Alcohol, Tobacco, and Me (1)
Magical girls. The hope of this place, Gray City.
With frilly skirts fluttering as they vanquish beasts, their noble figures were more than worthy of the adoration of millions.
They helped society, they were cute, they had killer bodies...
In a word—
They were the ultimate jerk-off material.
With trembling hands, he clicked the mouse to pause the video.
Between her white thighs.
That absolute territory.
If only he could die buried in there—wouldn't that make his life a pretty happy ending?
His right hand familiarly gripped his little brother.
Tap tap tap tap—
On screen, Ruby was stepping on a beast—some slimy blob thing—while flashing a victory V-sign.
And over that image, he layered his filthy fantasies—
White stockings torn to shreds. Her noble expression melting into stupid ecstasy. Her choking on his cock with drool spilling out.
Especially lately, with AI tech going nuts, his computer was packed with tools to fuel those imaginings.
His hand sped up. The tip of his glans swelled taut, ready to burst any second. Ugh.
Splurt! Splurrrt! Spuuurt—!
"Haa... haa... fuu...."
Ragged breaths filled the cramped studio apartment. His vision flashed white, then slowly came back into focus.
He stared blankly up at the monitor. Ruby on screen was still smiling cutely.
Not quite sage time yet, but...
'What a fucking pathetic life.'
Self-loathing was inevitable. He yanked out tissues and started roughly cleaning up.
"Eh, whatever. Time to knock out some backlog."
He fired up the work browser, layered with security protocols.
His job?
Well, grandly put, he was a data analyst for the multinational logistics giant Nebula.
But in reality?
'Bottom-feeding subcontractor to the subcontractor of a magical girl-hating villain organization.'
Nebula. A logistics company on the surface, but behind the scenes, a massive evil syndicate battling magical girls. Of course, he wasn't an executive or a fighter.
His job was simple: after the organization clashed with magical girls, he sorted the leftover trash, compiled the data, and reported it upstairs.
In plain terms, he was the villains' 'recycling coordinator.'
"Let's see today's quota."
The messenger icon was flashing like mad.
"Ah, yeah yeah, got it, you asshole."
Muttering curses under his breath, he hauled himself up.
Dragging his heavy body to the door, there sat a hefty delivery box all by its lonesome.
He dragged it inside and sliced the tape open with a cutter knife. A musty dust smell hit him as soon as he popped the lid.
"Ugh, stinks."
Inside was a jumble of junk: torn clothes, half-melted plastic bits, mystery memory chips.
He skimmed the attached work order.
[Origin: Sector 4 / Deceased: ID 'Supporter-029']
[Contents: All personal belongings and equipment of the aforementioned supporter]
'Supporter,' huh.
The guys who backed up magical girls from the shadows, handling management. Like mascots from comics or elite agents dispatched by the government.
Hanging with magical girls, sharing meals, planning ops, maybe even dating...
'Jealous bastards. Good thing they're dead.'
He'd wanted to be a supporter once too. If only he'd had that damn mana circuit.
Grumbling, he slipped on rubber gloves. Digging through a dead guy's stuff felt gross, but money was money.
'Bloodstained notebook—trash it.' 'Smashed sunglasses? Looked functional, but lenses are shattered—trash.' 'Receipts and condoms? This guy's more pathetic than me.'
He sorted item by item.
And then—
"What's this?"
Tucked in the corner of the box, wrapped meticulously in bubble wrap—something treated way better than the rest of the garbage.
He peeled off the packaging to reveal a palm-sized tablet-like device.
Matte black, rugged finish. Solid heft. Gave off serious military-grade vibes.
"Ooh... looks pricey."
He pressed what looked like the power button.
> [System booting...]
> [OS: Magi-Link Ver 4.0]
> [Biometric scan in progress...]
> [...Error. Not a registered user.]
> [Admin privileges lost.]
A red warning popped up. Ah, locked after all.
[Switching to emergency mode.]
[New admin access granted.]
"Huh?"
The screen shifted from red to blue, icons arranging like a smartphone home screen.
"Oh, it worked."
Intrigued, he tapped around.
Messages, maps, contacts... pretty standard.
But smack in the center of the home screen, one icon stood out: a heart with a cross over it.
"Magical Care?"
Mesmerized, he tapped the icon.
