It was the fourth week of March, and the Ojamajos had already arrived in Afghanistan. The sun hung high over the sprawling city of Kabul, casting golden light over the rugged mountains that cradled the Afghan capital. The scent of freshly baked naan, sizzling kebabs, and fragrant spices drifted through the air as the girls meandered through the labyrinthine alleyways of the bustling bazaar. Merchants called out their wares—handwoven rugs adorned with intricate geometric patterns, glistening gemstones that shimmered under the sunlight, and delicate Afghan jewelry displayed on vibrant fabrics. The cacophony of voices in Dari and Pashto blended with the rhythmic beats of tabla drums and the occasional bleating of a goat being led through the market.
Despite the lively atmosphere, the Ojamajos remained focused on their mission. They were searching for a friend—someone who was either an Ojamajo like them or an Ojamahotsukai. With determination in their eyes, they approached vendor after vendor, inquiring about the person they sought. However, most shopkeepers simply shook their heads or responded with a polite "Naa," meaning "no" in Pashto. Some of the older merchants observed the girls with curiosity, murmuring among themselves. It was rare to see a group of young foreign schoolgirls so deep in the heart of the market.
Undeterred, the Ojamajos expanded their search beyond the bazaar, winding through the narrow streets toward grand mosques with towering minarets, ancient palaces with stunning courtyards, and historic gardens once visited by emperors. The call to prayer echoed from the mosques, mingling with the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Yet, no matter where they looked, they found no sign of the person they were searching for. As the hours passed and their feet began to ache, a wave of discouragement washed over them. Were they searching in vain?
Just as they were about to lose hope, a cheerful voice called out to them.
"As-salamu alaykum! You look a little lost!"
They turned to see a girl with warm blue eyes and a confident yet friendly smile. She had long reddish blue hair neatly braided beneath a colorful scarf (wrapped around her neck) with a beautiful and colourful traditional dress. There was a spark of curiosity in her gaze, as if she already sensed they were more than just ordinary travelers.
Doremi stepped forward, her expression brightening. "I am looking for a new friend—someone who is an Ojamajo or an Ojamahotsukai."
The girl's smile widened. "Then you've found one! I am an Ojamajo myself! My name is Sara Yusufzai, the Ojamajo of Afghanistan. What are your names?"
Sara Yusufzai
Native name: سارا یوسفزۍ
Gender: Female
Birthday: June 26
Residence: Kabul
Colour: Blue mosque
Instrument: Rubab
Personality: a friendly yet energetic girl who breaks down barriers that most ordinary Afghans cannot do and tends to be more relaxed
Appearance: She had light skin, long reddish blue hair and blue eyes. She wears a white hijab-like veil (even though she can wear it if she likes), a blue long sleeved shirt and black long pants.
Transformation: Pretty Witch Sara-cchi!
Spell: Braikhaki Bilourki Kurubuki Ki!
Magical Stage: Braikhaki Bilourki, Runnyaka Ni!
Royal Patraine: Braikhaki Patraine!
Crystal Ball: A blue mosque rub-el hizb
Voice: Houko Kuwashima
The Ojamajos exchanged surprised glances. To find a fellow Ojamajo so quickly—it felt like fate! One by one, they introduced themselves with excitement.
"My name is Doremi Harukaze!" said Doremi enthusiastically.
"I am Hazuki Fujiwara," Hazuki said with a gentle smile.
"Aiko Senoo, here!" Aiko said, grinning.
"My name is Onpu Segawa," Onpu added gracefully.
"I am Momoko Asuka," said Momoko in English, her voice cheerful.
"Hana Makihatayama is my name!" declared Hana proudly.
"And I'm Pop Harukaze!" Pop added with a bright smile.
"We are girls from Japan!" they announced together.
Sara laughed softly. "Wow! All the way from Japan? That's amazing! But what brings you here to Afghanistan?"
"We're traveling the world to meet new friends and find magical artifacts!" Hazuki explained.
"Along the way, we're exploring different cultures," Aiko added enthusiastically.
"And we're going in alphabetical order!" Momoko chimed in. "Since Afghanistan comes first, we thought it was the best place to start!"
Sara's face lit up with understanding. "Well, in that case, welcome to Afghanistan! Afghanistan taa kha raghlast!" she said warmly, using Pashto. "Come with me—I'll take you to the Kabul Maho-Do."
"Kabul Maho-Do?" the Ojamajos echoed in unison, their eyes gleaming with curiosity.
Sara nodded. "Yup! The Kabul Maho-Do is a special jirga place. Jirga is a traditional gathering in Afghan culture where people come together to discuss matters and make decisions through consensus. But our Maho-Do is even more unique! Here, everyone is welcome—whether you're Pashtun like me or from a different ethnic group, whether you're magical or not, male or female, adult or child, Muslim or not. We share stories, exchange knowledge, and, of course, practice magic!"
The Ojamajos listened in awe, their imaginations running wild at the thought of a magical gathering place so deeply woven into the culture of Afghanistan.
"But before we go," Sara continued with a playful glint in her eyes, "I need to pick up some ingredients for kabuli pulao. Come with me, and I'll show you what Afghanistan is really like—minus the bad guys."
The Ojamajos joined Sara, a friendly yet energetic girl, on a shopping spree through the heart of the bazaar. The lively atmosphere, filled with vibrant colors and the rich scent of spices, set the perfect mood for the Ojamajos to start their adventure in Afghanistan with Sara. Stalls lined the streets, overflowing with textiles, jewelry, and fragrant spices, while merchants called out to passersby, advertising their goods. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the distant sounds of traditional Afghan music. As they wandered through the bustling streets, they stumbled upon a stage surrounded by a large crowd, all eagerly awaiting the start of a performance.
"Sara, what's going on?" asked Hana, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Sara smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, it's a special performance today. They're going to do an attan dance! It's our national dance. In attan, the dancers use swift footwork and hand gestures while twirling. They usually dance in a circle, but the style can vary depending on the region or tribe. The dancers wear colorful, traditional costumes, and I think you'll love it."
