(2025 Edit) Technomancer: A Magical Girl's Sidekick [Post-Apocalyptic][Mecha][Magical Girls]

The truck jolted over rubble hard enough to rattle teeth.

The noise, the sway, the sense of being carried by something bigger than you... it reminded me a lot of Dad's cargo truck. Only difference was back home roads were cracked from neglect. Here, the roads were freshly split open by monsters.

I pressed my hand against the bench rail, grounding myself. Clementine wasn't here anymore.

She was safer in the shelter, behind real walls and magical shields instead of steel plating. I knew it was the right call, but my chest still felt hollow. Kids shouldn't have to cling to strangers for survival.

Izumi instantly flashed in my mind. Twelve years old, still sharp enough to bark at me when I overdid things, still soft enough to need carrying when nights got too long and she passed out from overexertion.

Clementine wasn't her, but instincts don't care about logic. Once you've been a big brother, that part of you never really leaves you.

The truck hit another pothole, tossing a man against the side rail. He grunted but stayed quiet.

Most people here had the same look. Shocked, clinging to the hope that the soldiers knew what they were doing. Angled next to me by the tarp in the back, Midori sat with her hands folded over her lap, looking like she belonged anywhere but here.

Black hair falling loose, sword wrapped in cloth against her side. She carried herself straighter than the rest, eyes scanning the slit of window tarp like she expected more trouble any second. Radiant Rhiannon had completely annihilated the swarm of chaos beasts that'd fallen on us and allowed the convoy to make a break for it, but we couldn't be too careful.

Her eyes flicked over, steady. "You're quiet."

I shrugged. "So are you."

"Not the same thing," she said tensely.

I tilted my head, studying her. "No? Then what's my version?"

"The kind where you've already started mapping out what happens if the convoy gets hit again," she said, tone matter-of-fact.

I blinked, caught off guard. People didn't usually call me out like that.

Not unless they'd been watching me too closely.

And I hadn't thought Midori was the type. But she'd surprised me time and again today.

Midori's eyes didn't leave mine. Steady. Measuring. Like she wasn't guessing. Like she knew.

"I didn't think it showed," I said finally, keeping my voice flat.

"It does," she answered. No hesitation. Not judgment. Not admiration, either. Just fact. Uncharacteristically serious.

I leaned back against the rail, letting my fingers drum once, twice. She tilted her head the tiniest fraction, like she was studying me under glass. "You don't even notice you're doing it most of the time, do you?"

I didn't answer right away. Because maybe she was right.

Running numbers without meaning to. Measuring effective distances, observing angles of escape.

Dad was an aspiring mechanical engineer forced to become a mechanic in the world I grew up in, but he'd taught me and Izumi the same thing over and over: if something breaks, you don't panic. You take stock. You figure out what works, what doesn't, and you keep moving.

Guess the mindset stayed with me more than I cared to admit.

I huffed a small laugh through my nose. "It's not exactly something I consciously think about. They're just… habits."

Midori's mouth curved just barely. Not a smile, not exactly. More like she was acknowledging the answer. "Habits keep people alive," she said simply.

"Sometimes," I admitted. My ribs protested when I shifted, and I tried not to let it show. "Other times they just make you look stupid. Especially if you forget which ones are the new ones. Or why you even picked them up in the first place."

Midori's eyebrow ticked up as she brushed a hand on my side. "Bruised ribs?"

"At least three. And my wrist is probably strained or sprained, maybe. You?"

She tapped her bandaged forearm, then brushed a strand of hair back. "Scrapes. Bruising. Nothing serious."

I snorted. "You don't look like 'nothing serious.' I mean I saw you try to stand on that leg."

Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, but then she huffed — almost a laugh. "I can probably handle this a tad better than you."

That actually got a grin out of me. "Yeah, well. I don't set the bar very high."

A little boy across from us glanced over at that, their expression loosening just a little.

I caught it and leaned into the act. "Don't worry," I said, loud enough for the people near us to hear, "convoys don't get hit twice in a row. Statistically speaking, we're safer now than we were ten minutes ago."

It slipped out before I even thought about it. I wasn't trying to convince anyone — just fill the air with something that didn't sound like panic.

A couple of people blinked, then chuckled nervously. A young woman sitting next to the kid shook her head. Probably his mom or an aunt or something. "Is that how statistics work, you think?"

"Absolutely," I said, straight-faced. "Ask any gambler. You hit the bad hand already, so odds are the next draw's good."

I scratched at the back of my neck, chuckling. "Honestly though? Not even close. But hey, it sounds better than 'hang on tight and hope,' right?"

