"Remember, starting today, your name is Oriuchi Yuki."
Inside a sleek high-tech room, a tall man in camouflage spoke firmly. Before him stood a petite girl.
She nodded solemnly. "Yes, Mr. Kenji."
Kenji offered a rare, rugged smile. He pulled a prepared ID from his pocket. "Good. From today, you’re part of the Magical Girl unit. Remember: your superior’s orders come first. Next, civilian lives. I know you understand that deeply."
Mikami Makoto—now Oriuchi Yuki—took a slow breath and met his gaze. "With me here, that will never happen again."
The camo-clad man lit a cigarette and turned away. "Don’t overpromise. Change into casual clothes. Then you’re free to go."
Yukieda turned and left. Kenji watched the monitors: the girl walking the corridor, her long snow-white hair swaying against her backside like a tail.
*Hiss.* The mechanical door slid open.
Kenji spun around. A tall woman entered. He quickly stubbed out his cigarette.
"Ah, it’s you. What is it?"
She saluted, voice edged with concern. "Releasing her after only three months of a year-long program… and she skipped ideological training. Is that safe?"
"If she passed every test, more training’s pointless. She’s gifted—a natural Magical Girl. And ideological classes? She’s no naive girl. She spent over a decade as a corporate drone. Talk ideals? Benefits work better."
"Plus," he added, "my intel confirms her daughter attends high school in her assigned district. She’ll fight like hell for that."
"But… what if she leaks the secret?"
Kenji knew which secrets she meant: her Magical Girl identity, her resurrection… and telling her daughter, *I’m your father.*
"She’s bound by an S-rank Magical Girl’s curse. Doubt her? Trust the curse." He smirked. "Your side? Results?"
"We tested over a thousand men nationwide. Highest compatibility: three percent."
Ordinary candidates need at least fifty percent. Mikami Makoto scored eighty-seven. *Why?*
Kenji scratched his head. "Widen the search. She’s not alone. And keep this confidential."
"Understood."
"Nothing urgent now… drinks?" Kenji teased with a grin.
——
"Finally… *finally* out of the base."
Yukieda hopped off the car, lugging a backpack nearly her height. Passersby kept glancing—drawn by her striking silver hair.
"This feels… weird." She shivered under the stares.
Three months ago, she was a middle-aged salaryman. Now? Idol-level attention.
*Gotta see Shizuku.* First, drop the luggage.
At the Terashita Apartments lobby, she presented her ID.
The receptionist barely checked. "Never seen features quite like yours."
Yukieda followed staff upstairs. She gawked like a country bumpkin: steel shutters on floor-to-ceiling windows, military-grade materials everywhere.
*This place costs a fortune… and now I live here?*
"Um… monthly rent in credits?"
"Twenty-three thousand, ma'am."
Yukieda’s pulse jumped—but she kept her cool. *Playing the refined lady.*
*These bastards… burning taxpayers’ cash.*
*Thank god I’m not paying. That’s a car… gone in a month.*
*Ding.* Staff opened her door, handed a keycard.
"Need a tour?"
"No, thank you." *Just let me go.*
The staff bowed. "Keycard grants full access. Lost it? Report downstairs. Questions? Use the intercom or bedside phone—hold ‘1’. Enjoy your stay."
Yukieda gave a stiff smile. *I looked like an idiot.*
Inside, she unzipped the suitcase. A uniform waited: blazer, white shirt, short red tartan skirt. *Hakutsuru Academy* embroidered on the chest.
She spun before the mirror. A blush crept up her neck.
The delicate girl in the glass tugged the hem, trying to cover pale thighs.
*Am I dreaming? A guy pushing forty… turned into *this*?*
A draft made her shiver. *Can I even walk outside in this?*
She dug deeper. "What’s this?"
Pants? Socks? *Pantyhose—the kind movie heroes rip.*
She rolled them carefully from waist to toe, slipping in one slender foot. Gently smoothed the sheer black fabric up her calf, past the knee, along snow-white thigh. Snug at the waist.
*Better. No more draft.*
Leather shoes clicked into place. *Little Shizuku… Dad’s here.*
Thirty minutes by train to Hakutsuru Academy.
At the gates stood Tsujiji Kenji—suit hiding his frame, looking every bit the polished executive.
"Mr. Kenji?!" Yukieda’s face burned. *Him seeing me like this… he knows everything.*
"Forgotten your role? You’re a minor now. Or shall *you* handle the transfer paperwork?"
She bowed her head.
"Oh—and this outfit suits you. You look beautiful, Yukieda."
Her blush deepened.
Gates opened. A middle-aged man greeted Kenji warmly, barely glancing at Yukieda. Procedures flew by—Kenji’s signature sealed the transfer.
"Oriuchi?"
A young man in casual wear stood before her, faint pimples on his face, eyes curious.
"Yes. I’m Oriuchi."
"Kagejima Hiroyuki. Homeroom teacher for Class 3, Grade 1—and yours."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kagejima."
"Heh, follow me. Heard a beautiful transfer was coming… but *wow*."
"You flatter me, sir. *You’re* impressive—so young as homeroom teacher."
Polite chatter carried them to Class 3’s door.
*Second time here. Last was Shizuku’s parent meeting… I arrived late. She was so upset.*
Guilt tightened Yukieda’s chest. *What an unfit father I was.*
*Whoosh.* Mr. Kagejima slid the door open.
Silence crashed over the noisy classroom.
Every eye locked on her.
"White… white hair?"
"Golden eyes!"
"Tch. Foreigner?"
"Like a French porcelain doll!"
Cheers erupted.
