Even Yun Shi frowned at the barrier ahead, a glassy lake holding back the night.
It wasn’t hard; for her, cracking it was a tap on winter ice.
A pink fist tapped the outer wall, and a wisp of Mystic Power coiled from her knuckles like storm cloud vapor.
At the strike, the barrier sensed that power and folded like fog, drawing Yun Shi inside.
The air within felt wrong, a chill crawling like frost along her spine.
None of that mattered; finding the caster did. Maybe their target really was Miyuki Kiseki, just a civilian driftwood in a dark current.
But this getup was a mess, a blinding white flag in a moonlit field.
Annoyance rose first, tight as a knot; she eyed her white uniform, snowy and conspicuous.
If Miyuki caught her like this, suspicion would sprout like weeds; if her true face came out, disaster would bloom.
The thought alone soured her stomach, a bitter wind under the ribs.
Resigned, Yun Shi tugged the pendant from her neck, a jewel like a shard of sky, blue crystal blinking like starlight.
It wasn’t jewelry; it was a Witch’s source of power—the Magical Stone.
Her fingers pressed hard, as if to crush dawn; the Stone flared, startled into brilliance by her calling.
Mystic Power flowed from her skin, blue-white breath spiraling like glacier wind, wrapping her in a cocoon of light.
Every time she uses it, it’s like turning into a magical girl, and it grates like sand in the teeth.
The glow thinned. The girl inside was no longer the same; the boy’s uniform vanished like dew.
A sleeveless blue shirt took its place, arms in black fingerless gloves, pale as porcelain under stormlight.
But the worst part was the skirt, a black pleated shape fluttering like crow wings.
Her legs shone bare, white as bone china; black combat boots didn’t hide anything, and panic prickled like nettles.
No returns allowed; a Witch’s battle gear is set, carved in stone, every Witch in skirts by tradition like willow leaves in spring.
It wasn’t true transformation; it was Mystic Power spinning a shell, a stormproof cloak woven to blunt wide-area shocks.
Her clothing swapped because the Witch’s outfit sleeps inside the Magical Stone; this was a quick summon, a shortcut through the wardrobe.
Otherwise she’d never touch a skirt, or she’d add safety shorts like armor under silk.
To soothe the itch of exposed skin, she threw on a black cloak, shadowing her small frame until it loomed like a night hawk.
In the Underworld, Yun Shi never shows her true face; a mask is her moonlit habit.
She slid the black half-mask up to cover her lower face, a crescent of shadow against snow.
A pair of Goggles sat on her head, one-piece lenses, deep green like pond water, more swim-goggles than fashion.
She lowered the Goggles and dimmed her eyes; most of her face vanished like a star behind cloud.
For convenience, she yanked off her hair tie; hair spilled to her shoulder blades like dusk pouring down.
Her Goggles did more than hide; night vision and infrared scanned like owls and heat-seeking hawks.
“Move.”
Her voice chimed, a bell in clear air; she slipped toward the pulse of Mystic Power, cloak flaring behind her like a black sail.
Oh, right—since she swapped outfits, the bandage strip she wore got stored in the Stone, and her cleavage showed like a sudden ravine.
Boom!
Mizuki moved on pure instinct, dodging a blade like a startled fawn leaping through thorns.
Her clothes tore like paper; small cuts laced her pale arms and thighs, pink lines under moon milk.
The attacker didn’t even care; Mizuki was dust to them, a leaf in gutter water.
“So boring. Grab the thing, then leave,” the woman yawned, voice lazy as a cat in sun.
“Fair,” Yanbu said, uncharacteristically calm, agreeing like a stone nodding to rain.
Lackeys raised guns, muzzles sprouting like iron flowers toward a fifteen-year-old girl.
Ratatat—
Guns barked, and bullets swarmed like hornets; Mizuki dove behind cover like a rabbit under brush.
Fear hit first, heavy as hail; her heart thumped drumbeats, wild and ragged.
Most people would freeze like deer in headlights; Mizuki forced calm, a thin thread over a storm.
What now…
The thought pinned her like a specimen; she wanted to hug herself for warmth, a shell against winter, but she didn’t dare.
Hold yourself, and you’re a dead moth on the pane.
“Help…”
Her throat rasped, dry as old reeds, and her plea fell like rain on stone, useless.
No one could save her; the hallway felt empty as a dried river.
