In a video game, everything runs on program code. Some open-world games simulate flowing water with lifelike fish swimming in it, but thanks to invisible walls, the player character can never actually enter the water no matter how far you push forward. Even if you exploit a glitch or mod your way through, you'd just walk across the surface or along the bottom without resistance—or fall right through the map entirely.
Because that's how the code was written. And in a game, code is law.
In the universe, the laws of physics are rules of equally incomprehensible precision. They contain decrees like "water cannot catch fire," and all technology, all creation, is built on top of these rules.
As for attempting to modify them—that was something not even Kyubey had ever considered. This wasn't about inventing a substance that didn't previously exist in physics, because even if such a thing appeared, it would merely count as discovering a new element.
This was about taking something already accepted as universal common sense and suddenly rewriting it. Perhaps changing nothing more than "water extinguishes fire" to "water can now ignite on its own and spread via combustible material"—one small edit, yet it could overturn hundreds of millions of years of physical creation.
"The domain of gods." Kyubey lay on the desk, studying the lemon Yimi had placed at the head of her bed.
A reality that could only be overwritten within the reach of two fists, applicable to only a limited range of materials—but the limitation was solely that only two fists could overwrite reality.
This lemon contained a genuine mana structural formula capable of continuously counteracting entropy.
But it was built by modifying existing rules. If it were ever truly activated and revealed, the consequences for living organisms could be nothing short of a dimensional reduction strike.
Fortunately, wrapped in Miracle, not a trace of it could leak out.
A child who didn't even know how big the sun was, whose grasp of everything was fuzzy at best—reaching this point was already Yimi's limit.
She had used nothing more than a toddler's cognition and imagination, combined with the power to rewrite reality, to produce something with no precision or rigor behind it. But Revelation had informed her of the consequences and dangers.
Or perhaps it was precisely because she understood nothing at all that she could create something with this much uncertainty. Kyubey had watched the entire process without interrupting or intervening.
Now Revelation had begun warning her not to pursue this line of research any further.
"Mew."
The obedient kitty abandoned the project with disappointment, tucked the lemon back into her storage space, and changed out of her pajamas.
Kitty hadn't been trying to make something dangerous.
"You're giving up already? A little more and you might actually have solved—mmph." Kyubey tilted its head.
Yimi ignored it.
The nighttime sleep crisis was over. She no longer needed to hide inside the dinosaur skin to keep Diego from finding her.
"Good morning, Yimi." Madoka greeted her after washing her face.
"Bad morning." Yimi waved a paw at her.
Madoka gave an awkward little laugh.
This was that age where kids liked saying the opposite of things for fun, huh.
"You'd better behave and let them check you at the hospital today, or I'll make you eat green peppers for every meal from now on." Junko hoisted Yimi under the arms and swung her gently side to side, feet dangling.
"Don't worry—no needles."
"Ugh…"
Junko was only saying that. Whether blood work was needed was the doctor's call, but telling kids there'd be no needles to lure them to the hospital was a trick she'd been pulling since Madoka was little.
…
…
Something about today's class felt unusually strange.
Same as always, the teacher—a high school classmate of Madoka's mother who was still single—opened with a joke about her love life before diving into the day's lesson.
But Sayaka had been staring at her desk the whole time, lost in thought. Madoka had noticed on the walk to school that the air between Sayaka and Hitomi was awkward.
And then there was Homura. Head down, face redder than usual, eyes darting restlessly—and she kept shooting indescribable glances at Sayaka.
I didn't know you were like that, Sayaka.
Homura had finally figured out what Sayaka's gazes these past few days actually meant. No wonder the girl kept staring at her backside.
So that was the misunderstanding.
She couldn't imagine whether Madoka already knew. If she did—how would Madoka see her?
This was all Kyubey's doing, designing Soul Gems in that shape.
And that cat. Homura was absolutely certain that in none of the previous loops had Sayaka ever thought in that direction. It was entirely that cat's deliberate misdirection that had caused this misunderstanding—all while putting on an innocent toddler act. And infuriatingly, it worked.
Homura's expression didn't change as she tugged at the collar over her chest.
But the urge to restart was very real.
"Is something wrong, Akemi-san? Are you feeling unwell?" The teacher noticed her state immediately and asked with concern.
She was actually fine now, but she did have the "congenital heart condition" cover story to maintain.
"I'm fine." Homura shook her head, keeping her eyes down.
This wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She'd go along with it for now. If it made people stay away from becoming Magical Girls, so much the better—and she should avoid adding any more karmic weight to Madoka.
"This child is very healthy. Aside from the cat ears and tail, everything is perfectly normal. Neither feature affects daily life… and there are no signs of artificial engineering, though I have to say I'm fighting the urge to return my biology degree. Given the various considerations, I'd advise against surgery. You can have her re-examined after she reaches adulthood."
"There, there. Stop crying." Tomohisa looked down at the teary-eyed little girl.
No helping it—blood work required a needle.
"You promised no needles." Yimi tugged at his hem, tilting her face up with deliberately squeezed-out tears in an attempt to awaken Tomohisa's conscience.
In reality, the needle had never touched her. The little cat had redirected the misfortune outward. The nurse, fully focused on finding a vein, didn't notice the needle had gone into someone else's arm entirely. As for whose blood the doctor ultimately drew—Yimi had no idea, but whoever it was seemed pretty healthy.
"There, there—here's a lollipop, don't cry, okay?" A kindhearted nurse handed her one.
Yimi seized the lollipop and fell silent.
Tomohisa put her hat on for her and breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's head home, then. I'll make fried fish cutlets for lunch as a reward."
As long as she could grow up healthy and safe—that was enough.
Stepping out through the hospital entrance, Yimi suddenly dug in her heels and stopped, catching Tomohisa off guard.
Following Yimi's gaze, he saw a red-haired girl in a single ponytail, head bowed as if lost in thought. Notably, this was during school hours.
The little cat let go of Tomohisa's hand and trotted over to Kyoko. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, it's you?" Kyoko poked her forehead with one finger, looking slightly guilty. "Nothing. Just… taking a walk."
"Hmm?"
"Fine. Truth is, it's been bugging me a little. I came here thinking maybe I'd get checked to see if I'm still human. But once I got to the entrance I realized that was a stupid idea. Whether I'm human or not doesn't really matter. I was more trying to imagine how devastated Mami would be if she found out."
Kyoko held a biscuit stick between her teeth. "Just so we're clear—I genuinely don't care about this stuff. But just now, out of nowhere, my arm started bleeding a little. The wound healed instantly, but I'm positive I didn't scrape it on anything… Why are your eyes looking off to the side? And what are you hiding behind your back? That's way too obvious!"
Using her longer reach, Kyoko snatched the test report Yimi had been concealing.
Yimi looked up with a smile. "Kitty got you tested. You're perfectly healthy (\^\_^\)."
Without Yimi spelling it out, Kyoko would never have connected the dots.