They stepped out of the Transformations Club’s exit. The street shimmered with borrowed faces, like masks dancing under lantern light. A few had gone full nonhuman, like Yekase, scales and steel under neon.

The wildest sight was a tentacle horror, a sea-witch’s daydream crawling in the crowd. Better steer clear, like a skiff dodging reefs.

“That’s a Gundam…? Loves it so much they became it. A true gunpla guy, plastic glue for blood.”

“Beside him is a Magical Girl?”

“Guy becomes Gundam, girl becomes Magical Girl?”

“Or maybe it’s reversed, like a mirror with its moon flipped.”

“The detail fidelity is full marks. You can see the love, bright as festival lanterns.”

“Bet the person inside’s a mecha designer, bolts for breakfast.”

Sorry. We heard every word, clear as wind through reeds.

The street’s transformation veterans formed a circle, a ring of reeds whispering. They critiqued the newcomers under a lantern glow and gave Yekase and Ling Yi matching high marks, praise like paper kites rising.

“Where next?” Ling Yi’s voice was a curious sparrow.

“It’s only eight. Let’s keep wandering, like waves along the shore.”

“Liar. When we set out, it wasn’t eight. You’re a sundial in the rain.”

Ling Yi reached to pat Yekase’s shoulder. Her height had shrunk, childish as a sapling. Her palm landed on a metal butt with a hollow clink, like tapping a drum.

“Flirting…” “They’re flirting…” The whispers rustled like bamboo leaves.

We heard that too!

Ling Yi missed the street’s buzz, fog in her eyes. Yekase tugged her along, steady as a kite string. They slipped from the alley onto a wide pedestrian street, lights laying golden fish-scales on the pavement. Yekase spotted a milk tea shop and drifted over like a moth to a sweet flame. She grabbed a Passionfruit Double Boom. Ling Yi studied the sign, eyes ticking like a clock, then ordered the same.

Pop! The straw punched the plastic seal, crisp as a seed pod cracking.

Yekase leaned in. The straw tapped her iron faceplate, a woodpecker on steel, and she froze. Horror tapped back—Gundams don’t have mouths. If it were Getter, maybe that flower-like vent in the middle…

“I can feel the sorrow of androids, like rain on tin.”

“I can drink for you,” Ling Yi offered, bright as a candle.

“No. I’m going to drink this. Even if I wait till midnight, like a tide stubborn to turn.”

Hold up. No mouth, yet words? A loudspeaker hiding in a helmet? This magic isn’t illusion. It changes flesh and shell, deep as roots. Even that? Magic’s a river that carves stone.

“Celestial Speech…” Her voice went thin as smoke.

Nothing happened. Silence, like snow falling in a closed room.

Huh?

She felt the jolt—because she was a robot now, her core magic was sealed, a lock frost-bitten shut.

Yet her hearing caught every whisper, sharp as frost. Her vision was already razor bright, hawk-clear; hard to tell if it got better, but the world looked etched.

Forget it. Midnight will lift it, like clouds leaving the moon.

If a Gundam’s face could move, Yekase’s expression would be a sly “not bad,” a fox smiling under starlight.

They kept drifting down the street. In that Gundam skin, fatigue fell away, like sand from a shaken cloth. Her activity time stretched long and steady, longer than her usual bursts, as if her human body needed a charging cable trailing like a snake.

“Hey, Gundam!” a passer called, voice bright as a sparkler.

“Don’t greet every antenna-and-two-eyes like—oh. I really am Gundam.” Yekase’s tone clicked dry, like flint.

“The mustache auto one-shots the classic!” he crowed, thunder laughing over hills.

“You’re not wrong,” she said, steady as stone.

He pivoted and fell in step with them, shadow glued like a leaf to water. Don’t you have your own flock?

“Let me watch a bit more, okay? I’ll just stay beside you two. I won’t disturb, silent as a cat.”

“Suit yourself…” Her words drifted like mist.

“You’re already disturbing us!” Ling Yi bristled, feathers up like a tiny falcon.

“Don’t mind me. Don’t mind me.” The passer waved her off, hand loose as a reed. “Gundam said yes. You, moe pig two-dimensional, hush.”

“Inside that suit it’s definitely a fat otaku, right?” His grin was a crooked moon.

“You—!!” Ling Yi stamped, sparks in her eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Yekase said, arm around her shoulders, a shield and a sash. “You can watch. But don’t call my friend a fat otaku.”

“Sorry.” He bowed deep, like a field of wheat bowing to wind. His face flipped fast, summer storm to clear sky.

“As apology, I’ll treat this… Magical Girl sir? To a cream puff.” He lifted a hand, olive branch and pastry.

“Magical Girl sir, what even is that?” Ling Yi squinted, a cat at a fishbowl.

He scratched his head, straw rustling like dry grass. “Oh, got it. You’re one who wants to become a girl… Sorry, miss.”

“I already am a girl!” She stomped again, heel hard as a little horseshoe.

Her boot’s rigid back slammed his foot. “Ow!” He grabbed his toes and spun, a cartoon whirlwind. Ling Yi laughed, anger melting like sugar in tea.

“I’m Zhang Wendao,” he said, name unfolding like a scroll.

Yekase finally took him in. Features decent but crowd-fade plain, a pebble in a riverbed. A battered straw hat perched wrong, a scarecrow’s crown. Black T-shirt stamped with the big characters “Applause,” like a banner at a roadside stage. Classic big shorts and plastic flip-flops, beach-casual as driftwood.

“Such an elegant name. Doesn’t fit you at all,” she said, edge clean as a blade.