The musicians began to play the rubab, its melodic tone filling the air, followed by the steady beat of the tabla. The female dancers took their positions first, crouching low as if waiting for the signal to begin. Then, as the tempo of the drums increased, they sprang into motion. They twirled, their vibrant costumes fluttering with each graceful spin, their hands making intricate gestures while holding colorful handkerchiefs. Their movements were synchronized, a beautiful dance of harmony and tradition.
Soon, the male dancers joined, stepping onto the stage with equal grace. Like the women, they twirled and spun, their handkerchiefs flowing through the air, their footwork sharp and deliberate. The dancers formed a circle, spinning faster, their feet tapping in rhythm with the fast-paced music. The crowd's excitement grew as the tempo of the performance quickened. The Ojamajos, swept up in the energy of the moment, couldn't help but join in, clapping along to the beat, their faces lit with joy.
As the dance reached its peak, the audience clapped louder, the rhythm syncing with the dancers' every move. The Ojamajos felt the rush of the performance, caught up in the vibrant energy of the crowd. When the final notes rang out and the dancers slowed to a graceful stop, the Ojamajos, along with the rest of the crowd, gave a loud, enthusiastic round of applause, their cheers echoing through the bazaar.
After the performance, the Ojamajos and Sara resumed their shopping. Their first stop was the butcher's stall, where Sara carefully selected a large, fresh cut of lamb, explaining that she wanted to prepare something special for her new friends. Next, they made their way to the fruit and vegetable stands, where Sara picked out plump raisins and bright orange carrots, essentials for a traditional Afghan dish. The air was thick with the warm, earthy aroma of various spices as they searched for the right seasonings to perfect their kabuli pulao.
After their long trip through the bazaar, they finally arrived at the Kabul Maho-Do. The building resembled a typical jirga hall, but with a magical twist. Intricate wooden carvings adorned the exterior, and upon entering, the girls were met with the sight of enchanted carpets that floated gently, moving wherever their occupants desired. The place was much larger than most jirgas, its spacious halls lined with books, artifacts, and magical relics.
"So, there aren't any meetings scheduled right now, but since you're here, I want you to come with me to the back, where I usually stay," Sara said.
She led the girls to the rear of the Maho-Do, to her private residence. The room was decorated with colorful Afghan rugs and cushions, and the air was filled with the scent of saffron and cardamom.
"You can wait here," Sara continued. "I'll go tell my parents all about it."
"Mom! Dad! I met new friends, and they want to visit our country!" Sara called as she entered the room, leaving the Ojamajos to wait outside.
As they waited, the girls began to discuss their thoughts about Afghanistan. They realized how different the country was compared to the stories and news they had heard before. Instead of the war-torn images they had imagined, they found a land full of culture, history, and warm hospitality. The bazaar's liveliness, the beauty of the attan dance, and the welcoming nature of the people had already changed their perspectives.
Moments later, Sara emerged with a bright smile. "Come in! My parents would love to meet you!"
As they stepped inside, they saw a dignified yet youthful-looking witch standing beside two adults in their early thirties. Her presence was commanding yet warm, exuding an aura of wisdom.
"This is my Mom, and this is my Dad!" Sara introduced excitedly. "Say 'salam!' to them."
"Salam!" the Ojamajos chorused, waving their hands cheerfully. Sara's parents, who were busy preparing the kazan, a large pot used for cooking, smiled warmly as they greeted the girls. They were making kabuli pulao, not just for Sara's family, the Ojamajos and Majoghura, but also for the attendees of an upcoming jirga meeting.
"And this is Majoghura," Sara continued. "She is my mentor and owns the Kabul Maho-Do. She is very wise, which is why she has that name. She listens to people whenever there is a meeting."
Majoghura
Native name: ماجوغوره
Gender: Female
Personality: As owner of the Kabul Maho-Do, she is often the voice of reason
Appearance: A very-young looking witch with green eyes and green hair. She wears a purple hijab.
Voice: Machiko Toyoshima
Majoghura stepped forward with a graceful yet commanding presence, her eyes reflecting a calm wisdom as she extended her hand toward them. "Salamu alaykum. It is an honor to meet you all," she greeted warmly, her voice carrying a soft but firm tone.
The Ojamajos hesitated for just a moment before shaking her hand, marveling at her composed demeanor. Doremi smiled, eager to learn more.
"As you have probably been informed already," Majoghura continued, her gaze shifting to each of them with a steady confidence, "I am the head of the jirga. Today, I will further explain my role here at the Maho-Do."
The girls leaned forward, all ears as they waited for her explanation. Majoghura's words flowed effortlessly, each one chosen with care. "My primary responsibility, as the head of the Maho-Do, is to listen to all sides involved in any dispute, to mediate conflicts, and to offer resolutions that benefit everyone. But it's not just about solving problems. We also come together to make decisions, brainstorm new ideas, and discuss ways to support the community and strengthen our bonds."
The girls exchanged glances, intrigued but still trying to understand. It was a concept they hadn't encountered before.
"So," Onpu said slowly, her brow furrowing slightly as she processed the information. "It's like the Diet, right? The parliament of our country?"
Majoghura's lips curved into a knowing smile as she nodded. "Yes, in a way. The purpose is the same—making decisions that impact the larger community. But instead of being run by politicians or elected officials, the Maho-Do is led by the community itself. The voices of everyone matter here, not just those in power."
Hazuki, ever the thoughtful one, crossed her arms. "So, it's not about power… it's about listening, understanding, and making decisions together?"
"Exactly," Majoghura replied. "Here, every voice is heard. The strength of the Maho-Do lies in its ability to bring diverse perspectives together to create solutions that work for everyone."
The girls nodded, their minds spinning with the new ideas. This was a foreign concept to them, yet there was something inherently powerful about it—a mix of wisdom and practicality that felt both ancient and progressive. It was a reminder of how far the world could evolve when people worked together.
Before they could delve deeper into the conversation, Sara, who had been standing at the back, stepped forward. "If you'll excuse me," she said with a respectful nod, "I need to change from my traditional clothing into something more comfortable. I'll be right back."
With that, she gracefully excused herself, leaving the Ojamajos and Majoghura to continue their discussion.
