Chapter 1

Extra Case File 1 The Twenty-First Century Is Crying

There are drafts and final versions of books; so is the world.

It takes countless corrections and revisions to finally complete the ultimate “final version.”

“Is this…countless times?”

The despondent man stretched, standing up from his desk piled with books, holding the newly completed “book” in his hand.

Tapping each shelf number lightly, he walked to the corresponding one, wondering if the remaining gaps could fit about two more books.

He pushed the previous book slightly to make room for the new one, the illusory traces passing from beginning to end.

“It looks like I need to make a new one after this.”

He thought, then returned to the desk.

There were some things that needed handling, and this time it had to be done quickly.

Lifting a sheet no longer needed, he looked at the spreading chain of text on it. The paragraphs formed by words seemed like diary entries, but diaries shouldn’t record future events. These intertwined passages of despair turned the rough draft into a meaningless pitch-black page.

Shaking his head as if in disdain, he tossed it into the paper shredder, selecting pages from the same edition and throwing them in too.

Many versions—rough drafts, second revisions, third revisions…

There was no intention to read them anymore. He just stared at the increasing stack of shredded paper in the paper shredder, mechanically stuffing one pile after another into the slot.

The future is indeed an unchangeable existence…

“!”

Burning pain flowed through his fingertips. The action halted. The man blew softly on his sore fingers with dissatisfaction and turned around to see what…

It spoke nothing, nor did it move.

What was before him was astonishing.

It was a flame.

A weak, small flame dancing on the rough drafts, but vibrant.

Surprised and delighted, he stood up and approached with both hands, halting midway. It was too fragile a wonder; intervening might shatter the delicate delight.

Slowly sitting down, his gaze aligned with the pink cluster flower.

“Future… has changed itself. Truly!”

“Ah—a miracle?”

The flame spread outward, yet the papers bearing the flowers remained intact.

On the rough drafts of futures and despair, the flames left behind unprecedented new hope.

[Time and space…]

[An outsider from beyond the infinite worlds comes to meet a woman]

[To etch this new moment]

That day, only one miracle operated in the vast study.

——————————————-

Sword, sword, sword.

The Pretty Cure wielded her luminescent Holy Sword, each strike imbued with utmost force.

“Precure! SacredSword!!!”

Radiance filled the air; the Holy Sword raised high shone like another rising sun, radiating endless power.

“Yaahh!!!” she roared, slicing light into the beaten Final Monster. Fearful wails faded under the heat of light. The light dissipated, leaving the colossal creature vaporized, its energy raging back into the heavens.

Shakily rising, her drained hands trembled, the Melody Sword weighing heavier than ever before.

“It’s over…” she murmured to herself, Cureyell (Cheer Angel) collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath.

“Precure!”

“Thank you, CureYell!”

Tomorrow’s energy repaired the damage caused by the monster, gradually, unfamiliar voices began to reach her. She suppressed insufferable pain beneath her smile, waved to the survivors, then used her scarce remaining strength to leave the scene.

At some deserted place, the grandly decorated pink costume vanished into starlight.

Exhaustedly leaning against a wall, Wild Flower’s newly struck lower back still ached. Deep breaths did little to ease the deep-seated pain, fine sweat beads forming on her forehead.

Two years ago, such an attack would not have touched her clothes! But now… Ouch! It really hurts! My back was hit again today, how painful! Have I miscalculated my ability’s limits?

“Hah… Hah! Oh! Must hurry, only fifteen minutes left.”

Ignoring the rest, Wild Flower straightened her slightly crinkled supermarket uniform, enduring the pain as she rushed toward her father’s supermarket.

I am Wild Flower, 22 years old! Single, or rather someone who’s never experienced love… Oops, off track!

Not long ago, I was the president of “Tomorrow’s Hope Group,” aiming to bring happiness to everyone. Failed ventures led to bankruptcy, now working at my father’s supermarket… What a drastic change, sob!

In fact, I secretly am the Pretty Cure no one knows about! For a long time, acting as CureYell, I’ve protected everyone alone, battling hazardous monsters threatening the world. Quite impressive, right? But keep it secret!

“Ding-dong~” Wild Flower startled by a sudden ring from her pocket, hurriedly pulled out her phone and answered.

“Yes, Saya? Sorry, last time there really wasn’t time… Yes, this time it won’t be late! Hehe, trust me once more!”

Last time, it seems, the Ultimate Monster was the delay. It was a close call; by the time victory was achieved, everyone had already gone home. Managing both sides, unpredictable incursions of Final Monsters consumed all free time. While bankruptcy didn’t add much debt, making life harder, work never eased.

Without miracles or changes, defeat seemed inevitable after being worn down.

“Could it be…”

Before leaving, Wild Flower suddenly heard rapid water sounds from the forest opposite. Despite knowing nothing, driven by instinct, she ignored the possibility of lateness and pushed through the bushes toward the other side.

Perhaps it was due to ceaseless combat. Even newcomer Ash’s condition wasn’t good.

Dark Echo’s presence was greater than expected.

[The cleanup of Dark Echo last time wasn’t thorough enough; you should rest.]

“Shut up. Resting means missing opportunities!”

Not letting anything slip, even if it costs me my life!

Deep into the rushing river, the flow licked at Ash’s face, attempting to devour him.

“Just… a bit more!”

Finally, his hand reached the iron box in the middle; however, the current snapped the rope tied around his other hand!

No good, at such a critical moment—

This humiliating death—

Unable to shout for help, lacking foothold, his battered body struggled to move, watching himself drown. Suddenly, a voice came from beside him.

“Hey! Are you hurt? You okay?!”

“Quick, grab my hand! I’ll pull you away!”

Ash couldn’t see who was speaking, bewildered. Unmoving, he heard these words, and his other hand extended trembling toward the voice’s direction.

It was a delicate yet firm hand, gripping Ash tightly, stepping into the current, ignoring her own safety, dragging him from danger.

In that instant, Ash felt a surge of energy coursing through him, though minuscule, truly healing his broken body and spirit.

Strength returned?

Struggling, he turned his head and saw the owner of those hands.