A few people actually laughed at that. Tension eased just a fraction. Shoulders uncoiled, breaths came easier.

Across from me, Midori's eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade. Not because she thought I was lying, but because she could see exactly what I was doing.

"You don't actually believe that," she said smirking under her breath.

"Of course not," I murmured back, smiling. "But they don't need me to be right. They just need me to be convincing."

That was the thing about fear. It didn't need you to prove the math. Just give it an out.

Her gaze lingered a moment longer, unreadable, before she looked back to the window slit.

The truck bounced again, groans of metal under strain. A man muttered a prayer in the corner. Midori's hand brushed the cloth-wrapped hilt beside her, casual as breathing, then stilled. Her eyes flicked back to me.

"Don't ever stop with that," she said, a subtle smile creeping across her face. "It's a good habit."

I let the silence sit, engine growling steady under us, until it was just the sway of the truck and the rattling of bolts holding us together.

But my head wasn't still. It couldn't be.

Sonata had been my frame of reference for a powerful Magical Girl. The youngest SS-Rank in the world, the fifth to ever reach that tier, and every inch of it earned. Watching her fight had been like watching a natural disaster you were somehow supposed to root for. All blinding light, blood-pumping music, and willpower wrapped in one tiny, furious package. She made impossible things look survivable.

Beatable. I'd seen her tear through packs of chaos beasts and powerful mages so fast it barely felt fair. An orchestra of light and force that made "impossible" look like practice drills.

She didn't just fight. She performed. And she won. Every time I saw her.

And then Rhiannon had arrived to save us today.

I thought I knew what overwhelming strength looked like.

Then she arrived and made even Sonata's brilliance feel… human. Finite. The swarm wasn't fought, it was erased, like she'd written a command across the world itself and the world obeyed. And when the Juggernaut showed its face that walking mountain that nearly crushed Midori and me flat. She didn't burn it down with some reality-bending trick. She picked it apart. Clean. Effortless.

"Celestial Sonata's strong," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. "But that… that wasn't strength back there. That was inevitability."

Midori's eyes flicked toward me. "Talking about Rhiannon?"

"Yeah…"

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

'Claiomh Solais.'

I could still see it — the lines of silver light cutting clean through the Juggernaut's chest. Not a trick. Not an explosion. Just a blade swung with such certainty that the thing's body didn't have time to realize it was dead before it came apart.

Sonata had been the first S-Rank or SS-Rank I'd ever seen in action.

She fought like a conductor at the center of a battlefield, every strike another beat, every kill another note. Chaos beasts didn't stand a chance. Packs that would've taken small armies to wear down fell apart in seconds under her rhythm.

But a Juggernaut wasn't fodder.

Up close, it hadn't even looked like a monster. Not in the same way. More like a person if someone had stripped away all the limits, all the safeguards.

Oversized, warped muscle stacked on itself until it could rip cars in half with one arm. There was no armor to pierce, no shell to crack. Just brute force, human rage twisted into something inhuman. When it charged us, I felt every bone in my body screaming that we weren't meant to stand in front of that.

And then Rhiannon had stepped in.

She didn't make a grand speech. Didn't need to. One moment the Juggernaut was swinging, the next it was frozen in place.

The Juggernaut locked mid-swing, every muscle trembling, like the command had wrapped chains around its very bones.

But it was clear whatever power she'd used to stop it and every chaos beast around us had its limits. Or she wouldn't have specified that only monsters below a certain rank would turn to ash.

It cracked the bindings she set on it like glass. Muscles bulged, veins blue and black with corruption splitting open, and the sound of rending pavement filled the street as it forced one massive step forward.

And Rhiannon didn't flinch.

She didn't pour out more reality-bending proclamations, didn't stack another miracle on top. She just moved in front of it.

Feet steady, grip loose but perfect on her swung. When the Juggernaut swung again, she met it. Not by dodging, not by hiding behind her aura to parry her attack, but by angling her weapon into the crook of its elbow with a sidestep and counterstroke. A twist, a strike, a silver arc, and suddenly its right arm wasn't there anymore.

I'd thought Sonata was the pinnacle. She moved faster than sound, hit harder than a cruise missile, and wrapped it all up in a show that made you believe the world could be saved. But watching Rhiannon was different.

She wasn't just faster or stronger. And she seemed plenty that. She was exact. Every step measured, every strike planned, like she'd already fought this battle a thousand times and knew where every blow would land before the monster even thought of it.

The Juggernaut roared, throwing its other arm in a wild hook. She slid under it, driving the sword's haft into its hip — not deep enough to kill, but precise enough that its balance broke. Another flash of silver, and it lost a leg.