The Ojamajos turned their attention back to Majoghura, who continued, "Now, let us dive deeper into the matters at hand. I've been informed of the Ojamajos' world tour and the adventures you plan to undertake. But before we discuss further, we must consider the paths you wish to explore, the challenges ahead, and what each of your countries can offer. We will deliberate and settle any disagreements, so your journey can proceed smoothly."
The girls exchanged excited glances, the idea of their world tour becoming more real with each passing moment. They had so many places to explore, so many things to learn. But there was still so much to consider.
"First, we must start with your goals," Majoghura said, as everyone gathered around the large wooden table, the atmosphere filled with a sense of purpose. "What is it that you hope to achieve on this journey? What do you seek to find?"
The Ojamajos sat in a circle, pondering the question. Doremi was the first to speak. "We want to understand different cultures, help people, and bring magic back to places that need it."
"And we want to make sure we're respecting the traditions and beliefs of the places we visit," Hazuki added, her voice thoughtful.
"We also want to learn from other countries and understand their systems, just like we're learning from you," Onpu said, her gaze meeting Majoghura's.
Majoghura nodded with approval. "That is a noble goal. But with so many countries to explore, there will be moments where disagreements arise. Different perspectives, different priorities... It is important to remain flexible and adaptable."
Aiko, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "But what if we don't agree on something? What if one of us thinks it's right but the others don't?"
"That's where the process of brainstorming and resolution comes into play," Majoghura explained. "When conflicts occur, we work together to weigh the options, understand each person's concerns, and find a middle ground. No decision is made without the collective input of the group."
Momoko smiled, energized by the discussion. "That sounds so… fair! It's like everyone has a chance to speak, and no one's voice gets lost."
The group nodded in agreement, the idea of collective decision-making feeling more like a strength than a challenge.
Just as the conversation was gaining momentum, Sara returned, now dressed in simpler, more comfortable clothes. She gave a warm smile to the group as she took her seat. "Apologies for the delay. Let's continue. I'm eager to hear what decisions have already been made."
The meeting stretched on for hours, filled with passionate debates, thoughtful brainstorming, and moments of laughter. As they worked through their plans and resolved any disputes, the Ojamajos grew closer as a team, strengthening their bond with one another. Each country they would visit, each adventure they would undertake, had a purpose—and through the jirga, they would ensure they were united in their journey ahead.
"Looks like our mini jirga has been concluded, and we've all agreed to support our new friends in their journey ahead," said Majoghura, her eyes shining with a hint of satisfaction. "It's always nice to see new friendships forming."
"That's great!" Doremi smiled brightly before turning to the group.
"But what is it that you're all really aiming for, apart from meeting new friends and trying out different cultures?" asked Sara, her voice curious but tinged with a slight seriousness.
Doremi paused, her thoughts turning inward. She crossed her arms as she considered the question carefully. "One of our main goals is to find ancient artifacts that hold mysterious powers," she said, her voice steady. "Some of these relics have similar powers to each other, while others have more unique abilities. And what's fascinating is that some of them resemble things from the modern world—almost like prophecies for future inventions."
Sara nodded, processing this information. She had been lively and energetic, but now there was a shift in her expression. Her smile faded slightly, and her eyes narrowed as she readied herself to speak more seriously.
"Okay," she said, her voice quieter now. "There's something I need to tell you. It's a legend that's been passed down for generations, and it's tied to a gem... a shiny, blue gem with a deep history." Sara took a breath, her eyes far away as if she could almost see the past unfolding before her. "Let me tell you the story of the Saray-Mor."
She began to speak, and as her words unfolded, a flashback began to play out in the air around them, like a moving picture of a distant past.
"Legend has it that in ancient times, there was a war between many different ethnic groups and tribes: the Pashtuns, Uzbek, Hazara, Aimaq, Turkmen, Baloch, and many others. The land was drenched in blood, and countless lives were lost in this terrible, unending conflict," Sara's voice continued, as the flashback shifted to scenes of warriors clashing in a brutal, ancient battlefield. The air was thick with smoke, and the ground was littered with the fallen.
"In the midst of this chaos, there was one witness, a young girl who saw the destruction and the endless suffering. She knew, deep down, that this war needed to end, or nothing would be left of the world she knew." The image focused on a young girl, dressed in simple yet dignified clothes, her face a portrait of determination.
Sara's voice carried the weight of the story as she spoke, "So, the girl, filled with a sense of hope, took up her chaadar—a traditional burqa worn by women to cover their entire faces. She climbed to the top of a mountain, her heart heavy, and there, she prayed to Allah for peace, for an end to the bloodshed."
The scene shifted to show the girl standing tall on the mountain peak, her chaadar billowing in the wind, the battlefield far below. As the sounds of war raged in the distance, the girl's chaadar began to tear, caught in the devastation below.
"Unfortunately, the girl's chaadar was torn during the fighting, leaving her feeling hopeless," Sara continued. "But Allah, seeing her devotion, chose to intervene. He transformed her torn chaadar into something far greater—into a shining blue gem. The gem was long and curved, glowing with an otherworldly light. It was then that the girl understood: the gem was a gift from Allah, a divine instrument to stop the war."
The girl, now holding the radiant gem, began her journey toward the heart of the battlefield. Sara's voice became more intense as the flashback grew more vivid. "With great caution, the girl navigated the deadly battlefield, making her way through the chaos, narrowly avoiding crossfire and destruction. The sight of so much death weighed heavily on her heart."
As the girl reached the center of the war-torn land, she held the gem high above her head. "And then," Sara's voice softened with awe, "the gem began to glow. Its light was so bright, it illuminated the entire sky. The glow was so powerful, so pure, that every warrior, from every tribe, stopped in their tracks. The fighting ceased. They all stared, mesmerized by the gem's power."
The flashback slowed, the warriors looking up in unison, their weapons lowering as the light of the gem bathed them. The once-vibrant sounds of battle were replaced by an eerie silence, as though the world itself held its breath.
"The tribes, overwhelmed by the sight, realized the futility of their fighting. They saw the light of hope, and in that moment, they knew they could no longer continue this war. The girl's act of bravery and divine intervention led to a moment of unity," Sara continued. "The tribes came together, negotiating peace, and eventually uniting into one country, one people."
