EDIT, 12/15/21 - Chapter has been rewritten.

"Mmnh… no, Coobie… my city now…"

I rolled over, shifting under the blankets.

"Mumi, why… listen to Hameru…"

My hand reached out, grasping and groping at empty air.

"Seyiku… don't become meguca… for Kyusiko…"

To tell the truth, I considered it a crying shame that I wouldn't remember any of this once I woke up.

"Meduka, no… throw souls…"

Three hours later, I cracked my eyes open and narrowly escaped being blinded by the ray of sunlight creeping up my face. Getting out of bed had me struck with this nagging feeling that I'd either just seen or done something that a lot of people would laugh at, and not in a way I'd like. Slipping into the bathroom and sitting down this time (I wasn't making that mistake again, that's for damn sure) saw my stomach telling me that it was still chugging away on what I'd stuffed in it last night.

Probably should've dialed it back a bit on the steak. But that taste… good god, this place might as well be heaven.

I needed to find a way to pay my compliments to the kitchen staff here. That stuff gave the tri-tip I loved so much at home a serious run for its money, if it didn't outright surpass it. Clearly, these guys knew what they were doing.

Which obviously meant I needed to get back down there and eat some more of their work! I was only gonna be here for another month and a half, and I'd be damned if I didn't make the most of it!

Exactly one serving of breakfast pancakes later, my unpaid intern of a stomach decided that it was high time to unionize for better treatment, and began employing collective bargaining to get me to listen to its demands. By which I mean that it made me feel like one wrong move would end in hurling everything back the way it came.

Shouldn't have done that. I should not have done that.

And yet.

Worth it.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again: those were some really good fucking pancakes.

This wasn't my first time visiting Japan, if you can believe that. During my sophomore year, about two years back at this point, my parents bought the family a week-long trip to Tokyo as a Christmas present and took me along for the ride. Looking back on it now left me somewhat ashamed about how poorly I'd acted back then—I hardly took any opportunities to see new sights or try new things or anything of the sort. In fact, I wasn't exactly pleased about being pulled off to a foreign country, and was a fair bit more vocal of that than I really should've been. But, well, I was fifteen at the time, and a little (a lot) more volatile than I was now.

It was a little weird how vaguely similar my current situation was to that whole thing on paper. Same country, same sponsors, same general lack of consent. The only difference was that this was the Madoka-verse, which automatically made everything five times as depressing. That, and the different city.

Walking through the streets of downtown Mitakihara, taking the time to check out my surroundings and get a feel for my new home territory, it struck me just how sleek and spartan everything looked, nearly to the point of being sterile. The architecture was very recognizably urban Japanese, but it carried this sort of refined aesthetic that really hammered in how I'd effectively time-traveled around twenty-five years into the future.

I took another look at my phone, displaying a tourist's map of the city in full English.

Never thought I'd see the day that Google Translate actually became competent. Wonder how many wishes that took. Must've been a lot, heh.

Perhaps asking Kyubey for a translator wasn't quite as necessary as I thought.

It was kind of amazing just how much stuff this place had to offer, though. There was an arcade, a massive shopping mall, a few separate parks, observation towers, beachfront property, and a hundred and one other things that I'd never be able to find the time to visit.

And that wasn't even mentioning all the structures this city ripped off, from both its own country and others, for what I guessed was no other reason than to provide eye candy to chew on. They were like that one internet gag about copying homework and changing it just enough so that the teacher wouldn't immediately notice any plagiarism. Except I wasn't quite sure if this could actually end in the people responsible getting sued.

There's that one skyscraper everyone sees in Dubai advertisements… I think that's the Empire State Building… wait, don't tell me that's– okay, what the hell?! It's called the One World Trade Center for a fucking reason, you shameless pricks!

Shaking my head at the antics of structural engineers who were clearly either too uninspired or too appreciative for their own good, I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and kept walking. Perhaps it was time to swap the urban clutter for a more residential set of scenery.

The phone ended up coming back out within four wrong turns. I swear, some city streets just seemed designed to get you turned around. Freakin' greedy advertisers.

Some time later, I'd exchanged the gamut of high-rises for carefully-maintained plots of grass occasionally pockmarked with some generic trees. It hit me around this point that the people behind this place's construction hadn't just stolen building ideas from other locations; rather, the whole damned place felt like someone had mashed a Japanese city together with a coastal American town, sprinkled a tiny bit of futuristic spice on it, and called it the new Ratatouille. It was almost impressive, to a degree.

