Chapter 1: In a Foul Mood (3)

As you could tell from the 'Happy' prefix, some characters simply refused to say the full name of their title out loud.

Happy Iris was the prime example. Even in the webtoon, she introduced herself only as 'Iris,' and whenever someone dared call her 'Happy Iris,' she reacted with visible displeasure.

At first it was played for laughs—the idea that even these transformed heroines were embarrassed by their own names—blended with satire of the higher-ups who slapped eye-wateringly tacky names on things and then bragged about what a brilliant job they'd done. But as the story wore on, Iris took it so deathly seriously that readers started complaining she was simply irritating to watch every time she appeared.

"Happy Iris!"

So I called her that. On purpose.

Naturally, my helmet had a voice modulator built in. Whether the person inside was a man, a woman, or some other gender entirely, the voice that came out was an infamously grating 'monster voice'—the kind that set your teeth on edge just to hear.

Though honestly, it beat the screeching 'kee-keek' of villains in other tokusatsu shows by a mile, and it kept my identity safe, so it wasn't all bad.

"Happy!! Iris!"

She flinched.

At my twice-shouted 'Happy,' one of Iris's eyebrows gave a violent twitch.

"Don't push it! At least I'm better than Cherry Blossom, aren't I!?"

"……"

And there it was—Iris's second sore spot.

Iris absolutely could not stand being compared to Blossom.

This was…… well, your standard rivalry cliché, really. The cheerful genius and the earnest hard-worker, shall we say. Not that Blossom wasn't a hard worker herself—and the reason it grated on Iris so much probably showed right there, too.

Blossom was forever smiling with that sunny disposition, so the moment you got angry at her, you became the bad guy—and to make matters worse, she never even gave you a reason to be angry in the first place, which made her all the more maddening. That kind of character.

And since Iris genuinely felt real friendship for her, that tangle of feelings only got more complicated.

"……Fine. I've changed my mind."

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep—

The warning alarm inside my helmet was blaring loud enough to half-drown out Iris's voice.

Ninety-eight percent.

Good. It was working.

"I'll be sure to beat you to death."

Tat!

Iris launched herself into the open air once more.

For all her overwhelming combat power that swept enemies aside, she understood an opponent's strengths perfectly and simply avoided them. She didn't intend to offer so much as an angle to be attacked in the first place.

The emotions magical girls carried were positive ones—positive to the point of near-certainty. Hope, sustained almost endlessly by that feeling of rising from despair to fight and crush evil. And what one could feel precisely because of that—'hope' itself.

The circuit that ran on that emotion, the kind you could only hold while you still didn't fully understand the world, was called the Hope Circuit in the story.

……If you've ever come across the internet expression 'happiness circuit,' then yes, that's exactly where the name came from. Of course, the Hope Circuit doesn't manufacture hope; it's merely a device that converts the hope an individual already holds into magic power.

It was also the single biggest reason the Galaxy Federation had its eye on Earth(?).

What I had, on the other hand, was—

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep—!

The moment Iris put distance between us and leveled her weapon at me, a sound shrill enough to split my ears rang out.

No chance of winning.

No hope whatsoever.

Not even if my circuit spun all the way to one hundred percent.

It would hurt. It would hurt, no question. Unlucky, two bones or more would break; lucky, only one would. The medical bills would somehow take care of themselves, but nothing on earth could be done about the pain—

That's right. What I was feeling at this very moment sat at the exact antipode of hope.

Despair.

My circuit ran on 'despair'—the kind felt by the human heart.

Unlike hope, which shone like light, despair on its own wasn't particularly efficient.

But unlike hope, whose ceiling never climbed all that high, despair had no floor—and no end, either.

What's more, with nothing more than a little careful stage-management of circumstances, nearly every human on Earth could feel 'despair' aplenty to keep a circuit spinning.

……Not that anyone but me, who knew the setting from reading the webtoon, would ever know that.

"Go on, then—do leave a last will and testament," Iris said.

"You went out of your way to prod my sore spot, after all, so I shall remember your final words with the care they deserve."

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep!

One hundred percent.

The vibration in my left wrist felt dangerously, violently intense.

For a mass-produced model the company had thrown together for the sake of volume manufacturing, it would probably shatter outright if it endured a moment longer.