The image showed the tribes shaking hands, their differences set aside in favor of unity. "The girl, now revered as a hero, was given the honor of becoming the keeper of the gem. She held it until her death, living a long life full of peace."
"But after she passed away, a strange thing happened," Sara's voice grew somber. "Instead of allowing her body to be buried, Allah chose to merge her soul and spirit into the gem itself, so that she could live on forever, watching over the land she saved."
The flashback showed the girl's body being laid to rest in a mosque, surrounded by mourners. But then, the image faded to show the blue gem glowing softly, its power undiminished.
"And so," Sara said, her voice trailing off, "the gem was hidden away, placed in an unknown location by Allah, to be protected and kept safe. No one knows where it is, or if it still exists. But the legend lives on, passed down through generations."
The flashback ended, and the air around them returned to normal. The group stood silent for a moment, as if absorbing the weight of the story they had just heard.
Sara looked at each of them, her expression serious. "The Saray-Mor is said to have unimaginable power. Whoever finds it could change the world forever... but they must use it wisely."
"Hey, that sounds just like what Majotourbillon said," Doremi exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with realization. "If we collect all the relics from all the countries of the world, she'll reunite the witches, wizards, and humans into unity!"
Sara blinked in surprise, her expression shifting to one of curiosity. "Really? I didn't know that until now," she said, a small smile forming on her lips as she thought about the significance of the mission.
Hazuki, standing next to Sara, nodded thoughtfully, her face reflecting determination. "If we explore your country, we'll be able to find that gem," she said confidently. "We'll track it down and uncover where it is hidden."
Sara's face brightened at the support from her friends. "Awww… thanks!" she said, her voice bubbling with gratitude. She held up her hand, revealing her magical Tap. "I've already got my Tap ready for the journey!"
With a playful grin, Sara tapped her Tap, and in an instant, her witch apprentice outfit transformed around her. The fabric shimmered with a magical glow as it settled into place.
"Pretty Witch Sara-cchi!" she cheered, striking a pose.
Seeing Sara's transformation, the Ojamajos couldn't help but smile. One by one, they too tapped their Taps, their magical outfits appearing in the blink of an eye.
"Pretty Witch Doremi-cchi!" Doremi called out, her usual exuberance filling the air.
"Pretty Witch Hazuki-cchi!" Hazuki chimed in with a confident smile.
"Pretty Witch Aiko-cchi!" Aiko added, her voice carrying a sense of excitement.
"Pretty Witch Onpu-cchi!" Onpu said, her tone filled with energy and flair.
"Pretty Witch Momo-kocchi!" Momo exclaimed, her cheerful demeanor lighting up the moment.
"Pretty Witch Hana-chan-cchi!" Hana called out with a giggle, her young voice full of wonder and joy.
"Pretty Witch Pop-cchi!" Pop added, her tiny voice as bright as ever.
The girls, now fully transformed into their apprentice outfits, stood together, ready for the next step in their adventure. With a synchronized movement, the Ojamajos and Sara all tapped their Taps to summon their brooms, the familiar magical objects appearing in mid-air.
But Hana, feeling the need to do something special, stepped forward with a gleam of determination in her eyes. She raised her hands and chanted her own unique phrase: "Pororin Pyuarin, Nikoyaka ni!" The air around her shimmered, and her broom materialized with a soft, musical note.
With hearts pounding and anticipation thick in the air, the group climbed onto their brooms. They exchanged glances — silent promises to each other that they would face whatever dangers lay ahead. The blue gem, the first relic they had to recover, was out there waiting.
"Majoghura!" Doremi called out, her voice carrying the weight of their mission. "We're going to head off and find that blue gem!"
Majoghura, standing with a solemn yet proud expression, nodded. Her long robes fluttered in the breeze. "Be vigilant, Ojamajos. The journey ahead is treacherous. The closer you get to the relics, the stronger the dark forces become."
"We'll be careful!" Sara reassured, her amber eyes filled with resolve. "We won't let anything stop us."
With those parting words, the girls soared into the azure sky, leaving behind streaks of colorful light. The warm Afghan sun bathed the desert landscape below as they flew over the vast, golden plains. The distant sight of mosques, bazaars, and ancient courtyards painted the scenery with rich beauty. Their hearts raced — not only for the adventure ahead but also for the bonds they were forging.
While they glided through the skies, Hazuki took out her Tap and initiated a video call back to the Maho-Do.
Meanwhile, back in Misora, Japan, at the Maho-Do, the soccer field (added as a result of the expansion) was bustling with activity under the warm afternoon sun. The air was filled with the familiar sounds of children's laughter, the rhythmic thud of shoes against the ball, and the occasional shout of encouragement. A group of young apprentices had gathered for a friendly training session — a much-needed break from their magical duties. It was a rare moment of downtime, and they made the most of it.
Kotake, determined to sharpen his skills, was practicing his dribbling with intense focus. His sharp, agile movements cut through the air as he worked with a ball that seemed almost an extension of himself. Despite his usual composure, his concentration was absolute as he pushed the ball between his feet, moving quickly in a zigzag pattern across the grass.
On the other side of the field, Takao was stationed as the goalkeeper, waiting patiently for the ball to come his way. His expression was a mixture of concentration and light-heartedness, always up for a challenge, even if it was just practice. His eyes tracked every movement Kotake made, preparing for the next shot. Takao's bright eyes were fixed on the ball, ready to leap into action.
Meanwhile, Ichiro, Ryota, and Karin were honing their footwork and agility. Ryota, with his competitive spirit, was pushing himself hard, trying to outdo his previous performance. His footwork was quick and precise, but he was still working on mastering control over the ball's direction. Karin, always curious and observant, was closely watching her older brother, soaking in every bit of advice he offered. Ichiro, the ever-caring and patient older sibling, offered words of encouragement as they practiced.
As Ryota powered up for a strong kick, the ball rocketed through the air with impressive force. But, in the heat of the moment, his aim was off. The trajectory veered wide, and before anyone could react, the ball shot straight toward Takao.
"Owww!" Takao yelped in surprise as the ball slammed into his shoulder with a resounding thud. His arms flung upward instinctively as he stumbled back a few paces from the impact.
