Chapter 14: Unemployment and Magical Girl Lapis Lazuli

Raising a daughter, Kenji Tanaka had long since concluded, was an incredibly troublesome, wallet-draining, and sanity-testing affair.

Many men, with a smug, self-satisfied air, proudly proclaimed themselves "daughter-doting slaves," vowing to cherish their precious little girls like priceless pearls, to shield them from all the evils of the world. But in reality, Kenji knew, if you didn't have a reliable partner, a spouse, to share the relentless burden, the whole exhausting process could easily, catastrophically, make a grown man completely break down and weep like a baby. It was a war of attrition against your sanity and your bank account.

After all, so many popular works of fiction—be it anime, novels, or movies—tended to relentlessly, almost aggressively, impose an idealized, overly saccharine impression of "cuteness" and "sweetness" onto the complex, often terrifying role of "daughter."

But in the harsh, unglamorous reality, when you actually experienced it yourself, up close and personal, there was the endless, thankless task of wiping poop and pee when they were little, a truly character-building experience. Then, as they grew a bit older, just when you thought you could finally catch your breath, you had to start awkwardly, agonizingly considering the delicate, minefield-laden differences between genders. As a father, attempting to impart crucial "girlish knowledge" to your increasingly bewildered daughter became an exercise in supreme awkwardness and potential psychological scarring (for both of you). You also became acutely, painfully mindful of what judgmental outsiders, those nosy neighbors and sanctimonious PTA members, might whisper behind your back. Of course, some clueless, privileged people would inevitably chirp, "Oh, those who are so self-conscious must surely have guilty minds," or "If your heart is truly pure and innocent, why would you ever worry about what other people say about you?" People who spouted such utter nonsense were either deliberately ill-intentioned trolls or were speaking from a lofty, ivory tower position of blissful ignorance, completely out of touch with the harsh realities of societal pressure. Humans will always care about other people's opinions of them, you idiots! Especially for an ordinary, run-of-the-mill person like himself. Others' approval, their disapproval, their insidious suspicions—all these intangible things held immense, crushing power over your fragile psyche.

Then, when she got even older, just when you thought the worst was over, your precious daughter inevitably, catastrophically entered her rebellious phase. She started to find you annoying, embarrassing, a relic from a bygone era. Your very existence became a source of secondhand cringe for her. And that, Kenji knew from bitter experience, was when your days became even more agonizingly, soul-crushingly difficult. By this time, you might have foolishly, optimistically thought, Well, my daughter is mostly grown up now, a semi-functional adult, perhaps I can finally, tentatively, consider my own long-neglected personal issues? Like, say, finding a compatible partner to spend my remaining miserable days with, someone to share the heating bills…? But then, the inevitable, explosive family quarrels, the misunderstandings, the slammed doors, the tearful accusations… they might just make your already aching head split clean open.

Of course, there were rare, almost mythical tales of understanding, empathetic, non-rebellious teenage daughters. But the chances of actually encountering such a creature in the wild were statistically very, very small. To put it bluntly, and perhaps a little cruelly, if your teenage daughter didn't go a step further and actively, vocally wish for her "useless biological dad to conveniently die in a tragic accident on some remote construction site and thereby provide her with a hefty fourty-million-yen insurance payout," she was already, by modern standards, considered to have a surprisingly well-developed conscience. Small mercies, I suppose.

Hana Tanaka, his beloved, infuriating Hana, could hardly be called an obedient, model daughter by any stretch of the imagination. Of course, she wasn't a bad daughter either, not really. Just… a typical teenager. Which was, in itself, terrifying enough.

The gradual, inevitable emergence of a deep, almost unbridgeable rift between a father and his growing daughter, the increasing, frustrating inability to communicate emotions or connect on any meaningful level, was a painful, universal tragedy that almost every family, sooner or later, had to face. It was just that some people, those blessed with an unnatural talent for diplomacy and emotional intelligence, were skilled at handling such delicate matters and could somehow, miraculously, maintain a semblance of family harmony. While others, like himself, were not. And so, the relationship became increasingly stiff, awkward, and filled with unspoken resentments. After all, people, by their very flawed nature, tended to show their worst, most unfiltered side to those they were most familiar with, often unintentionally (or sometimes intentionally) hurting those closest, most precious to them. It was a sad, unavoidable truth of the human condition.

“Oh. You’re back from your… uh… ‘business trip’ then?”

