Origin: How I Became A Magical Girl’s Hapless Sidekick In A Craptastic World

Uriko gasped with panic, rushing from room to room within a structure that was intimately familiar to her. A vestige from a different era surrounded by the ultra-modern skyline of Jo Loon — the Gobal city and mecca of Magical Girls.

Sweeping tiled roofs adorned with onigawara, traditional Japanese roof ornaments, seemed to float above the paper thin shoji screens and fragrant tatami mats that decorated the inside of the house. She had stayed in this house for three years, of course, as she was enrolled into a rigorous international program designed for budding Magical Girls.

"Momo-kun? Okaa-san?" Her voice echoed through the high-ceiling corridors, bouncing off tatami mats and fusuma partitions. Each room she frantically searched added to the growing dread in her chest. They were not here. No one was here.

She was alone.

Uriko clutched her head as memories flooded her mind. It had been the first day of school. She had already become accustomed to her pseudonym, of course, but it was still a strange feeling to assume a new name. It was like discarding a key piece of her identity itself.

She remembered a clash of training sabers on the school’s gymnasium mat, the fierce determination in her foul-mouthed opponent’s blue eyes, a victorious duel that humbled her more than any defeat. She was Uriko, not just an ordinary girl, but a Magical Girl, and she it was almost as if she was destined to become one. Before awakening, she'd grown up with unparalleled talent for the blade that had been her companion since she took her first steps.

Yet, despite her innate talent. Despite countless hours honing her craft, that accursed girl with dark skin and blue eyes had proved to be more than a match for her. She'd been grounded more than once in their bout, and barely edged out a victory.

"Otou-san!" Uriko's voice echoed through the deserted house through bleary, tear-filled eyes, her frantic search only intensifying the pit in her stomach. She searched every room, ran her fingers over the cold wood of the bamboo veranda and peered into the quiet serenity of the inner garden, but all she found was silence. The absence of her loved ones filled the house, turning it into an empty shell.

Collapsed onto the tatami, Uriko was overtaken by a rush of memories, like a movie playing out behind her closed eyes.

Uriko was a child prodigy, who woke up one day as a Magical Girl at the tender age of eight and could gracefully brandish a wakizashi before she could even properly write her name. It was her destiny to serve the world. A destiny that the royal family acknowledged and nurtured.

A fragment of a memory swelled within her, manifesting as an intense wave of nostalgia that made her breath hitch. She found herself pulled towards an austere room at the end of the corridor. Her small hands trembling, she slid open the door, revealing a room filled with soft, diffused sunlight. It was a traditional Japanese room, a tokonoma alcove adorning one side, with the dry, dead remains of meticulously arranged flowers gracing the space.

On the wall, there was a single hanging scroll with a beautifully rendered ink painting. Beneath it was an empty wooden rack, void of the katana that used to be its pride. The room was an embodiment of wabi-sabi, the Japanese aesthetic of beauty in transience and imperfection. This space belonged to her father, Hisato, Prince of the Silver Chrysanthemums.

"Otou-san..." Uriko whispered, and the soft utterance seemed to echo, like a lonely gust of wind trapped within the ancient walls. As if obeying an invisible command, her feet moved on their own, slowly leading her to the corner of the room. There, she found a small wooden box tucked away.

As she opened it, a rush of emotions swept over her. The box contained an assortment of knick-knacks - a small hand-painted origami crane, a much-loved copy of "The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter", and a tiny plastic charm of a samurai. Memories rushed back like a tsunami, each item a precious memento of a life she shared with her little brother.

A soft smile graced her lips as she delicately picked up the origami crane. She remembered teaching Momo-kun how to fold these, his small chubby fingers clumsily trying to mimic her own. The sight of his determined face, those twinkling eyes full of wonder and excitement filled her with a bittersweet warmth.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she clutched the crane to her chest, her heart aching for her parents, for Momo-kun. What had happened to her second home? Where were they?

She didn’t understand where she was, or why she had appeared in her house. Who were the strangers who had surrounded her when she’d woken up? How had she suddenly appeared here? All she knew was that she had lost something irreplaceable, something crucial to her identity. There was an abyss inside her, a yawning gap that gnawed at her heart, and she didn’t know where it stemmed from.

Abruptly, a loud crash from the adjacent room startled her from her thoughts. Uriko jumped up, her hands instinctively moving to her waist where her katana would reside when she transformed, but found nothing. Biting her lower lip, she carefully approached the door, slid it open a fraction, and peeked through.

In the middle of the room was an antique vanity mirror, the one her mother used daily. The mirror was obscured by a thick layer of dust that had settled over it, and it seemed to have just toppled over onto the hardwood floor.

Heart pounding, Uriko approached the mirror. Each footstep echoed ominously through the empty room. The dust-covered surface shimmered in the room's faint light, obscured but still offering a dull reflection. With a trembling hand, she reached out and gently wiped away the dust.

