"I-I need to get to work," Yukieda said, taking a deep breath. She flashed Shizuku a smile. "Shizuku, I just remembered something urgent—I’ve got to go. I’ll find you tonight, or maybe tomorrow!"

"So sudden? We’re heading the same way, right? We can walk together. Wait—we haven’t even exchanged contacts yet."

"Not the same way! Really not! I’ve got an emergency. Bye!"

Shizuku watched in surprise as Yukieda jogged off. Her long, slightly unkempt hair swayed gently against her back with each step. The white-clad figure vanished quickly down the street.

"Was the parfait not tasty?" Shizuku murmured, staring at the dessert in her hand before taking a small bite.

Yukieda confirmed no one was following, then dashed to the nearest high-rise. She clipped an earpiece into place and stared intently at her terminal—a simplified map showing her position, the monster’s location, and the narrowing distance.

"Yukieda, proceed immediately to the incident site. Stop the monster. Objective: eliminate it." The command center’s voice crackled through the earpiece.

"Copy that. En route."

Seconds later, a video feed arrived. A two-headed giant covered in yellow pus-filled boils loomed inside a residential building, its massive frame having burst through walls. Police officers fired futilely in the footage.

A shrill air-raid siren pierced the sky.

*Right nearby.*

As Yukieda focused her will, a flash of light enveloped her. Her outfit transformed.

A white ceremonial dress now adorned her—ribbons fluttering, fabric scandalously skimpy: bare shoulders, arms exposed, hem barely grazing her upper thighs. Worst of all, every step sent an unsettling draft upward.

Thankfully, no cringey transformation chant was required. Still, Yukieda felt deeply awkward, like some kind of pervert.

No matter. She pulled on a mask. The moment it settled over her face, all shame vanished.

*Ha. As long as no one sees my face, I’m not a pervert.*

*No—focus! People need saving!*

She leaped gracefully from the rooftop, wind cushioning each bound. Rooftops blurred beneath her. Below, crowds moved like ants filing into shelters. Someone glanced up, pointed skyward. "Look! It’s the Magical Girl Corps!"

Elsewhere.

"Damn—it’s a dead end!"

Officer Yoji had lured the monster away to buy civilians time. His gunfire drew its attention, but panic led him straight into a corner.

Heart hammering, back pressed to cold concrete, he fired at the charging giant. Bullets sparked tiny green splashes against its hide. Fetid blood sizzled on asphalt. One head sneered; the other drooled.

*Click. Click.*

Empty. Yoji yelled into his radio, "Where’s the special forces?!"

No clear reply came. Only the monster’s arm—thick as a telephone pole—swinging down. He raised his arms.

A dull *thud*, like a bursting watermelon. No pain.

He lowered his arms.

The hem of a white dress. A short skirt. Cute bear-print panties. Beneath them, a delicate silhouette hinting at life’s origins, framed with girlish innocence. Between her legs, the monster’s arm lay exploded like a grotesque flower.

"Don’t freeze! I’ll draw it off—run!" the girl shouted without turning. She charged. The giant roared, stomping the ground with thunderous booms.

Yoji fled. "Leave it to you!"

Yukieda stared up, face pale. The giant loomed larger than the video suggested—boils triggering visceral disgust. Both heads leered. And… three legs?

*Wait. That’s not a leg.*

Fresh terror coiled in her gut.

*Training. I aced training!* Trembling, she raised her ornate magic-forged pistol.

*Mr. Kenji said ranged weapons suit the cautious.*

*He’s right.*

"P-Pretty… girl…" the monster slurred. Its arm regenerated, lunging like a rhino.

Yukieda’s throat tightened. Fear drowned all thought—like a raw recruit’s first battle. *If I hadn’t used the restroom earlier…*

Training vanished. She poured every ounce of magic into the trigger. Only the roar of gunfire brought fleeting safety.

Her eyes dimmed. Bullets erupted in a continuous blaze.

The fleeing officer heard the explosion behind him. *No wonder they’re special forces.* He ran harder.

Yukieda didn’t notice the drone circling above.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" The earpiece snapped her back.

She lowered the pistol. The monster was rubble—only a mangled head remained. Flames consumed the building behind it.

Exhaustion crashed over her. Her dress dissolved into loose sportswear.

A black van screeched to a halt. The door slid open.

Mr. Kenji.

"Good work. You did well."

Yukieda collapsed. Kenji caught her.

—

Back in her dim apartment, monitor light glowed on Yukieda’s messy hair and tired face. She typed the "After-Action Report."

*Why must I write this?* She scratched her head. *Kenji said everyone has to…*

She forced herself to recall every detail. Truth was, there wasn’t much to say—but the word count demanded it.

This was her first time "killing" anything. She’d never even plucked a chicken.

*Thank goodness for ranged weapons. Close combat? Never.*

Remembering the roar, her face paled further.

She’d cleared the follow-up file: the monster was once human—a forty-something freelancer.

*A Demon?*

Demons were humans twisted by obsession, stripped of self-awareness. Legally, no longer human. Low-threat.

His digital footprint showed anime searches, adult films, a fixation on petite women. The obsession itself? Unverifiable.

*And that’s "normal"? It lunged at me!*

*This job is too dangerous. I want to quit.*

She daydreamed: living with Shizuku, working part-time, watching her marry, babysitting her kids…

*What would my cute grandson call me? Grandpa? Grandma?*

*Hehe.*

A silly smile softened her youthful features.

*Not impossible. Magical Girls retire after five years. For me. For my daughter’s future—I’ll push harder.*

She refined the report.

Self-evaluation: "Remained calm, precisely targeted weak points, mission efficiently completed."

Evening. A terminal ping. Yukieda’s lips lifted. Energy surged.

+10,000 credits: *Mission Completion Bonus*.

Before joy settled—another ping.

-9,999 credits: *Compensation for Unnecessary Civilian Property Damage*.

Balance: 871 credits.

She closed the terminal, expression blank.

*How is this calculated? That house alone costs 100k.*

No itemized details. Just cold text.

*Ugh. Should’ve never sent it. Made me happy for nothing.*