Ding~♪ A cheerful sound effect played as a loading bar filled.
> [Magical Girl Status Management System]
> [Warning: This app is restricted to contracted exclusive supporters. Unauthorized access and use prohibited.]
> [Security Level: S]
"Hold up."
His eyes went wide.
Magical girl status management?
Did this have the kind of 'features' he was imagining?
He tapped the small question mark icon in the top right.
The screen flipped to a wall of dense text.
A help manual.
[Overview: Magical girls battle otherworldly entities known as 'magical beasts', exposing them to severe mental corruption.]
[Combat stress and mana backlash erode their souls, and neglect can lead to self-destructive impulses—the 'Corruption Desire' phenomenon.]
[In such cases, they become highly vulnerable to self-destructive dopamine rewards like alcohol, tobacco, drugs, etc., requiring proper management.]
More explanations scrolled by. He hit the bottom.
"Ah."
That was it?
No hypnosis? No forced orgasms? No hidden mode for training fallen magical girls however he wanted?
'Damn, it's just a legit medical device.'
His excitement deflated. A rare find turning out to be this lame...
"Wait a sec."
He picked up the tablet again. The screen still glowed blue.
Something felt off.
"Thinking about it, why the hell is this even on?"
Logically, specialized gear like this wasn't for just anyone.
Only girls with special mana became magical girls. And their supporters needed at least some 'mana sensitivity' to qualify and get certified—proven by a mana circuit. A normal person without one touching magical tech? At worst, they'd get zapped like a shock from static.
"I got no mana, though?"
His health check showed mana levels at less than 0.0001—pure muggle through and through. So why was this thing treating him like the owner and letting him in?
Security level S, no less.
"Hmm..."
He eyed the tablet suspiciously, turning it over, but nothing changed.
Only one conclusion left.
'Talent awakening at my age?'
Or just a glitch, maybe...
Either way, it was on, so score. High-security gear like this meant access to tons of info.
He launched the map app on screen.
A familiar cityscape unfolded—Gray City.
And on it, colorful dots like quest markers in a game. True to S-level security, data poured in.
"These are all magical girl positions?"
Way more than he'd thought. Even his neighborhood had, what, over twenty?
He was momentarily shocked at the numbers, then realized his mistake.
'Modern magical girls aren't just the idol types on TV.'
From 'combat agents' working public servant gigs for law and order, to 'non-combat agents' handling disaster relief and medical support.
If it included gray-area types technically classified as magical girls but not really—mages, witches, hunters, insiders—then it made sense. The government preferred flashier names, but strictly speaking, they counted.
'Even the lady two doors down is one.'
Always looked haggard in the hallway, gray tracksuit, convenience store bag rattling with four beers. Seemed like a bum, but turned out she was a magical girl-system civil servant.
He tapped a nearby red dot.
[Affiliation: Local Defense Team 3 (Civil Servant)]
Her profile popped up.
In the photo, per standard duty headshot, she forced a smile with a V-sign, but the dark circles under her eyes peeked through even the makeup.
"Security's gotta be a joke. Personal info like this just floating around?"
Tsking, he scrolled down. Body measurements, recent combat logs, mana wave graphs—stalker heaven, all lined up like candy.
And at the bottom.
[Corruption Desire: Smoking (High Dependency)]
"Stinky smoker, huh."
Explained the menthol stench every time she passed in the hall. Magical girls stress out and hit the smokes and booze too. Fantasy shattered long ago.
Idly, he tapped the [Smoking (High Dependency)] text.
Just curiosity. Figured it'd be like a status screen with details.
But—
"Huh?"
The screen flooded red.
The chill blue interface flipped to blaring crimson warning lights.
[Warning: Unique talent privileges confirmed]
[Accessing 'Desire Code' for healing purposes.]
[Caution: Attempting direct interference with target's mental structure.]
The warnings were startling, but what threw him more was the change in his body.
"Ugh...!"
Thump! His heart dropped like a stone. Like a thick needle plunging into his arm for a blood draw, something yanked out from his solar plexus.
At the same time, [Smoking] blinked and a cursor appeared.
> [Corruption Desire can be modified.]
> [However, changes must align with self-destructive behaviors only.]
> [EX) Alcohol, gambling, tobacco, thrills...]
Something was off.