MASTER SIDE #1
The classroom was wreathed in flames.
The ancient wooden building didn’t have any fire sprinklers installed, as it should have, and there was more than enough fuel. Fire spread from desks to chairs, bookcases to wallpaper, as window frames and glass melted and ran in the heat. The red of the flames illuminated everything, poisonous black smoke filling the air.
In the middle of it all stood two girls, their presence clashing with the hellish scene. They stared each other down.
One girl was red. Her hair was crimson, her dress the same color as the flames, and her expression one of blazing rage and passion, distorting her fundamentally statuesque face into something beastly. The girl held both fists in front of her, lightly clenched, crouching and ready in a low stance.
The other girl was white. She wore a snowy sailor blouse and skirt, resembling a school uniform, and an old cloth bag hung from her waist. Her hands held a naginata-like pole arm at the ready. In contrast to the all-out fury surrounding the red girl, the white girl’s face was completely impassive.
The red girl moved first. Crouching even deeper into her low stance, she appeared to glide across the ground as she stepped forward to kick low from just outside the naginata’s range. The strike was probably a feint, a fake, or a distraction. The white girl blocked it with the handle of her weapon as if she’d known exactly what was coming.
The red girl followed up with a second, then a third strike, but she couldn’t even break into the weapon’s range. On her fourth strike, the naginata grazed her, cutting open her foot, which spurted out blood. The red girl let out a sharp cry and then spewed flame from her mouth. This attack was supposed to have shocked the white girl, but she remained emotionless as she spun her blade, extinguishing the human-sized fireball in one swing. Her thin, feminine arms easily wielded the three-foot-long, heavy-looking pole arm like it was a part of her body.
The red girl shouted something and threw herself backward into the flames, then disappeared. A moment later, the fire behind the white girl grew, transforming into the red girl. But the second before she could unleash a devastating roundhouse kick to the back of her opponent’s defenseless head, the white girl ducked without so much as a glance—as if she knew exactly what was coming. A whiplike crack echoed as the fiery girl’s leg tore through empty air. The red girl quickly withdrew into the flames, as if melting into them.
The white girl’s expression hadn’t changed once since the fight’s beginning. Holding the blade in one hand, she flipped it around and then stabbed it into the classroom floor. She reached inside the bag hanging from her waist and removed an object. The light of the flames illuminated the gray body of a commercial fire extinguisher, an object much larger than the bag she’d produced it from. She removed the pin and aimed the nozzle at the flames spreading across the ceiling—at about a forty-five degree angle right above the teacher’s desk—and unleashed the coolant fluid.
Something fell from the ceiling, screaming silently, holding its head as it writhed in agony. That something was the crimson girl. Her red clothes, her fiery hair—everything was covered in white foam. Saliva and tears streamed down her face while she writhed in pain.
The white girl calmly approached, raised the big fire extinguisher, and then struck her opponent with it. Five more times she pummeled her, until the red girl moved no more. The victor tossed the fire extinguisher to the side and looked down at her foe. The white girl’s expression was just as it had been the moment the battle ended—blank.
The video ended there.
She moved the cursor, closing the video player and browser with a few clicks, then shut down the computer. With the computer off, the one source of light in the room was gone, leaving only darkness, the smell of mold, and the voices.
“And so the villain was apprehended… Man, Snow White’s sooo cool,” came a satisfied-sounding female voice. She sounded like she was in her midteens. “Flame Flamey was a real powerful fighter, too, but up against Snow White, she was like a liiittle kid. The way Snow White moved, it was like she knew exaaactly where that girl was going! Nghhh!” The noise resembled a sob, but her voice was full of joy. “She’s reeeally cool! She’s totally merciless about hunting evil magical girls! Flamey deserved that for manipulating them into killing each other based on her twisted belief that only the strong deserve those powers! Snow White is strong, kind, and righteous! Hiyah! Hah!”
There was the sound of something clattering to the floor. “But, like, don’t you think it’s weird to require magical girls to be strong?” the girl went on. “Magical girls are supposed to, y’know, be kind and lovely, and care about things like compassion, friendship, and sincerity and stuff like that!”
“Yes. Perhaps, pon. Nothing wrong with being strong, though.” The voice that replied to the girl was high-pitched and childlike, yet its tone was flat and calm.
“I know, right? My teacher said the same thing! Strength isn’t all that makes you a magical girl. We don’t need people who just want power. It’s unacceptable for them to be inciting battle royals, and we can’t have magical girls chosen by those deadly competitions, either.” She spoke feverishly.
“That’s why I’m gonna help Snow White!” she concluded.
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