Wow. Just… wow, you guys. I oughta sic Ramsey on you all for this.

I sighed, briefly entertaining the mental image of a blonde Brit in an apron screaming at a bunch of Asians wearing hard hats about creativity, idiot sandwiches, and something involving lamb sauce while I continued strolling down the sidewalk. The image somehow managed to morph into Ben Croshaw riffing on The Wonderful 101 for being the one-night stand lovechild of Power Rangers and Viewtiful Joe before my attention was drawn elsewhere.

Is that cat walking in the middle of the road?

Adjusting my focus confirmed that yes, there was a small black cat strutting down the street in the opposite direction of where I was going. Right in the center, without a single fuck given towards the possibility of becoming roadkill. It was either very brave, very stupid, or just enjoying itself. Maybe even all three.

Out of curiosity, I offered a token check of the road. Looking back revealed a completely empty road. Not surprising, considering the country's general predisposition towards bikes and trains over cars.

The front, however, was a different story. One solitary lowrider was cruising its way toward us at a respectable speed—probably around thirty, thirty-five miles an hour if I had to guess, perhaps even forty. It was difficult to tell from as far out as it was.

Wouldn't you know it, the cat had drifted over to its lane. The ball of fuzz, entirely oblivious to the metal battering ram approaching it from behind, showed no intentions of hopping on the sidewalk. With a body as small as the one it had, I wouldn't have been surprised if the driver didn't pick it out from the backdrop of pristine asphalt until it was too late.

Looking at the car again, I blew out a long-suffering breath.

...one good turn daily. Never did try to follow that slogan much, but I guess now's as good a time as any to start acting like a proper Eagle.

A human would definitely be easier to recognize. If I could attract the driver's attention, whoever was behind the wheel would just need to dip into the other lane for a second and swing around us to avert any potential tragedy. Quick, easy, and low-effort for everyone involved. With that in mind, I stepped out into the road, approaching the cat.

The animal stopped in front of me, suddenly registering that an obstacle had appeared in its path. All thoughts of moving along seemed to leave its brain, and it started occupying itself with inspecting the parts of my body it could reach.

I looked up, and noticed that the car was getting pretty close. Offhandedly, my peripheral vision mentioned that something pink had come into view.

Three seconds passed, and I realized that the metal coffin wasn't turning away, or even slowing down. I stuck my arms out and started waving them around, hoping they would provide the push needed for the thing to recognize I was standing in its path.

Two seconds passed, and it was close enough for me to see that the driver was looking at their phone. My arms stalled.

One more second passed, and I dropped down to grab hold of the cat.

"Oh SHIT-!"

A high-pitched, staccato shriek rang out.

I hit the sidewalk in a tumble, rolling a few times before coming to a halt.

A few moments later, I opened my eyes, and found that my skeleton had managed to avoid getting powderized by the vehicle's radiator. As luck would have it, I had managed to fling myself to the side right before it could get express permission from reality to ruin my day.

Thank god.

Peeking down at my chest, I got a good look at a pair of big ol' feline eyes, apparently not bothered at all by my rather abrupt pickup and somewhat rough treatment. Once I got my legs under myself, I held my arms out and set the cat gently down on the sidewalk. After doing so, I sprang to my feet and whirled around, snapping up a certain finger in the direction of the retreating car. "PAY ATTENTION, DUMBASS!"

And then my stomach, fed up with all the abuse it had suffered over the past twelve hours compounded with the adrenaline crash, finally yelled "screw this crap!" and started rioting. Immediately, I flipped back around, falling to my hands and knees to vomit all over the grass bordering the concrete.

There went the pancakes. And the steak. And the carrots. And the beans. And– you get the idea.

It took an agonizing half-minute before my brain committed police brutality on my digestive system's protests and silenced its complaints. The mess left me sorely wishing for a pack of napkins, or something I could use to wipe my mouth with that wasn't part of my wardrobe. Stomach acid stunk to high heaven, and there was no way in hell I was gonna risk staining my clothes with it. This was the only set I had, and I'd be damned if I had to waste cash on replacing anything!

My eyes got tired of staring at the pile of discolored sludge I'd left on the grass pretty quick. When they drifted away, I discovered that the cat hadn't left yet, and was treating me to a bit of a vacant gaze paired with a surprisingly adorable tilt of its head.