She chose motion over despair; in a gunfire lull, she rolled across the floor like a windblown leaf, tumbling into the stairwell.
“After her!”
Gunfire boomed by her ear; Mizuki shut her eyes and ignored stair bruises that burned like hot coals.
Those guns were worse, thunder teeth biting closer.
She clutched her right arm and staggered, escaping that haunted place like a bird wheeling from a net.
She didn’t know how far her legs could carry her; she only knew she needed to run, to shed thought like a snake sheds skin.
She had done nothing; yet the storm found her.
Memory flashed—the alley from days ago, a scene like blood on snow, still bright as yesterday.
The answer clicked like a lock: they were silencing witnesses, sweeping leaves before the gate.
She ran until the world blurred; then the doorway appeared—her classroom, a plaque reading “Year 1, Class A” shining like a brass sun.
Miyuki Kiseki didn’t think; she burst inside and curled under the podium desk like a hedgehog under brush.
“Hah… cough…”
Running and death’s shadow drained her; she didn’t believe this would save her, but a minute hidden was a minute borrowed from the tide.
Her cuts were shallow, but her body thinned to its limit; her face went paper-white, a mask of winter.
“Someone… anyone… save me…”
Trembling shook her like a reed in wind; she whispered wishes that slipped like smoke through fingers.
Miyuki wasn’t strong in the way heroes are; as a normal student, holding a shred of reason was miracle enough.
Footsteps hit the floor outside, sharp as hail on tin; her heart jumped faster, cold sweat bloomed like dew.
“Seriously? We’re hunting a snot-nosed brat?”
“Can it. The kid carries the boss’s target.”
“It’s just a Soul Gem. Big deal.”
“Idiot. That Magical Stone’s rarer than snow in summer, and it’s the crowning craft of the Clan Head and the Magic Institution. With it, toppling the Institution’s throne would be child’s play.”
“That magical?”
She understood little of their words, a fog of jargon; but one truth stood like a road sign—she carried something priceless, and their boss wanted it.
She almost wanted to hand over their so-called treasure, to toss the hot coal and keep her fingers.
But even surrender might not spare her; that thought shut like a door.
How do I get out…
The whole school was seized, a net cast wide; every corridor felt like a hunter’s path.
Mizuki’s mind drifted, lost like a boat with broken oars; alone, she didn’t know which shore to seek.
“Why…”
Why did a school inquiry become a storm, a simple walk turning into lightning?
Maybe she had only been sentimental, courting fate like a moth courts flame.
In the wide school building, a small girl in a black cloak sprinted, shadow flickering like a swallow.
Through her Goggles, infrared washed the hall like warm color; enemies appeared in red islands, but Mizuki’s location stayed clouded.
“Who are you!”
Men with guns surfaced like rocks in surf, blocking the cloaked girl’s path.
Bang!
She didn’t hesitate; her pistol spoke, a single shot threading the brow, a blood arrow painting the air.
The goons barely moved; her follow-up was quicker, and blue-violet lines cut the room like lightning.
Gunfire tangled with blades; blood blossomed like dark flowers, spattering walls and floors with scarlet rain.
“Target still unfound…”
Yun Shi said it coolly and walked past the bodies, calm as a night river.
The classroom thundered; smoke spread like ink in water, and Miyuki slammed to the floor, breath scattering like startled birds.
“Found you, kid~”
The woman’s sultry voice slid like oil; a knife flashed in her hand, her smile a crescent with teeth.
“N-no, don’t come!”
Mizuki screamed, crab-walking back, but the wall closed behind her like a cliff’s edge.
“Die for me!”
The knife dropped like a hawk; Mizuki shut her eyes on reflex, darkness like a lid.
Am I going to die?
I’m sorry, Mai…
I’m sorry, I can’t go home…
Yun-kun…
I’m truly sorry; I won’t see you again…
She braced for Death’s hand; her mind held only those names, like candles in a storm.
“Not on my watch!”
An attack cut in from the side; the woman aborted and leapt, slipping the strike like a fish through reeds.
“Huh?”
Mizuki lifted her head, stunned, and stared at the girl who saved her.
The newcomer wore a strange mage’s robe, a staff in hand, white-purple hair falling to mid-back like winter wisteria, purple top and skirt flowing.
“Sham? Classmate Sham?!”
“Heeey, girl. Wanna make a contract and become a magical girl~”
Sham winked, playful as a fox under moonlight.
