The Retired Magical Girl Meets the Cultist
Tak. Tak. Tak.
I really wanna see her in person just once. Why don't Kaiji ever show up where I live..?
Tak. Tak. Tak.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
Tak.
"Haa. What the hell am I even doing?"
Acid's hands stopped over the keyboard she'd been pounding away at.
She'd tried spamming, pulling aggro, even titles that any fan would have no choice but to bite on. But there was zero reaction. Not even a single ad bot comment.
"I know damn well this is pointless..."
Truth be told, this lack of response wasn't all that strange.
Normally, you'd expect at least some insults—like "Who's this nobody?" or "Stop advertising, you bitch," or "Quit spamming." But no.
It was as if posts with her name on them were completely invisible, utterly ignored.
After wallowing in gloom for a while by herself, Acid suddenly clawed at her hair and screamed like a madwoman.
"Uwaaaah! You fucking mascot bastards! You didn't tell us about this shit when we signed the contract! You goddamn liars!"
Her bloodshot eyes turned to another gallery.
The gallery bearing her name.
Strangely enough, uploads had completely stopped at a certain point. To keep it from auto-closing, she herself periodically posted—just those, nothing from anyone else.
If it had lost popularity due to some screw-up, there'd at least be hate comments. But even those had dried up. It was like everyone who ever knew about "Acid Star" had vanished one day.
Of course, it was Acid Star herself who'd vanished.
"Getting totally forgotten after retiring as a magical girl? Isn't that too much?!"
It was all because of those mascot bastards' scam contracts.
"What the hell am I gonna eat now...?"
The church I'd been with went bankrupt.
It was a cult, sure, but a decent one—we did volunteer work and donations like crazy. Guess we were too decent to grease the right palms, so no cash flow.
Now the youth minister—that was me—was unemployed. All I had left was a box of disposable tissues printed with "good words" for proselytizing.
Figured they might come in handy somehow, but they're heavy and just take up space, so I ended up giving them out to others. (For the record, I'm experienced at tissue handouts.)
"Here's a free tissue!" "Ah, sure."
You'd think nobody wants cheap tissue like this, but if you thrust it out confidently, they take it surprisingly easy. Free stuff? Or maybe tissues are innocent.
Thanks to that, the box is almost empty—twenty more and done.
"Here's a free tissue!" "Pardon?"
Even to this pretty lady in ragged clothes. Her face rings a bell. Actress maybe? She'd outshine most idols if she dolled up. Feels like I've seen her on TV once.
"It's free, so take one. No proselytizing."
"Uh, m-me? Are you talking to me?"
Her reaction's kinda weird, though.
"Yeah? You."
"...Can you see me?"
"Pardon?"
What? Is she a cultist too? The "your eyes look clear" type?
If a cult battle kicks off, I'd lose. Our church is broke... Am I getting proselytized instead? Maybe scout a new nest?
Just hope it's not one of those MLM pyramid schemes.
"Excuse me? Can't you see me? Seemed like you were talking to me... Was it a mistake...? Can you hear my voice?"
"Yeah? Yeah. Loud and clear."
"...Wha? R-really? You can really see me? Hear my voice?"
"Yeah."
Just crazy?
"You don't want the tissue?"
"G-give it! Give me all of them!"
"Uh. Sure?"
"Peace Nuri Love Second Coming Protection Obedience Church? You go there?"
She snatched the tissue from my hand like a hawk, read the church name on the packaging, and tilted her head.
Our church name's ridiculously long.
Interested? That's trouble—it's already defunct.
I decided to be straight.
"Ah, no. It's just a cult..."
"Pardon?"
"It went bust. Church's gone... So I'm clearance-selling the leftover tissues."
"Ah..."
She let out an odd sigh at my awkward reply. Then, like emotions hit her all at once, she covered her face, squatted down, and started sobbing.
"Hic, hngh."
"Uh? H-hey?"
What? Super sensitive? Crying over a church she never heard of going bankrupt? Did I offend her? Some new scam?
As my mind went blank, she mumbled through sobs.
"Th-thank you..."
"Pardon?"
"It's been... so long since someone gave me anything..."
"...Pardon?"
Wait. She's crying from gratitude over tissues?
How harsh was her life for cheap tissue to move her? Kinda pitiful.
Couldn't leave her like that, so I tore off a sheet and handed it over. (Was gonna wipe her tears myself, but that'd be rude. Women are picky about makeup. Bare-faced or not.)
