She left, after all.
The last world had been Yimi's most leisurely one yet. She'd even cleared up the whole mess of Diego's pursuit, discovered the item-farming machine that was Natsuki Subaru, and come within a single quest of going home. And still her mood wasn't all that bright.
Of every world she'd passed through, all but the first had someone to bid farewell. But one like Beatrice—someone for whom she was "all you have"—was a first. Even though the kitty had simply left the way she always did, she felt a guilty pang, as if she'd done something bad.
System: Notice to Host—by the statistics of every world, 66.6% of travelers choose to settle down at the most beautiful scenery along the way. The System does not object to such behavior.
"Mm…"
Yimi lifted her head to take in the new world, and what she saw was a familiar city, familiar streets.
"What's this now?"
A familiar voice pulled Yimi back to reality. Kaname Junko bent down, gently gathered Yimi into a hug, and stroked her head. "Did someone bully you?"
Whenever Yimi's mood soured, her ears flopped down to either side—easy enough to tell—and that was the time to pat her head and coax her.
"No." Yimi shook her head, nuzzling her crown against Junko's chin.
She didn't even need to see which world it was.
"I want, to take, Tomohisa's plants." Yimi still wasn't reassured. The kitty didn't really understand what a vow even was—what if Diego had actually been lying, and had crept along after her in secret?
"I don't think Tomohisa would mind that sort of thing—but at least call him 'oji-san' properly, won't you?" Junko gave her little hand a squeeze.
Yimi shook her head.
There were so many oji-sans in the world. Calling every single one "oji-san" made them far too hard to tell apart.
She tilted her face up. "How long, was I gone?"
"How long? Let me see." Junko glanced at her watch. "Around sixteen hours or so?"
"Sixteen hours?" Yimi looked down at her fingers.
First grade hadn't really covered time yet—and she'd only attended a single month of it.
"Call it a day, then. The teacher even phoned this morning asking why you weren't at school. The paperwork isn't even sorted out. Are you going back to class tomorrow?"
"Tomohisa's gone to pick Tatsuya up from kindergarten, and Madoka will probably be home late too."
Junko pulled over a chair, sat down, and lifted Yimi onto her lap. "You look so troubled. If something's bothering you, you can tell Oba-san, all right?"
Compared with little Madoka, this child hid her feelings even less.
Their wavelengths often didn't match—Junko, for one, couldn't understand why a girl this young worried about the universe ending. But her instincts were sharp; after this long, she could pick up on when something was off with her daughter, or with the newly adopted child.
"It's like, you go, to a world, then make a friend, then leave, and then Betty didn't want to let go, and world-time is different, but Betty only has the kitty, and the kitty can't bring Betty along…"
Yimi waved her little hands about, as if that alone might make her understood.
"You really do need to work on organizing your words, don't you." Junko helplessly smoothed Yimi's hair, noticeably longer than the last time they'd met, and tried to make sense of it with her grown-up mind.
"Oba-san doesn't think she can help you with this one."
"Mm?" Yimi turned to sit facing Junko, her little paws kneading at the air like a cat to keep herself settled inside.
"One thing parents have to face is that a child will, one day, leave the shelter of their wings. Just like how Madoka's dates with girls are nearly becoming routine now—she comes home late without so much as telling us first. In the old days, if she wasn't back by four, Tomohisa would already be worrying."
"Later on, once she's finished her studies, started working, even started a family of her own, we might go months without seeing her even once. Whatever hurts she suffers out there, whatever she achieves—we'll have no idea. She'll have changed so much by the next time we meet, and that's bound to leave a parent a little wistful."
"Though maybe it's too soon to be telling you all this."
Junko stroked her hair. "By the same token—even if time doesn't run the same for us—if we saw Yimi shoot up all at once, whoosh, it would give us that same sense of loss, as though we'd missed so much of you."
"So if you've promised someone you'll meet again, then even if time runs differently, you absolutely must not keep them waiting too long. All right?"
She held out her pinky. "Here, let me teach you a way to make a promise. It's called a pinky swear. Hook your little finger around Oba-san's."
"Mm." Yimi did as told, puzzled.
"Then it's a promise—Yimi will grow up to be a good girl. Break the promise and you swallow a thousand needles."
"A thousand needles?!" Yimi snatched her hand back and scrambled off Junko's lap.
"Did I scare you? It's only an exaggerated saying—the common way to seal a promise."
Junko laughed and patted her head.
"Just like you learned the pinky swear here, tomorrow you could go share it with a friend. But if Yimi goes a long while without seeing a friend, and Yimi keeps learning more and more—so much that you know more than your friend knows about you—then won't the next meeting feel like strangers?"
"It's the same even if, to your friend, Yimi comes back in a whoosh—suddenly very outgoing one moment, suddenly very shy the next. Of course, as far as Oba-san's concerned, all I want is for Yimi to be a happy, good girl."
"But once Yimi's grown, you'll understand—a lot of the time, when you're busy, you simply can't tend to everything at once. That's why Oba-san said she can't help you with this."
"Mm." Yimi hugged her own shoulders and knit her brow in thought, just like an adult.
"I'm home. The kindergarten had the parents help with a craft today—Tatsuya got praised by the teacher." Kaname Tomohisa arrived home right then, and looked a little surprised. "Yimi's back already? Did you bring Oji-san and Oba-san a present?"
"I did!"
* * *
"So pretty."
Madoka cupped Akemi Homura's Soul Gem in her palm. "Did you finish the fruit Yimi gave you, Homura-chan? What fruit was it?"
Akemi Homura's face went stiff, and she turned away. "Strawberry."
"Strawberry?"
But Homura-chan's expression said it hadn't been strawberry at all.
"Let's go see a movie next." Homura hastily changed the subject.
"Mm…" Madoka suddenly lifted her face. "Yimi's back, I think."
Her own face stiffened, and she pressed her palms together in apology. "Sorry, Homura-chan—I need to get home as fast as I can."
And with that, she took off toward home in the same stride she'd once used to rush out and face Walpurgisnacht, leaving a bewildered Akemi Homura standing there.
But it was already too late.
By the time Madoka reached home at the very limit of an ordinary girl's speed, her mom and dad were already on the sofa with Tatsuya, cozily watching the television together—watching a DVD, to be exact.
Puella Magi Madoka Magica—the TV series.
"Madoka, back so soon?" Junko patted the spot beside her, inviting her daughter to watch along.
"..."