The moment the words flew out, Yekase regretted them like a kite cut loose. Cold remorse drizzled down her spine like rain.

In her head, confessing should’ve happened under a rising dawn after a shared victory, like two silhouettes against first light. Or, if fate wanted pulp, it would be after a hero‑saves‑the‑beauty beat—she’d be the one hauling Ling Yi from the flames like a phoenix.

She never pictured saying it before the assault even started, in a tiny video shop buried like a root dozens of meters underground. They hugged their knees between dusty shelves like two kids hiding from thunder.

There was even a maybe‑overhearing third wheel lurking like a shadow behind a curtain. The truth just slipped out like a fish through a net.

“Nerves make you spill,” Shen Shanshan had said, like a wind chime that never lied. Old friend’s arrow hit the center like a falling star.

“Uh… twenty‑seven… huh?”

Ling Yi hard‑froze on the spot like a screen crash. Her gaze scanned Yekase up and down like a barcode passing a red laser.

Silky black hair fell like a midnight waterfall, a single lively red cowlick sprouting like a flame tip. Her eyes were clear red gems, glowing like twin embers under glass.

A small nose, lips damp like dew on a petal. A snow‑clean sailor uniform, a pale blue tie, and a hem that hinted at a perfect waistline like a crescent shore.

Black stockings sheathed long legs like ink on porcelain—no extra flesh, not sickly thin, just a neat trace of muscle like taut bowstrings.

“…Twenty‑seven? That’s twenty‑seven?” she asked, voice wobbling like a plucked string.

She reached to touch her own belly, but the armor blocked her like a locked gate. Only a hard steel plate answered like winter ice.

“So many secrets—enough yet?” Yekase asked, tossing it out like a pebble into a pond.

“Now there are more!” Ling Yi shot back, ripples breaking into waves like wind on water.

Doctor’s actually twenty‑seven… Accept that, and tangled knots loosen like twine under warm fingers. The six years in a Sinister Organization felt old news, like a scar long healed.

But twenty‑seven looking the same as seventeen—that sat like a snow fox on a summer road.

“Doctor, are you a Longlifer?” The word floated like a cold lantern.

“As far as I know, no,” Yekase said, steady as a rock in a stream.

They stared for almost ten seconds, silence stretching like frost on glass.

“I… I get it,” Ling Yi said, forcing a nod like a leaf against wind.

She absolutely didn’t, and it showed like rain through thin paper.

“Later. It’s about time we hit the admin sector… How many heavy hitters on our side?” Yekase asked, voice tight as a drawn bow.

“Just the three of us,” came the answer, bare as a winter tree.

“…Huh?” Yekase blinked like a lighthouse in fog. “That one—Maya?”

“Ran off with Silver Star,” Ling Yi said, the words skipping like stones.

“Other heroes?”

“They’re up top holding the crowd, like a dam before a flood.”

—Right. That track was true like iron rails.

“…This is bad. Just the three of us against cadres? I met one at the station and almost got pulped like a melon!”

Anxiety pricked Yekase like nettles. She yanked off Lu Yao’s headset. “Can you call anyone—oh, right, you’ve got no friends,” she said, then plopped it back like a hat in a gust.

“Are you insane?” Lu Yao asked politely, voice cool as shade.

No time to argue under a storming sky. Yekase pulled out her phone and scrolled her contacts like flipping prayer slips.

Mikara Aira. She hovered, then flicked past like a bird skimming a pond. …Next!

Xiaoyuan, Sandryon—neither looked likely to wade into this mud, like cats avoiding rain. Xiaoyuan had a lab contract; not close enough to bother, like neighbors who only nod.

Ling Ya and Fang Tang… Fang Tang was apparently hacking to support the heroes upstairs, like a spider stringing lines—who knew. Ling Ya’s damage was too low; bringing her would be a paper fan in a gale.

Bad. Bad, bad, bad—like thunder stacking on the horizon.

Should’ve made moves at the symposium, at least swapped faces with Aurora and Chubu Risa—the ones who felt decent, like warm stones by a stream.

“Can’t we just pop a Gundam?” Ling Yi asked, as if it were apples on a tree.

“In this terrain? Seriously?” Yekase cut the idea like a knife. “Even if the containers don’t crush you, you’ll be a sitting duck in a dry lake. But maybe… we’ve got no better cards.”

Maybe the admin sector was oddly spacious, like a valley past a tight gorge. But that’s after the breach, not before, like rain after thunder.

“No choice. Time doesn’t wait, like a river in flood. If we can’t push through, we’ll pivot mid‑fight.”

For the first time, Yekase felt out of tricks, like a juggler with empty hands—not because she had no ideas, but because the mountain in front was raw power.

Deep in the base sat an Infinite Power catalyst, like a furnace stoking everything it touched. Simple, blunt, indiscriminate—friend and foe both buffed, an open‑air gambit compared to Emerald Pool’s usual shadow play.

But if you can’t beat it, you can’t beat it, like fists against iron.

If there were three or more fighters inside at the black‑coat tier, they’d have to force a mech summon, like calling thunder to split the hill.

You only hate your lack of strength when the blade meets bone, like a drought cursing the sky.

Lu Yao quietly set her headset, checked her gear like a soldier tying boots, then looked at Yekase and waited, eyes steady as lantern light.

A strange feeling rose in Yekase like spring sap. Relax before a battle, talk tactics, encourage each other, walk shoulder to shoulder into the fire—how long had it been since they’d done that under the same moon?

“Then PeaceWarrior takes Part 4 and opens the road,” Yekase said, voice firm as a drum. “Flashblade Red and I flank and add fire. We breach the admin gate, map the inside, then decide footfight or mechs. OK?”

