Chapter Text
Nobara has never been the best with weapons. No one’s ever trusted her with something specifically designed to deliver pain to the human body, as if her fists weren’t good enough to achieve the exact same purpose. In a practical sense, though, she’s admittedly good with her hands, and also has a great track record of busting through every obstacle she’s ever encountered with a sneaky combination of dirty tricks and brute strength – not to mention the sheer confidence she has in herself, nearly hubristic.
Besides, growing up in the country means she’s (involuntarily) learned to be handy with tools. She’s helped thatch a roof or two, and will never live it down for as long as she lives. Grudgingly though, Nobara has had to admit it’s been a skill that’s turned out to be useful the past few months, even after she finally escaped the dull countryside.
When she moved into her new Tokyo apartment and found that the landlord had lied about how sturdy the cupboard shelves were, for one, she’d needed to nail them back up herself. When she found that cockroach hiding out in her kitchen, she’d killed it swiftly, again thanks to her trusty hammer. And she’d killed purified her first monster only a few weeks ago with a similar apparatus; seeing a huge semi-rusted hammer materialize amongst the sparkles and holding it with her pretty, lacy gloves was disconcerting, to say the least – but it got the job done. Momorin, the flying and talking hot pink amalgamate of fluff and glitter who initially bestowed his pendant upon her with high hopes, had (dispiritedly) explained afterwards that her soul had merely conjured up the item her heart felt would be the most comfortable for her to wield.
Neither Momorin nor Nobara had been pleased about it – disappointed even (though why Momorin had any right to be, she had no idea why) – but at least Nobara’s come to terms with it. Being able to efficiently defend her life and others’ from monsters was more important than cuteness, anyhow, and anyway, she felt like she’d already gotten the aesthetics base covered. By the following battle, she’d even gotten good enough at conjuring to engrave a cute little heart into the head of the hammer. Nobara was delighted. Momorin remained unsatisfied.
Technically, she could conjure up anything she wanted. So why not take advantage? Try new things. She’d dragged Momorin out into the woods on a lovely Saturday afternoon (when she could’ve been gaming) for this very purpose.
As Nobara muses to herself, she weighs in her hands the hefty wooden baton she’d materialized, drawing it up and letting it fall, feeling the momentum it creates in the way it lands with a satisfying, heavy whack into her palm. Perfect.
“So I assume you mean to say you’re also good with a baseball bat just because you’ve swung a hammer around growing up in the boonies?” Momorin asks, doubtful and a hint of frustration tinging his otherwise typically peppy voice. “Is that supposed to reassure me, nyan?”
Nobara ignores him, and gives the bat a few swings, relishing in how the turn of her hips not only makes the bat hurtle faster, the brunt of the force sufficiently satisfying, but also how it blows air through the petticoats of her skirt, making the layers fly, fluttering as she twirls. She feels cute. Content, she hefts the bat up onto her shoulder where it squishes the stiff, scalloped edges of her sleeve. Good. Stay down, she thinks triumphantly. She’s always disliked the sleeves of her outfit – they stand straight up, defying gravity, and were apparently meant to look like angel wings. Totally lame. As if he can hear her, Momorin winces visibly. “You were a good player, then, nyan?” he asks weakly.
“I’ve never played baseball in my life,” Nobara states, matter-of-factly. Unashamed. “Who do you think I am?”
She pretends not to see Momorin falling dramatically to the ground, burying his face into the grass as if he’s trying to dig a hole and bury himself in it. Instead, she brings the bat up in front of her, admiring how she can keep it upright with just one hand despite its obvious weight. The magical part of being a magical girl isn’t something she’s well-practiced with quite just yet, but she’s got to appreciate the enhanced physical prowess that comes with the role.
Nobara spins the bat around, tilts it this way and that. She’d actually thought this was pretty clever of her. Despite Momorin’s best efforts, she never was able to get a hang of the more traditional magical girl weapons – swords, rapiers, bow and arrow, and especially not any of those requiring actual magic. It’s not that she doesn’t have any; she just has a little bit of trouble keeping it in check and making sure it manifests properly. The hammer and nails had turned out to be a great medium, but Nobara wanted something with a bit more reach. A bit more pizazz and a bit more unbridled power. A bat is perfect. Heavy, blunt, and stupidly sturdy. But something’s missing.
