Chapter 22: Birthday Arrives

That kid! That blasted Ren Akiyama! He already suspects something, doesn’t he! He totally does! I just know it! This is a disaster! A complete and utter, socially annihilating disaster!

After Ren, with his infuriatingly perceptive gaze and deceptively innocent questions, had finally, mercifully departed, Black actually felt a cold, debilitating wave of pure, unadulterated panic wash over her. She had every conceivable, paranoid reason to suspect that Ren, that cunning little brat, had already noticed something was seriously, fundamentally off. That was undoubtedly why he had suddenly, pointedly, and with malicious intent, called her "Tanaka-ojisan" right to her face—to test her reaction! To see if she’d crack! The nerve!

Thankfully, thankfully, as a seasoned, battle-hardened veteran of the brutal, unforgiving corporate world, with literally decades of experience in handling unexpected, career-threatening situations and smiling through gritted teeth, she hadn’t let anything crucial slip. She hadn’t given Ren any concrete, irrefutable proof. Phew, that was a close one. Way too close.

And then, just as her pulse was beginning to return to something resembling a normal human rhythm, she picked up her official, organization-issued smartphone and saw, with a fresh jolt of terror, a new, ominous message notification from the Handler.

The message read: “Regarding your Supporter, Ren Akiyama. He paid a rather… unexpected… visit to your former place of employment earlier today. Don’t worry your pretty little girl head about it, my dear Black. I’ve already dispatched a discreet team to… handle… the situation. They will convincingly inform him that you are currently out on extended, top-secret fieldwork for the company, and most certainly not that you were unceremoniously, and rather pathetically, ‘optimized’ and kicked to the curb.”

Thank goodness the organization, for once in their miserable, bureaucratic existence, also made the corresponding, necessary preparations to cover my ass…

Black’s face instantly darkened. A new, even more terrifying thought struck her with the force of a physical blow. She suddenly realized, with a surge of righteous, indignant fury, if the organization was capable of doing this, of orchestrating such an elaborate cover-up on her behalf, then why the hell, WHY THE BLOODY HELL, didn’t they simply intervene, flex their considerable muscle, when she was about to be unceremoniously fired in the first goddamn place?! What kind of twisted logic was that?!

The unspoken, infuriatingly obvious answer was, undoubtedly, something along the lines of: "Doing so, my dear Black, would have significantly increased the already considerable possibility of your precious, secret identity being unfortunately and perhaps catastrophically exposed to the undeserving masses."

Wasn’t that just complete and utter, Grade-A, premium refined BULLSHIT?! Did they seriously, honestly think that this current, convoluted, almost farcical mess of lies and deceptions wouldn’t also significantly increase the possibility of her secret identity being spectacularly, disastrously exposed?! What kind of idiotic, nonsensical, self-serving crap were they trying to spout now! Could it possibly be that they, the shadowy, manipulative puppet masters in the organization, were the ones who had somehow, insidiously orchestrated her dismissal in the first place?! To force her into full-time magical girl duty?! The thought was too horrifying to contemplate.

Right now, Black felt a very strong, almost uncontrollable, deeply satisfying urge to deliver a fistful of pure, unadulterated righteous fury directly to that perpetually smirking, infuriatingly calm, probably very expensive face of that manipulative woman at the organization, the Handler. But, in the end, with a monumental, almost superhuman effort of will, she didn’t do it. She couldn’t. She couldn’t actually, realistically, single-handedly take on and defeat the entire goddamn world, could she?

At least, the current Magical Girl Black, for all her terrifying power, didn’t possess that particular level of overwhelming, reality-bending, god-tier magical girl power. Not yet. Even if she were to somehow catastrophically Invert, whether she could actually achieve such a feat of global domination was another, entirely different and frankly quite terrifying matter altogether.

The only tiny, insignificant, almost pathetic thing she could possibly be thankful for in this whole miserable, stress-inducing debacle was that although Ren, that perceptive little genius, clearly suspected something was seriously, fundamentally amiss, he hadn’t, as far as Black could tell, truly discovered the full, unadulterated, life-ruining truth. Not yet. Should this be considered a genuine stroke of luck? Or just a temporary reprieve before the inevitable, crushing social annihilation? Hard to say.