I'd just put my life on the line for this thing. If it knew what was good for it, it'd take today's lessons to heart. "That goes for you too, ya Sylvester wanna-be."

It blinked slowly, then walked off, having lost interest.

"Fuckin' kits," I groaned softly.

My phone revealed that the closest place with bathrooms was over a thirty-minute walk away.

I don't know what I was expecting. Really, that's just par for the bloody course at this point.

I'd resigned myself to a long, miserable slog towards the nearest napkin to wipe the intestinal sludge off my face when I heard a set of footsteps approaching me from behind. Turning around, I was greeted with a sight that sent my inner workings from 'exasperated' to full-on 'completely, utterly, throw-your-hands-up done with life.'

Okay, sure, why not. Just drop this right into my lap while you're at it, because my day obviously hasn't been exciting enough for you already. Fuck you too, Fate.

Madoka Kaname, the pink-haired protagonist herself, reached into her bag and pulled out a tissue. Wearing an appreciative expression, she held the little strip of cloth out, intending for me to take it.

A moment of blank staring was enough time for me to process that I wasn't in much of a position to refuse an offer of hospitality. I reached up and took the tissue with a nod and a muted "thanks," and began applying it to my lower face.

Unfortunately however, the complete lack of nearby trash cans I'd failed to take note of before I started wiping quickly left me with a barf-stained tissue dangling from my pinched fingers and nowhere to put it. A disgusted grimace peeled my lips back as I scrutinized the rag, trying to set it on fire with my eyes, or teleport it away, or do something to free myself from the responsibility of dealing with it. Needless to say, nothing worked.

A short, awkward chuckle pulled my attention back to Madoka, who had apparently just looked up from her phone that she'd pulled out sometime in the last ten seconds and recognized the position I was in. Stowing the device away, she pulled out two more tissues, one for each hand, and held them out. I gratefully took the offer, dropping the dirtied piece on one for her to cover up.

She packed the wad of cloth into a ball, then tucked it away and took her phone out again, holding up a pointer finger to say she needed a minute. A little bit of fiddling later, she put the lower end up to her mouth and spoke what sounded like a question. A second afterward, a digitized female voice that did a surprisingly decent job at passing for a legit A.I. and not an old text-to-speech bot sounded from the phone's speakers.

"Are you sick?" It asked.

I shook my head.

Madoka responded with an understanding hum, then said something different.

"Are you hungry?" The phone relayed.

I glanced downward, absently rubbing my belly. It made sense for her to ask—she'd probably just seen me dump my breakfast and last night's dinner all over the ground. Even if she hadn't noticed me until after I'd spilled my guts, it wouldn't take a private eye to check the scene and figure out what had happened. Looking back up, I answered with a nod.

This time, she smiled. Her next phrase didn't sound like a question.

"Please come with me."

We never noticed the narrowed pair of purple eyes peering at us from the safety of the boughs of a nearby tree.

Following along behind a head of pink hair tied into short twintails, there was only one singular thought on my mind.

Good god almighty, this girl is tiny.

The top of her forehead barely made it halfway up my shoulders, giving her an eye level around the lower end of my chest. Practically the ideal height for me to use as an armrest, should I have the unforgivable compulsion to dunk on the literal last person in the world who deserved such a thing. I could even stuff her into Marshmallow Hell if I wanted to, through the simple act of pulling her in for a hug… although, my jacket and the lack of flesh I had in the needed departments would throw a bit of a spanner in those works.

I'd known that Japanese people were overall shorter compared to humans on the opposite side of the globe, and that she was about three years younger than me, but holy shit did this little shrimp make Peter Dinklage look like fucking Andre the Giant.

...hm. Metaphor machine must be having issues. That didn't sound as clever as it could've been.

Regardless of the inner commentary on my wit deficiency for the hour, 5'10" versus 5'0" really was a hell of a disparity.

Madoka pulled me out of my thoughts by leading me through a pair of doors into what appeared to be a rather modest cafe. Like just about everything else, it was unnervingly clean and somewhat drab in color, sporting a few rows of booths and open tables that were mostly empty at the moment. It didn't take long to guess that this was the place she and whoever her friends were at a given point would gather at a few times in the coming weeks to have some plot-relevant and not-so-plot-relevant conversations.

