The Magical Girl Virus
“Thank you for your patronage.”
I bowed so low I could practically see my own belly button as I saw off a customer who had finally graced the shop after far too long.
It had already been a week since I started working as Ju-yeon's personal photographer. I supplied photos once every three days, pocketing a hefty 300,000 won a session, and before I knew it, what she'd paid me had quietly crept past the million-won mark.
“⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼?” (If this kept up, I might actually manage to pay rent properly this month?)
There wouldn't be much left once rent and taxes took their bite, but at least I'd be spared the humiliation of groveling with a 'Sooo sorry, I couldn't earn a single won this month eitherrr!!' From now on, the landlady would get her money right on schedule.
[⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼?]
What happens to my current residence? Is that what you're asking?
Hmm. The house had collapsed and I'd fled it, so I was probably registered under something like loss of residence (?). There was definitely a manual somewhere dictating how to handle a case like this, but I'd never once bothered to look, so who knew.
“⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼.” (Uuuuugh.)
I sat there staring blankly out the window, waiting for the next customer to wander in. There seemed to be an unusual number of birds on the wing today — winter was creeping closer, so I supposed they were headed somewhere warm. Watching the flock stream south in one great ribbon, I let my thoughts drift. Isn't an entire tree basically their house? Pick a decent branch, settle in, declare 'This is my home now!' — and boom. Instant house.
“⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼.” (Must be nice. Maybe I'm a little jealous?)
[⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼.]
Fair point. Just as Yumin said, birds had their own hardships too. Like, y'know, zero sphincter control. That kind of thing.
Hooo. Hooo.
“?”
A tap-tap-tap reached my ears — someone touching a microphone, testing it. I turned my head toward the sound. And there, on the screen:
With Yurim silent as the grave, I'd left the television humming in the background like a radio. I'd bought it after the landlady offered to cover the electricity bill — it stung a little, but honestly? Not a bad purchase.
That said. A full-body pure-white veil concealing everything from head to toe, and a synthesized mechanical voice that betrayed no gender whatsoever. The Saintess of the Church of Bright Light. In name only, really — even her sex had never been made public. Frankly, whether she was even human was an open question. According to the rumors circulating out there, she was an artificial lifeform, or perhaps a robot, manufactured by the Church to farm the public's faith. She always moved with precisely the same measured gait, and outside of her scheduled appearances, no one had ever caught so much as a glimpse of her. On official occasions she never voiced a personal opinion — only the Church's position — and whenever she went on missionary work, bishop-level dignitaries were always at her side.
In other words: she doesn't smell like a person.
It was somewhere in the middle of all this that Yumin, watching the Saintess descend from the podium, remarked:
[⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼.]
“⎼⎼⎼⎼?” (Really?)
Yumin stated it flatly: the Saintess was a human being — not a machine, not an artificial construct. I hadn't the faintest clue how anyone would even go about verifying that, but if a celestial mage said so, then so be it.
“⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼.” (Anyway, what even is the 'magical girl mutation'?)
Wasn't being a magical girl just a job? Weren't they the people in the flashy outfits who sang and danced for a living? That was the full extent of what I knew about magical girls.
Hmmmmmm. Was this even my problem? Whether I became a magical girl or not was none of my business — and a growing magical girl population wasn't going to bring a single extra customer to Yurim. Same as always: a shop where nothing but flies buzzed.
“⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼?” (Still, I'm curious. Might as well look it up.)
It wasn't like I had anything better to do. Even if I spent hours searching, no customer was going to materialize.
Srrrrk.
“⎼⎼⎼⎼.” (Ahem.)
Srrrrrrrrk.
“⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼.” (Hooo-oh.)
Click.
“⎼⎼⎼⎼.” (Oh dear.)
Jingle!
“⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼.” (Ahem, ahem.)
Hold on. A jingle? The only thing in Yurim that should ever jingle was the doorbell outside. I opened the door to greet my long-awaited customer —
“⎼⎼.” (Ah.)
Not a customer. A natural disaster in human form.
“Yuna! I'm here! I told you I'd come sooner or later, remember? Well, today's the day! Today is the day I scout you into the Association!”
Goo Seoha came scampering across the room in a flurry of footsteps and belly-flopped straight onto the sofa. I glowered down at her and floated up a line of text.
“Did you say you were coming?”
“I left my business card, didn't I? Did you think I was lying? I'm a woman who does what she says she'll do. Ah — and that goes double for sending you to the Association.”
“Give it up. I have zero intention of joining the Association.”
She was a pest of the very worst pedigree, this woman forever trying to ship me off to the Association — but she was still, technically, a customer. You never knew, right? What if she went 'Uwaaah, Yuna, I love you!' and whipped out tens of millions of won on the spot? She was rolling in money anyway; an impulsive splurge like that would barely register.
So what did she actually come here for? Surely not a serious scouting attempt.
Seoha, sprawled across the sofa staring at the ceiling, shifted her gaze back to me. The moment her eyes landed on me, the corners of her mouth crept upward and her expression began to melt. She stared at me with genuine, unabashed fascination — until her gaze locked onto a single spot. A faint flush was creeping across her face.
“Is that real?”