Bringing her other arm up for support, Nobara grips the handle of the bat tightly, keeping it steady in front of her. Then, she closes her eyes, and focuses on the power source inside her, radiating and pulsing within her ribcage. Allowing its tendrils to extend throughout every part of her, she waits for the tell-tale sign – the way it leaves the tips of her fingers tingling – and her grasp on that feeling, she’s learned, allows her to wield power beyond her wildest imagination. At her beck and call, its warmth envelops her and centralizes within the palms of her hands as it molds like putty to her wishes, mixing and entangling and creating at her behest. When she’s done, she opens a single eye, brow furrowed, hoping for success.
Indeed, the bat is now covered with a light silver sheen, a practical reinforcement – a basic spell that’s a favourite of Nobara’s, partly because it’s so easy, and mostly because it makes anything it’s used on look fancier, to boot. More importantly, she grins at the addition of a large, billowy, solid pink bow now neatly tied just above the grip, nestled right where the barrel begins to taper. Cute, she thinks excitedly. A bounce in her feet, she turns to show off her achievement to Momorin, only for him to still be on the ground, wailing. His eyes sparkle with unshed tears of horror.
Awfully ticked, Nobara whips her head back around, and throws a side-eyed glance back at him when she can’t stop her lips from twisting into a tiny sneer. She huffs through her nose, knowing well what’s coming next. Not like she’s going to listen.
He can complain all he wants. Nobara gets the job done.
“Nobara-chan…” He whines into the muddy grass. “Don’t you think this is just a little unbecoming of a magical girl, nyan?”
Nobara doesn’t know why Momorin insists on tacking that godforsaken nyan onto every one of his sentences, when his form was clearly meant to be modelled after a rabbit and not a cat. It’s for the magical girl mascot “image,” she supposes, so maybe she gets it. Although she does wonder idly if anyone has ever tried telling him he was using the wrong one.
Nonchalantly, because she’s heard this lecture a thousand times and she’s bored of it quite frankly, she replies, “What, you mean the bat?” Nobara twirls it deftly between her fingers like it’s a baton, once, twice, thrice, and finishes off by swinging it around the back of her head to rest it behind her neck, arms on both sides draping over the ends. She squats in front of Momorin, raises one eyebrow, and her eyes are lidded, unimpressed. He lets out an eep, this time not even bothering to remind her to be mindful of her short skirt and how she stands.
She jerks her head slightly, gesturing backwards. “This bat?” She inquires, voice low. Nobara’s not deliberately trying to sound menacing, but something tells her Momorin couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Biting back her annoyance, she tries to soften her tone. “It’s got a bow on it, doesn’t it? I think it’s cute.” She smiles, so hard and so forcefully that her eyes crinkle unnaturally into crescents.
With that, her left hand lets go of where it rests on the barrel, and she flips her right-hand grip so she can slam its top into the ground, right next to Momorin. The force of it raises dust, and she reaches down to sweetly help Momorin close his dropped-open jaw, pushing upwards under his chin. His mouth shuts mechanically, and Nobara uses the bat to hoist herself up back to standing with a grunt.
Mood tempered, she continues, her tone light and even. “Also, I hung up the hammer and nails today because I just didn’t feel like playing Bob the Builder. Didn’t you say when we first started? That the more weapons I can wield, the bigger advantage I’ll have? That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Momorin staggers to his feet, then takes to the air, wings trembling still. His voice doesn’t betray the fact that he was just minutes ago eating dirt and terrified out of his mind, and Nobara has to admire how stubborn he is. “I did say that. But please, Nobara-chan, can’t you use a wand like every other magical girl, nyan? It’s the hallmark of our job, and you just look so much… sweeter and nicer with it,” he gulps. “… nyan.”
Something in Nobara snaps, the limit of her patience reached.
“I’ll use it when I damn want.” It comes out in a growl. The irritation is climbing back up her throat, and her voice starts to rise. “How many times have I told you, it’s just not practical, and I’m absolute shit at the magic part anyway! I’ll use one if it can survive me giving a monster a slug to the head with it, hm?” She stomps back toward Momorin, getting right in his face, jabbing an accusing index finger into his soft, fluffy belly. “You come in here, and you tell me I can conjure anything I want, and then you want to try and limit me to one goddamned weapon, even if it means risking the entire mission? My life? Just because it fits the image? That’s a damn wasted opportunity, anyone would tell you. And what do you mean sweeter? My face isn’t enough for you, huh? Let me tell you then, you have no fuc-”
“Language, Nobara-chan!”