We stopped a little ways away from the counter, and she held her phone up again.

"Pick whatever you want," it told me. "I'll take care of the rest."

Under normal circumstances, I would've tried to argue. But saying no to what was quite literally a free lunch was hard even when I wasn't running on nothing but fumes and sheer apathy. Teens had to eat, and they had to eat a lot. Doubly so if they were an underweight bundle of twigs like I was.

Better that than overweight though, 'cause god help me if I ever had to go on a diet. Cutting back on the burgers alone would strike out three-fourths of my typical dining-out haunts. Yeesh, just thinking about it had a cold shiver run down my spine.

Of course, there was something to be said about there being no such thing as a free lunch. But this was Madoka motherfucking Kaname, the girl who would be willing to retroactively erase herself from existence to systematically destroy every single witch that had been, was being, and would ever be born. The day she stabbed someone in the back, figuratively or literally, would be the day the multiverse crashed.

The menu wasn't anything mind-blowing, but then again, I would've suspected something if it was. What did catch me off-guard was that this place actually wasn't so much a cafe as it was a low-key burger joint, going by the numerous options I saw on display. I hadn't quite expected Madoka to be a burger fan, but then again, Sayaka was her best friend, and you couldn't tell me that girl didn't have 'patty enjoyer' written all over her.

It was easy enough to indicate that I wanted nothing more than an ordinary burger-and-fries combo, complete with a beverage. But I hit a bit of a snag when it came to the drink part.

Coke, Pepsi, Sprite, 7-Up… wait, where's the root beer?

Further combing confirmed my fears; any and all root beer brands were completely absent from the menu. No A&W, no Mug, no Bark's, no nothing. Zero, zip, zilch, nada.

What the hell, that's bullshit! What kind of self-respecting burger place doesn't serve fucking root beer?!

Unreasonably put-out by this revelation, I resolved to find a different restaurant haunt at my earliest convenience. One that would be more readily able to satisfy my frequent dual craving of a good burger paired with cold root beer. For now, however, I would simply have to bite the bullet and make do with what I had. Inferior as it may have been, Coca-Cola was the closest thing this place had to what I wanted, so a Coca-Cola I would grudgingly have.

Granted, you could easily make the argument that I had no right to complain about free stuff, and you'd probably be right. But really, when did silly things like logic and rationality ever stop anyone from doing something equally as silly as this?

Either way, it wasn't long at all before the two of us were seated at a booth, and I was chowing down.

It took all of three bites before I realized that damn it, those employees knew what they were doing.

I just know Fate's laughing at me somewhere, the little shit. Calling it now: no other place in town will serve burgers as good as these, because fuck you and your hope for a perfect burger joint.

God, I hated the universe sometimes. Why couldn't things ever be all white or all black? Why did we have to deal with all these messy shades of gray? Why couldn't the world just save us the trouble, for once in its life?

Bloody hell, what I wouldn't give to have the ideal combo meal.

The burger was dismantled in a flash, disappearing down my throat and letting me move on to the rest. Comparatively, the fries weren't amazing, but on the larger overall scale of fry-ness, they were definitely above average. I had to give credit where it was due—despite their unforgivable lack of root beer, the people working here knew how to make good food.

Through it all, Madoka watched me with the extremely rare, pure smile of someone who was just happy to be of service. The kind of smile that a lot of people would love to see. The kind of smile prone to being used and abused by those who saw not a treasure, but a tool.

I got the distinct feeling that when this was all over, I wasn't going to just hate Kyubey. No, I was going to abhor, to despise, to utterly loathe him to a degree I'd never thought possible by anyone, much less myself.

Wiping my hands off with a few napkins, it occurred to me that it would be a grave error not to let my savior know that I really did appreciate what she'd done for me. Calling on half-remembered lessons from freshman-year classes that I hadn't taken as seriously as I should have, I bowed my head and offered Madoka my best shot at her native tongue's version of "thank you very much."

Surprisingly enough, her phone picked up on it, and spouted an English translation of the phrase. This drew blank looks from the both of us, before we broke into a fit of laughter.

Yes, hello, Department of Redundancy Department? I wanted to file a redundancy incident of redundancy, to inform you of a redundant situation that redundantly occurred just now, about five seconds ago.

