Chapter 14:

A boring chapter no one cares about.

Former Magical Girls and their Daily Lives


An attractive woman in her early thirties entered a Wawson. She only had one reason to enter the store: get the latest edition of her favorite magazine. Lovely was a magazine that was marketed to women in their early thirties and hopefully a non-existent brand in the reader's reality. The woman who entered the store fell into the magazine's marketing hook line and sinker. No one could've hoped for a more expected outcome. However, this woman didn't know that she fell for any marketing tricks. Like almost everyone, she thought that she just liked the magazine. It was her taste.

However, she noticed something else that was in its place. For some reason, it looks like someone misplaced a notebook and it was on the magazine rack like it belonged there. The woman didn't plan on looking at the notebook, but it then reminded her that she had a use for an empty notebook.

Kasumi [REDACTED], Risa [REDACTED], and Yuri [REDACTED]. These girls didn't have a last name or, at least, their last names weren't written down anywhere. It was a mess for the woman. She wanted to figure out the mystery but she didn't. On top of that, no one at work wanted to listen to her. She wondered if she should write down her experiences. Writing things down seemed to be good therapy. Who knows? Maybe this whole ordeal could be a good thing for her. 'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade', she thought, grabbing the notebook and heading to the counter before briefly turning back and grabbing the latest edition of Lovely.

When she got to her apartment, she sat down on her couch and set the notebook on the coffee table. She immediately regretted the purchase. While she did like having a notebook, she didn't like that she chose one with a moe magical girl cover. She was a mature adult and left magical girls the moment she because a preteen. 'Magical girls are for babies', she had told herself that many years ago. She was thinking about walking back to the convenience store and returning it, but she didn't want to walk down the stairs, cross the street, and talk to the employee just to get a better notebook. She felt that it wasn't worth the effort. Yet, she felt that it would be weird to write about those girls in such an unprofessional notebook. She would've been fine with a plain notebook, but oh, well.

"Lemons into lemonade," she told herself.

She opened the notebook and got a pencil.

'I don't know what's going on,' she wrote, 'Those three girls. Never seen anything like it before. Are they part of some kind of witness protection program or something? Are they secretly children of the prime minister? That can't be. They don't look related at all. They seem to have a history with each other, however.'

She stopped writing. She looked at the clean handwriting she was taught as a child. She believed that she didn't have enough information to solve this mystery. However, that didn't really help her.

She did try talking to the girls, but they just looked at her weird. It seems like there wasn't any real mystery, and she was just imagining it. It was like that time as a child that she imagined that she had the ability to magically censor curse words in her head. That's how she justified not knowing any curse words, but in hindsight, she heard curse words, but she didn't know that they were curse words. But obviously, that couldn't be what's going on here. Your ears don't just censor words, and she did tell people about it, and none of them said, "actually, their last names are [REDACTED], [REDACTED], and [REDACTED]. They are right there. Written in plain Japanese." They all acknowledged that the last names weren't there, but they didn't care much about it. It was like she was the only one who could maintain interest in it for an extended period of time. Maybe that's what's going on.

She heard the front door open. She didn't move from the couch because she already knew who it was.

"Hello, Honey," her husband said, wearing his normal salaryman attire but without his jacket, which he held on his shoulder.

"Welcome back," she said, kissing him.

"What do you have there?" he said, pointing at the open notebook.

"It's about those girls again. I can't get it off my mind." She flopped on the couch.

"Okay, tell me about it."

She ranted about the girls, and what their last names could be. Her husband listened, but she could tell that he was listening for the sake of listening rather than interest. She felt like she was a little kid describing dinosaurs to his mom. And to be honest, it was very similar to that. She couldn't tell you what was actually happening. She only had fossils, and she was trying to figure out the whole story. Clearly, someone must've changed the documents. Who? She didn't know. She knew that the legal documentation of the girls was wrong. They couldn't have that kind of gap in the documentation. The girls should be investigated for fraud or identity theft or something. But no one seemed to care. Their last names seemed to have some anti-memetic powers. They always went in one ear and out the other. Where did the girls come from? Was this some kind of new terrorist technology that they were trying on the population? What kind of connections could the girls possibly have? Why was she the only one who could somehow care? Was she a glitch? Was the weapon not working on her? Why was she special? She never was a unique girl. Since birth, she had been average in almost everything.

She said all of this out loud to her husband.

"Yeah," he said, clearly not invested. He looked like she was talking about types of paint for half an hour. If he was a worse husband, he would've been completely passed out by now.

"Thank you for listening. I think I got everything off my chest."

"Okay," he said, passing out on the couch.

She messed with his hair and stared at the notebook on the coffee table.

Parsatag
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