The Story Begins (4)
Even seeing it with both eyes, she could not bring herself to believe it.
"Director."
The first thing that caught her eye was the Adjutant's brown hair, neatly arranged and swept back from his brow to fall long down his chest.
"I'm so glad… truly…"
A slender jawline and pale skin, half-lidded eyes that looked almost closed, a high bridge of a nose — all of it shimmered before her.
It was the Adjutant's face, cast in the classic mold of East Asian beauty.
"Ah…"
Her words died in her throat.
She had no idea what to say.
She was so happy her whole body was trembling. She could not rein in the rush of feeling at all.
Unconsciously, she reached out to seize him.
This time — never, never again — she would not let go.
That reaching of the arm was an instinct peculiar to Ian-na, buried deep in her unconscious.
Ian-na had repeated countless goodbyes. Family and friends, colleagues, disciples, a partner for whom she had held special feelings — nearly everyone to whom she had opened her heart had left her.
It had been a pain beyond endurance.
And still Ian-na had borne it, gritted her teeth, and gone on.
Thinking of the duty of a magical girl that her mentor and senior — the partner she had loved more than anyone — had impressed upon her.
To protect the oppressed weak, and to strike down the strong.
Ian-na never let her loneliness show.
Her true calling was, first and last, that of a magical girl: to save even a single innocent life, to keep the magical girls who were as good as family from dying even a little less often.
She simply kept going.
When she lost kin, when she sent a comrade away, when she faced someone's final farewell — Ian-na only reached out her arm.
She wanted to hold on. So they would not leave her, so a life would not vanish for nothing, so no one would die an unjust death — she wanted, praying desperately, to keep the departing one in her grasp.
It was the upright will of a magical girl sworn to protect the weak, locked together with the personal obsession of Ian-na herself over the people she loved.
Ian-na, who possessed a heart more gentle and full of pity than anyone's, only ever wanted to be of help. She only ever wanted never again to watch an innocent person die. She simply could not bear the sacrifice of those close to her.
Never again — not now, not ever — did she want to lose the Adjutant.
She did not want to lose someone close to her a second time.
And so.
She stretched out her arm, meaning to catch hold of him.
Thud!
"Your Excellency!"
Her center of gravity tipped forward; she rolled once and tumbled from the bed onto the infirmary floor.
The tubes plugged into her body came free one by one. From the needles driven through her skin to the hoses linked directly into her veins — every cumbersome thing that had hindered her movement was torn away.
The Adjutant rushed over and gathered her into his arms.
A faint scent of lavender seeped into her nose. Seated on the floor, he held her for a long while without moving. He held her so tightly that breathing was almost difficult.
"…Is this a dream?"
"It isn't a dream…"
His voice sounded as if he were about to cry.
Tears spilled from her eyes as well.
She told herself she shouldn't be like this, that she ought to face him with a smile —
But she simply couldn't.
She could not master her feelings.
"Hhk… uugh…"
Her head swam. She was flooded with relief that the Adjutant had not died. Her heart felt ready to burst with joy that she had met him again.
Excitement and trembling, joy and sorrow overran her entire body.
Like a dog reunited with its master after a year, she could not contain her happiness. She rubbed her fever-hot body against him without restraint.
Ian-na did not know how to show affection. More precisely, she was clumsy at it.
Even with the partner for whom she had felt a tender emotion so fierce it defied words, the most they had ever done was hold hands.
Physical contact with other magical girls had been almost nonexistent. Even holding hands had often been enough to set her face burning.
As the most senior of the Twelve Seats, a magical girl for decades, Ian-na had never had many avenues of contact with the outside world.
That awkward nuzzling was the fullest expression of affection she was capable of.
It did not feel bad at all.
A soft warmth spread through her whole body. Every second spent in the Adjutant's arms registered with vivid clarity, and she wished this state could last forever.
Infantile regression.
Ian-na's mind was being eaten away, little by little.
And so was mine.
Until now, she had clearly managed to hold on to reason through sheer iron will.
But after everything that had happened, the regression had advanced considerably.
Her mind had been driven to its limit; it could no longer bear reality.
To keep from going mad, to cling to just enough sanity to still be of use to the other magical girls —
A defense mechanism had kicked in, dragging Ian-na's mind down toward the bottom of a swamp with no end in sight.
