Sword, the Extreme Introvert
Sword, the Busan native whose real name is Yoon Si-hyeon, could be summed up in one word: extreme introvert.
Of course, she wasn't the creepy, cave-dwelling hermit type like Pluto. She just had excessive consideration for others.
She'd run 50,000 mental simulations: What if this hurts their feelings? Will that word upset them? Only after exhausting her brain would she finally speak. Call it pure and kindhearted—or, less charitably, constantly overthinking everything.
But as they say, too much of a good thing. Her habit overloaded her circuits, spitting out unintended words that didn't match her thoughts.
She meant to say, "Hi, have you eaten?"
Out came: "Rice."
"Uh... you want rice? Got it."
Or she'd waste more brainpower explaining each slip-up. Stuck silent, her cool beauty vibe led people to misread her as a stoic charisma queen.
Misunderstandings snowballed into myths, and Sword just accepted it as her karmic burden.
Prime example: the Korea-Japan magical girl diplomacy fiasco. Back when Katana flew into Busan.
Both were rookies fresh off debut. Hearing Katana skipped immigration and invaded airspace, law-abiding Yoon Si-hyeon planned a gentle send-off.
'Katana, even as a magical girl, you're Japanese, and this is Korean soil. Airspace violations are trouble. It'll embarrass both countries' civilians and magical agencies. Go home properly, bring your passport next time, and I'll show you Busan.'
Polite and model citizen. She blocked Katana with a stern face and opened her mouth.
"Jap bitch."
That flipped Katana's switch, sparking an unintended deathmatch.
Katana ended up bawling offshore at Haeundae, offering her miko outfit and katana as tribute with a bald head. But relations froze, news exploded...
After that, Sword grew even more timid. Her mouth was a disaster zone.
She'd holed up in Busan for years as a recluse magical girl. Public scrutiny as a magical girl weighed heavy, and her detective job—chosen for her intimidating look—added pressure.
Yet two months had nearly passed. Neff, the first newbie in five years.
From the moment Neff joined, Sword wanted to befriend her. Profile pic alone screamed adorbs. Pinch those cheeks, pat that head, kidnap—er, adopt her.
Why? Only kids overlooked Sword's quirks. (Legal lolis like Frost excluded.)
A child magical girl after so long? Even self-controlled Sword couldn't resist.
But how to approach? Few newbies lately, and her introversion left her clueless.
Her first move? Classic impulse: straight to info-harvesting.
Dump weapons from the magical agency mall into a cart, mass-buy, ship via courier.
Not knowing Neff's prefs, she grabbed everything: axes, spears, bows, maces...
Accidentally tossed in a dusty old sewing machine from the corner. Too late—package shipped.
Regret hit post-send. Rumors already swirled:
'Sword forces newbies to pick weapons right away. To drag 'em into her faction.'
Faction? Where? She'd done this to Pluto, Bella, every newbie—pure goodwill. Confidence she'd teach any weapon, pure care.
Newbies saw it differently. Who demands address day one, then ships arsenals?
No excuses. It freaked everyone out, cementing her psycho rep.
Ah, bombed again. I'm hopeless. Better stay solo. Self-loathing spiral.
Then—jackpot. Neff: "Thanks!" Gobbling it up. Even picked the sewing machine as her weapon.
Fate?
Gratitude swelled; she craved a meetup. Others hung out fine.
But inviting an 8-year-old solo from Seoul to Busan? Guilty conscience.
She poked emojis in the group chat—rare for her—for weeks.
Then Neff messaged first: training help?
Yoon Si-hyeon's brain flashed bliss.
Burned all leave, prepped to receive. Chief be damned.
Excitement sleepless nights sharpened her glare, but Neff-hype won.
Day of, she bolted barefoot. Big umbrella just in case.
Station entrance: tiny white girl stood out. Different look, but mana unmistakable. Instant ID.
Rushed over. Oops—forgot to transform. Excitement melted her brain.
Plan: approach as Sword. Kids wary of adults.
Red pill rule: no unmasking ages. She was nearly 30. Magical auntie, not girl?
Worried the gap'd disappoint. When she was active, Neff swam in dad's balls.
Fussing over dumb worries—Neff grabbed her hand, no hesitation.
Aaah! Pure, defenseless creature!
Tiny hand in her big one, tottering along—lips twitched upward uncontrollably.
Casually probed: 'If you're cool with it, stay at my place a few days? Please. I'll cook everything.'
"Stay longer. House empty."
Ugh, stupid mouth. Sounds like a kidnapper.
"Ramu says okay!"
Neff accepted gleefully.
Even: "I'm Seol Ha-rin!"
Spilled her real name! Consideration confirmed.
Here, reason snapped; delusions kicked in. Source of her magical girl imagination unleashed.
Si-hyeon never cared much for guys. Not lesbian—just marry casually or die single.
But kids? Daughter dreams. Briefly fantasized Ha-rin as Yoon Ha-rin. Adoption papers where?
Training: barely resisted squishing those cheeks, pinching thighs to cope. Haa.
Five days of roughhousing: Ha-rin powered through no complaints.
Sword fed her, slept beside—vicarious bliss maxed.
And today: last alone time with Ha-rin.
Movies? Sword's idea. Focus on Ha-rin while she watched.
Skipped gazelle scenes (why show kids that?), ogled side-profile freely.
Ha-rin oblivious, munching popcorn squirrel-style. Too freaking cute.
Leaving theater, Sword's face fell. Parting neared.
So little time left.
Tempted one last coax—then familiar, shitty mana hit. Fishy sea stench ruining her precious time.
Kwang!
Shattered revolving door glass rained; Sword bullet-shot out.
Department store lobby to Haeundae Beach. Five minutes for normals—five seconds for blind-rage her.
Sandstorm skid-stop: colossal monster cleaved the sea.
'...?'
Weird. Exposed breasts, human-like hips. Vaguely woman-shaped. Tentacles everywhere screamed not human.
"Kraken."
Tentacle mermaid princess? Ikamusume? What pervert dreams birthed this evolution mess.
Essence unchanged. That stench, killing glare—same Kraken from ten years back.
"Squiiiid squiiiid squiiiid squiiiid!"
Kraken spotting Sword, cackled sea-shakingly.
Squ...?
New gimmick?
"I've been waiting, Sword! Feast your eyes on my new beautiful form, squiiiid! I crawled from hell's depths to kill you, squiiiid! Today I avenge that humiliation, squiiiid!"
High-rank monsters' flaw: brains bloat, tongues wag.
New form added pointless tics—talk stretched longer? Imagination?
Anyway, Sword was pissed. Dream date crashed by rude seafood.
"Die, squiiiid!" Dozens tentacles erupted—each anti-tank missile speed, supersonic killers.
Shoo-shoo-boom! Kwakwang!
Beach bombed to chaos.
Sword danced through like prescient, weaving in.
"Kali."
"Aye aye, sir!"
Wail. Hell-Slaying Demon Sword.
Her side: mole mascot in Marine cap popped out. Kali, her sharp-voiced partner of 15 years.
Veteran sync let Kali decode Sword's mush, vomiting a blade.
Mysterious Japanese sword—long ago snatched from Katana, now her beloved.
"Hell-Slaying Demon Sword."
"Sword?"
Grip tightened. Boiling rage mana-wrapped her.
Arsenal Liberation.
Space tore behind her; haze revealed thousands of armaments.
Magical Girl Sword's signature—
King of Ten Thousand Weapons.
Weapons hummed, awaiting command.
First time ever: raw thoughts matched her voice perfectly.
Die, you squid bitch.
"Die, you squid bitch."
