Fan (3)
“Sniiiiif... haaaah...”
The moment I got home, I first savored the scent of the premium Rapid hair I'd collected today. It was fluffy and sweet, like high-end cotton candy laced with peach. A fragrance no ordinary shampoo could produce, filling my brain to the brim. The scent of happiness.
In the quiet of my room, I inhaled deeply from the plastic bag containing Rapid's hair. This was my essential healing time, washing away the day's stress. I'd take a sniff, exhale outside the bag, shake it to mix in some air, seal it tight, let it mellow for a bit... then inhale again, drowning in bliss.
“Haaaah...”
Why did I love Rapid so damn much? It was inexplicable, but irresistible. The first time I saw her in a Defense Force ad, I just thought, Oh, magical girls like her let us keep living our daily lives. Second time: Her tits are huge. Third: Her face is adorable. Fourth: I wanna hug her, kiss her, date her, fuck her... Sure, it felt like some abnormal shift, but reason had nothing to do with it anymore.
I loved Rapid. No—lusted after her. But wasn't lust just another form of love? There were reasons, too. Her huge breasts. Her soft vibe. How she poured everything into saving people. Straining her face to rescue and protect every single one from monsters. Her fluffy brown curls. Her gentle eyes. Her cute lips and voice. Her big ass and slim waist that her massive chest overshadowed. And she had just enough plushness—leaked battle footage sometimes showed her flesh jiggling, and it was hot as hell.
Nicknamed the Saint for her kindness, her sweetness, her care, healing people all fluffy and soft. Vulgar as it was, just imagining it got me hard. Why did she turn me on so much? At some point, I couldn't hold back anymore; I was obsessed.
The first magical girl I encountered was Rapid, then Ash, Esther, Lily. All active since the early days of dimensional rifts when Negatives first attacked. They were all hot in their ways, but Rapid was my absolute favorite. I'd given reasons, but honestly, even without them, just fantasizing was enough to get me going.
“Haaaah...”
Sniffing her hair alone had me on the verge of popping a boner. Even today, Rapid was keeping me healthy.
“Time to stop savoring.”
Regrettably, even magical girl hair didn't keep its scent forever. I stored today's fresh Rapid strands in a one-use bag marked with a check for the first sniff, filing it away in my drawer.
Grading hair like this wasn't my invention. It came from members of a secret site on old-school wireless satellite internet—untouched by True Vision's real-time censorship or Vision Net's mana lines. The site was called “Those Who Truly Love Magical Girls,” shortened to Magic Girl Fan Site—마진사 for short.
In our censored modern world, it was illegal, but you couldn't just blow up satellites to stop it. Plus, blocking 마진사 would require big shots from politics and business... who were members themselves.
Some members sold illegal drugs processed from Negative monster corpses or fluids—aphrodisiacs, heat inducers. Others peddled deepfake sex videos of magical girls. Rumors even whispered of real ones. The elite bought this stuff in secret, so they left the site alone.
마진사 was like a masked ball where everyone dropped pretenses and spilled their true desires. The one place you could openly lust after magical girls.
The hair grading chart was made by folks like me who indulged in their scents. Some collected traces themselves, like I did; others bought from hunter-gatherers, hence the standardized grades. -1 point if the tips were damaged, -1 if monster-tainted, +1 for live roots, +1 for fresh baby hairs... Most of today's haul was top-grade. Pristine.
These fetched good prices on 마진사. I didn't know the owner, but site points converted to secret cash anytime. Twelve strands today: ten top-grade, two high-grade. Top-grade went for 150,000 coins each, high for 100,000. Not my full salary, but solid—not bad for a day's work.
Lately, one buyer was snapping up lots of hair, making sales easy and prices higher. Buyers saw seller trust scores, but sellers stayed anonymous. Still, I knew there was one bulk buyer from identical reviews.
But the real point wasn't the buyer. It was that the hair held value even after one or two uses—no degradation.
“This'll let me sniff once a day.”
Today's take fattened both my wallet and my satisfaction. I fired up my old laptop, connected to the net, and listed the strands on the trading board.
Familiar nicknames dotted the board: Jam Stamp, White Honey Thread, White Hair Stamp... All safe and sound. Deliveries arrived.
I cashed points for pocket money or bought candid Rapid pics and vids. ViewTube got sneaky fan-cams sometimes, but True Vision scrubbed them fast. 마진사 had them all—users like me archived and reuploaded for points.
I didn't start as a collector. Points ran dry, so I hit attack sites myself. Feeling Rapid's scent there was addictive; touching spots she'd sat or brushed against got me hooked. Why so thrilling? Rapid herself? No clue, but seeing her ignited uncontrollable lust. Sometimes I thought it abnormal, but it overrode reason. Felt too good.
But I wasn't wrong. 마진사 members confirmed it: we all lusted, just held back. Normal.
“Oh, right...”
After posting, I rummaged for a data chip adapter cable from 마진사. For dodging Vision Net surveillance. Old laptops and modern Vision Net rigs differed, but this bridged data chips to legacy hardware. No Vision Net access meant safer storage and checks on sensitive data.
“Alright... what's on it? Huh?”
Inserting the chip, I spotted broken video files first. Not just incompatibility—real corruption. Most wouldn't even load; only extensions hinted at videos. The crushed Vision Phone must've damaged storage.
Plenty intact files, but many glitches. Even a Vision Phone app installer, seemingly fine but with garbled name.
“Hmm...”
Thought it was pure Rapid's Vision Phone chip, but damage soured it. I'd recover what I could.
The 마진사 seller bundled OS bridges and file repair tools for old-new compatibility. Cheap, and it fixed damaged files too—not just incompatibles—so I'd bought it.
While repairs ran, I checked intact files. App wouldn't open sans Vision Phone. Three images popped up.
“...What the?”
They were baffling: shots of a worn notebook, scribbled with orderly horizontal scratches. Leaf at the top suggested unknown script. Handwriting was atrocious, or some dead language. Or meaningless doodles.
All three followed the same format: notebooks with those weird scribble-tracks.
No clue what they meant.