“I get that a lot,” he answered, shrug soft as smoke.

Two walkers became three, a triangle of shadows. Zhang kept three steps back and to the side, loyal as a trailing kite.

“In a bit, there’ll be fireworks at the strand. You going?” His voice carried salt wind.

“Fireworks? Sure. Let’s find high ground, like a hill over a river—”

Boom! Color flared behind them, five hues cracking open like peonies.

The show began. Stars shot from between buildings at the shore, spears of fire rising. In the black sky they bloomed white or gold, chrysanthemums of light, then dimmed like embers winking out. This prelude repeated thrice, never dull, a drum rolling forward. Then a massive red sphere rocketed up, spun, and burst. It reignited the spent sparks, ember to bonfire, and the night turned noon-bright.

“Ah…” Ling Yi stood spellbound, a swallow under lantern rain.

Yekase’s mind sparked too. That revival mechanism was clever, ember kissing tinder. Maybe she could tweak Blazing Rekindle, add a surprise second stage, thunder after rain.

“…Huh?” In the riot of color, two discordant green points snagged her sight, thorns in silk. Then she felt it—some of those lights weren’t fireworks. They were missiles, exploding flowers with iron stems.

In human skin, even hawk eyes might miss it. In a Gundam shell, her sight locked true, a scope on a star.

Above—something else hunted.

You watch fireworks from below. Tonight, the sky watched back.

Yekase leaned close, voice a thread in Ling Yi’s ear. “Something’s off. Prep Sky Striker.”

“Huh? Sky Striker? Here? Why?” Ling Yi jolted, eyes wider, like a baby rabbit startled.

…No. Probably the baby-face illusion talking.

“There’s something above the fireworks. Looks like a fight. If it spills here, the shore’s a tinderbox.”

“There’s a fight? I’ll—” Ling Yi reached for her Flashblade Key, hand diving like a kingfisher— and came up empty.

Her water-blue dress had no pockets, smooth as a lake.

“…Where’s my key? Did magic erase it?” Her voice cracked, a twig underfoot.

“Huh??” Yekase patted herself down, metal fingers tapping plates. Even her teleport wristband was gone, ghosted like dew.

“Oh, come on—” The complaint rose like steam.

Boom!! The blast rolled over the ground, a thunderhead breaking.

Direct hit.

The two in the sky had just tipped the balance, scales crashing.

One green star started flickering wild, a moth in flame. In the bouquet of fireworks, it fell toward the sea, a comet drowning. The other green light didn’t let go; it spat a white fire-tail, a hawk diving after prey.

Closer… close enough to enter the festival’s wide-open eyes.

But Ling Yi couldn’t turn into Flashblade Red now. Yekase, in this crowd, was a statue on a square. Were they going to just watch those things sweep the beach, wreck the fair like a storm through tents?

“You saw that, right?” A voice rose over her shoulder, calm as an oar stroke.

Yekase turned. The joking youth watched the same bruise in the sky. She understood, a bell struck. “Zhang Wendao? You…”

“You’re a Gundam, yeah? Human-sized, sure. Fight with me?” His smile steadied, a lantern lit for purpose.

“I’m not. I just got turned into this,” she said, truth flat as slate.

“Belief is the frame of your spirit,” he said, words like a banner catching wind.

“Believe my—” She bit the curse, mind flashing like lightning.

Wait. Her sight and hearing were machine-precise, hawk and hound. So as a “Gundam”—

“I go to that club a lot,” he added, like telling a river its source.

“You know that fortune-teller…?” Her voice dropped, a reed bending.

“As a customer, that’s all. I’m weak,” he said, no shame, like rain naming itself. “Every time I want to stop something, I ask her to make me into someone who can fight.”

“—!” The spark landed on dry grass.

As expected. If someone’s strong, they might be muscle for a group; if someone’s strong and keeps smoke-low, they might be a hero’s true face.

“…I’ll follow after.” The words settled, a stone in a stream.

Zhang nodded and slipped into the flow toward the beach, his straw hat bobbing like a buoy in a tide of heads. He moved fast, a fish cutting wake, as quick as Yekase, maybe quicker.

Crowd-fighting was his river; he swam it like an eel.

“Ling Yi, Sky Striker’s down for now. Pull back,” Yekase said, voice steady as a keel. “When the spell lifts at midnight, if the fight’s still burning, come support us.”

“…Okay.” Ling Yi’s answer was soft, a moth brushing silk.

Yekase closed her eyes and listened to the unfamiliar body, like a smith tapping metal. Can a Gundam without a pilot still be called a Gundam? This felt more like Gridman, a spirit in steel. She mapped every joint and plate, every cable like veins, the whole form clicking into a star chart.

“Let’s go.” The word rang, a bell.

Yekase rose into the air, a steel crane lifting. Zhang Wendao had reached the beach, that empty corner where they’d landed before, wind raw with salt. He pulled something from his shorts and clipped it to his waist, a belt catching a badge. Yekase dropped beside him, and her landing punched a crater into the sand, a footprint for giants.

“Are you a hero?” she asked, blade-straight.

“I think I am,” he said, simple as a sunrise.

Zhang drew a square device from the other pocket, a tile of fate, and slotted it into the belt. The machine chimed a prelude, like music pulling breath.

“To meet with flame—” His activation line unfurled, a banner in firelight. Sounded like another red, fire-type toy… why “another,” the thought flickered.

He pressed it.

Red— correction. A whirl of sky-blue and white rose like a cyclone and swallowed him whole, foam and cloud weaving armor.

“—let’s burn every grudge to ash!” His shout cracked the air, a spark becoming a blaze.