Eyes glinting as if a lightbulb had been flipped on behind them, Madoka seemed to have an idea of her own. Clearing her throat, she threw my own technique back at me, laying a heavily-accented "you're welcome" on my ears. And, honestly, I had to admit that it was cute; something about her aesthetic or vibe or whatever it was just made her reciprocation give me a dose of the warm fuzzies.

But then, to my shock, the phone came alive. What came out of its speakers was that same phrase, translated into Japanese. My internal processes briefly ground to a halt while my brain suffered an error 404, connection not found. One quick reboot later, I began putting two and two together.

"Wait. I could've talked to you like this the whole time?"

It was almost painfully obvious that Madoka was trying not to laugh. "Yes."

She got a fish-eyed stare for her trouble before my head fell into my hands, a flat groan rumbling out of my throat. "Oh my god, I'm an idiot."

"I'm sorry!" Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, whatever application she was using to get around the language barrier did not replicate the stutter borne of her sudden emergent nerves. Evidently, however, filler words were fair game, as she shrank back. "I thought you knew already, and you just, um, didn't like to talk."

I pulled my face out to give her a certain look, with one of my eyebrows lazily sliding upward. "Really? I doubt you were outta earshot when I blew up at that blind jerk-driver."

Calling her out only served to make her sink further into herself, which set off every single 'you're being an ass, cut it out' alarm I had and then some. "Sorry…"

"No, no, I– agh," I tried and failed to gracefully backpedal, suffering a few more false starts before my word processor stopped short-circuiting. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just had no idea this thing was two-way, and I really should've picked up on that. That's my fault for being stupid."

"Don't say that!" The system's limitations prevented it from conveying the rather shocking amount of force Madoka had put in that request. "I know I've only just met you, but I bet anyone could tell at a glance that you're not stupid at all. This problem is all my responsibility. I made the wrong guess about you, and I didn't think I needed to tell you that you could talk back to me. Please, don't blame yourself for something that you couldn't do anything about."

One the one hand, she did have a point. For all that this universe was similar to my own, some of the differences it bore to my home made them seem like night and day. The existence of two-way translation programs like the one we were using now—never mind one so astonishingly good at its job—wasn't something I would've even been consciously aware of prior to a few hours ago, let alone something I'd give serious thought towards. That wasn't even going into how this little gaffe wasn't actually much of a real problem, and we were getting worked up over basically nothing.

On the other hand, taking shots at myself was a pastime I'd nearly refined into an art form at this point, to what was almost certainly a decidedly unhealthy degree, at least in terms of my self-esteem. I did have the courtesy to keep most of it to myself, as there was no reason to constantly beat people over the head with how totally awful I was, but I tended to slip in a couple disparaging remarks aimed at yours truly if I thought I could get away with it.

This was the first time I'd ever been called out on it to such a large degree, though. Usually, whenever someone pointed it out, it was always in that distinct "I'm only saying this to fulfill a social obligation" tone typical of group conversations you'd overhear while wandering the school campus. Madoka, however, was the complete opposite; everything from what she said, to how she said it, to how she presented herself while saying it practically screamed "I legitimately care about you and want to help you." All with a striking purity that I'd bet would convince even the single most wary person on the planet that she was being entirely honest about it.

...sheesh. Now that I think about it, the power of Heart's kinda terrifying. Imagine how much mileage a chessmaster character could get outta that 'believe me' effect.

I felt a tiny pit form in my stomach as the thought of Kyubey with that kind of power passed through my mind. Unstoppable seemed like a good descriptor for such an entity. Or perhaps inexorable would be more fitting.

That wasn't important to this conversation, though. Right now, the only 'right' option I could think of was to act suitably chastised for firing on myself in front of a soon-to-be conscientious objector who was far too empathetic for her own good. "Point taken."

"Good," she nodded, her smile easily slipping comfortably back into place. "Besides, now's not the time for thoughts like that. You just did something I don't think I could ever work up the courage for in a million years! Really, I probably would've taken you here even if you didn't…" She stalled, trying to find a more tactful way to say 'throw up literally everything in your stomach.' Eventually, she settled on a vague "well, you know."

This, however, was an opportunity that I refused to let go. "You think standing in front of a car doing thirty-something miles an hour like some kinda brain-dead deer is something to be proud of?"

To my mild surprise, Madoka's response was to fold her arms and frown (though it seemed like more of a pout) at me. "You're doing it again."

