Somewhere inside a dim room that felt cut off from the world.

The room was wide, yet everything in it was tired; paint yellowed like old parchment and peeled like bark.

In the corner, a double bed lay like a stranded skiff. A middle‑aged woman lay in it, presence thin as morning mist, ready to fade.

Her name was Akano Nadeshiko, once of the Crimson Field clan, a business family famed across Kanto—once, then cast aside.

Six years ago, she staged a grand lie against the entire organization, lit a fuse under rival factions, and in the chaos smuggled her promising son out of Japan. Since then, they kept her here under soft lock and key. No public execution—only a show of “magnanimity” for outsiders.

Nadeshiko looked through the small window at the slope and the forest sinking away below, and at the far city ruins. It was a ruin, yet figures fought and grappled within it—and among them was her daughter.

…Click.

The door pushed inward.

The woman struggled to sit up. She turned back, expecting one face and meeting another.

A girl stood there, sixteen or seventeen by the look of her.

Her red hair rose like a storm‑cloud, almost as big as her body. A black cloak masked her shape; at its edge, you could glimpse a vivid red dress.

“Uh—who… are you?”

Akano Souha—remade from head to toe, keeping only the name—closed the door and dipped her head.

“Your son received your plea.”

She could see her mother’s body was severely weakened, too fragile for shocks. So she took a page from an old friend she had recently found again and, for the first time, wove a lie.

“So… you’re his friend?”

“I’m his friend, the Magical Girl Phoenix. I’m here to help you.”

She said it like iron.

This would do.

Even she, always optimistic, knew her mother had little time left. Confessing who she was now would be too late; it would only breed regret and reluctant yearning. Better to offer comfort as a third party.

“He’s doing well in Huaxia. He’s made many trustworthy friends, and he’s fighting the Sinister Organization with them. He asked me to come because the battle kept him busy.”

“I see…”

The doubt in Nadeshiko’s eyes ebbed, replaced by calm. Then she noticed something off.

“There should be Crimson Field watchers shadowing this house, watching closely…”

“They’re all dealt with.”

“…Eh?”

Was her son’s friend… this strong?

Souha stepped to the bedside and studied the woman who had borne and raised her. Her hair was mottled and dry; wrinkles webbed her face, and it hurt to imagine what years of sickness and captivity had done.

Alone, Nadeshiko had sparked infighting within Crimson Field, stoked rival interests, set tiger against wolf and wove alliances only to break them. Then she detonated every grievance at once, turning a clan that could have joined Japan’s top five into a paper tiger overnight. In the Hidden World, they called her “the witch who wiped out an organization from her sickbed.”

“I will destroy Crimson Field.”

Souha took her mother’s hand, letting warmth flow into it.

“I’ll tear down this clan that acts like a Sinister Organization. Then I’ll take you and Souu out of here—to a place without oppression or exploitation.”

…

“You…”

Nadeshiko looked into eyes like cut garnets.

“I don’t matter. Just take Souu away. Ms. Phoenix.”

Souha shook her head and said nothing.

She slipped off her cloak and laid it over Nadeshiko’s quilt, revealing a gown woven like flame—and a greatsword of searing iron hanging at a slant from her hip.

“Then, I’m off.”

She turned without hesitation and headed for the door. The hem of her ember‑bright dress warmed the dim, cold room, like a single candle in a long night.

“Six years ago, I sent eighteen‑year‑old Souha onto a smuggling boat bound for Huaxia. There was no moon that night. The towers of Crimson Field burned and fell behind us…”

Nadeshiko spoke slowly.

“As the boat pulled away, he shouted to me: ‘I’ll come back a man who doesn’t cry—then, I’m off.’”

“…”

“If he could be happy, he wouldn’t have to be a ‘man’ at all. Don’t you agree, Ms. Phoenix?”

“…”

“Then… I leave everything to you.”

Souha pushed the door open.

A whole squad of fighters was waiting in the courtyard—

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Muzzles lined up in perfect order and leveled at her.

“Just what I wanted.”

—Whoosh!

She raised the greatsword. Heat built until it hummed.

“I’m the Magical Girl Phoenix, back from hell—I’ll burn your sins to ash!”