She didn't stop there, either. Every counter, every pivot, every thrust was perfect. A tendon severed here, a joint collapsed there. She wasn't just killing it. She was dismantling it.

It hit me then — Sonata could make you believe you and the people around you could fight. Rhiannon didn't bother. She showed everyone there was never a fight to begin with.

'Claiomh Solais.'

Claiomh Solais. The words barely left her lips before the light carved through its chest eight times. Not flashy. Not drawn-out. Just a blur and one final swing that my eyes could see, too sharp to argue with, and the giant fell, vivisected with a dozen smoldering white lines running through it.

The whole fight lasted maybe a minute, probably less. But by the end, that thing that had looked unstoppable was just another corpse shaking the pavement.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Even remembering it now made my chest tighten.

"Celestial Sonata's strong," I said quietly, more to myself than to Midori. "But Rhiannon is something else entirely…" My voice trailed off. There wasn't a word that fit. Not strength. Not power. Something else.

Midori's gaze flicked toward me, thoughtful. "And that scares you?"

I shook my head, lips quirking despite the ache in my ribs. "No. It scares me that I want to believe she'll always be there. Like some cheat code you can count on when things look hopeless."

My hand clenched reflexively, remembering the hot and clammy grip of long, slender fingers against mine.

The city burning around me as I was too young to grasp what was happening. Smoke thick enough to choke on, sirens that didn't mean anything yet. A warm, firm hand pulling me forward and then nothing. Just noise and fire and an emptiness that never really left.

I blinked the memory away before it could settle. No use chasing ghosts.

Midori was still looking at me, her face calm but not unreadable. There was something in her eyes. Not pity, not quite curiosity either. Like she was trying to line up two images in her head and couldn't make them match.

"You're right about one thing," she said after a moment. "Legends don't always show up. Not when you want them to at least."

It came out soft, but it landed.

There was weight in the way she said it. Not cold, not dismissive. Just… certain. Like she'd carried that truth longer than I'd been alive.

I leaned back, ribs protesting. "Guess that's the catch. Doesn't matter how strong someone is. Sooner or later, they're not there. And it's just you and whatever's in front of you."

Her eyes flicked to me at that. Studying. Almost too long. I scratched my cheek, suddenly self-conscious under the stare.

"…What?" I asked.

Midori's mouth pressed into a line. For a moment I thought she'd say something else, something heavier, but instead she just shook her head. "You know, you sound older than you look sometimes."

I grinned, lopsided. "Don't tell the folks back home. They already think I don't listen. I mean, Izumi even ribs me about being an old man sometimes."

Her gaze lingered another heartbeat, then she laughed, putting on a smile that I associated more with Midori. When it wasn't a life and death situation.

"There. That's much better. Moping doesn't suit you."

I gave a lopsided grin, but it didn't quite stick. My thoughts kept circling back. Lights, sound, motion. All of it woven together.

"…I wonder if Sonata's okay," I said quietly.

Midori's head tilted, the dark fall of her hair shifting with it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I shifted against the rail, ribs biting with every move. "She kinda makes you believe. I mean, she's freakishly strong and all, but she makes me think that even if we're overmatched, you can still take another step. She's just really inspiring no matter how I look at it."

For a moment Midori said nothing. Just watched me like she was trying to take apart what I meant and why I meant it. Then she breathed out through her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "You've really got a habit of putting people on pedestals."

I scratched at the back of my neck, heat creeping there. "Maybe. But it's hard not to, when you've seen what she can do." I glanced down at my hands, flexing my injured wrist. "I'm not from here and we don't exactly have a lot of magic on the other side of the portal, if you catch my drift? Watching these girls in action is..."

I shook my head, wincing as pain knifed through my ribs. "It's like seeing physics take a vacation."

Midori let out a soft hum, folding her hands a little tighter in her lap. "Or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe they're the only ones who remember the original rules."

That earned a half-smile out of me. "Yeah, but if that's true, the rest of us are playing in a pretty stacked game."

"Mm." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was amused and thoughtful all at once. "Doesn't stop you from trying, though. Doesn't stop anyone on this truck."

I didn't know how to answer that, so I stared at the floorboards for a moment, feeling the rumble of the engine through the soles of my boots. What I wanted to say was: I'm not Celestial Sonata. I don't get to fight like that. I just patch things together and bluff, hoping something sticks.

But the words jammed up somewhere between my chest and throat.

Instead, I muttered, "I just hope she made it through. Celestial Sonata, I mean."

Midori's gaze flicked toward me again, sharper this time, then softened. "She's strong."