The group froze for a moment, and Ryota's face immediately morphed into an expression of guilt. "Sorry!" he called out, wincing in sympathy, the sound of the collision still echoing in his ears.
Takao, though momentarily stunned, quickly regained his composure and flashed a thumbs-up. He rubbed his shoulder but grinned through the discomfort. "I'm fine!" he reassured them, his voice cheerful despite the slight ache. "It's just a scratch."
Kotake, ever the responsible one, immediately sprinted over to check on his friend. "Are you sure? That looked like it hurt!" His brow furrowed slightly as he surveyed Takao's shoulder with concern, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Takao chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. "Really, I'm good! It'll take more than a soccer ball to take me down."
Ichiro, who had watched the scene unfold with a mix of concern and amusement, finally relaxed and smiled in relief. "I'm glad you're okay!" he said, his voice warm, offering a sense of comfort to his friends.
Karin, ever the observant one, gazed up at her older brother, her bright, curious eyes gleaming with interest. She tugged gently on his sleeve, her voice tinged with optimism. "Ichiro, do you think we can really improve our soccer skills before the next match?" Her tone was filled with determination, the kind that only a younger sibling could possess when looking up to her older brother for guidance.
Ichiro paused for a moment, considering her question. Then, with a soft chuckle, he knelt down and gently ruffled her hair, his smile warm and reassuring. "Definitely! We'll get better together," he promised. "Just keep practicing, and we'll all improve." His words were gentle but filled with the confidence that his younger siblings always relied on.
As the last rays of the afternoon sun began to stretch long shadows across the field, an unexpected sound broke the peaceful moment — a sharp, electronic tone from the control room. The unmistakable sound of the special alarm filled the air, signaling that something important was happening. The change in atmosphere was immediate. Kotake's attention snapped to the sky, his gaze sharp and alert.
"The control room! Let's go!" Kotake called out, his voice filled with urgency. As one of the supervisors, he was quick to take charge. The lighthearted atmosphere of the soccer game instantly shifted as they all knew that something significant was on the horizon.
Without hesitation, the group of friends pulled out their Taps from their pockets — the magical devices they carried everywhere, ever ready for action. They tapped the devices in unison, and in an instant, their simple athletic outfits transformed into their apprentice wizard and witch uniforms, marking the shift from play to duty.
"Pretty Wizard Kotake-cchi!"
"Pretty Wizard Takao-cchi!"
"Pretty Wizard Ichiro-cchi!"
"Pretty Wizard Ryota-cchi!"
"Pretty Witch Karin-cchi!"
And just like that, they were transformed — ready to face whatever the control room had in store. But even with all their newfound energy, Takao found himself lagging slightly behind. His usual laid-back attitude had him taking his time, trailing behind the others.
"HEY! WAIT FOR ME!" Takao shouted, a laugh escaping him as he sprinted to catch up with the others, his voice playful but filled with a slight sense of urgency.
As they ran down the hallways of the Maho-Do, their footsteps echoed through the empty spaces, adding to the sense of anticipation in the air. The magical academy was a place where adventure was always around the corner, but the control room held the promise of something truly special.
When they finally reached the control room, the atmosphere was charged with excitement. Several other apprentices had already gathered, all standing before the massive screen that was the centerpiece of the room. On it, a video call was already in progress with the Ojamajos and their newest friend, Sara.
Takao was the last to enter, still panting from his sprint, but he grinned wide as he caught sight of the screen. "What's going on?" he asked breathlessly, his curiosity piqued.
"Look at the screen!" Kenji grinned at him, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Takao's eyes widened in surprise and excitement as he saw a new face on the screen. "Wow! A new friend!" he exclaimed.
"Say hello to Sara!" Kenji encouraged, gesturing to the screen where the Ojamajos smiled warmly in greeting.
"Hi, Sara!" Takao waved energetically at the screen, his voice full of enthusiasm.
"Hello! Salam!" came Sara's voice, her bright smile lighting up the screen as she greeted the group.
Takao's brow furrowed in curiosity, tilting his head as he asked, "Who are you?"
Sara giggled softly, a twinkle in her eye as she responded, "I am the Ojamajo of Afghanistan."
Takao's eyes widened in awe. "That's so cool!" he beamed. "Hello, Doremi! Hello, Hazuki! Hello, Aiko! Hello, Onpu! Hello, Momoko! Hello, Pop! How's Afghanistan going?"
From the other side of the screen, Doremi and Pop answered together, their voices bright with joy. "It's great!"
Momoko bounced up and down, her excitement palpable. "We got to see an attan performance with all the colorful costumes!"
Aiko chimed in, her voice filled with wonder. "And the mosques and bazaars are amazing! There's so much to see!"
Hazuki, ever the calm and collected one, smiled gently. "We're already flying to find the first artifact."
But just as the conversation seemed to flow naturally, a voice interrupted from the background. "Be careful! That place can be full of scary individuals. Did anyone warn you?" It was Yoko's voice, filled with concern.
Aiko, always the reassuring one, nodded confidently. "Majoghura already did," she said. "We'll stay safe."
Junji, unable to resist adding his two cents, leaned forward with a grin. "Make sure to try the kabuli pulao! I heard it's delicious!"
Sara's eyes sparkled, and she nodded enthusiastically. "Don't worry! My family is cooking it for the next jirga meeting," she explained.
Hana, who had been quiet until now, furrowed her brow in confusion. "Wait…Hana-chan thought you were cooking just for us and Majoghura because there were no meetings?"
Sara giggled, her voice playful. "The next jirga is this week. My parents decided to cook a lot of pulao. Majoghura texted me about it."
"Oh, okay!" Hana smiled in understanding, her face lighting up with the realization. "Before we end the chat, what would you like to say to our friends back home?"
Sara folded her hands in front of her heart, her expression sincere. "It is my pleasure to meet you all. I hope I will visit you one day. Alaslam alikam wabarkata!"
"You too!" the Ojamajos' friends replied in chorus, their voices filled with warmth as they shared in the moment of connection. And with that, Hazuki ended the video call, leaving behind a sense of excitement for the adventures that were to come.
