Chapter 2: What Do You Mean I'm A Magical Girl?

“Rise and shine... Sleeping Beauty. The anime world awaits!”

Allen expected the familiar, upbeat chords of his favorite anime opening theme to jolt him awake, as they did every morning—a ritual of caffeine, chaos, and questionable life choices. But this morning, the alarm never came.

Instead, a peculiar aroma—sweet, earthy, and faintly floral—tickled his nose, pulling him from the depths of sleep. He burrowed deeper into what felt like his pillow, clinging to the fading tendrils of unconsciousness. Just five more minutes, he pleaded with the encroaching morning.

Then, a whisper—soft, melodic, and deeply cursed—brushed against his ear, raising goosebumps along his arm.

“Onee-chan… Onee-chan…”

His eyes snapped open.

That phrase. That damned phrase. Monica’s weaponized “Onee-chan,” deployed without mercy to yank him from sleep on even the most stubborn of mornings. He was no one’s big sister. He wasn’t even remotely close to being identified as female. Yet she wielded it like a spell, just because he was a few months older.

He jolted upright, mind still foggy, but a cold wave of surprise quickly sharpened his senses.

Monica stood over him, her pink-streaked hair catching the dappled violet light filtering through… through…

His gaze shot upward.

That wasn’t his ceiling.

That wasn’t a window.

It was a canopy of enormous, unfamiliar leaves—glowing faintly, rustling with a sound like a hundred whispering voices. The light filtering through them shimmered in hues of lavender and gold, casting surreal shadows across the mossy ground.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Monica chirped, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “And just in time! You were so cute sleeping, I was this close to drawing little cat whiskers on your face.”

Allen blinked. His brain felt like it was wading through quicksand. “Monica… what were you doing in my room again? I—I thought I locked the door?!”

His fingers splayed across damp moss and spongy fern. A cool, earthy scent filled his nostrils—pine, vanilla, and something faintly electric. He was cradled by the forest floor.

Panic, a familiar feeling from countless horror anime, began to coil in his gut. But this wasn’t a screen. This was real. His hands were on top of what looked like a dozen different species of glowing fungi.

He scrambled to his feet, spinning around.

Towering trees with bioluminescent sap reached for an alien sky—a swirling tapestry of violet, emerald, and gold that looked like a bad Photoshop filter. Strange, oversized flowers pulsed with soft, otherworldly light, like something out of a fantasy JRPG. Insects with iridescent wings buzzed past his ear—definitely not mosquitoes.

His gaze snapped back to Monica, who was casually brushing moss from her knee with a bored flick of her wrist.

“Monica,” he said, voice strained, “where in the actual hell are we?”

She glanced up, her expression as nonchalant as if they were discussing where to go for lunch. “Oh, this? We got isekai’d! Pretty cool, right? Just like in our favorite light novels!”

 Allen stared at her, jaw slack.

Getting “isekai’d” had always been a joke. A fantasy. Something they laughed about during late-night anime marathons. He never considered the first act would involve waking up in a glowing forest, covered in magical mushrooms.

“Isekai’d?” he echoed. “Like, really isekai’d? Not just some elaborate prank because I drank all of your peach tea yesterday?”

He pinched his arm. Hard. Nothing. He slapped his cheek. A sharp, dull thud. Still here.

The moss beneath his feet squished. The air smelled like pine, vanilla, and existential dread. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a prank. This was a bad fanfiction come to life. His gaze snapped back to Monica, desperation in his eyes.

“Slap me.”

Allen braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut like a man preparing for divine judgment. Monica, ever eager to oblige, delivered a surprisingly forceful open-handed smack to his face. A sharp sting bloomed across his cheek, confirming his worst fears.

This was real. His mind—usually a chaotic archive of anime tropes, fan theories, and half-written fanfics—struggled to process the gravity of the situation.

“Ow! Monica, you didn’t have to hit me like I insulted your waifu!” Allen rubbed his throbbing cheek, but the indignation quickly morphed into frantic urgency. “Okay, okay—deep breaths. Start from the beginning. Explain. What. Happened.”

Monica beamed, completely oblivious to his escalating panic—or perhaps just choosing to ignore it. “Right! So while you were asleep, I had a chat with God!”

Allen blinked. “You what?”