Ah! That’s it! No wonder they so readily agreed to let Hana become my Supporter too! That cunning little brat, Ren! He wants to observe me up close! In my natural habitat! To confirm my secret identity once and for all! If I show even the slightest, most insignificant abnormality, even a single fatherly twitch, in my interactions with Hana while I’m Black… my cover, my precious, fragile cover, will be blown completely! Sky high!

No way! That would be social death! Utter, complete, irreversible, and deeply, profoundly humiliating social annihilation! My forty-something years of carefully cultivated (if somewhat pathetic) dignity would not, could not, allow me to suffer such a catastrophic, reputation-destroying social death! I absolutely, positively, with every fiber of my being, cannot let that happen! Never!

That evening, Kenji Tanaka, looking suitably tired and world-weary from his "long business trip," returned home. “Hana, I heard… I heard you were attacked by fiends a couple of days ago?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral, trying to sound like a normally concerned, but not overly panicked, father.

“Ah, yeah. That was, like, two whole days ago, Dad. You’re only just finding out about it now?” Hana said, her eyes still glued to her phone, not even bothering to look up. Her tone was laced with a familiar, almost professional, sarcastic edge. “Work sure is super important, huh, Dad? More important than your only daughter nearly getting eaten by monsters, I guess.”

Kenji couldn’t really say anything to that, could he? He just winced internally. “Well… your birthday is in a couple of days, Hana. Is there… is there anything special you want as a gift this year?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“A gift?” The girl finally looked up from her phone, a flicker of genuine surprise in her eyes as she stared at her father as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. “You… you actually remembered to buy me a birthday gift this year, Dad? Wow. That’s… that’s a rare, almost historic occurrence. Miracles do happen, I guess.” She shrugged. “But no, I don’t really need anything. I’m totally past that childish age where I need, like, presents and stuff to make myself happy. At the end of the day, it’s just a birthday, right? What’s so super special about it that’s worth all the fuss and bother anyway? You really don’t need to worry about it, Dad. It’s a school day anyway. No biggie.”

To be perfectly, brutally honest, Kenji felt a little… disoriented. Confused, even. After all, just before returning home, he, in his much cooler, much more popular Magical Girl Black persona, had been enthusiastically chatting with Hana online about her upcoming birthday. He’d specifically asked her what kind of gift she wanted. And in response to Magical Girl Black’s casual question, Hana had been incredibly, almost deliriously enthusiastic, gushing about how she desperately wanted the latest, limited-edition Magical Girl Black figurine, the one with the articulated joints and interchangeable scowls, personally, authentically autographed by the real Magical Girl Black herself. The organization, surprisingly, and probably because they smelled a lucrative merchandising opportunity, had been very generous about it, saying he could have as many of the damn figurines as he needed; he just had to sign them himself. With Black’s signature, of course. Not Kenji’s.

But now, when he had reverted to being her boring, embarrassing, out-of-touch father, it was as if he had completely, utterly forgotten how to communicate with his own daughter on even the most basic human level. This was his problem, he knew that. His failing. He was, when it came right down to it, a foolish, incompetent father. After all, he had absolutely no real experience in being a proper, supportive parent, not really. Some mistakes, once made, some emotional rifts, once formed, were incredibly, almost impossibly difficult to undo, to the point where now, his relationship with his own precious daughter had become so stiff, so awkward, so tragically, painfully strained.

And if she ever, ever found out that I, her lame old dad, was actually the terrifying, badass Magical Girl Black… her carefully constructed image of Black, her idol, her hero, would surely  be shattered into a million tiny, disillusioned pieces. So, even for Hana’s sake, especially for Hana’s sake, I absolutely, positively cannot let my ridiculous, life-ruining secret identity be exposed! Ever!

“Is that so? Well, then… if you’re sure… I’m… I’m just going to go to bed then. Long trip. Very tiring.” Kenji mumbled, already backing away towards his room.

Hana heard her father retreat into his bedroom, the door clicking softly shut. She then slumped sideways onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh, the pale, flickering light from her smartphone screen illuminating her usually cheerful face. Her expression, in that unguarded moment, was tinged with a subtle, almost imperceptible loneliness.

