The apartment was too quiet, which usually meant Kibi was up to something that would require a cleaning crew or an exorcist.

  He was in the living room, sitting on the coffee table surrounded by small cardboard boxes and bubble wrap. He was hunched over a pile of enamel pins-tiny, stylized versions of me in my magical girl outfit, complete with oversized pistols and a defiant scowl.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, dropping my satchel by the door.

  "Fulfilling orders!" Kibi chirped, his tail twitching with excitement. "The 'Sōjū no Mahō Shōjo' official fan-club is blowing up, Misaki. We’ve got pre-orders from as far away as Osaka. These limited-edition 'Tactical Sparkle' pins are a goldmine!"

  My eyes went from him to the laptop open on the table. The screen showed a sleek, professional-looking webpage titled *The Twin Guns Sanctuary*. "You... you're running a fan site? And selling merchandise?"

  "It’s called brand management," Kibi said, trying to nudge a pin into a small plastic bag with his nose. "Do you have any idea how much high-grade mana-conductive gun oil costs? We need a diversified revenue stream."

  "You have paws, Kibi," I said, my voice flat with disbelief. "How are you even typing? How are you managing a checkout system?"

  "I have my ways," he said cryptically, then looked up at me with pleading eyes. "Actually, since you’re here... could you hold the end of this packing tape? My teeth keep getting stuck to the adhesive, and it’s really affecting my efficiency."

  "I am not helping you ship bootleg merchandise of myself," I muttered, heading for the kitchen to find some water. "And stop calling it a brand. It’s a target."

  "A target that people love!" Kibi called after me. "I’m thinking about hoodies next. 'Akimbo or Die' across the back. It’ll be iconic!"

  "I don't need to be iconic. I need a vacation."

  The remote was in my hand before I'd thought about it, the small TV on the counter flickering to life. News for situational awareness-but tonight, the situation was already waiting for me.

  "-from the Azabu-Jūban district," the reporter was saying, her voice tight with panic. "A massive manifestation has occurred at the historic Tsubasa-yu bathhouse. Emergency services are on the scene, but the situation is rapidly deteriorating."

  The camera panned to the bathhouse. My heart skipped a beat. The familiar cedar-lined building was almost unrecognizable, covered in a thick, pulsating layer of neon-green sludge that looked like it was breathing.

  "The police have established a perimeter, but they are unable to enter the building due to the toxic nature of the substance," the reporter continued.

  In the background, I could hear it. A low, rhythmic thrumming that wasn't coming from the monsters. It was the crowd. Hundreds of people were gathered behind the police tape, their voices rising in a unified, haunting chant that vibrated through the cheap speakers of my TV.

  "Sōjū no Mahō Shōjo! Sōjū no Mahō Shōjo!"

  A wave of nausea hit me that had nothing to do with the Abyss. They were calling for me like I was a god, not a soldier. It was the sound of a cult in the making, a collective delusion that I was some kind of savior. I wasn't a savior. I was a woman with a high body count and a very expensive dry-cleaning bill.

  "Misaki," Kibi said, his voice suddenly devoid of its earlier playfulness. "The resonance is spiking. That’s not just ooze. It’s a catalytic agent, and it’s feeding on the crowd’s expectation."

  No time for the rest of the report.

  The Call tore out of me before I could think.

  "By the light of the twin stars, I manifest the iron will. Misaki... reporting for duty."

  The surge hit like a concussion grenade-pink and gold flooding the small kitchen, ribbons of mana cinching tight, holsters snapping into place. Three seconds, maybe four. Faster than the first time. The body was learning.

  Then the window, the roof, the skyline-a blur of tiles and open air. I moved with a frantic, desperate speed, my boots barely touching the tiles as I vaulted across the gaps between buildings. The chant followed me, a low-frequency hum that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

  I landed on the roof of a convenience store fifty yards from the bathhouse. Below me, the street was a sea of flashing red and blue lights. I saw the police line, the officers struggling to keep the chanting crowd back. Some people were holding up glowing wands; others had printed out posters of my silhouette.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  And there, in the center of the chaos, was the man from the mall. He was wearing a ballistic vest over his suit, barking orders into a radio with a calm, icy authority. He looked up, his eyes scanning the rooftops, and for a split second, I thought he saw me.

  *A cop.* I felt a strange sense of relief. *That explains the posture. He’s not a civilian; he’s the law.*

  "Misaki, stop!" Kibi’s voice crackled in my ear.

  Yōko was already in my hand, aimed at the thickest cluster of ooze near the front door.

  "Don't fire!" Kibi screamed. "That sludge is a mana-reactive polymer! If you hit it with a concentrated beam, the energy will chain-react. You’ll turn that bathhouse into a fuel-air bomb. Everyone inside will be vaporized! The crowd's chanting is already priming the pump!"

  My finger hovered over the trigger. "Assessment?"

  "The ooze is a dampener and an explosive," Kibi said. "You can't use the guns."

  "Fine," I gritted out, holstering the pistols. "Old school it is. I hope this body remembers its judo."

  From the roof to the ground was a silent drop, landing behind a row of parked police cruisers. I didn't use the front door. I circled around to the service entrance, the one Akane used for deliveries. The door was partially melted, the green sludge dripping from the frame like toxic honey.

