Chapter 2: Magical Girl Black's Job

Kenji Tanaka wasn't lugging his usual worn briefcase today. When he’d nervously called his company in advance to request leave—a whole week!—he was mentally prepared for an epic battle of wills. To his utter astonishment, he discovered that, as a long-serving, if underappreciated, employee, he actually held a sliver of sway. His supervisor, a notorious skinflint whom he’d braced himself to haggle with for at least an hour, had actually approved his leave request almost immediately. It was nothing short of a modern-day miracle! That man’s usually such a penny-pinching tyrant! Did a fiend replace him?!

...So, instead of his briefcase, he carried a slightly battered travel bag.

......

At some point, seemingly overnight, this world had changed. A portion of the population had suddenly begun to develop inexplicable special abilities, or "Esp," as the media quickly dubbed them. No one knew when or to whom these awakenings might occur, or why. The world had effectively, and rather messily, split into two distinct categories: Espers and the rapidly-becoming-obsolete non-Espers.

Inevitably, some of those who gained extraordinary power began to harbor less-than-extraordinary intentions, morphing into what the public now called "Fiends." They formed shadowy "Evil Organizations" with grandiose ambitions of world domination or, for the more nihilistic, utter, pointless destruction. Such delightful organizations had, depressingly, sprung up all over the globe like particularly nasty weeds.

Of course, where there was darkness, light (or at least, people paid to pretend to be light) also emerged. There were those who wished to maintain global stability, protect the fragile peace of everyday lives, and maybe get some good PR out of it. These individuals naturally, or perhaps contractually, became "Superheroes."

Among the bewildering myriad of Esp abilities, the "Magical Girl Transformation" type was particularly conspicuous, uniquely powerful, and, frankly, often just plain weird.

Firstly, this ability granted truly immense power right from the moment of awakening, often surpassing the raw destructive force some Espers might accumulate over an entire lifetime of grueling training and protein shakes.

Secondly, a magical girl's power was intrinsically, almost frighteningly, linked to her mental and emotional state. Their appearance, or rather, their "Dress"—the fancy, often frilly, magical girl costume that materialized out of thin air—would visibly change, sometimes dramatically, in response to shifts in their inner turmoil.

For instance, the current undisputed queen of the popularity charts, the saccharine-sweet "Strawberry Sweetheart," had once famously (and for her PR team, terrifyingly) flipped into an "Inverted Nightmare Pudding" form. In that state, her usually bubblegum-pink Dress had warped into a sinister dark purple, and in stark contrast to her usual sugary sweet demeanor, her attire had become… alarmingly revealing. She’d also become indiscriminately aggressive, a whirlwind of destructive power unable to distinguish friend from foe, much to the terror of everyone involved.

However, despite the "magic" in their job title, it was highly debatable whether magical girls' powers truly had anything to do with actual, honest-to-goodness magic. They merely resembled it in a flashy, marketable sort of way. Therefore, they couldn't simply snap their fingers and change outfits at will while transformed. If they desired a different look in their magical girl state—say, for a special event or a themed photoshoot—they either had to somehow trigger a fundamental change in their transformation form itself (a risky and unpredictable endeavor) or, more practically, bring a separate set of clothes to painstakingly change into, just like any normal person.

Thus, Kenji, with a sigh that could curdle milk, had packed several outfits that might, gods forbid, be needed for this ridiculous concert tour.

Initially, he’d been vaguely informed that "headquarters" would provide the necessary costumes. He hadn't, in his wildest nightmares, expected them to be delivered directly to his home address, accompanied by a cheerful, professionally printed note suggesting he "try them on for size beforehand to ensure a perfect fit for the performance! ☆"

I have a teenage daughter! Living under this very roof!

If Hana, my precious, increasingly judgmental Hana, discovered these kinds of… garments… in her own father's possession! How could I ever face her again?! How could I possibly maintain even a shred of dwindling fatherly dignity?! My life would be over! Over, I tell you!