“I… I’m such a terrible, unqualified daughter, aren’t I?” she whispered softly to the empty room.

This quiet, self-deprecating, and surprisingly insightful whisper, however, could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be heard by her oblivious and currently deeply stressed father.

The next two days passed in surprising, almost unsettling, domestic harmony. Or perhaps it was just mutual avoidance.

The only relatively busy and moderately stressful matter for Magical Girl Black during this brief lull in fiend-related activities was the official transfer and secure processing of the recently apprehended Darkstar Count. The infamous Esper Prison, a place whispered about in hushed, fearful tones, was a special, high-security facility designed to hold numerous, incredibly dangerous Espers, both fiends and rogue heroes. During the heavily guarded transportation of the still-recovering Darkstar Count to this formidable institution, Black’s personal, and rather intimidating, assistance was officially requested. (Mostly to ensure he didn’t try any last-minute escape attempts, or worse, start monologuing again.)

It had to be said, that pretty-boy Darkstar Count, for all his theatrical posturing and questionable fashion sense, was truly, undeniably strong. Even after Black had, with considerable effort and a satisfying crunch, punched a gaping hole clean through his abdomen, he was only seriously, grievously injured, not actually, definitively dead. Unlike those other two pathetic, low-level fiends, Devouring Frog and Burrowing Worm, who had, much to Black’s satisfaction, simply and rather conveniently exploded into a messy shower of fiend-gore. Much tidier.

The organization, those bureaucratic busybodies, had specifically, almost pleadingly requested that she not, under any circumstances, directly, permanently kill Darkstar Count. They claimed that through his rigorous, intensive interrogation (which probably involved a lot of bad coffee and endless paperwork), they could potentially obtain more valuable intelligence about the inner workings and future plans of the mysterious and highly problematic Darkmoon Coven. If they could, by some miracle, extract reliable information about the elusive, ghost-in-the-machine hacker known as Shadow Walker with minimal cost and collateral damage, they could then theoretically organize a specialized task force to hunt down and… neutralize… Shadow Walker. And thus, Magical Girl Black would no longer face the constant, terrifying risk of her secret identity being catastrophically exposed to the entire world.

Black was, understandably, very, very tempted by this particular outcome. So, with a certain degree of professional (and personal) motivation, she undertook the rather tedious, high-security escort mission and successfully, if somewhat grumpily, delivered the still-smirking Darkstar Count to the imposing, heavily fortified gates of the Esper Prison.

Just before being dragged inside by a team of heavily armed, expressionless guards, Darkstar Count, ever the drama queen, turned back and looked directly and wistfully at Magical Girl Black. “I still believe, my dear Black,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft, almost melancholic, “that one day, one glorious day, you will finally see the truth and become our most cherished, most powerful comrade. I shall await the arrival of that destined day with bated breath, Black. I shall eagerly await the day when you, in all your dark glory, personally release me from this dreary, uncultured, and utterly unfashionable place.”

“Heh! Don’t hold your breath, pretty boy!” Black merely responded with a cold, dismissive sneer, offering no further comment, no witty retort. She simply didn’t have the time or the energy for his theatrics. Because she had to hurry back. She had to get back to her daughter. She had to celebrate Hana’s birthday. That was all that mattered now.

In fact, despite Hana’s earlier, rather unconvincing protestations about not wanting to celebrate her birthday—after school that day, she didn’t go straight home as usual. Instead, she had, with much giggling and elaborate, secretive planning, invited a large group of her closest friends and classmates, and had jubilantly, extravagantly, and with a flagrant disregard for her father’s recent unemployment, held a small, but incredibly lively birthday party for herself at a trendy, downtown Karaoke box. After all, thanks to Black’s recent… acquisitions… she was actually quite well-off now, rolling in mysterious, unexplained cash.

To be perfectly, brutally honest, a karaoke box, a noisy, crowded, glitter-ball-infested place primarily designed for the amusement of hyperactive young people with questionable musical taste, wasn’t really Black’scene. Not at all. And the thought of the fearsome Magical Girl Black, scourge of fiends, suddenly, inexplicably showing up at a teenage karaoke party… well, that would probably cause a city-wide riot, a media frenzy, and possibly an international incident by the next morning. So, with a heavy sigh and a profound sense of encroaching humiliation, she had made some… small, necessary adjustments… to her usual intimidating magical girl disguise.