This, Kenji supposed, could be considered a long-overdue, if somewhat unenthusiastic, greeting. Hana looked up from her phone, her expression carefully neutral as she regarded her father. “So? How did it go? Did you conquer the corporate world?”

“Not… not too smoothly, actually,” Kenji Tanaka replied, his voice carefully casual, trying to hide the crushing weight of his recent… optimization. “But luckily, the work, such as it was, got done in the end. More or less. So, are you hungry? Do you want to eat anything? I’ll see if there’s anything edible left in the fridge.”

Hana merely shrugged, her eyes already drifting back to the glowing screen of her phone. “Beats me. You can check for yourself, Dad. All I know is I finished off all the good sodas yesterday. Sorry, not sorry.”

Clearly, while he, her responsible father, had been away on his "important business trip" (which had mostly involved existential despair and contemplating the futility of his existence), the child hadn’t bothered to cook a single meal for herself. Not even instant ramen. She’d undoubtedly resorted to a steady diet of greasy takeout and nutritionally questionable fast food. Kenji himself, to be fair, didn’t particularly object to this unhealthy lifestyle; after all, he often, much to his shame, did the exact same thing when left to his own devices. Like father, like daughter, I suppose. A proud family tradition of questionable dietary choices.

“You didn’t call Ren over to cook for you? He’s pretty good in the kitchen, right? He would have made you something decent, wouldn’t he?” Kenji asked, fishing for information.

“Nah. Ren seems to be super busy doing some kind of important part-time job lately. He’s hardly ever around anymore,” Hana said with a slight, almost imperceptible pout.

Kenji, of course, knew very well, with a searing, firsthand knowledge, exactly what kind of incredibly demanding, life-threatening "part-time job" Ren Akiyama was currently embroiled in. He was only asking now, feigning ignorance, to avoid accidentally exposing his own ridiculous, highly classified secret in front of his blissfully unaware daughter. The lies! Oh, the intricate, exhausting lies we weave!

Opening the refrigerator with a sense of impending doom, he saw that it contained only a desolate collection of items that could theoretically last a very, very long time, like a forgotten jar of chili peppers from the Mesozoic era and a single, suspiciously resilient egg. Grim.

“…Right. Well, then. How about I make some… uh… egg drop noodle soup? Want some? If you do, I’ll make an extra-large portion. Just for you.” His culinary skills were, admittedly, rather limited.

“Sure! Sounds great, Dad!” Hana chirped, surprisingly agreeable.

Hana actually seemed to be in a relatively good mood, which made Kenji breathe a small, internal sigh of immense relief. Clearly, his daughter wasn’t paying too much close attention to his current disheveled state or his slightly guilty demeanor. So, she probably hadn’t noticed his subtle, almost imperceptible tells of profound existential despair.

He simply, and with minimal culinary flair, cooked some instant noodles, threw in the aforementioned egg, and maybe a sprinkle of those ancient chili peppers for good measure. After the father and daughter had silently, and rather unenthusiastically, consumed their meager meal, they each retreated to the relative safety and solitude of their own rooms.

Kenji took out Magical Girl Black’s dedicated, top-secret smartphone and, with a sense of trepidation, saw a new message notification from his daughter, Hana. Yes, these past two chaotic, emotionally draining days, Magical Girl Black and Hana Tanaka had, against all odds, been chatting quite well, almost like… actual friends. There were even, dare he say it, faint, terrifying signs that they were about to become genuine, honest-to-goodness besties. How should one even begin to process that bizarre, reality-bending development? As a devoted, adoring fan of the enigmatic Magical Girl Black, when Black (aka her own clueless dad) had actively, if awkwardly, initiated communication with her, Hana’s sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm had been something Kenji hadn’t witnessed from his daughter in many, many long, and often lonely, years. She was like an incessant, hyperactive chatterbox, bubbling over with questions, theories, and declarations of undying loyalty. She had even, to Kenji’s utter horror and amazement, made him (as Black) help her pull cards in that infernal "Magical Girl Brawl" gacha game—though, as usual, it seemed he had only managed to pull a depressing bunch of useless, trash-tier cards for her. But she, bless her easily pleased heart, had still looked incredibly, almost deliriously excited about it.

Although he, as Kenji Tanaka, was profoundly, deeply dissatisfied with his daughter’s reckless, financially irresponsible gacha spending habits (where did she even get that kind of money?!), for a lonely, world-weary middle-aged man, having his beloved daughter be so incredibly close, so open, so enthusiastic with him, even if it was with his terrifying magical girl alter ego, was like a scene from a beautiful, impossible dream. Even though there was that ever-present, crushing sense that it would all come crashing down, that it would all fall apart in a blaze of glory and familial shame if the truth ever came out, Black—Kenji—was clearly, desperately unwilling to let go of this fragile, precious connection just yet.

