Chapter Text
Her hands didn’t shake, not like they used to, when she entered the crowd. She pushed and stretched at the membrane of the cluster, assimilating directly through its clustered contents. Mitakihara High School was surprisingly more packed than its counterpart. It was easier to become a nameless face in a nameless crowd here.
In middle school, she had been extremely self conscious. She worried, she stressed, and when her parents died she mourned. She cried and sobbed and let everything fall to her feet, including her head. She was powerless. She couldn’t recall a time where she wasn’t. But she got better. It was difficult and painful, but Homura pulled herself through the life her parents were robbed of.
She couldn’t remember much of what happened in middle school, it was all a haze as blurry as the crowd she now occupied, but she knew she improved.
Once you’ve lost everything, you have everything to gain.
She studied hard, even though she lacked an affinity for academics. She bought contacts so she couldn’t hide behind her glasses anymore. She stopped caring about what anyone else thought. She graduated.
At some point, she’d realized she was in better shape. It was a dull realization, like most of the aspects of her life, but it sat and stewed in the crevices of her mind. In her first year of high school, walking home from school (alone, as soon as it ended), she realized how startling her lack of after-school activities were. Universities liked extracurriculars, and to keep living she needed university. The issue was: Homura had no passions to speak of. She didn’t like drama, couldn’t understand art, and thought an extra academic activity would be useless. She considered her newfound athleticism, but despised the idea of working in a team.
The bell rang. It was dull, it hung deep in her ears. She walked home alone.
The river glistened. In it, she saw her reflection. She had always thought it was strange how reflections never seemed to have faces. A dragonfly landed on the surface. The black stain rippled. Homura’s eyes felt sore. It was like a heavy burden rested in them, one she could never seem to locate.
The sun dipped down beneath the earth and rose anew, almost deceptively parabolic. A drop, a dip, a rise.
Her teachers really did seem to love her, with how many errands they made her run. It made sense. People seemed to think she was responsible. She thought she was, too.
Today, her task was to carry some forms to some teacher across the building, to the wing she’d never been to before. She didn’t pay attention to much besides the location and the recipient. It was after school, and she could hear the sound of laughter jingling like a bell, filling the corridors.
Every turn she made seemed to have a student around the corner. She never looked at the eyes. Her feet lifted and fell with rhythm, a march without conviction. She never looked in the eyes of anyone she passed.
She was only a few classrooms away from her target, when she heard a startled yell. It was short, startled, and potentially desperate (?). Her feet chased the noise, echoing through glass halls.
Gracefully, she pivoted before a classroom that was precisely identical to every single other. As she approached, she could see through the glass that the mostly empty room was occupied by a small group of students wearing white jackets. At the center, sitting on the floor, was a student with what looked like light blue hair. In the group, she saw water bottles (bullying?).
Her eyes set. Typically, she didn’t care enough to intervene, but she would risk trouble with her teacher if she didn’t. The whole point of this errand was to garner favor with her teacher, not risk being a bystander to something adamantly condemned by school policy.
She broke through the door with the energy of a runner breaking off the starting line. The blurry faces of the “crowd” came into view as their conversation did.
“You really should be more careful. Don’t push your limits, you’ll just get hurt,” said the one in front of the girl.
Well. This certainly didn’t look good.
However, the closer she got, the stranger and stranger the classroom set up became. There were mats covering the floor, but there didn't seem to be any typical martial arts equipment. Along one wall was a row of wooden lockers and cubbies. At the side of one, she noticed a sword. It didn’t seem remotely sharp, and had a shiny, round handguard.
Ah. This was. Definitely a club room.
The girl on the floor was drinking water. She was fanning her red face, which looked very funny in contrast to her blue hair. By her side was a sword. As she scrutinized her surroundings, Homura’s eyes suddenly became overwhelmingly blurry. Her hands shook, if only a little, for the first time in years.
It had been a long time since she had messed up. Since she had intruded on something. She couldn’t remember when the last time was, but she was confident it hadn’t ended well.
As if through water, the distorted conversation drifted into her ears.
“Seriously… effort is good… exhaust… self…”
She couldn’t just turn around now, could she? But how exactly was she supposed to-
Just as she began to consider her escape, one of the blurry members turned. He was facing her, looking at her, acknowledging her. For some reason, she felt like she shouldn’t care, but it was an entirely useless sentiment as she couldn’t remember where it came from.
Startling clarity. Like putting her contacts in each morning. Poking her eyes. A membrane upon membrane.
“Oh! Do we have a prospective member here?” He spoke.
A girl, with a brown ponytail, tuned in. “Akemi-san? You’re seriously joining the fencing team?!” She turned back to the other members. “She’s in my class, guys! She’s seriously crazy in P.E..”
Her eyes shone, likely with positive intentions, creating a deadly trap for Homura. How exactly was she supposed to explain this to a classmate? It would be one thing if it was just other members of her grade, but now there was the possibility of rumors. Of bullying. Ironic. The one time she tries to help she ends up trapped.
With a dazed path, her eyes fell on a sword. It shone, and she thought something in the reflection pierced her eyes. She nodded.
After all, she’d wanted to pick up an after school activity. She couldn’t think of any flaws, except how woefully clear it was this entire operation was student run. Though, that aspect would be interesting too.
Besides, she wouldn’t be dragged down by teamwork or any of that nonsense.
The girl from the floor rose from her tangled jumble of limbs. She held her sword in a tight grip. Her eyes were resolute, unyielding, and the same candy blue as her hair. Ah. She was in her class too. Miku? Was her name Miku?
Miku (?) steps forward, with vetting intent in her eyes. “Yeah, she’s pretty good at sports. Apathetic towards it, though. Hey, are you really sure you want to join?”