Fortunately, Hana, like most teenagers, was pathologically fond of sleeping in, especially on non-school days.

He’d made sure to leave the house at the crack of dawn, a stealthy six in the morning, ensuring he wouldn't accidentally run into her and have to explain the suspiciously frilly contents of his bag.

After a moment's deliberation, wrestling with his conscience, he’d scribbled a hasty note for his daughter. He pictured Hana finding it, reading his heartfelt, if slightly preachy, words of fatherly wisdom, being deeply moved to tears by his profound guidance, and then, inspired, diligently applying herself to her studies with newfound fervor. A warm, fuzzy sense of wholly unearned satisfaction filled him. Yes, that’s definitely how it will go.

With that comforting delusion firmly in place, he headed out.

Just as he stepped outside, practically colliding with him, he encountered a tall, well-built (though not overly muscular, more like a lean athlete) young man with a perpetually sunny disposition. He was standing right at Kenji’s doorstep, hand raised, seemingly just about to ring the bell.

“Oh! Ren-kun! My boy! You’re here to drag Hana out of bed this early?”

The young man Kenji affectionately called "Ren-kun"—Ren Akiyama, the boy next door—flashed his usual gentle, disarming smile. “Morning, Mr. Tanaka! You know how the school got pretty banged up in that fiend attack yesterday, right? Well, they sent out a notice late last night asking everyone to come in early today. The school’s mobilizing all students to help with the campus reconstruction. Knowing Hana, I figured she’d probably try to feign sudden illness or a mysterious alien abduction to skip out, so I came to provide… moral support. And maybe a little forceful encouragement.”

“That’s a good lad! A fine display of community spirit!” Kenji nodded approvingly, conveniently ignoring the ‘forceful encouragement’ part. “Though Hana will undoubtedly complain about the school exploiting her as unpaid child labor. If you hadn’t shown up, she’d definitely still be cocooned in her futon, dead to the world.”

The two of them, one a world-weary, middle-aged salaryman secretly masquerading as a terrifying magical girl, the other a kind-hearted teenager, shared a knowing, conspiratorial smile. Kenji then clapped Ren warmly on the shoulder. “Listen, Ren-kun, I’m going to be away on a business trip for a few days. Could you do me a huge favor and keep an eye on Hana for me? She doesn’t listen to a single word I say anymore—definitely hit that full-blown rebellious phase with a vengeance. I’m seriously counting on you, son. And please, give my warmest regards to your wonderful parents.”

“Of course, Mr. Tanaka. No problem at all. Have a successful and safe trip.”

“Haha! You really know how to say the right things, don’t you? If only my Hana were half as polite and considerate as you, my life would be a paradise.”

“You’re far too kind, Mr. Tanaka,” Ren said with a slight, charming blush. “Have a smooth journey!”

“Right then, I’m off!”

Walking down the street, the early morning sun casting long shadows, Kenji couldn't help but marvel yet again at what an exceptionally good kid Ren Akiyama was. Truly a diamond in the rough.

Ren Akiyama lived next door and was Hana’s childhood friend, practically joined at the hip since they were in diapers, and exactly the same age as her. The… close… relationship between the two children was an open secret, well known and tacitly approved by both sets of parents. In fact, truth be told, they were already discreetly, and with no small amount of eager anticipation, making preliminary preparations for their eventual marriage. The unspoken plan was for them to tie the knot as soon as they graduated high school and reached the legal age of consent. Ah, young love… and convenient parental arrangements.

Kenji was thoroughly, unequivocally pleased with Ren as a prospective son-in-law. The boy had excellent grades, a smooth, effortlessly sunny personality that could charm the birds from the trees, and a genuinely kind heart. His only perceived drawback, if one could even call it that, was his complete and utter lack of any discernible Esper abilities. He was, in the parlance of the times, a "Normie."

