Yes, for Chika Tatehara, the ability to transform into a beautiful girl was more important than any added magic or physical prowess. It was fair to say that her appearance accounted for 70 percent of the reason she was in this business.
Chika was not a fan of her natural looks. She had moles all over, and she was certain her nose pointed too far upward. Her right and left breasts didn’t match in size or shape. Her fingertips were thick and round. She was so bowlegged that her legs never touched. No matter how much milk she drank, she was still short. And her eyes could stand to be bigger. No one had ever called her ugly, but neither could she recall ever hearing the words “cute” or “pretty” applied to her. She had a feeling that people purposefully avoided talking about her appearance. Perhaps that was something of a victim complex on her part, but maybe it wasn’t just her imagination after all.
In middle school, Chika had avoided anything that drew attention, trying to be as average as possible. Even if no one ever praised her, at least no one ever put her down, either. She’d spent her whole life thus far maneuvering in this way.
She’d never considered it a bad thing. Relative obscurity had its own joys, after all. She could play games and use the cute photo booths at the arcades that school rules forbade students from visiting, or she could read and share naughty books with a book club. Sure, it wasn’t what those girls with gobs of mascara did, but she could still get up to no good.
But there were some things Chika couldn’t do.
Ninomiya, number four on the baseball team, was outstandingly talented—their star player and cleanup batter, who had pro scouts all over him and a career in the major leagues all but in the bag. He had a calm and carefree personality, and he enjoyed baseball, eating, and sleeping. On first glance, his height and weight would suggest he was much older than middle school, and most people found him frightening upon first meeting, but he was pleasant and all smiles in conversation. His quick grins and talent for baseball attracted girls not just from his own school but from nearby middle schools, high schools, and even universities. They all came running to cheer him on not only for games but even for practices.
As a huge fan of Ninomiya, Chika was no exception. She often made excuses about it, telling herself that she was different from those other superficial fans. She just loved baseball and watching him play. His slider pitches in particular were on another level, like magic.
After matches and practice, girls would rush over carrying offerings for him: towels, candied lemons, kettles of cold water, and so on. Due to an unspoken rule, the girls would line up in order of attractiveness. If Chika were to push others aside on the approach, the next day, they’d be talking behind her back and spreading rumors to make her an outcast. It would have painted the rest of her middle school days black.
But what would life be like if she were pretty? What if she were as beautiful as a pop idol or a model? Then no one would object. No one would be able to object. She wished so badly to get close to Ninomiya, for him to eat a homemade lunch she’d put her heart into, that she wanted to become someone else. The offer of magical girlhood was a godsend for someone with such a desperate desire to be beautiful. She did her damnedest to pass the selection test and become the magical girl Pechka.
And now, looking at herself in the mirror, Chika breathed a sigh. Not her usual sigh, though. Her nose was high bridged, and her complexion was smooth and free of the moles she was so self-conscious about. Her eyes were big and her irises strong. The curve of her eyebrows was beautiful, without so much as a hair out of place. Her fingers were thin, the tips narrow and shapely. No longer were her breasts uneven; in size, shape, and bounce, they were close to the ideal Chika had envisioned, and her crooked legs were straight and slender now, too. She smiled, spun, and struck a pose. Every move she made was angelic.
Her one complaint would be that her clothes were a bit garish. They were appropriate as a magical-girl costume, but everything about the attire was aggressively unique. Pechka’s body was no less distinctive in its impact, but the clothes left too strong an impression for day-to-day wear.
Chika transformed into Pechka and stripped off her clothes and accessories. Then she slipped into a white dress, worthy of a rich lady visiting a summer resort. She’d bought it because she wanted it, even though it didn’t suit her, but without the confidence to wear it, she’d left it to rot in her dresser.
Careful not to alert her family, she sneaked out of the house.
It had been a year and a half since she first became a magical girl back in her second year of middle school, but she was in her third year already. Her days of simply gazing at herself in the mirror were over. For so long she’d let helping people take up all her free time, always coming up with some excuse to postpone this day, but she couldn’t put it off any longer. Now was the time to act.
She’d had no time to make a nice boxed lunch by hand, so while she was out, she used Pechka’s magical ability to create a delicious meal. It appeared a bit boring but tasted delectable. She packed it into a lunch box and quickly wrapped it. With that, her gift was complete.
She walked onto the baseball field. For a year and a half, she’d worried that maybe Pechka wasn’t actually pretty, that she was just the same old Chika, and she would get snubbed. But the shock, envy, and jealousy from the other girls blew all her worries away. The whispering sea of fans parted before Pechka. Looks determined your place here, so Pechka took priority over those mascara-covered girls. She strode forward boldly. Somehow, she managed to walk like a model on the runway, something she never could have pulled off as her normal self.
Beyond the sea of fans was Ninomiya himself, chatting and laughing. His friends, upon spotting Pechka, began poking the boy’s arm and pointing at her in astonishment. Then he looked at her. She had no idea what his expression was—she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Staring at the tips of his muddy spiked shoes, she quickly blurted, “I’m a big fan. Good luck out there,” and shoved the wrapped lunch at him. Ninomiya may have said something, but she didn’t hear it—right after throwing the gift at him, she ran away.
Just as they had done upon her arrival, the sea of fans parted, and Pechka headed home. She sneaked past her family to her room, dispelled her transformation, and flopped onto the bed. There she writhed, moaning and groaning unintelligibly.
Her magical phone chirped with the text-alert tune, but she was in no state to check it. One moment she fidgeted atop her bed, and in the next she suddenly hit the ground hard without warning, writhing not in love but in physical pain. Dirt and pebbles filled her mouth, and her nose and forehead stung like they’d been scraped across something. Her soft, clean bed had transformed into a hard and deadly weapon.
She flipped over to try to check what was going on, but a blinding light kept her from opening her eyes. The insides of her eyelids were a searing white. Slowly, she acclimated to the light, until she could finally take in her strange, abnormal surroundings.