“She tried to be all dramatic and say she’d wait for you to wake up, but I told her I could just fill you in. I’m a pretty good info-dumper, right?” She threw up a peace sign and winked, like she was in a cutscene waiting for the skip button.

Allen felt a vein pulse in his forehead. He managed a strained nod, urging her to continue before he spontaneously combusted.

“Anyway,” Monica continued, “turns out this world is, like, super old-school isekai. We’re talking OG fantasy grind, baby! No OP cheat skills, no leveling system, no stat screens—just raw magic and vibes.”

She kicked at a glowing mushroom, sending a puff of bioluminescent spores into the air. The forest shimmered around them, alive with color and sound—like a JRPG loading screen rendered in high definition.

“But!” she added, eyes sparkling, “There’s magic! And monsters! And demi-humans like Beastmen, Fishfolk, and Elves! Isn’t that awesome?!”

Allen, despite the shock, felt a sliver of otaku excitement pierce through his dread. Magic? Monsters? Demi-humans? This was actually… everything he’d ever wanted. In theory.

“And get this!” Monica’s voice practically vibrated with excitement. “God offered us super strong magic items to keep us safe from monster attacks. She mentioned Thor’s Hammer, Poseidon’s Trident, even the Kusanagi Sword!”

Allen’s ears perked up. The Kusanagi Sword? That sounded like every boy's dream about swinging a sword. Something that could genuinely help them survive in a world where glowing mushrooms weren’t just aesthetic.

A spark of hope ignited in his chest—a flicker of light in his spiraling panic.

“So… what did you pick?” he asked, cautiously optimistic.

Monica grinned. That grin. The one that always preceded chaos.

“Oh, I refused those. Too cliché. Instead, I asked for something way cooler!” Monica dramatically pulled out two small, shimmering, star-shaped lockets covered in rhinestones and suspiciously cute ribbons. “Voilà! Transform into magical girls—guaranteed to sparkle under pressure!”

Allen’s jaw dropped. The glimmer of hope shattered into a million tiny, humiliating pieces.

He stared at the lockets. Then at Monica’s triumphant face. Then back at the lockets.

As she continued to explain the finer points of their new world—the lack of easy travel back to Earth, the immediate need to find civilization, the insistence that they would look adorable in frills—Allen felt his blood pressure spike.

He stood there, surrounded by glowing flora and chirping alien creatures, his face turning a shade of purple that almost matched Monica’s eyes. She had decided everything. Without his consent. Without even waiting for him to wake up.

This was it, he thought. This was the prologue to his villain arc.

***

 “You did what?!”

Allen’s voice cracked with disbelief, then rose to a roar of raw fury. “Monica! Why do you always do this?! This isn’t some side quest we can skip the tutorial for! This is our lives! We’re in another world—probably full of actual monsters—and you turned down a literal divine weapon for a… a toy?!”

He gestured wildly at the shimmering locket, his face a contorted mask of rage and impending migraine.

Monica tilted her head, the mischievous glint in her eyes as familiar as it was infuriating. “Relax, Allen. It’ll be way more fun this way! Besides, we needed something to make us stand out, right? We can’t just be boring adventurers.”

“Boring is safe, Monica! Boring means we don’t get eaten by goblins!”

Allen took a shaky breath, trying to rein in his escalating panic. He squeezed his eyes shut, mentally flipping through every anime trope that might offer a solution. There had to be an upside. There always was with Monica—even if it came wrapped in glitter and emotional trauma.

“Okay. Fine,” he muttered. “How do we even… unlock this ‘magic’? What do we have to do?”

Monica’s grin widened like a villain revealing her final form. “Easy! We just need to recite the magical girl chant!”

Allen’s eyes flew open. “The what now?”

A fresh wave of mortification washed over him.

“You’re joking, right? We’re not doing some sparkly transformation sequence in the middle of a random forest!”

“Nope!” Monica chirped, striking a pose that was a perfect blend of magical girl and school pop idol. The locket in her hand glinted like it was in on the joke. “It’s super important for focusing your magical energy! Ready? Repeat after me: ‘By the power of friendship and justice, transform!’”

Allen stood frozen, aghast. He glanced around at the alien trees, half-expecting a divine entity to descend and put them out of their misery. But Monica’s earnest, expectant gaze held him captive.

With a groan that originated somewhere deep in his soul, Allen mumbled, “By the power of… friendship and justice… transform, I guess.”

The last two words were forced out through gritted teeth, barely audible.