  The door gave way under my boot and I stepped inside.

  The interior of Tsubasa-yu was a nightmare. The beautiful cedar walls were slick with the green slime, and the air was thick with a scent like burning plastic and vinegar. In the main bath area, three shapes were moving-amorphous, translucent horrors that looked like they were made of the same sludge, their forms shifting and bubbling.

  "Ooze Fiends," Kibi whispered. "They don't have a solid core. You have to disrupt their physical form with high-impact strikes."

  One of the monsters lunged, a lash of green slime whipping toward my face. My body ducked on instinct, the sludge sizzling as it hit the wall behind me. A heavy wooden bathing stool came up in both hands, the reinforced wood smashing into the creature's midsection.

  It felt like hitting a bag of wet cement. The stool shattered, but the impact sent the monster reeling back into the tub. A spinning back-kick followed, my boot sinking into the gelatinous mass. It was like fighting a landslide.

  Something in my left hand popped-the ring finger, wrenched sideways by the last swing. Without looking, I grabbed the knuckle and shoved it back into place. Pain flared white-hot, then faded into the background noise of the fight.

  The center of the room became my arena, movements a blur of CQC strikes-wooden basins, brass pipes, elbows and knees. Faster and stronger than any human, but the monsters were relentless. Every time a piece tore free, the sludge just flowed back together, fueled by the neon-green glow.

  The changing rooms were at my back now. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. The physical strain was immense, and without the ability to use my mana, I was fighting a war of attrition I couldn't win. My knuckles were raw, and the green slime was starting to coat my limbs, slowing my movements.

  "Misaki! Behind you!"

  My body spun, but too slow. A second Fiend had circled around, its body expanding into a wide, suffocating net of green slime. It slammed into me, pinning me against the lockers. The sludge was cold, heavy, and smelled of death. Every struggle tightened the grip, the acidic slime beginning to eat through the fabric of my bodysuit.

  "Misaki!"

  The voice didn't come from Kibi.

  The door to the back office slammed open. Akane stood there, her face pale but her eyes burning with a terrifying, amber light. She was holding a heavy iron fire poker, her knuckles white.

  "Get... away... from her!" she screamed.

  She didn't run. She charged. She swung the poker with a raw, unpracticed fury, the metal whistling through the air. It buried itself in the Ooze Fiend’s back. The monster shrieked, its grip on me loosening for a split second.

  "Akane, get out of here!" The words ripped out of me between coughs as I slid to the floor. "It's too dangerous! Get your parents and run!"

  "This is my home!" Akane roared, stepping between me and the monster. She raised the poker again, her whole body trembling with a mix of fear and absolute, unwavering resolve. "I’m not letting you destroy it! I’m not letting you take anyone else! If you want her, you have to go through me!"

  The air in the bathhouse suddenly changed. The humidity vanished, replaced by a sharp, biting scent of ozone. The green sludge on the walls began to vibrate, then hiss, as if it were being cooked from the inside out.

  Kibi hovered in the air, his eyes glowing with a blinding violet light.

  "The resonance..." he whispered, his voice echoing with a power I’d never heard before. "It’s perfect. The iron will meets the roaring thunder. The second anchor is set!"

  "Kibi, what are you doing?" My voice cracked as I tried to stand.

  "Initiating Emergency Protocol... Phase Two!" Kibi shouted. His eyes blazed even brighter, and a pulse of violet light shot from his body straight into Akane's chest.

  Akane gasped, her back arching. The fire poker clattered to the tiles. Her eyes went wide - not with pain, but with something vast and electric flooding into her, filling spaces she didn't know were empty.

  She didn't speak. She didn't need to. Kibi spoke for her, the words erupting from his small body with the force of a thunderclap:

  "By the roar of the thunder - iron force - ANCHOR!"

  A bolt of blue-white lightning tore through the roof of the bathhouse, striking Akane dead center. The flash was blinding, a roar of pure kinetic energy that sent the Ooze Fiends flying, their amorphous bodies vaporized by the sudden surge of electricity.

  It wasn't just light; it was a mechanical symphony. I heard the heavy *clack-clack* of armored plates locking into place, the high-pitched whine of capacitors charging, and the rhythmic *thrum* of a power grid coming online.

  When the light faded, Akane was gone.

  In her place stood a girl in a black and red combat bodysuit, her shoulders armored with metallic plates that crackled with electricity. She held two heavy, spiked gauntlets that hummed with power. Her crimson hair was whipping around her face, and her amber eyes were glowing like twin suns.

  My eyes fixed on her, the world slowing down as the realization hit me like a physical blow. The "Emergency Protocol" wasn't just a backup for me. It was a recruitment drive.

  "You have got to be fucking kidding me," came out as barely a whisper, a perfect echo of the night I'd first met Kibi. "Her?!"

  Akane looked down at her hands, then at the smoldering remains of the monsters. She didn't look scared anymore. She looked like she was ready to punch the sky.

  "Misaki?" she asked, her voice crackling with static.

  "Welcome to the fireteam, kid," I grunted, finally finding my feet. "Try not to blow up the building."