I’m so, so sorry, daughter, Kenji thought, a wave of guilt washing over him. Your pathetic old dad is hiding behind a smartphone screen, pretending to be a cool, edgy magical girl, just so he can have a normal conversation with you online. I’m the worst.

The next morning, a grimly determined Kenji Tanaka went to his company. Just to tie up loose ends. Or so he told himself.

And then… disaster struck. Again.

“Wh-what did you just say? I’m… I’m fired?!”

He stared blankly, utterly dumbfounded, at his former immediate supervisor, a smarmy, middle-aged man whose most prominent feature was a rapidly expanding bald spot. Hearing Kenji’s loud, incredulous question, the supervisor adopted a comically fearful expression and frantically gestured for Kenji to lower his voice, his eyes darting around nervously. “Now, now, Kenji, my old friend… let’s not put it so harshly, so… negatively! The company, as you know, is currently in a dynamic, exciting transitional period! We’re streamlining! We need to… ah… optimize our valuable personnel resources for maximum efficiency moving forward!"

To be perfectly honest, Kenji Tanaka rather grudgingly admired the linguistic genius, the sheer, unadulterated evil, of the person who had first invented the euphemistic corporate buzzword "optimize." It was a masterpiece of Orwellian doublespeak. You fire people, you just fire them! You cut corners, you slash budgets, you exploit your workers, you just do it! But no, these corporate overlords, these soulless drones in cheap suits, they loved to use the word "optimize." The very first time he had heard the term, years ago, he had naively, foolishly thought it was something positive, something good. It turned out, to his eternal disillusionment, that it just meant "ruthlessly discarding things, and people, deemed unnecessary or inconvenient." As for whether this particular "optimization" was fair, or even remotely legal, according to the established rules and regulations… well, that was hard to say. Probably not.

He had originally, foolishly, thought that by working his fingers to the bone, by sacrificing his youth, his health, his very soul to this thankless corporation, he had successfully, miraculously overcome the dreaded "35-year-old career hurdle" and would now be able to work safely, if miserably, until his planned retirement age. He never, ever expected to encounter such a devastating, career-ending catastrophe at the relatively tender age of forty-something… How could the world be so cruel! So unfair! It turned out that once you passed that mythical 35-year-old hurdle, you actually faced the exact same existential crisis every single waking moment. At any given time, without any warning, you too could be unceremoniously "optimized" out of existence. No wonder this baldy, this corporate ghoul, had agreed to his leave request so readily, so suspiciously easily last time! It turned out he had already, callously, put him on the damn optimization list! The treacherous, backstabbing weasel!

Logically, rationally, at this point, Kenji Tanaka knew he should have first tried to grovel, to sweet-talk this baldy, to beg for his job back. Then, after going home, he should have procured two ridiculously expensive bottles of good liquor, the kind worth 80 or 100 thousand yen each, and maybe two cartons of equally expensive imported cigarettes, the kind worth 40 or 60 thousand yen. He should have stacked them together invitingly, perhaps tucking a discreet, unmarked envelope containing a few twenty of thousands in crisp cash in the middle, and then taken this "care package" to find certain influential, high-ranking leaders within the company. He should have gotten thoroughly, disgustingly drunk with them, laughed at their terrible jokes, said all the appropriately subservient, boot-licking things, and then finally, after much prostration and humiliation, the company might have graciously offered to transfer him to a different, less desirable position, one with significantly lower pay but where he could, perhaps, barely manage to make a living. And then he would have to find some exhausting, soul-crushing part-time work on the side just to be able to cover Hana’s future university expenses… That was the "sensible" path. The "adult" path.

But suddenly, in a moment of unexpected, liberating clarity, he just felt it was all so utterly, completely meaningless. Pointless. “Fine. Whatever,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm, almost detached. “So, I’m being officially dismissed by the company. There should be a severance package, then, according to labor laws, right?”

The baldy blinked, his smug expression faltering slightly. “Well, now, Kenji, this should, for all official intents and purposes, be considered your… ah… voluntary resignation, shouldn’t it? For the good of the company?”

Kenji’s eyes narrowed. “Then I guess we’ll just have to take this to labor arbitration, won’t we?”