Seoha pointed at the Reverse Anti-Glow replica sitting on my right index finger. Watching her falter like that roused the mischief sleeping deep inside me. I stroked the Anti-Glow slowly, savoring the moment, and answered.
“Would I be wearing it if it were fake? My patron gave it to me as a gift. She said it meant she looked forward to working with me going forward, too.”
“Khh.”
Seoha muttered under her breath, 'Should I give her something too...?' Yurim was so quiet that, TV static aside, every syllable came through crystal clear — but I graciously pretended not to hear. Somebody had to protect the pride of Korea's strongest mage. She was a mage whose pride was sensitive at the best of times; if I needled her right here — Hmmm, so Goo Seoha has nothing to give me, yet she still wants to drag me off to the Association? — she very well might bolt out the door in tears.
So the prank would end here.
“Just kidding. An unnie I know gave me the replica as a present. Though I hear it's barely any different from the original, so I can see how you'd be confused.”
Reading the text, Seoha let out an uneven breath and forced a laugh. “Right? Oh dear, oh dear — me, of all people, showing a side like this. You really do drive me insane, Yuna.”
“Spare me the cringe. There's something I want to ask.”
“Hm? Sure. Fire away.”
That easy? Well then.
Earlier, when I'd been researching the magical girl mutation phenomenon, there had been something I couldn't make sense of. The basic premise — that anyone, regardless of gender, would transform into a magical girl — I understood perfectly fine. But no matter how deep I dug through the internet, I couldn't find a word about where the phenomenon had come from. From the Saintess's remarks, the Church of Bright Light seemed to know something. But with nothing released to the public, there was no way for me to find out.
Except — who exactly was sitting in front of me right now? A woman who, yes, colonized my sofa and tormented me every single visit, but also one of the finest mages in all of Korea. The Mage Association and the Church of Bright Light shared a mountain of information between them, so Seoha was bound to know something about the magical girl mutation phenomenon. I transmitted my question to her, word for word.
“Ubbbffbbbbbb.”
At my question, Seoha buried her face in the sofa cushions and began pretending she hadn't heard a single word.
What is she even doing. A grown woman, older than me, carrying on like a toddler. Yep. A total lost cause.
Fine. Time for temptation. — No, not physical temptation!
“It's just simple curiosity, and you won't tell me? What a shame. If you did, my affection for you might rise high enough that I'd consider joining the Association.”
With the text hovering in place, I seized Seoha's head and dragged it up in front of the box.
“KyaAAAAAAH!! Let go of me!”
She thrashed desperately with her eyes screwed shut, so I pinned her down with my legs and pried her eyelids open by force.
“I'm not telling you anything!!”
That was what she said — even as her eyes darted hungrily across every word of the text. Having dutifully rolled her eyeballs through the whole thing, Seoha slowly opened her mouth. Apparently the bait had been plenty tempting.
“H-hmm. If you truly wish to know, then I suppose I could simply tell you that much. Mm-hm. It is absolutely, one hundred percent not because the part about you joining the Association caught my attention.”
“Got it?!” she snapped back, bristling — but her ears were already dyed scarlet. A situation that had become the complete, perfect inverse of our first meeting.
“⎼⎼.” (Heh.)
I patted her head, and the moment I did, she grinned like a demon. Smiling myself, I settled in to listen.
“The magical girl mutation phenomenon is a gate-related incident. It's spreading like a virus outward from a new gate that appeared in Daejeon.”
“⎼⎼.” (Oooh.)
“The higher-ups keep droning on about how Daejeon needs to be quarantined, but come on — like that would actually work.”
“Daejeon is that big. Wouldn't anyone who isn't a resident be completely in the dark?”
“Yuna. This is exactly what magic is for.”
“…”
Anyway. Quarantining Daejeon might stop the magical girl virus from washing across the entire country, but in exchange, every last resident of Daejeon would become a magical girl.
But I won't catch it, right?
[⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼.]
Right? High realm really is the best. According to Yumin, I had so much mana coursing through me that some petty little virus wouldn't stand a chance.
I'd flinched at the thought of Yumin being delighted if I turned into a magical girl, so that was a genuine relief. Even if the thing couldn't touch me, the situation remained every bit as serious. Still, living with a healthy dose of vigilance now and then couldn't hurt.
Mm-hm.
I was nodding along, listening attentively, when Seoha craned her head up to look at me. “So? Has your affection for this body gone up?”
“Nope?”
“Grrrrrrgh.”
I smiled silently at the sound of her suffering. And then —
Now what do I do?
Like I said, it couldn't affect me, and no fresh customers were coming. Which meant this was…!
“⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼?” (It's just a normal day, same as any other, isn't it?)
Hmmmmmm. If it was a day like any other, then there was exactly one thing to do.
“Seoha, are you hungry? Care for a hamburger?”
“Oh? You're buying?”
“Nope? This is the kind of thing rich people pay for.”
“The honor of the righteous sect has plunged to rock bottom!”
“I'm a mute, so technically I'm not even part of a sect, am I?”
“Grrrrrrrrk.”
“⎼⎼⎼⎼!” (Hahaha!)
Food someone else pays for is happiness in its purest form! Time to order the most expensive thing on the menu.