As the connection to the Maho-Do gently ended on Hazuki's Sekai Touch Call, the Ojamajos and Sara ascended higher into the sky, their broomsticks gliding effortlessly through the cool twilight air. Below them, the sprawling landscape of Afghanistan stretched endlessly—rolling hills, winding rivers, and rugged mountains bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The horizon shimmered in hues of amber and purple, casting long shadows over the valleys and painting the ancient land with a quiet, melancholic beauty.
Sara's dark hair fluttered in the breeze as she pointed toward the distant hills, her voice soft yet carrying a profound sense of pride.
"Beyond those hills lies the old Silk Road..." she began, her gaze fixed on the undulating landscape. "Centuries ago, caravans passed through these paths—merchants, explorers, and wanderers—carrying spices, jewels, and stories from lands far away. The Silk Road connected East and West, bridging different worlds together. Some say the relics we're searching for were hidden along that route... secrets buried beneath the sands of time."
Doremi's magenta eyes sparkled with wonder, her heart fluttering at the thought. "That sounds like something straight out of a fairy tale!" she exclaimed, her imagination already running wild.
Sara's lips curved into a soft smile. "Afghanistan is full of stories like that—legends whispered from one generation to the next. This land is ancient... older than many can imagine. But it's not just history written in books. Every mountain, every village, every river carries memories. The people here... we come from different backgrounds—Hazaras, Pashtuns (which is what I belong to), Tajiks, Uzbeks—each with our own languages, music, and traditions. Even though history has not always been kind to us, we share this land."
Hazuki's amber eyes glimmered in the fading sunlight, her hands clasped tightly around her broomstick. "Majorika told us that Afghanistan was once called the 'Graveyard of Empires.' Is that true?"
Sara's smile wavered, her expression growing somber as the weight of her country's history seemed to settle on her shoulders. "Yes... it's true. For thousands of years, armies from faraway lands tried to conquer Afghanistan—the Persians, the Greeks, the Mongols, the British... but none of them could ever hold this land for long. The mountains guard their secrets well. Even now... the wars haven't truly ended. Most travelers fear coming here anymore. They think it's only a land of ruins and suffering."
Aiko's blue eyes narrowed, her fists clenching tightly. "Well, we're not afraid! We're here to help, and we'll find that artifact no matter what! No one should have to live in fear."
Sara's eyes softened, shining with gratitude. The gentle breeze carried the faint fragrance of wild saffron blooming along the cliffs below. "Thank you... with friends like you by my side, I believe anything is possible. Maybe... maybe this journey isn't just about finding a lost relic. Maybe it's about showing the world that even in dark times, kindness and courage still shine."
The Ojamajos' hearts swelled with determination, their bond growing stronger under the deepening twilight. The mountains ahead stood like silent sentinels, their jagged peaks wrapped in veils of mist. Somewhere hidden among those craggy ridges, the relic they sought awaited discovery—along with the countless stories buried beneath the ancient earth.
Momoko's sharp golden eyes scanned the horizon, when suddenly something caught her attention far below—a massive, hollowed-out figure carved into the side of a cliff. The statue's headless silhouette loomed over the valley, its empty niche like a wound carved into the very bones of the mountain.
"Sara, what is that?" Momoko asked, her voice hushed as if afraid to disturb the statue's slumber.
Sara's gaze followed Momoko's finger, and for a long moment, she said nothing. Her eyes darkened, shadows flickering in their depths.
"That... those were the Buddhas of Bamiyan." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "They stood for more than a thousand years—guardians of the valley, symbols of peace and knowledge. But years ago... some crazy people decided to blow them up. They called them idols... said they had no place in this land anymore."
A heavy silence fell over the group. Even the wind seemed to hush, carrying only the distant echo of memories long buried beneath dust and rubble.
Hazuki's eyes shimmered with sadness. "That's terrible... How could anyone destroy something so beautiful?"
Sara's fingers tightened around the handle of her broomstick, her knuckles turning white. "They wanted to erase our past... to make us forget who we are. But no matter how much they destroy, the stories will always remain. The mountains remember. The people remember. Even if the statues are gone... their spirit still lingers here."
Hana sheds a tear. "So, these people are the bad guys what Mahoghura is talking about?"
Sara nodded. "Yes."
Doremi's heart ached as she gazed at the empty niche, imagining the colossal Buddhas as they once stood—serene and timeless, watching over the valley for centuries.
"Then we'll help you find those relics," she declared, her voice trembling but resolute. "We'll help you protect those stories... so no one ever forgets."
Sara's eyes shimmered, reflecting the last light of the sun. For a moment, the weight of sorrow lifted from her heart, replaced by a fragile but unwavering hope.
"Thank you... all of you." Her voice was soft, but in that single moment, it carried the strength of an entire people who had endured centuries of hardship. "Let's go... there's still so much to uncover."
With renewed determination, the Ojamajos soared into the fading twilight, their silhouettes outlined against the starlit sky, bathed in the fading glow of the sun's last breath. The mountains loomed ahead—dark and mysterious—but no longer just symbols of war and suffering. They were now symbols of resilience, of the Ojamajos' resolve to uncover the past and protect the future.
As they flew, the night began to envelop them, and Sara's voice cut through the silence, breaking the spell with a new sense of purpose. "We are heading to Mazar, to the iconic Blue Mosque. It's where Allah is said to have merged a girl's soul into the Saray-Mor, a jewel of unimaginable power. It's also one of the locations where the great caliph Ali is said to be buried. To the Sunnis, he is a revered caliph, but to the Shia, he is the first imam—the foundation of a spiritual legacy that continues to resonate today."
Her words hung in the air, full of weight and anticipation. "This will be one of the locations that will give us the first clue about where the gem might be hidden."
"So this is going to be the first clue of the hunt?" Onpu asked, her voice filled with wonder.
"That's what people have said," Sara replied, her eyes alight with excitement and anticipation.
Finally, after what felt like hours of soaring through the endless expanse of the night sky, the group arrived at Mazar. The cool, crisp air of the evening filled their lungs as they descended from the clouds, the gentle breeze teasing their hair as it swept past them. The stars above twinkled like scattered diamonds, sparkling with a brilliance that seemed almost magical. As the moonlight bathed the land below them, casting a soft, silver glow, the Ojamajos could feel a sense of awe and wonder washing over them, as if they had entered a realm suspended between dreams and reality.