An unknown face stared back at her. A matured face. It was her face, but not as she knew it. A beautiful, young woman gazed at her with wide, blue eyes framed by long black hair that cascaded down her shoulders, a striking resemblance to her mother. Her heart pounded against her chest as she touched her face, the reflection doing the same. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as she tried to make sense of the woman in the mirror.

"Why?" Uriko whispered, her voice breaking as she stared at the unfamiliar face in the mirror. The question hung in the air, unanswered. The reflection offered no consolation, only the silent, grim acknowledgment of reality. This was her, yet she had no recollection of the years that had etched themselves onto her face. The enormity of the situation was overwhelming, threatening to swallow her whole.

She looked at her face, the face of a stranger. Her fingers traced her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, and her black hair that cascaded down to her waist. It was her and yet it wasn't her. She was Uriko, but the woman in the mirror was not the Uriko she knew. She was a child trapped in a body that was not her own. The fear and confusion started to mount, and she felt an odd sensation in her chest - her heart pounded as if it wanted to leap out of her chest, her breathing came out as ragged, shallow gasps.

Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through her chest, as if she had been impaled by a cold steel blade. She crumpled onto the tatami mats, her hand clutching her chest, the pulsating pain seemingly synchronizing with her heartbeat. As the pain subsided, she opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the mirror once more. The girl in the mirror stared back at her, her beautiful eyes reflecting a mix of fear, bewilderment, and a glimmer of… malice?

The reflection's eyes pulsed purple, an iridescent glow that made the room feel as if it was underwater. Uriko could feel an oppressive energy rolling off the mirror, chilling her skin and raising the hairs on the back of her neck. As she watched, the reflection's lips curled into a smile, a cruel smirk that sent shivers down Uriko's spine.

“Kill them all…” The voice was not hers, a low guttural whisper in accented Japanese that filled the room with an unsettling echo. "Avenge us..."

Uriko's eyes widened, her heart hammering in her chest. She shook her head, backing away from the mirror, but her reflection remained. That cruel smirk never leaving its face.

The woman’s lips moved, and a soft, cruel voice echoed in the room, "Uriko, Daughter of the Silver Chrysanthemums. Do you remember?"

Uriko stared, transfixed, at the reflection. That wasn’t her voice. It was dark and laced with menace, echoing from a time she couldn’t recall. Her lips hadn’t moved, but the reflection’s had.

"Remember what?" she breathed, a feeling of dread crawling up her spine. The girl in the mirror smiled, a wicked, sadistic grin that looked out of place on Uriko's face.

"Remember the sins of mankind, Uriko. Remember their greed, their selfishness, their vanity. Remember their deceit, their lies, their countless betrayals." The voice was sharp, cutting through the air with a vengeance that made Uriko's skin crawl.

The room filled with an oppressive chill, an unnerving atmosphere. Shadows seemed to lengthen and distort, gathering at the corners of the room, creeping closer and closer, as if echoing the sinister nature of the reflection’s words.

"What… what are you talking about?" Uriko stuttered, feeling her heartbeat echo in her ears, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. The corners of the mirror-reflection's mouth curled up further, an uncanny contrast to Uriko's own terrified expression.

Then, the reflection shifted. The mature face softened, the smirk disappeared, replaced by an expression of pure fear. The eyes were blue, but wide and terror-filled, glowing a vibrant purple. The hair transformed from a cascade of black to a tumultuous sea of blue.

The voice changed too, from a guttural whisper to a panicked whimper. "Please... No more... I can't... I can't… Stop! It hurts so much!!" The English words tumbled out, heavy with a native Brittanian accent, yet clear and piercing.

A man appeared next to the reflection, tall and dignified, his dark hair neatly styled, and eyes sharp as a katana. His face was stern, focused, but underneath the firm facade, Uriko could see a glint of remorse. Beside him, a woman with green hair, pale skin and vibrant yellow eyes, her face mirroring the man's stern expression.

Suddenly, Uriko could see the room through the reflection's eyes. The sterile white walls, the blinding lights overhead, and the oppressive sensation of being trapped, her body restrained, her voice suppressed. The silhouetted reflections of the man and the woman leered over her, their faces twisted in a mix of excitement and sadistic satisfaction. They were the scientists, and she was their experiment.

“Just a little more, it will be over soon,” The man's voice echoed in English, tinted with a Japanese accent. His voice carried feigned soothing tone that did nothing to quell the rising panic within Uriko.

A sharp pain flashed through Uriko’s chest once again, and she clutched at the fabric of her top. She stared at the mirror, eyes wide in terror. The reflection mirrored her actions, clutching its chest and gasping for breath, its panicked eyes meeting Uriko's. The faces of the man and the woman reflected in the mirror filled with concern, and then, just as abruptly as they appeared, they vanished, leaving the panicked girl alone.