…
She was afraid.
The novel was racing toward catastrophe. A bleak future with a bad ending already locked in was unfolding. Countless people Ian-na had wanted to protect would die.
The attacks of the Unknowns would grow fiercer than ever. Magical girls would begin to run wild one by one, and the Magical Girl of Entreaty would slaughter the innocent without number.
If the mind of Ian-na's childhood — a childhood paved with violence, neglect, and abuse — were to surface now…
There would be nothing left that could be changed.
The appointed ruin would fall upon everyone.
Perhaps something even worse.
…I don't want that.
She wanted to protect them. More desperately than ever, she wanted to protect every last person.
Knowing the future, she could never look away.
Looking away was not in Ian-na's nature. She did not want even a single innocent person to meet an unjust death.
She wanted to protect her precious colleagues, the junior magical girls. She could not die like this. She did not want to die.
"Hhk… hgghk…"
"It's all right. It's all right. It's all over now…"
She did not want a kind person like the Adjutant to die.
She did not want to leave someone who had risked his life for her, someone who comforted her, to die.
It had been so long since she had received any affection.
To Ian-na, locked in a concrete prison, a cage, waiting for the day of slaughter —
the Adjutant's very existence felt dazzling.
It was as if, for the first time in the world, she had gained a single true ally.
She buried herself in his arms and simply sobbed.
Relief.
What finally soothed the swelling in her chest was the relief she felt in the Adjutant's warm embrace.
Her heart began, little by little, to settle.
…
She was glad.
Glad that the Adjutant was alive.
Glad that those two had not harmed any innocent lives.
Yes… clearly… it was all… a m-misunderstanding… from a misunderstanding…
She forced the thought into her own head. Without it, she could not have endured.
Surely — surely. It had been an act born of misunderstanding. That situation so unspeakable, so impossible to put into words, the one that rose behind her eyelids the moment she closed them and would never leave her, the one that made her want to retch —
It could never have been deliberate. It was a misunderstanding. It had to be a misunderstanding.
Illusion —
Ian-na's pupils, contracted to pinpoints, began to tremble violently.
…My stomach.
She looked down at her belly and covered it with both slender hands.
Even now, in this very moment —
she was desperately afraid those two might walk into the infirmary.
Still, she was truly glad.
She did not know why they had spoken as if they had killed the Adjutant.
But those two… were still…
"Uwehk…"
Unable to hold back the nausea, Ian-na spilled a blue liquid across the Adjutant's shoulder.
"I-I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I-I'll… clean it… I-I'll clean it… sorry… I'm sooorry…"
Her face stricken with horror, she tried at once to pull free of his arms —
"It's all right, Director…"
— but the Adjutant only held her tighter.
She felt the warmth of his body.
And Ian-na, without meaning to, thought of those two.
Of the two who had never known warmth like this.
"Th-they'll be… regretting it… their hearts… will hurt… Harsa too, for sure… s-s-so… we have to… forgive them…"
Ian-na believed Harsa must be full of regret. She believed the guilt of having ruined the body of a senior she once respected must be keeping her awake at night, wasting her away.
Even the mere meeting of eyes with Harsa would be enough to make her faint from terror — but she could not simply stay still. She had to face those two with her own eyes.
Like patiently untangling a knotted thread, she had to clear up the misunderstanding between them and prepare for the days ahead.
She did not want to see those two suffering on her account.
Just as she always had until now —
she believed she was the one who had to lead them.
That was Ian-na's duty as a magical girl.
Philanthropy and forgiveness.
Ian-na had carved those two words, which her partner had always stressed, deep into her heart.
…And.
If she truly managed to resolve the misunderstanding with those two —
then perhaps…
once more…
…
"I can't stand those little monkey bastards."
"…That's a bit much."
"They're a repulsive breed, aren't they."
Around that same time, Harsa was whiling away her days in boredom in a private suite fitted with every modern convenience, in the company of two others.
Of course.
She felt not a shred of guilt.
Only boredom and tedium.
Harsa was sprawled upside-down on the sofa, shoving both feet into the face of the Magical Girl of the Scales, when —
Ho-jun's voice came through, reporting that Ian-na had woken —
and the corners of Harsa's mouth curled high.