Before that could happen.

Yes—I couldn't win. I, couldn't, win—but!

I was sick of this! How many times did it have to be?!

Pouring every drop of that rage into the gesture, I leveled my finger straight at Iris.

"Hm?"

Iris's eyes blinked at my confident display.

Grinning wide at the sight of her, I shouted.

"Happy Iris! Panties! Purple!"

"Wha—!? Don't be absurd! Today they're definitely bla—"

The words spilling out of Iris's mouth snapped shut with a click.

It was true that this was content which had been censored and cut once the series moved up to a major webtoon platform.

But even in a major webtoon where the magical girls never forgot to layer on their bike shorts, a character's personality profile never changed.

Iris was always the cool-headed, razor-sharp one—and yet every so often, a screw came loose! She had a certified klutz streak!

I lunged forward in the instant Iris's brain had frozen over. To the eye it was nothing more than leggings, but the combat suit, linked to the circuit fastened tight around my wrist, augmented my strength. I couldn't put out power on the level of Happy Red Rose, whose every stride tore craters into the pavement—but—

Thud!

At least for one fleeting instant, I could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠muster the force to leap as high as where Iris floated.

What's more, the energy blade in my left hand was still intact!

Iris's face rushed close, her beauty gleaming cold in the blue moonlight stamped vividly before my eyes.

Still wearing that flustered expression. Was she thrown off because, unlike the combatants who turned tail the moment they laid eyes on her, I was… what, exactly?

……I can do this.

I can reach. This strike won't win the fight, but surely—surely one clean hit…!

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep!

Beep-beep-beeeep!

Beep……eeeeee—

Huh?

The percentage projected inside my helmet began plummeting. Ninety-nine became eighty in a heartbeat, then slid down into the seventies.

Oh, come on! Don't tell me it was because I'd actually believed I could land a hit. Because I'd allowed myself a single shred of hope—

"Very good. I shall commend that courage of yours."

Ah. I was done for.

I'd flustered Iris, then gone and flustered myself.

Her composure had returned at some point—but the fury hadn't cooled with it, and Iris was glaring straight at me. From a distance best described as point-blank.

I wrenched my body around and swung the blade—

Fweee.

Unable even to pierce the aura sheathing Iris's body, the blade dispersed pathetically into nothing.

And then.

"Well then. Merry Christmas."

With a bright, refreshed smile, Iris pulled the trigger of the rifle trained on me.

The next instant, the world went white.

……By the time I came to—where on earth was I?

Some rooftop, by the look of it.

Iris was still a high schooler, but there was a frightening amount of brain in that head. She was already researching the principles behind the Galaxy Federation's warp points, after all.

Of course, that was a closely guarded secret from the public. The Federation left Iris's research alone for two reasons: to observe just how excellent the Hope Circuit's energy output could be, and to dangle a recruitment offer before her the moment the research bore fruit.

After all, what person alive would beg to join an organization that barred them from the very research they dreamed of doing?

And this 'attack' of Iris's was an application of exactly that. Killing your enemy was against the law. But if all you wanted was to neutralize them—reliably, in a single stroke—well, then you simply flung them far enough away that they couldn't make it back here any time soon. Wasn't that all there was to it?

"……Ngh."

As I pushed myself up from the ground, a groan escaped me and I clutched at my side.

Cracked? Or broken outright? Well, if it was only the ribs, that could have been worse. At least I could still walk.

It was a broken leg with no twenty-four-hour free treatment center run by Galaxy Federation citizens' groups anywhere nearby that turned things truly nightmarish—mere transportation became an ordeal.

I lifted a hand, fumbled over the helmet, pulled it off, and tossed it carelessly beside me. Whatever else could be said of it, its durability was monstrous—try as I might with my own strength, I couldn't so much as dent it.

……Supposedly this was gear rated to withstand a magical girl's attacks, spruced up with a sleeker design and sold as motorcycle equipment. The durability certainly lived up to the advertising.

For all I knew, Iris had gone easy on me in her own way.

I sat there for a good long while, then rose and limped over to the railing at the roof's edge.

"……Phew."

Winter or not, I'd had that stifling helmet clamped on for far too long—the instant it came off, the night air felt impossibly crisp.

……Refreshed, certainly.