But what did superpowers truly matter in the grand scheme of things, anyway? Especially when they came with so many headaches.

Kenji, from bitter personal experience, didn't consider having Esper abilities to be a particularly good thing, not by a long shot. In truth, regardless of one’s inner moral compass or lack thereof, trying to live a remotely peaceful, ordinary life after gaining extraordinary powers required immense, often soul-crushing, sacrifices. One either inevitably became a fiend, succumbing to the allure of power or desperation, or one joined the thankless, perpetually dangerous ranks of those fighting them—those were usually the only two paths on offer. There was very little room for a quiet life in between.

He felt a little guilty today, a bit like a common thief sneaking around in broad daylight. He arrived at the imposing, steel-and-glass S-City Superhero Headquarters, navigated the labyrinthine corridors, passed the surprisingly lax identity verification (a bored guard who barely glanced at his ID), and finally made his way to a specific, rather opulent office.

There, a woman with a cascade of lustrous long hair sat with her legs elegantly crossed, perched on a plush leather chair. She wore what looked like a high-fashion business suit, but with a few strategically undone buttons, revealing a generous expanse of smooth, pale skin, further accentuated by a pair of undeniably alluring garter stockings. She was looking at Kenji, or rather, through him, with an amused, knowing, and slightly predatory smirk. This woman, a formidable figure in her own right, was the general manager in S-City responsible for all matters related to the chaotic portfolios of "Magical Girls," "Magic-Like Phenomena," and "Miscellaneous Transformations." Her business card probably just read: "Problem Solver."

“Black! My dear, dear Black! You didn’t disappoint me. You actually came!” She looked genuinely, almost giddily, pleased, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous light. “I just knew someone with your… unique dedication… wouldn’t abandon their sacred magical girl duties. Not for a mere concert, anyway.”

Kenji felt a hot flush of shame creep up his neck at her teasing words; he was here for one reason and one reason only: the cold, hard cash. “Let’s get one thing straight. If the pay wasn’t so ridiculously high, I definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent wouldn’t have come within a ten-mile radius of this farce. Are you absolutely sure I can clear at least ten million yen from this… spectacle?”

“The concert tour is scheduled to last for one week, my dear Black. Since this is your first foray into the glamorous world of idol-esque performances, they’re offering a total compensation package of sixteen million yen. Generous, no?” Her smile widened. “I’ll take a modest two million as my standard finder’s fee and administrative commission, naturally, leaving you with a cool fourteen million. How does that sound to your financially-strained ears?”

“It sounds… acceptable.” Kenji grunted, trying to maintain a stoic facade. Fourteen million! That’s… a lot of yen.

“Splendid! In that case, you can transform right here, right now. I’ll personally help you with your outfit coordination—we need to make sure you’re camera-ready, after all—and then I can escort you directly to the venue. Just to confirm one last detail, your transformation can be maintained indefinitely, correct? No embarrassing mid-performance detransformations, I hope?”

Kenji nodded curtly. “I seem to be… built a bit different from the other, more fragile magical girls. As long as my stamina isn’t completely depleted, I can remain transformed. And if I’m not actively engaged in pulverizing fiends, my stamina barely drains at all. It’s… efficient.”

“Oh, that’s just too perfect! Excellent! Then, by all means, let’s see the magic happen! Transform, my dear Black, transform!” Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Kenji gave a single, serious nod. This was business.

He then put down his travel bag with a thud.

He clenched his fists, positioning them firmly at his waist. He spread his legs shoulder-width apart and slightly bent his knees, not quite a full horse stance, but strongly resembling a seasoned martial artist preparing an opening move, a silent promise of impending action. Then, with a practiced, almost ritualistic motion, he brought his right hand, fingers joined into a precise, blade-like shape, level with his left elbow and began to draw a smooth, deliberate circle in a clockwise direction through the air.