"One," I held up a finger, "I never actually said I'd follow your advice. Two, this one's a lot more clear-cut. I mean, can you really say that someone who might as well be trying to become roadkill is all that smart?" It took a bit of effort to suppress the eye roll that her intensifying pout (and it was definitely a pout now that I looked at it) provoked. "I'm just saying, if I had more than one lousy brain cell rattling around up here, I would've just picked up the cat and dropped 'em on the sidewalk from the get-go. But nope, I guess I thought that being lazy and giving you a mini-heart attack was worth more than using my head."

"Stop it." Oh, crap, there was that force again. The pout had also morphed into an actual serious frown—or maybe it'd always been that way, and I'd just refused to see it. "Please. I can't stand it when people do this to themselves, saying that they're no good, or worthless, or that the world would be better off without them. It's just not true."

Madoka reached out over the table and grabbed my hand with both of hers. "Look at this. Do you see this hand I'm holding?"

Handholding. Great Scott, how lewd. "Yep, that's my hand you're holding there."

"Do you know what you did with it?"

Unsure as to where exactly this was going, I looked aside, then urged her to go on. "Noooot really…?"

She lifted herself up and leaned over the table. "You used it to save a life when you didn't need to. You could have stood back, kept walking and let that cat die, and all it would've changed would be the people who were there to see it feeling sad for a while."

Pink eyes seemed to drill into my own, doing their best to convey the importance of her message. "But you didn't. You stepped up and made sure that whoever was driving that car wouldn't accidentally do something they couldn't take back, and stuck with that choice when the world tried to bite you for it. You put yourself on the line for something you didn't have to. Even if you didn't actually mean to, I still think it makes you a wonderful person. Or at least, a better person than you think you are."

She let go, retreating back to her seat and leaving me to stare blank-faced at the rather animesque speech I'd just been hit with. Blinking a few times, I could only think of one response.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're too good for this cruel world?"

I blinked again, and suddenly her entire face was red, with a high-pitched noise of concentrated embarrassment emanating from her throat. I didn't think it was possible for anyone to blush that fast. Showed what I knew, I suppose.

...yeah, she's got a point. Maybe making an effort to keep it to three or less self-insults every minute couldn't hurt.

Time would tell if I managed to stick to that. At this point, I doubt I need to tell you how well I thought I would do there.

Let's hope I last longer on this than my faith in humanity lasted against the universe. I really have to wonder how much time that could rack up if I removed myself from the equation there… oh, damn it. Not even fifteen seconds, and I'm already at three. Why did I think that was doable for me again? ...wait, fuck. That's number four.

Four self-burns in about sixteen seconds, at an approximate rate of one rump roast every four seconds. Now that was cooking with gas.

Well, my dear brain. Congratulations! You're a failure.

My brain nodded, said "yeah, though so," and went back to figuring out what to say to Madoka before she hit critical mortification mass and started blowing steam out her ears. Moments later, it gave up, dug a crinkled draft out of the trash bit and sent it down to my voicebox, who sighed at once again having to deal with my brain's shit. Perhaps, it began to think, my stomach's unionization plan wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Putting aside my Cells-at-Work-but-it's-a-corporate-sitcom fantasies, I did actually need to say something to pull Madoka out of her stupor. And that was exactly what I did.

"Anyway, you see any white cats recently?"

Weirdly specific non-sequitur though it may have been, it got the job done. Her blush drained out of her cheeks in no time, replaced by an expression that would be perfect for a good ol' 'WTF' caption. "Eh…?"

"White cats," I repeated. "Cats with white fur. Pink or red eyes too, maybe. Y'know, albinos. Seen any of those?"

It was now her turn to have no idea where the conversation was going. "...no?"

"Huh. Really." It was a given with Homura around, but hearing it straight from the horse's mouth made it that much sweeter. "Good, then. The black ones may have that witchy background 'n all, but lemme tell ya, it's the whites you've gotta look out for. The instant they see a weakness, they're on you like white on rice, heh."

Madoka could only stare, clueless as to what the hell had just happened. "Uh… okay? Thank you…?"

"Don't mention it," I waved off.

We sat there for a little longer, shooting the breeze and talking about nothing in particular. I thought I managed to fool her into believing that I took her words to heart, but if there was one thing I'd learn over the course of my time here, it's that Madoka was no fool. Maybe she knew I was putting up a front and decided not to comment for some reason, or maybe she really did buy into the lie. I had no way of knowing for sure.