Wearing a decidedly un-stylish, almost comically large face mask and a pair of equally oversized, dark sunglasses, and having reluctantly changed into some extremely inconspicuous, almost painfully bland casual clothes (a baggy hoodie and some faded jeans that felt utterly alien on Black’s petite frame), she clutched a brightly colored, slightly crumpled gift bag in one hand and, with the furtive air of a secret agent on a deeply embarrassing mission, made her way to a certain, very loud karaoke box.

When she finally, after much internal debate and several wrong turns, managed to locate the correct, garishly decorated private room and cautiously pushed open the door, she was immediately assaulted by a wall of off-key singing, youthful exuberance, and the overwhelming scent of cheap snacks and sugary drinks. And then she saw them: a chaotic, laughing, brightly-lit-by-the-karaoke-screen-glow of a crowd of actual young people…

To be honest, in that single, disorienting instant, Kenji Tanaka suddenly, unexpectedly felt as if she had been violently, almost nostalgically transported back in time, back to her own long-forgotten, awkward, and mostly regrettable youth. It was… a strange feeling.

And then, she saw the utterly, completely incredulous, and nearly horrified expressions on Hana’s and Ren’s faces as they spotted her hovering awkwardly in the doorway. Clearly, those two perceptive little brats had recognized her at a single glance, despite her supposedly foolproof "super incognito" disguise. Damn their youthful eyesight!

With a speed that would have impressed even a seasoned ninja, she quickly and almost desperately walked over to Hana, thrust the slightly crumpled gift bag into her startled daughter’s hands, and mumbled, “This is… uh… the gift I promised you. From… your friend. Happy birthday, Hana! Hope you like it!” She then, without waiting for a reply, immediately and frantically, pivoted on her heel and practically fled from the room, from the overwhelming sensory assault of teenage joy and off-key J-pop. “I… I still have important magical girl things to do! Elsewhere! Very urgent! You all just… have fun now! Bye!” Magical Girl Black (in her deeply unconvincing disguise) then immediately, and with a profound sense of relief, beat a hasty, undignified retreat from that terrifying place.

Tamao Suzuki and the other girls, their karaoke song momentarily forgotten, looked at Hana with wide, curious eyes. “Hana-chan! Who was that super mysterious, slightly creepy person just now? And why were they wearing sunglasses indoors?”

Hana looked down at the unexpected gift bag in her hands, a slow, sweet, almost beatific smile spreading across her face. “Oh, her? That was just… a very good, very special friend of mine!” she said, her voice filled with a secret, happy warmth.

“A good friend? Really? What’s the gift then? Can we see? Can we? Pleeeease?” her friends chorused, already crowding around her excitedly.

“Of course, you can! It’s from her, after all!” Hana said, her voice filled with an almost religious reverence.

As the group of girls eagerly, almost violently, tore open the gift bag, they immediately let out a collective, deafening gasp of pure, unadulterated, fangirl astonishment. “NO WAY! IT CAN’T BE! IS THIS… IS THIS THE BRAND NEW, LIMITED EDITION, SUPER RARE MAGICAL GIRL BLACK FIGURINE?! THE ONE WITH THE ARTICULATED JOINTS AND THE INTERCHANGEABLE SCOWLS?! AND… AND IT’S AUTOGRAPHED!!! HANA! WHO IS THIS MYSTERIOUS FRIEND OF YOURS?! HOW ON EARTH DID THEY MANAGE TO GET THEIR HANDS ON THIS?! IT’S BEEN SOLD OUT EVERYWHERE FOR WEEKS!”

Hana Tanaka, basking in the reflected glory of her mysterious benefactor, proudly and arrogantly put her hands on her hips, a smug, satisfied grin plastered across her face. “Hmph! Well, of course! This is, after all, a gift truly worthy of my esteemed status as a Level 99, hardcore magical girl connoisseur and devoted Black-stan!”

