Selection Match? Going All Out (10)
76. Kim Jiah sat in her office, finally wrapping up the paperwork for the upcoming academy event. The schedule had been revised at the principal’s suggestion, and she had just finished verifying the changes that had been made only two days ago.
“The public funds are accounted for, the professional magical girls participating in the event have all accepted, and safety measures are in place… That’s everything.”
The title displayed on her monitor read: ‘Let a Current Magical Girl Teach You.’ As the name suggested, it was an event where active magical girls would visit the academy to share their knowledge with the students. While such events were common for second- and third-year students, this was the first time it was being held for the new students. As a result, a considerable number of documents had landed on Kim Jiah’s desk. In any Korean institution—especially public ones—launching a new project or event required a mountain of paperwork.
Even so, the Magical Girl Academy was an officially recognized educational institution in South Korea. Though the government controlled it indirectly through the Magical Girl Association, it was still a legitimate public institution. The Academy Education Committee, an organization under the Association, had been established precisely to serve as that bridge, coordinating matters between the government and the academy.
“Principal, please stop changing the details so suddenly… I’m begging you.”
Her job was to sit between both sides, relaying their respective positions and demands. It might sound simple, but anyone who had worked in an office knew the truth: when whales fight, the shrimp’s back gets broken. The academy side viewed the Education Committee as the evil axis controlling them—the so-called “higher-ups.” Yet from Kim Jiah’s current position, that perception was clearly mistaken.
Of course, the Education Committee held a higher institutional rank than the academy. But that only applied when comparing the organizations themselves. When it came to the people within those organizations, the story changed if someone ranked above her personally—such as the academy’s principal.
Though unofficial, Kim Jiah, the ninth-ranked magical girl Blossom, an A-class magical girl with considerable pride even within the Association, couldn’t even present her business card to the academy principal. The reason was simple…
“…I’m exhausted.”
Kim Jiah leaned back in her chair until it tilted fully, letting her body sink into it. After two straight days buried in paperwork, her trapezius muscles ached. Her eyes felt bloodshot too. If she had worked while transformed, this wouldn’t have happened, but she had a strict policy of handling office work in her original form whenever possible. Thanks to that, she now felt like she was needlessly suffering.
“No, if I stayed transformed, my mana would keep draining… Let’s just say I endured this to conserve mana.”
Ordinary people who weren’t magical girls lived like this all the time. Nine years had already passed. That was more than enough time to stop taking the privileges that came with being a magical girl for granted. She was Blossom, yes—but before that, she had been an ordinary person named Kim Jiah. As someone who was most wary of the arrogant mindset that “magical girls are an evolved form of humanity,” she tried her best to avoid such thoughts.
“Calling it needless suffering doesn’t even sound right. It’s all because I’m tired…”
Because she had to look after her older brother, Kim Jihye, her time in the office was extremely limited. Between helping with school drop-offs and pick-ups and preparing breakfast and dinner every day, the hours she could actually sit at her desk were few. That was why, for the past two days, she had been pulling the absurd stunt of returning to the office after Jihye fell asleep. It was only natural that her lack of sleep would leave her exhausted.
“What time is it now?”
Checking the clock on her computer, she saw that lunchtime had just begun. The deadline for sending out the official documents had been today at noon, so she had finished right on time.
“I should rest my eyes for a bit. I’ve already made all the calls and set my work messenger to away…”
She prepared to take a short nap, even setting an alarm. At the end of her preparations sat the sleep mask she had brought from home—the couple version of the one Jihye used every day. Having kicked off her heels, Kim Jiah lay back comfortably in her chair. A crisp business suit paired with a character-printed sleep mask—the perfect image of a successful career woman clashing with something utterly mismatched. But who cared? As long as the wearer was satisfied, that was all that mattered.
How much time had passed since she closed her eyes? A little over ten minutes, perhaps? Her phone began to vibrate.
“Ah… I forgot to put it on silent.”
She had gone through all the trouble of preparing for a nap, yet she had overlooked her personal phone. Being human, she felt extremely irritated at having her rest interrupted. Still, telling herself it was her own fault, she forced herself to calm down and looked at the screen. A familiar name was displayed there.
“…Iron Fist?”
Cha Seoyeon, Jihye’s homeroom teacher. Though the two of them got along well, they rarely contacted each other privately. Even when they did exchange greetings, it was usually after work hours—not suddenly in the middle of the day like this. Which meant something urgent must have happened…
The moment the thought crossed her mind, Kim Jiah quickly pressed the call button.
“Yes, what’s the matter, Iron Fist?”