Ling Yi nodded like a swaying reed. “Got it.”

Both turned to Lu Yao, waiting like birds on a wire.

“Pretty casual plan,” Lu Yao said, dry as a winter leaf.

“Uh, haha, that’s all we’ve got,” Yekase said, scratching at air like a cat.

“…You memorized the Peace Walker part numbers,” Lu Yao added, eyes like level steel.

“You at least do that homework if you’re the one who invited folks,” Yekase said, waving it off like smoke.

She drew the Polaris Staff and checked it—no issues, clean as a star. She’d switched it to Comet Mode, names paired to both Default and Passion like twin banners.

“Alright then,” she said, words falling into place like stones in a path.

Yekase, callsign Icarus. Abilities: Flash Energy manipulation, gadgets, and magic, like sparks, tools, and runes in one forge.

Ling Yi, callsign Flashblade Red. Abilities: Blade Armor and Mind Energy reinforcement, like steel over muscle and fire over breath.

Lu Yao, callsign PeaceWarrior. Abilities: Peace Walker and Arsenal, like a walking fortress under a calm sky.

They stepped out of the video shop together like three arrows leaving one bow. “—Move out!”

Lu Yao began the summon right on the street, voice a bell under clouds. “Partial deployment, Unit Four.”

“Peace Walker—Part 4!”

A silver light screen swept open like a curtain at dawn. Onlookers scattered like sparrows. A four‑legged behemoth strode from the glow, barely clearing the containers like a bull in a narrow alley, then knelt in the center like a crouching beast.

Yekase felt it should be venting steam to fit the romance, like a kettle singing. Sadly, Omega Ray ran too hot and clean; waste heat couldn’t feed her daydream smoke.

Lu Yao vaulted aboard with a motion like a cat. “Keep up,” she said, then yanked the lever and leaped onto the container roofs, clank‑clank accelerating toward admin like rain on tin.

Ling Yi bounced twice, lit her thrusters like twin comets, and followed in a bright streak.

Yekase popped the Polaris Staff to Comet Mode, swung a leg over like mounting a bike, and was about to lift off when she noticed the residents watching like a field of sunflowers. She raised a hand and waved by instinct, like a flag in a breeze.

The crowd buzzed like cicadas. “That’s the Magical Girl?” “She smiled at me…” “No, at me!” “So young and already a hero…”

An old granny stepped from a nearby shop like a willow bending to water. She took Yekase’s hand, fingers like twigs but warm.

Yekase thought the granny might kneel and hurried to hold her up like catching a falling lamp. The granny grinned, only a few teeth like pearls in sand, but her smile was sunlight.

“Thank you, little miss!”

“Uh, don’t mention it… But if Emerald Pool shuts down, your livelihood…” Yekase asked, worry pooling like ink.

“We’ll find a way,” the granny said, eyes curling like twin moons. “I’ve farmed, labored on sites, smelted steel. As long as I walk back to the surface, what hardship can’t I swallow?”

“She’s right! Go all out!” “String those bastards up!” “No—Magical Girls don’t string people up… that’s a bit…”

Yekase nodded solemnly, sharing a look with the granny for a few heartbeats like two stones touching in a stream. She glanced toward Ling Yi and Lu Yao, already dozens of meters ahead like swallows.

“…We’re going,” she said, voice steady as a line.

“Go on, go on!” the crowd urged, hands rising like waves.

People surged around her. Some patted her shoulder like drumbeats. Some reached to shake her hand and brushed her arm like wind through wheat. Some ruffled her hair like a blessing.

Urgency flooded Yekase like tide through a narrow gate. She felt a cord tie her to these battered people; their pain became hers like shared winter. Yet their faces and words handed her a simple courage, warm as soup.

“Celestial Speech—Flight,” she incanted, the words like flint and spark.

She arrowed toward the admin gate, catching up to her two companions like a third bird finding formation.

One wore a mech like a second skin, one drove a mech like a rider on a steel elk, and one rode a power pole like a witch’s broom—together, they looked surprisingly whole, a strange harmony like three notes in one chord.

Ling Yi glanced over, curious as a fox. “Doctor, why’re you smiling?”

“…Oh, nothing,” Yekase said, the smile slipping like sun through cloud.

“You never tell me,” Ling Yi muttered, a puff like steam.

“I’m just glad we’re not fighting alone,” Yekase said, warmth blooming like spring.

Below, the spider tank stumbled, a hiccup like a skipped heartbeat; the left foreleg almost wedged in a crack like a trapped hoof.

“Someone’s shy,” Ling Yi sang, teasing as a breeze. “I won’t say who.”

Lu Yao ignored it and fired a string of missiles at the admin gate, streaks cutting the air like meteors.

Anti‑missile turrets on both sides woke and spat interceptors like hornets, swatting the first wave midair. Before the second wave could load, two sakura‑pink lasers flashed forth—light reached first like lightning, slicing across the muzzles before the Iron Curtain could plot the arcs, burning them out clean.

“Solving coordinates is tiring,” Yekase called, cool water on hot stone. “Don’t expect it constant.”

After the “catalyst” guess, the pink beams made sense like paint mixing on a palette. Red Flash Energy and silver Omega Ray, once interlaced, now fully fused, blended to one color like strokes turned to one hue.

The composite Infinite Power carried traits from both parents like a child’s eyes and mouth. Yekase wanted to study it, curiosity flickering like a moth, but the moment allowed no lab bench.

The second barrage struck the iron gate dead center like a hammer. The towering steel edifice curled and split under flame and blast, shrieking like nails on stone.

—Open.

The door that walled off upper management from the families of ordinary staff yawned wide before the three of them, a black mouth into the beast.