Beep-beep-beep-beep.

"……What exactly is the point of ringing after the fight's over?"

Still clutching my aching side, I glanced down at the circuit chiming on my wrist.

My despair reading stood at eighty percent.

Where in the world was I this time? And with neither smartphone nor credit card, how was I supposed to get home?

……The Director would give me an earful when I got back. She wasn't a bad woman, but as far as she was concerned, I was simply out on the streets fooling around until all hours. And the moment she saw I was hurt, she'd press me about where I'd been brawling this time.

Which, to be fair, wouldn't be an unfair question.

"Haha……"

A dunce in dust-caked leggings, standing there blankly without the faintest idea where 'there' even was. That was me, at this very moment.

"……Maybe it's time to quit."

Honestly, I'd had it up to here. I knew I couldn't win—of course I did. But still. There are limits.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

In my case, at least, it wasn't about the money.

Half-listening to the cadre bellow through the comm, I slipped the circuit off my wrist. The circuit, which had been running on my despair, cut out—and soon fell quiet.

"……I wonder if the ones who dropped first landed somewhere with half an ounce of sense to it."

Worrying over other people for no reason, I snorted a private laugh and turned around. Cradling my throbbing side in one hand, I stuffed the circuit carelessly back into the helmet with the other and pulled it on.

Home, then. I had to be somewhere inside Seoul one way or another, so any destination was reachable.

I'd drop by a treatment center on the way, if one turned up.

Still, despair energy had its uses.

With the circuit and helmet back on, that energy made flat-out sprinting remarkably easy. Mind you, having just run the length of some seven subway stations, that too was behavior beyond the pale.

Besides, corporate flunkies drew the eye from their very uniforms, so merely dashing around like that would probably earn me an article—or something—on the internet by tomorrow. I'd catch holy hell for it again. At least there was no danger of getting fired, small mercies.

At first I hadn't the faintest idea where I'd ended up, but a little travel brought familiar streets, and I somehow managed to find my way to the company building.

At the very least, Noir Corporation let you change out of your uniform at their building. If they didn't, nobody would ever volunteer to be a combatant. Though even changing there, your deployment zone usually waited somewhere far, far away.

A shopping mall occupied the lower floors, and befitting an evil corporation, plenty of people were working late into the night.

Come down to the ground floor in plain clothes, and not a soul would guess I was a combatant. Combatants drifting in and out…… well, it wasn't as if one or two combatants were all this building had, anyway.

Checking my phone's clock as I came down to the first floor, I found it was already ten. By the time I made it back, it would be near eleven. I hadn't even called the orphanage yet. To make matters worse, seven missed calls sat waiting on my phone.

……Tonight's plan of getting home and healing with music was, in all likelihood, not happening.

"……"

"……"

Sure enough, the Teacher was waiting for me when I came in.

"……And where have you been, coming home at this hour?"

She didn't raise her voice. Partly because the children were asleep—but no one here had ever scolded the kids by shouting in the first place. Whether that had something to do with legal entanglements or what exactly, I couldn't say.

"……Not planning to tell me anything this time, either?"

"……"

"Jieun, if something's troubling you—"

"There's nothing like that."

Honestly, all I wanted was to lie down somewhere and sleep.

Setting aside the ten p.m. curfew, high schoolers at this orphanage were left fairly free. On weekends, they often didn't say a word even if you stayed out all night. But someone who breezed in past eleven as routinely as I did was treated as precisely what the word implied: a 'problem child'.

"……Haah. All right."

She probably hadn't given up on me. Not yet, anyway. But judging that dragging this out would only wear us both down, the Teacher said:

"Go wash up and get to bed. And don't wake the children."

"……I'm sorry."

"……"

At those words, the Teacher gave a faint smile and nodded.

At the very least, I had never once come home with injuries still on me. Whatever wounds I'd taken, I healed them spotless before setting foot inside.

……So this was how working for an outer-system corporation came in handy. Never mind that getting hurt in the first place was that very same outer-system corporation's fault.

Rustling the paper envelope holding the music CD, I headed for my room.

And then—

"Oh, you're back?"

My roommate, rolling around atop the bedding she'd spread on the floor, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lifted her head slightly and said.

She wasn't a character from the original. If she had been a magical girl, she'd have been stumbling in late tonight too, same as me.