Below them, standing proud and majestic against the inky sky, was the magnificent Blue Mosque, its massive silhouette looming on the horizon. The mosque's imposing domes, intricate arches, and towering minarets reached up toward the heavens as though they had been sculpted by celestial hands. The structure seemed timeless, its regal stature commanding respect and reverence from all who gazed upon it. The night air held a profound silence, broken only by the soft whispers of the wind.
The mosque was bathed in an ethereal blue glow, its radiance spilling out and casting a serene, otherworldly light across the surrounding landscape. The intricate mosaic tiles that adorned the surface of the mosque shimmered under the moonlight, each one reflecting the soft glow as though it contained a secret, ancient magic within its patterns. The delicate lines of each tile seemed to pulse with life, almost as though the walls of the mosque themselves were alive, harboring mysteries that had been waiting to be discovered for centuries. The Ojamajos gazed in awe, their hearts racing with excitement, marveling at the breathtaking beauty of the scene before them.
"Woah! Everything is blue! So, this is why they call it the Blue Mosque," Aiko exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. Her eyes were wide, scanning the massive structure before her. She couldn't take her eyes off the intricate details—the curves of the arches, the intricate patterns on the tiles, the way the light seemed to dance across the mosque's surface. The sight was mesmerizing, unlike anything she had ever seen before.
"It's true," Sara said with a gentle smile, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and nostalgia as she gazed up at the mosque. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corners of her lips as she spoke. "The entire place is covered in blue—both the tiles and the people who visit here. You'll notice that many of the women wear the burqa, and it's also blue, a symbol of both modesty and reverence."
The Ojamajos nodded, each of them lost in their own thoughts, captivated by the beauty and history that surrounded them. It wasn't just the architecture of the mosque that fascinated them—it was the sense of something much deeper, something older, something that transcended time and place. They continued to stand in reverence, feeling the weight of the sacred space they had entered.
"So every Nowruz, the mosque holds the Jahanda Bala ceremony," Sara continued, her voice growing softer, a tone of reverence now slipping into her words. "During the ceremony, a flag is raised in honor of the caliph. Anyone who touches the flag is said to receive good luck throughout the year."
The Ojamajos gasped in unison, their curiosity piqued. "Really?" they asked, their voices full of intrigue and wonder.
"In fact, Majoghura and I were here once, and it was massive—absolutely enormous," Sara added, her smile widening as the memory flooded back. "We even got to touch the flag ourselves. The entire ceremony was filled with so much energy, like the whole city was holding its breath. It was an experience I'll never forget."
The Ojamajos exchanged excited glances, eager to hear more about the ceremony. But the mystery of the moment was interrupted by Pop, who bounced on the balls of her feet, her voice bubbling with energy.
"Well, should we go inside?" she asked eagerly, her face lit up with anticipation. The grandeur of the mosque had already captivated her, and now, the thought of exploring its interior was enough to fill her with pure excitement.
"Of course," Sara nodded, her voice calm and steady, her role as the leader clear. "Inside is where we'll find our first clue, but before we go in, I have something special for all of you." She reached into her bag and pulled out several shimmering blue burqas. The fabric of each burqa was incredibly fine, the material so smooth that it seemed to ripple slightly, almost as though it had a life of its own.
"These are no ordinary burqas," Sara continued, her eyes sparkling with mystery. "They've been imbued with the power of a chameleon. Once you wear them, you'll be able to blend in with your surroundings, making you virtually invisible to anyone inside."
The Ojamajos gasped, their eyes wide in astonishment. They had never seen anything like this before.
Sara handed each of them a burqa, and as soon as they slipped them on, something extraordinary happened. The fabric seemed to come alive in their hands, shifting and changing with an almost magical fluidity. The burqas began to adjust to their surroundings, slowly and steadily camouflaging into the space around them. The effect was immediate and astonishing. As the fabric enveloped their bodies, they felt themselves blend into the surroundings, becoming nearly invisible. The Ojamajos glanced down at their clothes in disbelief as their forms began to disappear into the air around them, their movements becoming fluid and undetectable.
"Awesome!" Momoko exclaimed, her voice full of wonder and excitement. She spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of her reflection, but her burqa had already blended perfectly with the background. It was as if she had vanished entirely. "I can't even see my burqa! This is incredible!"
The group, now hidden beneath the magical burqas, entered the mosque. The air inside was cool and filled with the subtle fragrance of incense. The atmosphere was thick with reverence, the silence heavy and all-encompassing. The ornate walls rose up to great heights, adorned with intricate patterns and delicate carvings. Every inch of the space seemed to tell a story, from the grand arches that stretched above them to the finely detailed mosaics that decorated the floors and walls. The Ojamajos moved quietly and respectfully, each of them feeling the sacredness of the space. They could feel the gravity of their surroundings, as if they were walking through history itself.
They approached the zarih—the tomb of the caliph—its shape regal and elegant. It glowed softly with an ethereal blue light, as though the tomb itself was alive with a quiet energy. Its beauty was haunting, its presence both humbling and awe-inspiring.
"This is the zarih of the caliph," Sara explained softly, her voice barely above a whisper. There was reverence in her tone as she gazed upon the tomb. "But don't let this fool you—it's technically not a Shia shrine. Most of the visitors here are Sunni or Sufi. Still, it's a place of immense respect and significance for many."
Hazuki, ever observant, noticed a small piece of paper resting on the tomb. It was delicate, almost fragile, its edges worn from years of handling. Her fingers itched to reach for it, but the scroll seemed just out of reach. She shifted slightly, trying again, and this time, something extraordinary happened. The paper, as if responding to some unseen force, fluttered gently in the air, drifting toward her hand. It hovered for a moment before settling softly into her grasp, as if guided by an invisible presence.
"Got it!" Hazuki said in astonishment, her voice filled with excitement. The others gathered around her, their eyes wide with curiosity as they eagerly looked at the scroll in her hands.