"Yeah. But strong doesn't mean untouchable. I didn't even see how that fight ended. One second we were hauling ourselves into this truck, next thing I knew, the convoy was moving and…" I trailed off, shaking my head. "Feels wrong, not knowing. About her. Or Clementine."

The silence stretched, only broken by the creak of the suspension and the muffled clatter of the escorting jeeps and mechs outside. Finally, Midori leaned her shoulder against the wall, casual in a way that told me it wasn't casual at all.

"You'll see them again," she said. "Both of them."

It wasn't the kind of empty comfort people toss out when they don't believe it themselves. She sounded like someone who wanted me to believe it, even if she wasn't sure.

I glanced up at her, frowning faintly. "You don't know that."

Her lips curved into something halfway between a smirk and a smile. "Neither do you. But if you're going to sell everyone on statistics, you might as well buy into your own pitch once in a while."

That got a short laugh out of me, though it scraped rough in my throat. "Touche."

The truck slowed a little then, engine grinding down as the convoy took a corner. Through the tarp, dim lights flickered - glowing wards and lamp posts. A shelter. Finally.

I exhaled, relief edged with nerves.

The truck lurched to a final stop in the queue. Floodlights painted everything a sick white. Guards waved us forward, two trucks at a time.

We filed off the truck in pairs. A mech pivoted at the gate; a soldier scanned wrists; the ward lamps hummed like tired bees. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad to finally find safety. Two Magical Girls I didn't recognize sat on top of one of the trucks. One wearing aquamarine blue with water motifs, the other wearing flaming red. They looked like twins wearing dresses with identical designs.

They watched the line file past like lifeguards at a crowded pool - blue kicking her heels against the metal roof, red with her chin propped on her palms.

"Behind the painted lines, please!" a sergeant barked, and the line moved again.

A guard caught my wrist, pressed it to a slate. The slate chirped. A sigil with three rings bloomed against my skin in faint purple, like a stamp from an all‑ages concert. Midori's came out clean and steady; mine fuzzed at the edges until I flexed my fingers and it settled.

"Next," the guard said.

We shuffled forward. Someone's kid fussed and was shushed. Far overhead, the ward lattice flickered once and went right back to its dull glow.

I sighed, glancing at a shallow puddle gutter by the gate. It had the whole scene pinned in it: boots, metal joints, the swing of the red twin's foot. My own shoulder as I stepped.

I stopped and stared as the line moved ahead of me.

At the very rim of the water, where the reflection started to break, I noticed a thin sleeve of orange cloth hung behind me like a bookmark between pages.

"You okay there?" Midori asked, frowning at me as she passed me by.

As quickly as it appeared, it broke apart into ripples and was gone, revealing the light shining from a street lamp above.

"Yeah." I rubbed my thumb across the stamp on my wrist. The glowing ink didn't smear. "Just… tired."

She made a sound that I took to mean 'same' and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Ahead, a bored private with a clipboard pointed us toward intake.

The corridor mouth was narrow - half‑open maintenance door on one side, a rack of spare coils on the other. We slipped through in single file. The door mirror had been polished almost scarily neatly for the situation. I glanced at it reflexively as we passed.

"Next," the man in front called.

I passed the mirror without meaning to linger, but my gaze snagged as I caught.

My eyes flicked back to the mirror, and then the hallway, and the mirror again.

"Ikki?" Midori paused at the door, noticing I'd stopped again.

My reflection stood where it should, but something faint smudged the edge of its shoulder, like a second outline trying to catch hold. For a brief moment, I saw a blooming blob of darkness in the reflection before the shape was gone, and all that was left was the normal reflection.

I blinked hard.

My reflection stared back at me, ordinary, shoulders squared just like mine.

The fuzziness was gone.

I must've imagined it.

But when I turned to move away, I caught a sliver of movement again. A shadowy tendril slipping just out of frame, like a tentacle in murky water.

I spun around so fast my ribs flared white-hot. Nothing. Only the corridor: concrete walls, a faint leak of fluorescent light, coils stacked like bones. The air smelled of dust and disinfectant.

I looked back at the mirror.

My own reflection stared back, ordinary. Still.

Too still.

I swallowed, dragging my gaze away. The corridor swallowed us in its fluorescent hum, footsteps echoing close.

Midori's shoulder brushed mine as she passed through the door.

I stepped after her, jaw tight, and didn't look back.

The line moved forward. Boots scuffed concrete. A soldier called the next person line

But I couldn't shake it. There was something about the muffled murmurs behind me, heavy and expectant, like my reflection was still watching me.