I’m Masaki Hachigaya, twenty-four, an office worker.
If nothing unexpected happened, my life would’ve been like most people’s—marrying carelessly, having kids carelessly, drifting carelessly to the end.
So.
Unsurprisingly, my life took an unexpected turn.
My childhood friend was stolen by a delinquent senior—the girl I’d grown up with since we were kids, who once promised to be my bride.
Because of it, my work suffered. Mistakes piled up. My bald boss yelled at me daily, finger jabbed in my face. I kept wondering: should I just quit and farm back home?
Then, that night.
Under the dim streetlamp, I met “her.”
I thought I’d never cross paths with “her” again.
Hachigaya remembered: that night, after hours of police lecturing, he was released—mood utterly ruined.
The cheap shared apartment had terrible soundproofing. Neighbors cooking next door. A couple arguing upstairs. A child wailing downstairs.
This was the poor man’s choice.
A knock.
“Coming, coming! I didn’t order takeout!”
He opened the door. A girl tumbled into his arms.
Flustered, Hachigaya held her, unsure. Her face differed greatly from the “her” he knew—but he was certain.
The girl in his arms was “her.”
The Witch.
What to do? Call the police?
The Witch looked gravely wounded, consciousness fading. Reporting her meant a fat reward. A luxury apartment. “Model citizen” on his resume.
But.
Cute.
Hachigaya watched the Witch in his arms—utterly defenseless.
She looked like any ordinary girl. No—*legendary* beauty. Ten childhood friends tied together wouldn’t match her little toe.
He swallowed hard.
*Clang!* Hachigaya slammed the rusty security door shut.
The noisy apartment building carried on, as if nothing happened.
The Witch moved in. Took the room his childhood friend once occupied.
(New bedding, of course.)
Official reports called the Witch terrifying—but he’d never seen it. He doubted those “facts.”
So… she was just a normal girl.
Hehe.
Hachigaya sat at the desk, grinning foolishly.
After days together, he learned her name: Borel.
Strange name.
Didn’t matter.
Borel always watched him with a faint, unreadable smile.
She spoke little.
They grew closer—but her movements were fierce, like a python constricting prey.
Each time, he’d feel utterly drained.
Her cheeks, meanwhile, flushed rosier.
This was fine. This was fine.
Peace didn’t last.
One day, his childhood friend stood at the door, tears streaming.
“I’m sorry, Masaki-kun! It was my fault! Let’s make up!” She hinted at “new things” they could try.
*What?* She’d refused even 69 before.
Masaki knew—the senior dumped her after finding someone new.
As Hachigaya’s head throbbed, a voice cold as the abyss whispered behind him:
“Hachigaya-kun… who is it?”
Both froze.
Hachigaya—Borel *never* spoke around others. Not even in bed. Just that faint, unreadable smile.
His childhood friend—*Who is she? So cute…*
Instantly, she pieced it: this liar, swearing eternal love, already replaced her. In *her* room.
She erupted—a tantrum utterly unlike her.
But one casual glance from Borel shattered her. Sobbing, she fled.
*She won’t come back.*
Hachigaya watched her retreating figure, strangely sure.
Days passed.
Later, the delinquent senior slung an arm around his shoulders, fake warmth dripping.
“Masaki-kun… heard you’ve got a cute new girlfriend.”
Hachigaya’s scalp prickled. *How?*
*Her… that bitch.*
Relief came fast.
The senior vanished. Police questioned him—missing persons case.
Hachigaya had a hunch.
Borel watched TV. Just as he opened his mouth—
“I’m hungry.”
“Okay. Got it.”
He asked nothing.
Days repeated. Hachigaya loved it.
A beautiful girl waiting at home—like a wife.
*Decided.*
Tonight, he’d confess.
The apartment was eerily quiet. Only TV laughter and faint wind outside.
He set his bowl down—hands trembling. Rice scattered.
Borel turned from the screen.
He fumbled for a cloth. *No—wait.*
“M… marry me! Be my wife! I’ll cherish you forever!”
He stammered. Borel offered only that faint, unreadable smile.
Her lips moved. *What was she saying?*
Hachigaya never knew.
Because the next second—Borel’s head exploded like a watermelon on the beach.
Glass shattered.
*What…?*
His smile froze. Brain refused to process.
*BANG!*
The door kicked open. Hachigaya stiffly turned.
Blinding light. Armed men flooded in.
Helicopters choked the sky. Rotors roared.
“Sniper hit confirmed!”
Boots stomped his floor. No shoes removed.
A muscular commander led them. Behind him: a girl in white dress. Behind her: masked special agents.
Agents tense. Commander calm. The white-dressed girl—masked, cradling a strange Western rifle—nodded politely.
“Good evening.”
Hachigaya recognized her: Hakutsuru City’s current guardian.
Beautiful, yes—but not like Borel.
Before he could think—*thud!* A masked agent’s fist slammed his face.
He crumpled.
Pain sharpened his scattered thoughts.
“Talk. Where’s Borel?”
Cold voice. Punch after punch.
His face swelled. Teeth loose.
He glanced at the commander—arms crossed, indifferent. The Magical Girl stared at the floor.
*Where’s Borel?*
*She was right here! You killed her!*
He turned.
Nothing. No blood. No trace.
*She got away.*
Relief washed over him. *Alive. That’s all that matters.*
The beating? Trivial.
Face aching, he almost laughed.
Then—
“Kill him.”
Three calm words from the commander.
The agent drew his pistol. Click. Safety off.
The white-dressed girl turned away.
Hachigaya met the agent’s eyes.
*Why?*
Mouth opened. No sound.
*What’s he thinking?*
Didn’t matter.
The agent’s eyes dimmed. He collapsed onto Hachigaya.
A pitch-black beam pierced the wall—and his body.
Chaos erupted. Gunfire outside.
“Commander! The Witch has appeared!”
“Good. Execute the plan. Take her down—*for good*!”
“Roger!”
A sharp pain in his neck—
Darkness.
Yukieda watched two agents drag the young man into the bathroom.
Her gaze dropped to the fallen agent—only half a body left.
She sighed.
Outside: fierce battle. Soldiers and agents alike.
Deafening gunfire. Explosions.
Commander Kenji led the operation. Determined to eliminate Borel—*at any cost*.
Radio crackled with screams. Yukieda stood frozen.
A hand touched her shoulder.
“Mr. Kenji?”
She turned.
“Remember—you’re the ace. Let soldiers drain her magic first. When you step in… you *must* win.”
Weight crushed her shoulders. Not just victory—the fallen soldiers’ lives rested on her.
Breath hitched.
“Yes.”
She wanted to clutch her hair.
But agents watched. *No weakness.*
Breathing grew heavy beneath the mask.
*Just… a drink. To talk. With someone.*