“Ehhh~ Hey, speaking of which,” Tamao said, a wicked, mischievous glint in her eye as she peered closely at the exquisitely detailed figurine, “I remember the official product description online said this particular high-end figurine is… ah… fully detachable… for cleaning purposes, of course. So, like, maybe we could just… you know… take a tiny little peek and see what color Black’s super-secret, probably very badass panties are… For research! Purely for academic research purposes, obviously…”

Tamao immediately, and with a satisfying thwack, received a sharp, well-aimed karate chop to the top of her head from a suddenly very indignant Hana Tanaka.

“HOW DARE YOU EVEN SUGGEST SUCH A PERVERTED, BLASPHEMOUS THING! YOU WILL NOT DEFILE MY PRECIOUS, NOBLE LADY BLACK WITH YOUR FILTHY, UNWORTHY EYES, YOU DEGENERATE!” Hana shrieked, clutching the precious figurine protectively to her chest.

The already boisterous atmosphere of the birthday party instantly, somehow, became even more lively, more chaotic, more filled with joyous, youthful exuberance.

Ren Akiyama, watching this familiar, heartwarming scene unfold with a fond, knowing smile, quietly took out his smartphone and, with a thoughtful expression, sent a discreet text message to "Tanaka-ojisan": “Good evening, Tanaka-ojisan. Hope you’re not too busy. Just a small query: would you perhaps be able to help prepare a birthday cake for Hana? It’s her birthday today, as you know, but it seems everyone rather foolishly assumed someone else was going to prepare the cake, so in the end, tragically, no one actually did. Although she has received all sorts of wonderful, expensive gifts, a birthday, as you know, really, really needs a proper cake to be complete. My parents, by the way, would also very much like to help celebrate Hana’s birthday with her, so… would Tanaka-ojisan perhaps be free to come over to our place this evening? We could all celebrate together?”

His meaning, of course, was perfectly, crystal clear: he was subtly, cleverly prompting Kenji Tanaka, Hana’s father, to bring a birthday cake over to their house. Sometimes, being a Supporter means supporting the social fabric of family life too.

Miss Magical Girl Black, upon receiving the surprisingly astute and well-timed message, immediately, and with a surge of fatherly determination, went out and bought the biggest, fanciest, most expensive birthday cake she could find. Then, after finding a suitably dark and secluded alleyway (again), she quickly, expertly transformed back into the mundane, unassuming Kenji Tanaka. He arrived next door, cake box clutched carefully in his hands, a little earlier than Ren had probably expected.

“Ah! Tanaka-san—I mean, Kenji, my friend! You’re here! Come in, come in!”

Ren’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Akiyama, were a pair of remarkably, almost refreshingly open-minded, cheerful, and supportive individuals. They seemed to genuinely, wholeheartedly support all of their son Ren’s decisions, no matter how strange or unconventional they might seem. In Kenji’s weary, cynical eyes, their unwavering, optimistic attitude was highly respectable, almost admirable. Though, he mused, it probably also had a lot to do with Ren himself. After all, Ren was so incredibly and almost unfairly outstanding, so mature and responsible, that he probably didn’t require much actual worrying over from his proud parents. Comparatively, his own situation with Hana… well, that was a constant, unending trial of patience and fortitude… As any parent knew, with a certainty born of bitter experience, other people’s children always, always seemed so much more outstanding, so much more well-behaved, so much less problematic than your own. It was a universal law.

“Ah, Akiyama-san,” Kenji said, “I heard you guys… ah… didn’t quite manage to get a birthday cake for Hana?” He tried to sound casual.

“That’s right—I asked that wonderful boy of mine, Ren, to go buy one with Hana earlier today. But it seems he cleverly, and rather predictably, pushed the responsibility onto you, eh?” Mr. Akiyama chuckled, clapping Kenji warmly on the back. “But that’s only right, isn’t it! If you, the girl’s own father, don’t even bother to buy her a birthday cake, are you planning to just shamelessly come over here and freeload off our hospitality? Your skin is far too thin for that, my friend! Too thin indeed!” Saying this, Mr. Akiyama, with a booming laugh, shouted towards the kitchen, “Honey! My love! Hurry up and clear out of the kitchen, would you? Give Kenji-san here a chance to finally show off his legendary, world-renowned culinary skills! Let him whip up a couple of his famous, never-before-seen signature dishes for the birthday girl! After all,” he added, with a mischievous wink at Kenji, “that’s about all the actual cooking talent he possesses, isn’t it!”

