Booze, Tobacco, and Me (3)

'Damn it!'

I had to dodge her right now.

"H-Hey! My stomach!"

I clutched my gut desperately.

"Sorry, gotta hit the bathroom—it's urgent!"

"Hey! I'm not done talking! Hey!"

Her outstretched hand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nearly grazed my shirt hem. I twisted away like a rat and slipped inside the door.

Bam! The auto-lock clicked shut. Beep-boop, clunk—

"Hah... hah..."

I slumped against the door, back pressed to it. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer. From the other side of that thin metal slab, I could hear furious thumping.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

"Hey! Open the door! You gonna ignore me?!"

Park Min-jeong's voice echoed down the hallway.

"You think you can blow me off and run? You treating me like a joke?!"

"I said it's an emergency shit!"

"Don't lie and come out! What was that look you gave me earlier? It creeped me out!"

...This woman's driving me insane!

I clutched my head.

She's pissed right now. But that's just the surface. It's like a nicotine-starved smoker snapping over nothing—they're just craving a fix. Unconsciously, she's latching onto me to vent her stress.

'The problem is, that's not a positive reaction at all.'

Craving me. Yelling at me. Dumping all her negative shit on me—that floods her brain with dopamine. Which means every time we cross paths from now on, she'll pick fights!

"This ain't healing!"

This wasn't what I wanted. I was hoping for pink romance vibes, or at least some erotic mishaps—not turning into a human punching bag.

"Just you wait. The second you come out."

The kicking finally died down after a while. I heard slippers shuffling away, then the door lock of 304—two doors down—click. Only then did I exhale in relief.

"Phew..."

I wiped cold sweat from my brow and crawled back inside. The tablet on my desk was still on.

That goddamn text.

"Gotta change it."

I snatched the tablet desperately.

"Switch it back to smoking or booze!"

With shaking fingers, I tapped [Jeong Ji-un] again. Please, go back to normal. Please.

But.

720 hours. 30 days. A whole month on cooldown.

'I'm screwed.'

For the next month, I'd be that hysterical civil servant magical girl's 'human cigarette'...

'Why'd I do that?'

Getting tangled with some random supporter's gadget was the mistake. Why touch unknown crap? I wanted to chop off my curious fingers.

'Yeah, just send it back.'

It wasn't mine anyway. It was 'company equipment' for analysis. Keep my tampering secret, report it analyzed, and ship it off.

Who knows—maybe once it's out of my hands, the magic wears off. Like disconnecting Bluetooth.

I wrapped the tablet in bubble wrap, held the power button till it shut down clean. Tossed it in the box with junk, sealed it.

"Bye. Never see you again."

I slapped a shipping label on and left it by the door.

Of course. Nothing changed the next day.

It got worse.

"......"

My usual phone wallpaper—magical girl photobook—was gone. Now a simple, dark, oddly familiar blue geometric pattern. Apps all tidied away, just one icon dead center.

Heart with a cross.

"Hilarious."

Looked like it synced for real.

I squeezed my eyes shut, then open.

'Whatever. Nothing left to change anyway.'

Just don't use it...

Then a notification popped in the status bar.

Short texts floating over my screen.

Good, they bought it.

Nebula's paranoid. If they knew a peon touched the return item, it'd be worse than a write-up. Usually safer to just pocket stuff.

I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, phone raised.

That ominous icon still there.

Won't delete. 'System privileges required.' Even factory reset, it ghosts back.

"What, cursed gear or something?"

I grumbled, about to toss the phone aside.

Bam! Bam! Bam! The front door shook like it might shatter. I bolted upright.

Park Min-jeong.

"I know you're in there—open up! Hey!"

"Crazy bitch."

Cold sweat trickled down my spine. Doesn't she ever tire? Started last night, banged all night, now at dawn again.

I crept silently to the door, breath held. Intercom off, but peephole worked.

Squinted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one eye to the lens.

Round view: hallway scene.

Park Min-jeong stood there.

Navy blazer. Tight H-line skirt hugging just above the knees. Sheer coffee-brown stockings, tall black heels.

'Whoa.'

Almost whistled. Magical girls are magical girls.

Her type—all office beauties. Slim waist, ass straining the fabric.

Her pounding my door? Sounds like rom-com setup.

"Hey, fuck! You really not coming out? I'm busy!"

Reality: thriller.

She glared at the door once more, bit her lip, turned away.

"Just wait. See you after work."

Left a chilling threat, heels clicking to the elevator.

'If she weren't a magical girl...'

I shook off the unease. If she pushes more, whine to the landlady. Though my rep there's trash too...

Anyway, work time. Main gig's monitor-gazing, but field ops sometimes.

Especially back-alley deals.