"You found it?" Sara asked, her voice thick with anticipation. Her eyes were locked onto the paper, and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought, as if trying to unlock its secrets before anyone else could.
"I think this might be the first clue," Hazuki said, her brow furrowing as she examined the scroll closely. "But it's written in Dari. I can't understand it."
Sara stepped forward, her expression focused. "Let me take a look," she said, extending her hand. Hazuki passed the paper to her, and Sara's eyes quickly scanned the intricate script. Her lips moved silently as she translated the words in her mind before speaking aloud.
"As the whole land mourns, three shahs (wearing blue) began to glow blue out of respect to the girl. They are a signal to Allah that her soul needs to be transferred to a jewel. During the funeral, with Allah's guidance and the help of the three witnesses, her soul was transferred into the jewel. The shahs then hid the jewel, placing it somewhere within this land for the harmony of the nation—and of the world. However, to find the jewel, one must find the other two shahs."
Sara paused, her voice barely above a whisper, her expression grave. "I think this is the first clue. The three shahs could be a reference to the three blue mosques. The one we're at right now is one of them. But where are the others?"
Onpu, her eyes wide with excitement, looked around the room, the mystery beginning to take shape in her mind. "Is this some kind of mystery? Or... a revelation?"
"It's both," Sara said, her voice steady, her gaze filled with determination. "And we're going to solve it. Together."
Before anyone could respond, a sudden rumble echoed through the mosque, causing them all to pause. It wasn't ominous—just the unmistakable sound of growling stomachs. The Ojamajos exchanged sheepish glances, realizing that while the adventure had been thrilling, they had completely forgotten about food.
"Aw, I'm so, so hungry right now," Pop groaned, clutching her stomach dramatically. Her excitement had been so all-consuming that she hadn't even noticed how starved she was.
Sara laughed softly, her warmth filling the air. "I know a bolani place nearby. It's a small shop, but the food is amazing. You'll love it."
"What's a bolani?" Aiko asked, furrowing her brow in confusion.
Sara chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "A bolani is a type of stuffed flatbread, usually filled with potatoes, herbs, and sometimes even ground meat. It's savory, warm, and absolutely delicious—like a pastry. It's a popular street food here, and one of my favorites!"
Momoko's eyes lit up at the thought of food. "That sounds amazing! Let's go!" she exclaimed, her energy renewed by the promise of a hearty meal.
With their stomachs growling and their minds set on the next phase of their adventure, the Ojamajos followed Sara out of the mosque, eager for both their meal and the mystery that lay ahead.
They made their way to a bolani vendor, a small street stall nestled on the outskirts of the mosque. The aroma of sizzling dough and spiced fillings filled the air, making their mouths water. The vendor was busy flipping flatbreads on a griddle, expertly maneuvering them with practiced hands.
"Salam alaikum!" Sara greeted the vendor with a smile, holding out afghanis to pay for the food.
"Wa alaykumu s-salam!" the vendor responded, his hands moving swiftly as he prepared the next batch of bolani.
"I'll have eight bolanis!" Sara said, handing over the money.
"Coming right up!" the vendor said with a nod. He quickly placed the golden-brown flatbreads on plates, one for each of them. The aroma was mouthwatering, and the Ojamajos couldn't wait to dig in.
"Thank you!" Sara said as she took the plates, handing one to each of the Ojamajos.
"Smells so good!" Doremi exclaimed, her stomach growling in agreement. "Shall we start eating?"
"Itadakimasu!" the Ojamajos cheered in unison, their voices filled with excitement and gratitude. They dug into the warm, savory bolani, savoring each bite.
Sara laughed in response, her heart swelling with happiness at the sight of her friends enjoying the meal.
"I never heard about this word before," she said, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "What does 'Itadakimasu' mean?"
"Itadakimasu!" the Ojamajos repeated cheerfully. "Back in Japan, it's a phrase we say before eating. It's a way of showing gratitude for the meal we're about to enjoy!"
"Here, we say 'Amin!' before eating," Sara said, smiling as she took a bite of her own bolani.
After finishing their meal, the Ojamajos decided to rest for the night. They set up camp on the outskirts of the city, where the dry desert winds whispered through the sparse trees. The crackling fire flickered gently, casting long shadows as the sky darkened into a sea of stars. The faint outline of distant mountains framed the horizon, while the cool night air carried the scent of earth and wildflowers.
Sara, sitting cross-legged with her rubab cradled in her lap, plucked at the strings with delicate fingers. The soft, melancholic notes drifted into the night, wrapping the group in a sense of calm. Her blue eyes sparkled in the firelight as she began to sing — the hauntingly beautiful melody of "Da Zamong Zeba Watan" by Ustad Awalmir filled the silence. Her voice was gentle, yet filled with longing, carrying the emotions of countless generations through each note.
The Ojamajos listened in mesmerized silence. Doremi hugged her knees, her mulberry eyes reflecting the fire. Hazuki's glasses caught the glow as she closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. Aiko tapped her fingers softly against her knees in rhythm, while Onpu's lavender hair shimmered in the moonlight as she watched Sara with quiet admiration. Momoko clasped her hands together, and even Pop and Hana sat still, sensing the emotion woven into the song.
When the final note lingered in the air, fading into the night, there was a long, peaceful silence.
"That was... beautiful," Hazuki murmured, breaking the quiet.
"I've never heard anything like it," Onpu added softly. "It felt... like I could see your heart."
Sara's cheeks flushed, and she tucked a loose strand of her blue hair behind her ear. "Thank you... This song reminds me of home — of our mountains, our rivers... and the people we've lost."
A gentle breeze stirred the flames. For a moment, no one spoke, as if the night itself was holding its breath.
"Your watan... your homeland," Doremi said quietly, looking up at the endless sky. "Even if we're far away... I think music can carry our hearts across any distance."
Sara's eyes glistened, and she placed her rubab carefully beside her. "You're right, Doremi... Music is a magic that connects us all."
One by one, the Ojamajos lay down on the soft earth, wrapped in their blankets. The sounds of the desert night whispered around them — distant jackals calling to each other, leaves rustling in the breeze, and the faint hum of life unseen. The stars above watched silently, keeping their secrets.