A still relatively young-looking, and remarkably patient woman emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron, and looked at her incorrigible husband with an expression of fond exasperation. “Honestly, dear! What kind of horrible things are you saying about poor Kenji-san! If you’re so incredibly capable in the kitchen yourself, then perhaps you shouldn’t eat any of my delicious cooking tonight, hmm?”

“I… But… It’s Hana-chan’s birthday, my love! I was just trying to give her dear father a chance to shine! To show off his hidden talents!” Mr. Akiyama stammered, suddenly looking terrified. “The things my wonderful wife makes… they’re my absolute favorite in the whole wide world! Truly! You know that!”

“You, honestly,” Mrs. Akiyama said, shaking her head, though a smile played on her lips. “You’re always so ridiculously, transparently glib-tongued, dear!”

Watching the affectionate, playful banter between the happy couple, Kenji Tanaka couldn’t help but think, with a fresh pang of sorrow, of his own beloved wife, Kaoru. If Kaoru were still here, if she were still alive… his child, his precious Hana, surely wouldn’t have… He quickly, forcefully shook his head, pushing the painful thoughts away. He was merely, as always, sighing inwardly at his own misfortunes.

“Speaking of which, Kenji-san,” Mr. Akiyama said, his expression suddenly turning a little more serious as he motioned for Kenji to sit down on the comfortable living room sofa. Mrs. Akiyama, ever the gracious hostess, had already brewed some fresh tea and brought it over on a tray. “While the two kids aren’t here yet, while we have a moment alone, there’s something rather important I’d like to discuss with you, man to man.” Mr. Akiyama looked at Kenji Tanaka intently, his gaze serious, though the corner of his lips held a hint of undeniable, almost smug pride. “My Ren, our boy… he recently, and with flying colors, I might add, passed the official Supporter examination.”

Ah… yes. I already knew that, of course. In fact, he’s currently, and rather surprisingly competently, acting as my Supporter… This is going to be awkward. Kenji, however, feigned an appropriate, if slightly strained level of polite surprise. “Is that so?! That’s wonderful news! That Supporter exam is incredibly difficult, isn’t it? I’ve heard the pass rate is abysmal! That child, Ren, he truly is an outstanding, exceptional young man! You must be very proud!”

“Haha~ Well, you know, just so-so~ Average, really~” Mr. Akiyama said, though his beaming face clearly indicated otherwise. “Can’t quite compare to your dear child being an actual, bona fide Esper, of course… that’s a whole different league… But, well, this way, with Ren being a Supporter and Hana being an Esper… the two of them, their futures, they’ve sort of firmed things up, haven’t they? Taken a clear direction.” Mr. Akiyama was visibly and almost bursting with paternal pride. “So, what I mean to say is… they’re both seventeen now, practically adults—this, well, they can’t actually get married yet, not legally anyway, but if it’s an engagement… a formal understanding… what do you think, Kenji…?”

Ah! So that’s what this is really about! The engagement talk! Finally! Kenji Tanaka nodded slowly, trying to look thoughtful and appropriately fatherly. “Well, Akiyama-san, if the children themselves are willing, if it’s what they both truly want, then I, as Hana’s father, certainly have no objections whatsoever.”

“Excellent! Excellent! So, then, what do you think about the… ah… the traditional ‘shugi-bukuro’ and the matter of the betrothal gifts…?” Mr. Akiyama asked, his voice now slightly more tentative, almost cautious, as he broached the delicate subject of pre-nuptial finances.

Now Kenji Tanaka finally, truly understood what these two wily, forward-thinking parents were really after with this whole elaborate setup. The birthday dinner tonight, he now realized with dawning clarity, was most likely also intended to be a convenient, family-friendly occasion to subtly, or perhaps not-so-subtly, discuss this very important matter with the two blissfully unaware children themselves.

So incredibly cunning, Kenji thought, a reluctant smile playing on his lips. Just like their brilliant, scheming son, Ren. Apples and trees, indeed.