The balding supervisor was visibly stunned. His jaw dropped. When, in the name of all that was holy, had this meek, downtrodden wage slave suddenly grown such a surprisingly large pair of brass balls?

“The company,” Kenji continued, his voice now laced with an icy resolve he didn’t know he possessed, “had better settle this matter properly, and to my complete satisfaction, within one week. Otherwise, I will personally, and with great enthusiasm, use various… legal and not-so-legal… means to ensure that my personal rights, and my severance pay, are fully protected. You’d better not think for one damn second that I’m joking, you little toad.”

After delivering this rather uncharacteristic, and frankly quite terrifying, ultimatum, Kenji Tanaka simply turned on his heel and walked out, leaving a stunned, sputtering supervisor in his wake.

This damn company, and this damn job… it’s not worth working for anyway! Good riddance! he thought, a strange sense of exhilaration bubbling up inside him. I originally just wanted to be an ordinary person, to live a quiet, boring life… but hey, I’ve worked at this soul-sucking corporation for over ten miserable years now. Perhaps… perhaps it’s finally time to try applying to other companies? Maybe there’ll be a better, less soul-destroying job out there for a man of my… ahem… rich work experience and not-entirely-terrible abilities.

As the old, optimistic saying goes, if this place doesn’t want me, there are always other, better places that will! Oh right! For example… like being a Supporter! Wait a minute! That’s it!

I can also learn all that complicated knowledge related to Supporters! Why not?! That kid Ren, as smart as he is, was able to pass that ridiculous exam! Why can’t I, a seasoned adult with actual life experience, do the same? Then, I wouldn’t need any Supporter! Ren could go off and be my daughter’s dedicated Supporter, as he always wanted! And then I… I’d be both a ridiculously overpowered magical girl and her own hyper-competent Supporter! Wouldn’t that be like… earning two people’s hefty salaries all by myself?! Genius! Pure, unadulterated, financially motivated genius! And besides, both of those jobs pay incredibly, almost obscenely well! This is perfect!

The actual content of the Supporter exam was notoriously, terrifyingly difficult, he knew that. But, hey! He could just ask Ren about all the relevant, tricky stuff! Pump him for information! It was foolproof!

His mind buzzing with these new, exciting, and slightly unhinged possibilities, Kenji Tanaka, with a newfound spring in his step, transformed into the imposing Magical Girl Black in a suitably hidden, out-of-the-way location. He then quickly changed into some inconspicuous casual clothes (which still felt incredibly awkward on Black’s petite frame) and headed towards a designated, upscale restaurant in the city center. He had originally been agonizing over how he was going to sneak out of the company building at noon to meet Magical Girl Lapis Lazuli. He hadn’t, in his wildest dreams, expected to be unceremoniously, and rather conveniently, fired just hours before. Well, now he was quite free, wasn’t he? He could take his sweet, sweet time. Every cloud has a silver lining, I suppose. Even the cloud of unemployment.

It had to be said—Magical Girl Lapis Lazuli was an incredibly, almost supernaturally, conspicuous young woman. At least, from the very moment she gracefully and almost ethereally entered the rather posh restaurant, she immediately, effortlessly attracted the captivated gazes of numerous patrons and staff alike. If she hadn’t been wearing surprisingly normal (if exquisitely tailored) casual clothes, she might have been instantly, unmistakably recognized as the legendary Magical Girl Lapis Lazuli from a bygone era. Especially with that breathtaking, almost otherworldly cascade of snow-white hair… However, although she wasn’t currently wearing her iconic magical girl Dress, she was dressed in a stunning, pure white, gothic lolita long dress, complete with intricate lace and ribbons. If she were about the same height as Black’s transformed self, she would undoubtedly be considered devastatingly, heart-stoppingly cute.

But Black quickly, and with a professional eye, estimated that the other girl was probably at least 160-something centimeters tall, maybe even taller. And with the addition of the dangerously high-heeled boots she was currently wearing, at first glance, she actually looked to be well over 170 centimeters tall.

Because Black had already informed her of their reserved table number via text message, Magical Girl Lapis Lazuli, with an air of regal composure, walked straight to Black’s table, pulled out a chair with a graceful, almost silent motion, and sat down.

“A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Black.” Her expression, Black noted with a slight internal shiver, looked incredibly, almost unnaturally cold, like a perfectly sculpted ice statue… and her voice, when she spoke, carried no discernible emotional inflection whatsoever. It was like listening to a beautifully programmed AI.