Absolutely not. This is basically just a mistake turned whim gone too far. Though, she’s absolutely not going to turn back now. Homura doesn’t particularly care what she thinks, but it just became a matter of pride. She doesn’t want her to be right.
“I can handle it,” she said, knowing almost nothing about fencing.
She was fairly certain it was European in origin, and that it was more based on combat between two people rather than the skill of one. She knew there were swords. She knew it was an Olympic sport. And now she knows you apparently have to wear an odd white jacket.
“Then, it’s fine with me.”
Miku nodded at her. She seemed well suited to the sport, with how argumentative she seemed. It wasn’t any of Homura’s business however. She felt comfortable (at ease, even) as she stuck through the rest of the club practice.
The classrooms were spacious, and the members used it well. Homura watched them practice from the top of a desk, pushed to the edge of the room. Her eyes were frequently drawn to that girl from her class, with the blue hair. Her fighting style was really just too burdensome on her body.
A wave of nostalgia hit her as she watched Miku throw herself across the mat again. This stubbornness, hadn’t she just found herself here because she had pushed herself too far? It really was an odd situation. Somehow, she found herself blaming Miku.
When practice ended, a boy she now recognized as the captain called her over. Smiling, he asked if she would be back the next day. She said yes.
There was really just something so familiar about the entire ordeal, something that prodded deep into the forgotten memories she knew she had. There was no mistaking it. She turned around as soon as the captain said goodbye, gathered her things, and re-embarked on the original delivery which had brought her here.
She would try it out. If it caused her trouble, though, she would drop it before anyone got all that attached.
The river on her walk home glowed red in the light of the setting sun. It really was a day of unplaceable familiarity.
__________________
For a week, Homura Akemi had been subjected to the horrors the Mitakihara High School fencing club had to offer.
Firstly, almost all of their funding originated from a member with a rich family, Satome was her name, she believed. This meant she was immediately given the role of treasurer, and it also meant that she cared less about applying the funding than supplying it. It was as if a carpenter of wonderful wealth met someone in desperate need of shelter, and decided to be charitable by giving them an expensive chunk of wood. As expensive as it was, it was still quite literally a chunk of wood.
As she had only been a pseudo-member for a week, she decided not to offer up her late parents’ fortunes to support the club. It was all they left her. It was hers.
Second, her initial assessment of that girl, who she later discovered is actually named Sayaka Miki, was disgustingly correct. Somehow, despite her unflinching disregard for her personal health and safety, she was the co-captain. Even more perplexing was how much the members seemed to love her. It made sense in a way, because Miki was genuinely talented at the sport. However, she didn’t understand why they would praise her for an attitude that is directly harming her.
Odd.
And third, it smelled so terribly once practice was over that it was no surprise the club hadn’t been interfered with, as the air was of biohazard quality.
Nonetheless, she felt it would be a good idea to commit. Most of her life was extremely dull anyway, and there was something satisfying about the concept of winning. So, for probably the first time in years, she put some effort into it.
It was comfortingly rhythmic, pushing and pulling in a dance of win and loss. Unfortunately, she really didn’t have much experience with a sword, (did she have experience with other weapons she didn’t know about?) and lost practically every match with points involved. It was like she was wearing braids and glasses all over again. Like she was powerless.
She clenched her teeth, deciding not to give up. She couldn’t quite remember why, but she knew she had a reason to be strong. It was important, unlike everything else in her life.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that after a week, she found herself surrounded by her new peers in their meeting room. In Miki’s hand was the standard sabre each member had, seemingly purchased by Satome. Homura truly felt grateful to Miki in that moment for not making it weird, as the others seemed giddy.
“Since you’ve been to our meetings thus far and you seem to be doing fine, we’re giving you a sword to use at home. They can be really irritating to replace though, so don’t mistreat it.”
It was light in her hand, once Miki passed it to her. A sign she was basically a member. After taking a quick look, proving there were no defects with the make, she nodded. She didn’t really have any love for camaraderie, but there was something so pleasant about holding the sword. It was comforting, it meant she wasn’t weak.
On the walk home, she didn’t check the water. She looked forward, as though she had a mission. She knew she didn’t but old habits die hard. Not hard enough for the first though, it seemed.
Her apartment was just as empty and quiet as it had always been. It thrummed softly, but even that noise only served to highlight its silence further. It was quiet, and sometimes she felt as though things were in different places that she remembered setting them. Perhaps it was the building.
She set her stuff, including the sword, on the couch. She found her way to the kitchen, hoping she’d remembered enough food for the week. She opened a cabinet. The hinge screamed at her. Inside was a 6-pack of instant ramen. In another world, she might entertain the potential of making dinner. In this one, she grabbed a pack.
With a mild pang of remembrance, she recalled the bento container in her school bag. With a sound too disinterested to be a sigh, she moved from the monotonous routine of “cooking” instant ramen to go retrieve it.
And stopped dead in her tracks.
Sitting on the couch, by her sword was a girl. Her hair was pink, and it went down to her shoulders even in the raised pigtails she wore. The tails were held by two large, white bows. They were puffy, like two white clouds circling her head. Her eyes were pink, brightly reflecting off her own. She was wearing a Mitakihara uniform, and a gentle smile.
Her face was serene. Her voice was serene. “Homura”, she said, “hello.”
Homura, who had developed a calmness through the absurdity of her life, was not surprised by the sudden introduction of magic in her life. She was instead surprised by how pretty the girl in front of her was. It really was extremely jarring, and she wasn’t even sure where to start.
The silence stretched. The girl's face slowly lost luminosity, as she seemed to become nervous at Homura’s lack of a response. She fiddled with her bow.
“Ah… would you like some ramen?”
She smiled, almost glowing.