His voice, when it came, was a low, resonant growl, utterly unlike his usual mild-mannered tone. “Magical Girl Black! HENSHIN!!!”

A vortex of swirling, obsidian-black energy erupted within the confines of the plush office, crackling with barely contained power. When it subsided, a petite young woman, exuding a sharp, almost ferociously valiant and heroic air, stood where the middle-aged salaryman had been. Clad in her signature black trench coat, a form-fitting black shirt, and practical black shorts, Magical Girl Black had arrived.

“Oh! Black! You’re just so unspeakably adorable when you do that!” the handler cooed, clapping her hands together with delight.

“Shut your damn mouth, woman! Or I’ll rearrange your pretty face with my fist!” Black snarled, her voice a low growl, though her eyes darted around the room, a hint of something other than rage in their depths.

The woman merely rubbed her temples with an exaggerated sigh, a picture of put-upon patience. “This delightful personality of yours… it’s truly one of a kind. Anyway, let’s get you changed into your first stage outfit, shall we?”

“You don’t need to tell me what to do, I know the drill!” Black snapped back.

Despite her harsh, abrasive words, a tell-tale blush was already creeping up Magical Girl Black’s face, betraying her inner turmoil. Clearly, she found this whole situation, especially the ‘stage outfit’ part, deeply, profoundly embarrassing.

Heh!~ Even though she’s got a mouth like a sewer and the temperament of a rabid badger after transforming, she’s still undeniably, infuriatingly cute… Then again, as they say, pretty girls are cute no matter what they do—magical girls truly are a gift to this weary world. The woman in charge mused internally, a predatory glint in her eyes. Though if I actually tried to glomp this one, I’d definitely get my lights punched out. Still… maybe I’ll just have to go bother Strawberry Sweetheart for some stress-relief cuddles another day! That kid’s so sweet and easygoing; she’d definitely let me hug her. Probably. Such were the utterly unprofessional and slightly alarming thoughts drifting through the general manager’s mind as she appraised her charge.

Although her outward personality seemed to perform a complete 180-degree flip after transforming, Kenji was still Kenji deep down inside. He—She—wouldn't let a little thing like crippling embarrassment prevent her from completing her mission and, more importantly, collecting that sweet, sweet paycheck.

So, with a series of grumbled curses and much ostentatious sighing, she changed into an outfit that bore an uncanny, and deeply unsettling, resemblance to a high school cheerleader’s uniform, complete with a short, flippy skirt and pom-poms (which she immediately wanted to set on fire).

“Oh! My! God! Now this is quite something! Black, your entire aura has changed in an instant! You’ve gone from terrifying death machine to… peppy, slightly homicidal cheerleader! The public is going to devour this kind of ‘gap moe’ contrast! They absolutely live for this stuff!” the handler gushed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Hearing this rather blunt assessment, Black, despite herself, had to grudgingly admit there was a certain twisted logic to it. In fact, this potential for an image makeover was partly why she’d reluctantly agreed to this whole demeaning concert tour in the first place. Magical Girl Black’s public image wasn’t just ‘not great’; it was hovering somewhere around ‘feared and actively avoided.’ Although she consistently boasted the highest fiend subjugation success rate and, ironically, the lowest rates of collateral damage and civilian casualties—making her an exemplary, if terrifying, operative in the eyes of her superiors—she wasn't exactly popular with the general populace. She was, to put it mildly, somewhat aware of this glaring discrepancy and was, however reluctantly, hoping to change her public image, boost her Q-rating, and maybe, just maybe, stop scaring small children on sight.

Because for magical girls, in this crazy, mixed-up world, popularity also meant—ka-ching!—money! Cold, hard, spendable yen!

In fact, Magical Girl Black (and by extension, Kenji Tanaka) had recently come to a profound, life-altering realization: human desire, especially his own, is a bottomless, ever-expanding pit!