…

…

Yekase dug out a third snack before the girl in front of them finally calmed down.

Akano Souu stopped crying at last, but she still hung her head and stayed silent. Ivaris guessed she was too embarrassed to speak. She shooed the pressure source—Yekase—downstairs, then sat beside Souu.

How do they save her? Money could douse the flames for now, sure, but there are countless others suffering just as much, or worse, out of sight. Do you rescue someone just because her brother—sister—knows you, and let her ride your rocket?

Yekase’s answer was simple: help as many as they can; go as far as they can.

Then Ivaris would do the same.

“Stick with us until the fight ends. We’ll protect you until the Special Zone unlocks, then get you somewhere safe.”

“…Okay.”

Good. At least she could still take a word in.

“Be glad you’re underage and can’t get a real job. You really had no options. Otherwise, when you pointed that pistol at me, she would’ve taken your head.”

“She…?” Souu blinked.

Oh, right. Yekase’s current cover is “Arco,” a frail European heiress. Ivaris still felt the real reason they both stayed their hands was that a tiny handgun couldn’t do much to either of them.

Power can make you indulge yourself and go cruel; it can also make you restrain yourself and go gentle. Civilization exists because the latter wasn’t a fluke.

“Anyway, we need to end this proxy war first. Otherwise we can’t get out. Your brother Souha already went to handle the family problem. You should be able to meet later.”

“Brother?!”

Souu flared up at once.

“He abandoned us six years ago—he ran off alone—and now he still has the face to come back?!”

“Hey, don’t rush it.”

…This just got messy.

Here’s what Ivaris and Yekase know: six years ago, Akano Souha left Japan for Huaxia. He drifted there as a “wandering ronin” until he met Omega F and joined the second‑generation Beast King Squadron.

At last Christmas’s group transformation—and the Lantern Festival incident after—she chose to shed her male identity and become the Magical Girl Phoenix. I don’t know her orientation, but beneath that sunny, blazing exterior, she hid a past she was ready to leave. That rings true.

Was that past a family she couldn’t save, or a self who abandoned the family?

Ivaris didn’t know.

Depending on the answer, Souha’s image could shift wildly, into someone they don’t know at all.

Yekase would bet on the first option, yet she always keeps a sliver of caution—insurance, so Yekase can hold onto her adorable idealism without getting blindsided.

“Eat a little, yeah? Get some sugar in you. You’re skin and bone. Once you’ve got some strength back, we need to find a place to spend the night.”

“…Thank you.”

“We did promise your brother we’d come for you.”

Ah. Mentioning the brother threw a shade over her again. Easy to read.

But with that wall of hostility, how are they supposed to reunite? Don’t tell me they’ll act like familiar strangers for real…

“You two done? If you’re done, we’re moving.”

Yekase came up from the stairwell.

“I grabbed two fighters outside and asked around. Turns out this Special Zone has its own little economy—war‑zone shops. We should check them out.”

Figures. The field’s too large. No proxy war gets wrapped in a few days. Fighters are loosely organized. They won’t make them haul sacks of rations and water, or force full wilderness survival from the start.

So of course there’s war‑zone logistics—likely run by the Japan branch. Profit on both ends.

Even so, this is set inside city ruins. They call it a ‘shop.’ It’s probably village‑store scale at best. No way it’s bigger—

…

At the “shop” entrance, Yekase learned how wrong she was.

She had underestimated Japan’s relentless devotion to baffling details. That stubborn craftiness could sit beside German precision any day.

In front of the three stood a mall that fused commerce and apartments.

The whole building gleamed, brand‑new and spotless. Glass walls shone like a lake, and a massive silver screen blasted the latest, trendiest arms ads.

Four floors below were food, fun, and supplies—gear shops, armor shops, weapon shops—and a salon to do a lady fighter’s nails.

Three floors above were a budget hotel, ten times the price of those outside. Perks: if you got attacked, you could call the front desk and book post‑battle first aid and wound care—assuming you weren’t killed outright. Attackers who hit the hotel had to pay for all damages at sticker price, so checking in counted as a strong layer of protection.

“You folks in Japan… really know how to do business.”

Yekase breathed out.