"What, did you get caught up in a magical girl scuffle or something? It happened right by Gwanghwamun, just now."

"……You saw the news?"

"Sure did. Just a minute ago."

Jihye said, waving her smartphone at me. A single article glowed on the screen.

Now there was a headline guaranteed to send Iris's blood boiling on the spot.

I let out a long, slow breath and set my bag down.

"Let's see, then. What CD did you buy?"

"Weren't you the one saying streaming was just fine?"

"Aw, that was just talk. Besides, I'm dying to know what you picked up. Oh."

Jihye pulled the CD out, and her face split into a radiant grin.

"It's from that anime we saw in theaters!"

"Yeah."

For the record, we'd funded that theater trip by donating blood. Our little celebration, now that both our birthdays had passed this year.

"You gonna play it?"

With thinly veiled anticipation, she cast her eyes at the gear piled haphazardly on my desk. Bulky audio components and speakers were arranged there.

……In my past life, Father had owned something much like it. He'd always called it a 'phonograph,' though I doubted that was its proper name—later, when I looked it up, I found the word was shorthand for 'electric phonograph.' Which made no sense at all, because no machine with a CD tray could ever be mistaken for a phonograph.

"The kids are asleep."

"Oh. Right."

Looking faintly deflated, Jihye lowered the CD gently onto my desk.

"Ahem."

Then, without warning, she cleared her throat and overhauled the entire mood.

"So?"

"So, what?"

When I tilted my head at her, Jihye flashed a wicked grin.

"What's your boyfriend like?"

"……"

Why did every last person around me keep lobbing that question at me?

"It's Christmas, isn't it? Nobody pops out to buy one lousy CD and comes home this late. You obviously went to meet someone."

"……Could've been meeting a friend."

"You don't have any friends."

"……"

I rolled my eyes in one huge, deliberate circle before replying.

"So I have no friends, but somehow I've got a boyfriend?"

"Oh, hush. Two different things. Totally different."

"Unbelievable."

Deciding it wasn't worth another word, I flopped bonelessly onto the bedding Jihye had laid out for me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in advance.

"Aw, come on. Tell me, tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Really? Truly?"

"There isn't, I said."

With that, I shut my eyes.

Ah, I was bone-tired. Utterly.

"Hey……"

Jihye tried to keep the thread going, but perhaps my face genuinely looked wrung out, because she settled for:

"……You're telling me everything tomorrow."

She truly didn't know the first thing about giving up. Then again, that had to beat living the way I did, surrendering at every turn. She actually earned the word 'high schooler.' Unlike me.

Jihye grumbled a few more grievances, then lay down in her own spot. She dropped off before I did, her breathing soon settling into a steady rhythm.

"……"

Before long, I followed her under.

"Jieun! Jieun!"

First thing in the morning at school, Blossom descended on me, chattering at full volume.

"What?"

Even with me answering curtly, not sparing her a glance while I dug through my bag for textbooks, Blossom was not discouraged in the slightest.

Mid-rummage, something was suddenly thrust in front of my face.

"Sorry. I was supposed to give you this two days ago."

"……"

I blinked down at the 'gift' so lovingly wrapped in the package before my eyes. It was about the size of a CD, by the look of it.

"Th-that time we went to the bookstore together—you kept staring at it for the longest while, so…"

"……Ah."

I had a fair idea what this was. The jazz CD with the striking cover, the one I'd held and turned over for a good long while. Not that I knew the genre well enough to say whose album it was.

"……I didn't get you anything, you know."

"I-it's fine! Gifts are supposed to come from people who want to give them, that's all!"

Coming from her, that wasn't comfort—it was salt in the wound……? Then again, knowing Blossom's personality, she'd never have said it with that in mind.

"……Thanks."

I took it, and gave it a listen.

It was a gift from my childhood friend. Refusing was never on the table.

It was absolutely not that this happened to be an album I'd been aching to hear.

"……"

Blossom beamed at me, glowing with some happiness all her own.

Good grief—kind to a fault.

What exactly did she plan to do, being like that, when she someday found out who I really was?

……Not that there was the remotest chance of me getting found out.

Only after tucking the wrapped CD deep into my bag could I finally unearth the textbook I'd been hunting for and set it on my desk.