Before she became a magical girl, her most ambitious financial dream had been to save up enough to buy a modest, respectable apartment for her daughter, Hana. A safe, secure place for her to live. Now, after just over a month of moonlighting as a super-powered, angst-ridden magical girl, she found herself idly browsing listings for small, detached villas with little gardens. And now, with the tantalizing prospect of a hefty fourteen million yen from this single, week-long concert tour dangling before her, she suddenly found herself entertaining wild, audacious fantasies of owning a large, sprawling villa, maybe even one with a pool. And a pony. Okay, maybe not a pony.

Of course, her current savings were still laughably far from that lofty goal, but a dangerous seed of ambition had been planted. She felt that if her luck held, and if she could stomach a few more high-paying, soul-crushing assignments like this one, she might just manage it within a year. A man can dream, can’t he? Even if that man is currently wearing a cheerleader outfit.

“So, will I be… performing… alongside Strawberry Sweetheart?” Black asked, the word ‘performing’ tasting like ash in her mouth.

“But of course! Strawberry Sweetheart, despite being a mere sixteen-year-old high school girl in her civilian identity, is a titan in the realm of magical girls! She’s your senior by a country mile, a seasoned veteran with a staggering seven years of active duty experience! You must treat her with the utmost respect, listen to her guidance, and try not to traumatize her too much with your… unique brand of charm.”

Seven years! The number hit Black like a physical blow.

Has a girl really been out there, fighting monsters and dealing with PR nightmares, since she was nine years old? This world is even more messed up than I thought.

Then again, a cynical part of her brain chimed in, the powers of magical girls are inherently different from others… more… marketable, perhaps.

Thinking of the resident Esper in her own house, her dear daughter Hana, who was most likely still comfortably ensconced in bed, blissfully unaware of her father’s current predicament, Magical Girl Black, like so many long-suffering parents throughout history, began to feel that familiar, bitter pang of envy for other people’s seemingly perfect children. Why can’t my kid be more like… well, anyone else, really?

“Alright, let’s go! I’ll take you to meet Strawberry Sweetheart. She’s a real professional; she should have arrived bright and early, probably already done her vocal warm-ups and makeup.”

When Black finally came face-to-face with Strawberry Sweetheart in the bustling backstage area, she was immediately, and rather overwhelmingly, enveloped in an enthusiastic hug.

“Black! Oh my gosh, it’s really you! Thank you so, so, so much for that day! If it weren’t for you, I honestly don’t know how I would have handled that horrible Fiend Mask! You were amazing! I’m, like, your biggest fan now!” Strawberry Sweetheart gushed, her eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

This kid is… a lot. Way too enthusiastic! Black thought, feeling profoundly awkward. But a bubbly sixteen-year-old high school girl glomping a grumpy, forty-something-year-old man (currently in a female body, no less)… there’s just no way to spin this as a normal, socially acceptable interaction. My own daughter hasn’t willingly hugged me since she turned twelve and discovered the soul-crushing angst of pre-teenagerhood.

“Against Fiend Mask…” Black began, trying to gently disentangle herself, “Don’t you have your ‘Shining Form’ or whatever it’s called? You should have been able to handle it yourself, right? Theoretically.”

At this, Strawberry Sweetheart’s cheerful expression immediately crumpled, her lower lip trembling. “B-but my Sparkling Form is, like, super, super exhausting! It takes, like, all my energy! If I didn’t finish the fight really, really quickly, I’d totally lose all my combat power in, like, an instant and probably get squished.”

She’s surprisingly cute even when she’s on the verge of tears, Black observed with a strange sense of detachment. If only my own daughter could be this honest and straightforward with her feelings, instead of communicating exclusively through eye-rolls and monosyllabic grunts.

Sigh!

Magical Girl Black, warrior of darkness, scourge of fiends, and wearer of an embarrassingly short skirt, silently savored the unique, multifaceted pain of being a single, middle-aged father trying to raise a perpetually unimpressed teenage daughter in a world gone mad.