But soon enough, her phone buzzed with the tell-tale ring of a text message. Picking the device up, she read its contents and summarily blanched. "Aah! It's already three-fifty?! Ooohhh–!" She rushed to pack up her belongings, sparing an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry, but I need to head home. My papa's getting worried."

"Eh, s'fine." Too much contact with a being of pure supportive energy might motivate me to dangerous levels, and who knew what unreal nonsense would happen then. "Good talk, yeah?"

"It was!" There was that smile again, paired with… a wink this time? "Those little gags of yours are a lot funnier when you're not making them at your own expense, you know? You should do it more often!"

Ah, crap.

Having been read like a book, I let out a fond sigh. "I can't get away with anything when you're around, can I?"

"Nope~!"

"Rats." I scooched over, leaving my seat when she did the same. "I won't keep you any longer, though. I'd rather not be responsible for giving your dad any more gray hairs than I already have."

Her finger came up and her mouth opened, then closed when she decided it wasn't worth it. "Yeah. It was nice meeting you, er…"

We both stalled as we came to a realization.

"...we never introduced ourselves, did we?"

"No, we didn't."

"How did we pull that off?"

"I have no idea."

"We're fixing that, right?"

"We totally are."

"I'm Audrey. Audrey Erryn. You?"

"Madoka Kaname. Nice to meet you." She bowed.

I returned the gesture, but with some added sweeping theatrical flair. "Likewise."

"But I really do need to go now."

"Yup, see ya. Safe travels."

"Thanks. Goodbye!"

With that, she was out the door, jogging away down the sidewalk. I tossed my trash in the wastebin, then leisurely stepped back into open air.

Well. That was a fun little detour, wasn't it? Bit of a shame she couldn't stay longer, but I was already kinda scraping the bottom of the barrel for topics, so I guess that worked out nicely.

The sun was still high in the sky. I could stand to fit in some more exploration while there was daylight to burn.

...she's a good kid. Definitely one of the better ones I've seen. Maybe even the best.

She didn't deserve what the next month would do to her.

One more thing on the pile of reasons to make all this not so crapsack-y.

If only I had a mind for detailed plans. What was that old saying? "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak?" Swap that second one out for grey matter and you had my big problem.

Too bad I can't get anything like a trans– plant…?

I trailed off when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck pointedly stand up.

My head swiveled around. Nobody was there.

I looked to the side. Empty.

Up. Vacant rooftops and the same old sky.

Down. Clean concrete and well-maintained asphalt. And a spotless storm drain.

I glanced behind me one last time. Still nothing.

...could've sworn I felt someone watching me. I'm not already hallucinating, am I? It's way too early for that BS.

Breathing out the little wad of stress, I began slinking down the road.

That better not have just been Kyubey. Little shit's enough of a troublemaker as is. I don't need it giving me anxiety on top of everything else.

It wasn't Kyubey.

It was something worse. Or better, depending on your perspective.

But I'll tell you this. If I'd known exactly what was keeping an eye on me then, a casual walk would've been the last thing on my mind. It wasn't exactly much for conversation.

...actually, you know what? Maybe I should call him over. A good translator might be a little more critical than I thought.

A/N: Don't text and drive, kids. You could end up causing someone to make a deal with the devil to save a cat you ran over in some alternate timeline.

Public service announcements aside, say hello to Madoka! And not just any Madoka, but a pre-canon Madoka, completely free of any of the emotional weight that comes with meguca knowledge! It's actually kind of shocking how much less reserved she is before the usual events of Homura's loop start happening. Not overtly, but when you take a look at her in the first two loops as compared to the final one, there's a huge disparity in terms of confidence in themselves. Of course, this Madoka is nowhere near as sure of herself as her meguca self is, but compared to her canon self, she's an outright ray of sunshine.

Naturally, you can bet on certain events taking a sledgehammer to that and smashing it to bits regardless of whatever Audrey tries to do. Because in this universe, you either die pure, or live long enough to see yourself lose your innocence. And then die.

The point here being that you die.

Looking back on this now, good god did I go ham on those personified organs bits of narration. I'm not disappointed with how they turned out, though– on the contrary, they might be some of the most delightfully silly things I've written to date, in my humble opinion.

But that's it for today. Tune in next time for the plot to start actually substantially moving again. Seeya then!