Nothing happened.

Monica sighed dramatically. “Allen, you need to put some sparkle into it! Some passion! Imagine you’re about to deliver a finishing blow to the final boss!”

Allen inhaled like he was preparing for battle—or public humiliation. This was it. His dignity, gone. Forever.

“Fine!” he hissed.

He closed his eyes. Imagined a giant monster. Imagined Monica cheering him on from the sidelines. Imagined the theme music swelling behind him.

He took a theatrical pose, arms out, and with a voice that was half-shame, half-desperation, he bellowed:

“BY THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP AND JUSTICE, TRANSFORM!”

A soft, golden light pulsed from the locket in his palm, then moved toward his neck. A faint, high-pitched chime—like a tiny bell—rang out.

It didn’t explode into ribbons and frills like he’d feared.

Instead, a warm current washed over him, and his baggy cotton pajamas shimmered, replaced by a sleek, dark tunic with metallic accents, sturdy cargo pants, and high-top boots. A utility belt with several pouches cinched around his waist.

It was undeniably shonen—a tactical RPG adventurer’s outfit. Not a magical girl’s.

Allen blinked. The fabric felt like a second skin—light, durable, and surprisingly comfortable. The only distinctly out-of-place item, a persistent, humiliating reminder of Monica’s terrible decision-making, was the girly, star-shaped locket now hanging brightly around his neck.

 He let out a shaky breath, relief mingling with confusion.

“Okay, so no frills. That’s… surprisingly decent.”

He poked the locket, examining it more closely. It pulsed faintly beneath his touch, like it was alive. Or listening.

“So… this is it?” he asked. “This is our magic?”

Just as the words left Allen’s mouth, the locket—still glowing brightly—blinked once, then twice.

And then the light vanished.

The warmth that had enveloped him disappeared in an instant, replaced by a bone-deep chill that made him shiver. His sleek adventurer’s outfit shimmered and dissolved, leaving him once again in his baggy cotton pajamas, which now felt even more humiliating than before.

The locket, now dull and lifeless, hung around his neck like a cheap accessory from a discount cosplay booth.

Allen stared at it, bewildered. “Hey… what happened? Did I break it already?”

Monica giggled, sticking out her tongue. “Oh! Right! I might’ve forgotten to mention—magic’s kinda like a battery, Allen! It drains super fast. Especially after a full transformation.”

Allen felt the familiar, migraine-inducing throb behind his eye. The extinguished locket felt heavier now—less like a magical artifact and more like a glittery anchor of bad decisions.

His frustration simmered into a raw, burning knot in his stomach.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, voice dangerously low. “We’re in a completely unknown world. We have no cheat skills. Our one magic trick lasts for, what, ten seconds. And you want to use it to fight actual monsters?”

Monica, still basking in her own transformation, twirled in her frilly magical girl gear—functional, yes, but undeniably designed for maximum sparkle.

“Turns out,” she said, admiring her ribbons, “the cuter the outfit, the less power it takes! Ribbons are basically low-energy mode.”

She struck a pose, basking in her frilly glory for a full minute before her locket began to blink. A moment later, her outfit shimmered and reverted back to her usual clothes.

Allen groaned. “And how exactly do we recharge this trinket?” he grumbled, the word trinket tasting bitter on his tongue. “Do we collect crystals? Hug a unicorn? Perform interpretive dance under moonlight?”

Monica tapped her chin thoughtfully. “God was kinda vague on that part. Something about ‘emotional resonance’ and ‘narrative momentum’? I stopped listening after she said the word ‘sparkle.’”

Allen stared at her.

Monica’s expression soured. “And it’s not a trinket!” she snapped, smacking him lightly on the head. “It’s a calibrated magical conduit of transformation!”

Then, in a tone that made Allen question her grip on reality, she cooed, “Yes it is! Yes you are!” and rubbed her cheek against the locket like it was a beloved pet.

Allen stood there, nursing his bop, watching Monica baby her rhinestone-studded magical artifact. And then, as if responding to her affection, the locket blinked once. A soft gleam of light pulsed from its center—not a flash, but a gentle heartbeat of illumination. It was subtle. Quiet. Almost imperceptible.

Allen blinked. “Did… did that just happen?”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t flashy.

But it felt alive.

The flicker seemed to respond to Monica’s touch—like it understood her. Like it understood her.