If Black hadn’t known with absolute certainty that this was Magical Girl Lapis Lazuli, she would have almost certainly mistaken her for some kind of mythical "Yuki-onna" (Snow Woman) from ancient folklore. After all, the overall impression she gave was intrinsically, inescapably related to "snow"—as ethereally white as freshly fallen snow, as bitingly cold as a winter blizzard.

Black sensed an almost palpable, icy queenly aura emanating from the other girl, so much so that she involuntarily shivered, despite the warm temperature of the restaurant. “Uh… H-hello, Miss Lapis Lazuli. Thank you for meeting me. There’s… something I’d very much like to consult you about, if you have the time.” Smooth, Kenji, real smooth. Nailed the first impression.

“I’ve already heard some of the pertinent details from your… enthusiastic… young Supporter, regarding your current predicament with the Inversion phenomenon--Though I don't exactly have much to tell you.” Lapis Lazuli stated, her voice still calm and as chillingly serene as a frozen lake. “Back then, many years ago, when Magical Girl Crystal, my contemporary, tragically Inverted… it caused immense, unprecedented destruction to the world. And by extension, our entire so-called Gem Generation of magical girls, we were all subsequently viewed with strange, suspicious eyes by the fearful populace. We were eventually, rather unceremoniously, forced into early retirement.” Her words, though devoid of emotion, carried a heavy weight of past sorrow.

That… that didn’t sound like a particularly good or encouraging thing at all. In fact, it sounded downright terrifying.

“I presume you’ve already managed to glean a great deal of information about the Inversion state from the ever-so-helpful Strawberry Sweetheart,” Lapis Lazuli continued, her gaze unwavering. “I must confess, I don’t entirely understand what specific significance there is in you seeking me out for counsel, given my rather… dated… experience. But… since you’ve come all this way, I suppose I can, at the very least, give you a personal guarantee of sorts. A piece of advice from one who has walked a similar path.”

A guarantee? What kind of guarantee? Black looked at the icy, enigmatic woman with a fresh wave of confusion and apprehension.

Then, on Magical Girl Lapis Lazuli’s usually frozen, impassive face, Black saw a smile. A smile that shouldn’t, by all rights, belong on such an ethereal, icy countenance. A smile that could, almost unbelievably, be described as warm, gentle, and even… blissful. “If you can find your true, undeniable love, Miss Black,” Lapis Lazuli said softly, her voice losing some of its earlier chill, “then you will surely, most definitely, be able to control the terrifying power of Inversion. For love, in its purest, truest form, is the fundamental, all-conquering force against all negative powers, all darkness, all despair.”

“This… this is… what exactly is this, Miss Lapis Lazuli? Some kind of riddle? A proverb?” Black stammered, completely thrown by this sudden, unexpected shift in tone and the almost cliché pronouncement.

“Please, don’t call me Lapis Lazuli anymore. I’ve already officially retired from that life, you see. The magical girl known as Lapis Lazuli ceased to exist a very long time ago,” the woman said, her smile becoming even warmer, almost… domestic. “Now, hmm, you should probably call me by my real, civilian name. My name is Moeka Momoya. Yes, Moeka. And I am… well, I’m currently a full-time housewife! It’s quite fulfilling, actually!” She beamed.

Huh?! What?!!!

Moeka, seeing the utter, slack-jawed astonishment on Black’s face, chuckled softly. She then stood up gracefully, seemingly about to leave. Black, her mind still reeling, thought she should at least, as a matter of basic courtesy, offer a meal for the other woman, or at least  coffee. But at that moment, Moeka, as if suddenly remembering something important, abruptly turned back. She leaned in close to Black, her voice an almost mischievous whisper in her ear:

“Oh, and one last piece of advice, Miss Black, just between us girls,” Moeka murmured, her breath warm against Black’s ear. “If you do happen to find that special someone you like, that true love I mentioned… please, for the love of all that is holy, please try not to lose control of yourself and… ah… do that kind of intimate thing with that person while you’re still in your magical girl state, okay~? Because otherwise… well, you’ll end up just like me…” She paused for dramatic effect, her eyes twinkling with a strange, unreadable emotion. “Once you actually, physically conceive a child while you’re still in your magical girl state… you can’t ever, ever change back to your normal self, you know~ Just a friendly warning! Toodles!”

And saying this, the young woman—no, the housewife—named Moeka Momoya, simply… vanished from before Black’s stunned eyes. Without a single, solitary doubt, this person, this enigmatic former magical girl, had come to their meeting, and departed from it, in her eternally transformed magical girl state.