She freezes in place. The voice comes not from Momorin, but behind Nobara, at the entrance of the clearing. The way Momorin starts wailing and dashes to the voice right away tells her exactly who it is.
What a coward, Momorin. Nobara plasters a smile on her face and throws her hair over her shoulder as she spins to greet the new arrival. The way her expression is stiff and her top lip twitches, she knows it comes off more as a sneer than anything, but thankfully, the recipient has never been the type to give a rat’s ass about anyone whose day he’s about to ruin with his presence.
“Gojo-sensei. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Yo.” Gojo Satoru approaches, one hand lifted in a casual greeting, the other cradling Momorin as he snivels into his collar. He’s patting the mascot’s tiny head, carelessly and a little too hard as Momorin’s head sinks into his own body with each rap, and Nobara snickers to herself. Serves him right.
And then, like Satoru is one to talk: “So what’s it gonna take for you to stop terrorizing your sidekick, Nobara-chan?”
“What’s it gonna take for my complaint to go through to get assigned another handler, hm?” Nobara retorts with a scoff, sneer in full force now.
Satoru whistles and continues, blatantly ignoring the curt rebuff. “You can conjure anything you want and you conjure up a bat and some power tools, I’ve been told? Momorin here just wants to know if you’re sure you don’t wanna be just a little more ambitious.” His grip on Momorin’s head tightens, and Satoru pries him from his neck and holds him out towards Nobara, his little legs dangling in the air. “Or so I’ve been requested to say to you.”
Nobara can see where Satoru’s fingers have sunk deep into Momorin’s fur with how hard he’s grabbed him, his huge hand framing Momorin’s eyes that sparkle in terror still, only just now realizing the mistake he’s made going to Gojo Satoru, of all people. A small yelp escapes Momorin as Satoru shakes him twice in his grip, quick and rough. He punctuates it with a nod, smile wiped off his face, and Nobara takes the invitation to come forward and recollect the mascot into her arms, bat sent to her spatial storage.
“Like I’ve told him a million times,” she says as she ruffles her fingers through his fur, a little out of pity. “If you look at my stats, you’d see I’m way better with physical weapons. Not like anything matters but the numbers for you handlers anyway, right?” Her tightly pressed lips uncoils into a wry smile.
“If you say so!” Satoru flashes an obnoxious thumbs up at her. He may be winking beneath his blindfold, but Nobara can’t be sure, so by policy and lack of evidence, she has to refrain from letting her fist meet his face. He gives her a crooked grin, then, as if he can guess what she’s thinking. “Whatever makes you most comfortable, Nobara-chan. Really. You’re making good on your quota, so I have no right to complain. Neither should Momorin or anyone else. You’re doing good.”
“Thanks,” she gets out. Damn, her ears are a little red. Just because she holds barely a smidgen of respect for her handler doesn’t mean it’s not nice to be praised. She clutches Momorin and ignores his starting to flail, no respite nor room to breathe. Hear that, punk? I’m doing good.
“So now that that uppity business is out of the way,” Satoru sings, “I did actually have something to talk to you about the stats.”
“Huh.” Actual official business for once. “Go on.”
“Nothing much. The higher-ups want to know if you’ve noticed anything particularly strange going on in your territory lately.”
“Strange how? I’m gonna need a little more detail than that, Sensei.”
“…Yeah. It’s totally weird,” he muses, more to himself than anything.
“You literally just said it’s nothing much.”
“Well, nothing is ever much when you’re as strong as I am, Nobara-chan.” Satoru yawns, and the temptation to spear him is back full force. “Though I gotta admit, even I’m a little stumped this time.”
“So are you going to tell me anytime this day, or am I going to have to beat it out of you? And you told me I didn’t need that interrogational torture seminar…” Nobara starts to wind up her right shoulder, stretching it out and warming it up. The seminar from months ago hadn’t been a course made available for magical girls per se, but she’d managed to convince Satoru to sneak her into the handlers’ meeting, only half unwillingly (the other half woefully curious: Nobara with a dangerous amount of knowledge on how to hurt to extract information, what will she do).
