I still could not believe they had killed the Adjutant right in front of me.
“Hic… nngh… hhk…”
If I had known it would end like this, I would at least have learned the Adjutant’s name. I had lost someone close so suddenly. The empty space he left behind pressed down on me with crushing weight. I would never hear that voice again.
“…Your Excellency.”
I was certain I was only imagining it.
“It is not a hallucination, Your Excellency…!”
From somewhere, the Adjutant’s frail voice seemed to call.