Where neon glamour doesn't reach: Sector 5 back alleys.

Hiss— Steam vented from pipes overhead. Trash piles and graffiti everywhere. Drone-buzz like flies amid power line webs blotting the sky.

"Air's always rotten here. Pure cyberpunk shit."

I pulled my collar tight, delving deeper. Dank, musty stench—machine oil mixed with food waste. Slum perfume.

Nebula HQ's a gleaming tower, but grunts like us haunt the shadows. Info trading, fencing, ID laundering.

Destination: dingy electronics shop at alley's end.

'Fox' with the 'o' fallen off: [F x]. Shutter half-down, dusty old GPUs and mobos like corpses in the window.

I ducked under familiarly.

"You here? You mutt."

Tinkle— Bell chimed clear. Dim inside. Flickering ceiling fluorescent, but monitors lit the walls.

Tap-tap-taptap. Tap. Cheerful keystrokes. Bluish face in monitor glow. Woman sunk in gaming chair.

"Welcome, sucker."

"No filter with your partner, huh."

She didn't look away, popped her gum loud.

"Partner? You're just Nebula's ass-wiper peon."

She giggled, spun her chair with a whirl.

Short bob cut. Oversize hoodie to the neck. Hotpants peeking below, white legs crossed, foot bobbing cockily.

Her name? Unknown. Around here, just 'Fox'.

I knew she was ex-magical girl.

Elite track once, but some fuckup got her booted. Now hacker info broker/fixer. Prime 'fallen magical girl' specimen.

Still cute for her age, though...

Don't get ideas—I steer clear.

'Hate sluts.'

My sluts? Busty married women only. Nightly cock-sucking streetwalker? Who knows what STDs.

Not that she's easy prey anyway...

"So, what trash you hauling today?"

She beckoned.

"Trash? Security decrypt job."

I tossed a USB from my pocket—drone-delivered today.

"From up top. Encryption's tricky. Beyond my paygrade."

"Hmm."

She snagged it midair, twirled it, smirked slyly.

"Nebula tosses A-grade security to peons? Get hacked, your head rolls—know that?"

"That's why I'm here, best in the biz."

"Flatterer."

She snorted, plugged it in.

Whirr— Code waterfall on screen. Fingers danced.

"Quote?"

"Base 50. Plus alpha on contents."

"Too steep. Last time you said discount—took full."

"Don't like it, fuck off. No one else in the sector can touch this."

Ballsy. But true.

Her skills are legit. Ex-magical girl powers don't fade— just shift form.

Hers: electronic warfare, info manip.

"Fine. 50. But quick."

"Deal. 10-min rush."

She cracked an energy drink, chugged.

Fingers flew nonstop. Blue glow danced on her glasses.

"Wait, scratch—code's a bitch. +5 mins."

"Take your time. No rush."

I sank into a chairback, half-ass reply. But my nerves? Glued to the smartphone in my hand.

That ominous homescreen icon.

Glanced at Fox's nape, tapped cautiously.

Whirr— Vibration, screen shift. Different from yesterday. No map dot for Park Min-jeong—target right here.

Radar pulse center-screen, new profile popped.

I swallowed, peered close.

"......"

Stress relief from magical girl days turned post-retirement brain-pickling addiction. Less contempt, more 'makes sense.'

I knew her night gig already. Close sis or not.

Magical girl life: flashy outside, rotten core. Bittersweet.

Below: familiar UI. Desire swap list.

'Her too?'

I stifled a dry laugh.

'This slut sees me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as dick too.'

Though she ain't wrong.

My name here too. Same as Park Min-jeong.

App's algo defaults me as desire sub? Or 'cause I'm admin? Or I'm poison to magical girls?

'So what's her desire?'

...Fuck ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it. Doesn't matter.

'Not falling for it this time.'

Yesterday's hell with Park Min-jeong still burned. Pick my name? Just obsession, fights, stalking.

Do it here? Might not walk away.

'Any other features?'

'Care' app can't just be desire-swap bomb-maker.

Healer, right? Real treatment!

Tapped gear icon: [Additional Settings].

Ding— New menu.

'Hmm.'

Shock therapy.

Force the slow leak to burst full, scrape bottom, then I 'care' it away to drop dependency.

Simple: Fatten the disease, pop it, cure with meds.

But expected relief...

I eyed my crotch.

'Average at least. Virgin or not.'

STD fear keeping me from brothels shows like this?

'Pull the trigger?'

Maybe worth trusting this time.

Look: sex addiction.

1-3% relief. Mild outburst too.

Even if she heats up, barely noticeable.

'Not bad.'

Slut-shaming gone—whoosh—replaced by urge to bang the ex-magical girl.