“Whoa there,” Satoru laughs, annoyingly hearty. “Yaga’s just been on my case lately about some weird numbers in our area. Monsters are substantially down with less work from us. The stats don’t check out.”
“So maybe it’s a slow week down in the underworld. No biggie. Isn’t that better for us, even?”
His hand comes up to scratch his head, a rare moment of genuine sheepishness. “That’s where the even stranger part comes in. We’ve also been dealing with reports of monsters passed out around here when our clean-up crew was making the rounds. Like a free kill just lying out in the open. Definitely makes our job easier, but it also means that there’s someone else going around beating them up. A third-party.”
At a look of confusion from Nobara, he clarifies. “A civilian.”
“…and?” She asks, clearly not seeing the problem.
“So it’s someone who’s not a magical girl. ‘Cause normal people can’t purify monsters without at least even the littlest bit of magic; all they can do is knock ‘em out.” Satoru struggles to keep the smile off his face and the glee out of his voice. There’s a glint in his eye that Nobara has long since learned to be wary of. “We’ve got ourselves a rogue. Or a vigilante. And a strong one, at that.”
The bokuto swings down to meet its target with a dull thwack, digging hard into stiff, spongy flesh. The rebound is slight, absorbed by strong arms holding rigid, and the blow visibly pulses through the monster’s heavy body before sending it skidding across the gravel.
To the assailant’s relief, the walkway has long since been abandoned, courtesy of the monster’s rowdy entrance. No witnesses, no casualties. Though she does wince slightly at the sight of the pavement overturned by the reptile-like creature’s back spikes and claws as it digs into the ground, trying to find a foothold. Whole chunks of asphalt dislodge when the mass attempts to rise. Somewhere in the background noise, the sound of a pipe bursting pierces through the incessant roars of displeasure.
Whoops.
There’s no way she’s taking responsibility for that.
Her lithe figure dashes forward, closing the distance before the reptile-like creature can stabilize. She thinks she might even hear a croak of surprise mere milliseconds after it registers her all-too-close presence, but too late still to avoid the rocketing impact of her knee against its skull, its momentum carried through her leap. The hit, bolstered by sheer speed and the whole weight of her body twisted in perfect form and timing, connects in the air, glossy black hair flying in the wind.
As she lands, the girl grins wickedly in satisfaction, knowing the resounding crack means she broke a tooth or three. Sure enough, the monster soon collapses behind her, not quite unconscious, but its tiny brain clearly still rattling in its skull.
“Job well done,” she praises herself quietly, nodding. Turning her head to the side, she extends a leg and carelessly nudges the monster’s unresponsive snout with her foot. Once, then a little harder. Gives it a kick for good measure.
Squatting down next to its head, she smirks and gives the overgrown lizard a condescending little pat. “I think I got you in record time this time ‘round, eh Godzilla?”
Her one-handed grip on her bokuto remains firm, and it rests lightly on her shoulder as she dusts bits of pulverized concrete off her uniform with the other hand. She frowns, realizing dust has settled on her glasses as well, and rises with a grunt.
“Okay, Maki. Time to get your bag and hightail it outta here.”
Hopping over the lizard’s giant head, Maki begins to hike back up the walkway the way she came. She gingerly steps over both the second and third monsters she pummelled just earlier, and squinting, manages to identify her practice bag squashed under the first one – a big, ugly thing with tiny wings and a uselessly glamorous horn.
Despite her feats, Maki has to admit, she has her limits. Four monsters down, and even she has trouble lifting the creature’s massive belly, hoisting it up with trembling arms just long enough to drag her bag out by the strap with her foot. With a sigh of relief, she lets the beast drop awkwardly behind her, letting the dust settle before she rests against it for a moment to collect herself.
A short breath escapes her as she relaxes, and it’s tinged with mirth. “Been running into you guys a lot lately, haven’t I?” Unhurried in her fatigue-addled brain, Maki leans back fully onto the unmoving monster, mostly admiring the sheer destruction of the scene, and only mildly wondering who keeps cleaning up after her. The palms of her hands fall to her sides, and rest against the scaly armour. They glide over it, seemingly in disbelief, and with an abrupt laugh, loud and harsh, Maki turns and gives the wall of flesh behind her a big, scolding slap.
“Unfair of you, isn’t it, to gang up on one little girl like this!”