“Well… I’m not sure if it’s all right for me to say this, but…”
Cha Seoyeon began with an extremely troubled tone.
“I’m sorry. I was entrusted with something, but I couldn’t stop it.”
“Huh…? What do you mean?”
Stop what? For a moment, she couldn’t understand. Then a memory surfaced—the favor she had once asked of Cha Seoyeon.
“Ah… I see. I’ll be right there.”
“Are you sure? Your work…”
“I’ve already finished everything.”
With that, she hung up and began tidying her computer. She also changed the status indicator on her office door before quickly gathering her things and heading to the parking lot.
“Oh… Deputy Chairperson, are you going somewhere?”
“I’m heading home. Something came up.”
Ignoring the confused looks around her, she strode briskly toward her car. Thanks to Cha Seoyeon’s call, any trace of sleepiness had vanished completely. Once inside, she cursed the sluggish ignition before slamming her foot on the accelerator. Her destination was, of course, the Magical Girl Academy.
The moment Kim Jiah arrived at the academy, she headed straight for the infirmary. Without a moment’s hesitation, she made her way there. Waiting inside were the school nurse and three students—a combination she already knew well.
“O—… I mean, how’s Jihye?”
“She’s asleep like usual. But there’s something a little different…”
“What is it?”
“Well… there’s a small ring floating above Jihye’s head…”
She pulled back the partition curtain and saw a familiar sight. Her brother lay there with a peaceful smile on his face, as if he were having the most wonderful dream. He looked so serene that she felt foolish for having rushed over in such a panic.
Of course. It’s always been like this.
Kim Jiah let out a small chuckle and tore her eyes away from his face, looking up at the crown of his cherry-blossom-pink hair.
“Huh. So it’s real.”
With his angelic features—long lashes, neatly aligned brows, a small upturned nose, plump cherry-like lips, smooth porcelain skin, and slightly chubby cheeks that hadn’t yet lost their baby fat—plus the glowing ring hovering above his head, he really did look like a baby angel.
“This kind of ring has never appeared before. Did anything happen today?”
“Um… well…”
One of the children hesitantly stepped forward. She was smaller than the other two, with black hair tied into pigtails—an impression that stood out. Tears welled in her slightly sharp, cat-like eyes.
“I… think I did something wrong. No, I did do something wrong. To Jihye… I pushed her too hard…”
“…What do you mean? Can you start from the beginning?”
Though slightly flustered by the crying child insisting she was at fault, Kim Jiah quickly composed herself and asked for an explanation. Yun Yuri—the academy’s resident prodigy, whose reputation even the staff knew well—began recounting everything that had happened, her voice trembling.
“So the email really was about the selection match. I see. You’ve been holding selection matches until just now?”
“Sniff… Yes…”
Kim Jiah turned her head slightly and glared at the sleeping Kim Jihye.
How could you not tell me about something this important, you idiot brother?
Complaining to her brother, who was currently enjoying a blissful sleep, wouldn’t reach him anyway. If he had mentioned the selection match, she would have told him not to participate. That was probably why he hadn’t said a word. No matter how much older he got or how much his appearance changed, this was unmistakably her brother, Kim Jihoon.
“Haa… You never change, do you, big brother?”
“Pardon? Did you say something?”
“It’s nothing. I was just thinking how annoying it is that someone’s sleeping so soundly without a care in the world.”
Fortunately, her muttered words were quiet enough that Shin Seyeol and the others didn’t hear.
“Anyway, you did well too. Sparring with Jihye must’ve been tough.”
“……”
Yun Yuri had stopped crying, but she still looked utterly dejected, as if everything that had happened was her fault.
Prodigy or not… she’s still just a kid. A good one, at that.
Kim Jiah gently patted Yun Yuri’s head.
“It’s all right. It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it’s Jihye’s fault for going berserk on her own.”
“That’s not true… I got too excited and used my Unique Magic, so Jihye must have overexerted herself…”
“That’s enough.”
Thwack. Kim Jiah’s finger flicked Yun Yuri’s forehead.
“A student’s responsibility ends there. You gave it your all in the sparring match, didn’t you?”
“…Yes.”
“Then you did well. You worked hard. There’s no need to torment yourself over what happened afterward. You never intended to hurt her on purpose, right?”
“I… suppose not?”
“Exactly.”
With that, Kim Jiah pulled Yun Yuri into a hug.
To think he’s already being loved by kids like this. I don’t know whose brother he is, but he’s one impressive big brother.
He had thrown such a fit about not wanting to go to the academy, yet here he was already making friends like this. Kim Jiah looked at Kim Jihye and smiled softly.