Uriko slumped back, pulling her knees up to her chest. She was trembling, her body shook uncontrollably. The house was empty, yet it was filled with voices and echoes of the past. Every corner seemed to hold a piece of a puzzle she couldn't understand, the mystery of her existence.

The image of the man and the woman, the way they stared at the terrified girl, echoed in her mind. She remembered them, but from where? Were they part of her life before she woke up in the house? They seemed familiar, yet alien.

The starlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows that danced across the tatami. The tranquility of the night outside contrasted starkly with the chaos unfolding within Uriko. She sat there, her body curled into a small ball, her eyes never leaving the mirror. The reflection continued to stare back, now appearing as Uriko herself once more. Yet, the terror from earlier lingered, casting a shroud of fear over the once-familiar house.

Every pulse of pain in her chest, every echoing voice, every shifting reflection seemed to pull her further from the life she remembered. Each piece of the puzzle only led to more confusion, more fear. Yet, Uriko knew she had to uncover the truth. She needed to know who she was, what had happened to her, and where her family had gone.

Suddenly, her stomach growled, a stark reminder of her human needs. Pushing herself to her feet, she carefully looked around the room. There was a large armoire against the wall, which she remembered used to store kimonos, some casual and others used for special occasions. She gingerly approached and opened it, hoping to find something to aid her.

Nestled amongst the silky folds of a beautiful kimono, she found a small, old key that she remembered was a spare to the storage room. It was there her father had kept preserved foods in case of emergencies. Her mind clung to the hope that something edible might have survived the test of time.

Taking the key, she ventured into the silent hallway and descended to the lower level of the house, her steps light on the wooden floors. After a few turns, she found herself in front of the storage room door, its wood aged but sturdy. She inserted the key into the lock, and with a creak that reverberated through the quiet house, the door opened.

The room was filled with dust-covered barrels, wooden crates, and ceramic jars, a testament to the family's past preparedness. She rummaged through the containers, the dim light from the hallway barely enough for her to make out the labels on the crates.

After what felt like an eternity, she found a crate of exotically preserved meat from Earth, miraculously still intact. Her mouth watered at the thought of the salty taste and she quickly rushed back up to the kitchen with her prize. She opened a can, its lid popping with a satisfying noise.

Using her fingers, she ate the preserved meat, its salty taste slightly overpowering but nonetheless a relief for her empty stomach. For a brief moment, the explosion of flavor brought her back to her family's dinner table, the conversation light and filled with laughter. She briefly flushed in embarrassment at her lack of table manners. It was unbecoming of Uriko-hime, after all.

But then, the harsh reality of her situation set in, and she was left alone once again in the dark storage room, the taste of mushy cured meat still on her tongue and an eerie silence ringing in her ears.

Uriko returned to the living room, her footsteps the only sound echoing through the house. She felt a strange mix of satisfaction and unease - satisfied that she found something to eat, but uneasy about the silence that greeted her at every corner.

As she entered the living room, her eyes fell on the aged family picture perched on the main shelf. It was a faded photo of her family, their smiles frozen in time. Her father, mother, and younger brother... They were all there, staring back at her with happiness and love in their eyes in traditional attire prior to a tea ceremony.

Her fingers traced the edges of the photo, the sensation both familiar and foreign. This was her family, her blood. And yet, they felt like a distant dream, a figment of a life she was no longer part of.

Uriko placed the photo back on the shelf and sank to her knees, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. Her thoughts circled back to the faces she saw in the mirror - the terrified girl, the man, and the woman. They seemed connected to her somehow, an integral part of her life's puzzle. But how did they fit in?

Her hand moved to her chest, to the strange pulsating sensation she felt earlier. It was gone now, but the memory of the cold, heart-clenching pain was fresh in her mind. Was it a sign? An indicator of something she was yet to discover?

She cleaned up after herself, following the disciplined routine she’d been taught since her childhood. After she was done, she took a moment to look out of the kitchen window. The sight of the Global City, glimmering under the stars, looked both beautiful and alien to her.

Another wave of vertigo washed over Uriko as she rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window. The city, the house, the mirror, her reflection, the voices - they all made up a disjointed puzzle, each piece so distinct yet seemingly connected.

As she made her way back to her father’s study, her gaze fell once again on the ominous mirror, the cruel reflection now just a memory. Or had it been more than a memory? A warning? A prophecy?

Uriko pushed the thoughts away. She needed sleep, she was tired, both physically and mentally. Tomorrow would be a long day, a day of discovery, of confronting her past, of reconciling with her present. Tomorrow, Uriko would step out into the world, into the city of Jo Loon, ready to face whatever secrets it held about her fractured past. And perhaps, in the process, she would come closer to understanding the woman she had become, and the gap in her memory.

As these questions buzzed in her mind, Uriko laid down on a tatami mat, her eyes heavy with fatigue. With one last look at the stars outside the window, she allowed sleep to claim her.