"Get up first. No idea what's up, but... hang in there. Wipe your tears with this. Yeah."
"Sniff... Y-yeah... Th-thank you..."
"Life's tough, right? People these days are so harsh. No care for others, no recognition. Right?"
"Y-yeah..."
Ah. Slipped into cult patter without thinking. Luckily, the calming woman nodded with a smile. Her teary eyes made her look even more forlorn.
To comfort her, I chuckled and confessed my own woes.
"I've had rough times lately too. The church that fed and housed me went under—no place to stay, world's a mess. Hard to even fend for yourself alone."
"R-right! No place to stay?"
"Eh, crashing at saunas or churches. Turns out roofs to borrow aren't that rare if you look."
"...Then, um, wanna come to my place?"
"Pardon?"
Wait, was this flirting? Her reactions were over-the-top—turns out she was hitting on me? My face isn't that level. Did our church's Second Coming God bless me since the place tanked?
Or another cult? Am I cut out for cult life?
"Ah! I mean! No one's at my place! It's just me!"
"...That makes it worse, no?"
"N-no, not like that—no weird intentions. I just miss human warmth..."
"This is getting weirder by the second..."
I glanced around instinctively. Bizarrely, no one paid us any mind. Modern folks ignore strangers, but this was next-level.
Eh, everyone's busy. Half walking while staring at phones.
"R-really, no weird stuff? I just... don't wanna let you go..."
"Hm. Thanks?"
"So, if you got nowhere to stay, my place is fine... really."
"...Then, if you insist."
"Yes! Yes!"
Eh, bed with a roof for once. If it's a cult, new job. Got nothing to lose but my chess pieces. ...Hope they don't steal those.
.
.
.
The "house" she led me to blew my expectations away.
"Sigma Hotel?"
"Ah, yeah. This way."
Korea's top luxury brand for the filthy rich.
She headed not to the lobby, but another entrance.
Card-key door—she pulled one from her pocket, swiped, and it opened. I eyed the guard nearby, slipped in cautiously.
Surprisingly, the guard ignored us completely.
'Is he even working?'
Seriously questionable.
"Take that elevator up."
"Ah, yeah."
She swiped the same card on the elevator panel.
Was already at 1F—doors opened right away. Inside, I spotted something odd: no floor buttons.
"Missing some buttons...?"
"Ah! Yeah! Penthouse exclusive elevator."
"...Penthouse?"
"Just two units use it. Never run into the other, but even if I did, they couldn't see me..."
What. The. Hell.
Did a Kaiji curse me? Dreaming? Chaebol heiress? Heard the hotel group CEO's a woman, but she's older, right?
While I reeled, elevator arrived—I got dragged by the hand into the penthouse.
"Whoa..."
Luxury straight out of a drama. Felt like another world.
"Use that room."
"Ah, yeah. Thanks."
"Small bathroom inside, but for the big tub, over there."
Before I could react, room assigned. Dazed, listening to her, I spotted a display case against the wall.
Full of merch from a retired magical girl.
Acid Star, was it?
"Acid Star fan?"
"Y-yeah?"
"Old magical girl merch is rare. Most folks only care about current ones. Retired girls? Nobody talks about 'em. Lots don't even remember they existed."
"..."
Oddly, magical girls get forgotten fast post-retirement.
Vigilante closer than idol? Mentioned Fortune Star to church folks once—nobody remembered. Fans aside, not huge focus on names anyway.
Current ones stick around, though.
Just buried by time.
"Trends move too fast? Famous back then, ghosts now—makes me feel old. Weird vibe. Right?"
"...Do you remember retired magical girls?"
"Pardon? Yeah, sorta. The TV regulars: Acid Star, Fortune Star, Joke Star, Romantic Star..."
"...I don't. Except my own name."
"Pardon?"
"Nobody remembers. Retired magical girls... fade from people's memories."
...What?
"I'm Acid Star."
"Pardon?"
"The poison star. Acid. All that's my merch."
"...Pardon?"
So she's saying right now.
"You're Magical Girl Acid Star herself?"
"Precisely, retired magical girl."
"..."
"Mascots call us 'witches.' Magic left, but the girl's heart gone—no more dreams. Rejected by the world. That's why nobody remembers us."
...No way this woman's.
'Definitely a cult.'
Setting's rock-solid.