Chapter 3:

PASSION!!! Just Another Day For Your Local Magical Girl! [Part 3]

Magical Knight Lune XY: My HOMIE Swooped Me off My Feet, and Now I Think I Might Be in LOVE?!

Exhausted from my run-in with Red Sandrea, I decided to go bother Jack at his new job as a grocery store cashier. Without my magical girl powers, it would’ve been a lengthy trip. Instead, I arrived within two minutes flat.

The grocery store was run down, with shopping carts littering the parking lot. A large pothole sat directly by the entrance, creating an awkward barrier for incoming traffic. There was also a boarded up window covered in store ads to hide offensive graffiti.

It had charm! Kinda. Maybe?

I pulled out my phone to check the time. “Few hours left before Jack clocks out,” I muttered. “Eh, it’ll probably be fine.”

It wouldn’t hurt to say hi while he was working. Afterward, I could swing by the old arcade down the road and play a game or two.

They have some old-school fighting games that I’m a fan of. Not to brag, but I’m a decent player. One time I managed to get seven hours of game time with a single quarter before the owner got mad at me and threw me out.

I hopped onto the grocery store’s roof and made my way towards the back. There, I looked down at the loading dock to see if anyone was around.

“Coast is clear,” I mumbled before dropping to the ground. Don’t want anyone watching me change out of my magical girl form, after all!

I placed both hands upon my chest and closed my eyes. A whirlwind surrounded me as my body transitioned back into its original form. My long pink hair changed color to a dirty blonde as it shrank to a significantly shorter length, yet still in dire need of a haircut. It also immediately became frizzy due to the humidity.

A lump in my throat pushed out as my vocal cords adjusted, pitching my voice lower. My hips moved inward as my chest shrank. Between my legs… You know what? I’ll leave that to your imagination.

With my transformation complete, I was no longer the cute magical girl known throughout the city. I was just some fifteen-year-old guy who had yet to be visited by puberty. Even as a guy, I’m sometimes mistaken for a girl due to my androgynous appearance.

The magical girl costume still clasped to my body didn’t help the whole androgyny thing.

“Whoops,” I said, quickly changing my outfit into a pair of tattered jeans and a black t-shirt. The transformation magic used by magical girls typically allows the user to transform both body and clothing. However, if I rush the process, I can wind up still wearing my previous outfit.

I walked back around to the front of the store and made my way to the entrance, where I heard someone yelling from the other side of the boarded-up window.

Uh oh,” I thought, picking up my pace. “Please don’t whatever’s going on involve Jack.”

Aaaaand, of course, it did.


“And whadda I keep tellin’ ya? I ain’t got my ID!” a thug yelled at Jack, slamming his hand on the counter. His arm was covered in a sleeve tattoo of questionably immoral content. Also, he wore a large, oversized t-shirt that concealed his butt that would’ve been exposed by his sagging pants. And to top it all off, he wore sunglasses despite being indoors. One glance at him was all one needed to know. He wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with.

Standing on either side of him were his friends, I figured. One had on a black hoodie with gold chains hanging around his neck. Not the jewelry kind. They were massive, like ones a truck would use to tow something. The other guy was too cool for a shirt altogether, sticking to just jeans. At least he had the decency to wear a belt to keep them up.

“And like I said! No ID, no alcohol!”

Across the counter, undeterred by their intimidating stares, was Jack. Though he was just a year older than me, you’d be forgiven to think he was a college student. Whereas I just celebrated passing the 5ft mark, Jack was a few inches shy from hitting 7ft. He regularly worked out, resulting in some serious muscle action. And his voice? Man, was it deep! Like, cause the ground beneath your feet to quake deep.

Can’t grow a mustache to save his life, though. Best he can do is an embarrassing thin line that he’d rather shave off than try to sport.

The leader of the trio leaned into the counter, loosening his furrowed brow as if to try and make peace. That’s if you weren’t privy to the fact that this was just the next step in intimidation. Act forgiving to throw off your opponent; move in closer to throw a fast one if needed.

“Look. I’m flattered that you think I’m a young punk looking to get wasted in my parent’s basement while they ain’t home. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been carded. Just one look at me should be enough proof that I’m legal age. So why'd ya gotta make this difficult? Hm?”

Jack crossed his arms, still refusing to budge an inch. “It’s against the law for me to sell alcohol without some form of ID. I’d lose my job and risk possible jail time if it turns out you happen to be an undercover shopper from the state. It’s not worth it to me.”

The thug chuckled, “now ya callin’ me a NARC?”

“Sorry, but it’s not worth the risk.”

The thug lowered his head, looked over at his friends, and nodded before looking back up at Jack.

“I’m gonna say this just one more time,” the thug said while raising a finger. He then pointed it at Jack. “Sell me the beer, and my boys and I will walk out that door. Nothin’ happens. Ain’t even stealing it. But if you keep on wasting my precious time with your ‘PoLiCy’ bull, then we’re gonna have ourselves a problem. Ya’ dig?”

He and Jack stared each other down for just a brief moment, but the tension made it feel like an eternity. Like the entire store was filled with explosive gas, and the thug held a lighter in his hand, ready to send the store sky-high if his demands weren’t met.

Anyone else would’ve just done what he asked and moved on. This wasn’t worth getting into a brawl over.

But not Jack! He let out a big smile, leaned in closer, and struck his own match.

“Sorry, but I don’t own a shovel,” Jack responded.

Kaboom! With that embarrassing line, the intense atmosphere exploded, and the thug threw the first punch.

Doing so allowed Jack the permission to play the “self-defense” card in case the cops showed up. He was thrilled, as he was itching to lay it on them and go all out.

Jack grabbed the thug’s arm, flipping him over the counter and onto the ground in one quick swoop. It happened so fast that the thug’s brain broke trying to process what just happened.

His pals jumped in and took a swing. Regardless of how many times they tried to lay a finger on Jack, he was one step ahead. He sidestepped and blocked all their attacks with ease. When it was his turn to fight back, he socked each one in the face and knocked them out.

“I thought you'd put up a better fight than that!” Jack said, cracking his knuckles.

As Jack spoke, the first thug bounced back to his feet, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a butterfly knife.

“Jack!” I yelled.

Jack snapped his head around, noticing the thug mid-swing. If I hadn’t called out, the knife would’ve sliced Jack in the back of the neck. Instead, he ducked out of the way and punched the thug square in the gut.

“Oof!” the thug cried, clenching his stomach.

He staggered back, then lunged forward, taking another few swipes at Jack. Though the knife missed Jack, the same couldn’t be said for his work shirt, which now had a large gash down the front.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Jack said. “These work uniforms come out of my paycheck, you know!”

“Like I give a–” the thug responded before taking a punch to the face. He stumbled backward, then lunged forward to deliver a barrage of attacks.

Jack effortlessly dodged each attack, carefully studying the knife’s movements. One wrong move would’ve spelled disaster.

Eventually, Jack bumped into the checkout counter, falling backward onto the conveyor belt.

The thug smiled, having planned this. “Now you’re mine!” he yelled, spinning the knife around. With both hands, he thrust the knife downward, aiming for Jack’s face.


The knife missed, tearing into the rubber conveyor belt.

Growing furious, the thug repeatedly tried to stab Jack, managing to miss each time. With each attempt, he grew sloppier and sloppier.

Finally, Jack grabbed the thug’s hands, disarmed them, and slugged him across the jaw.

The thug stumbled backward, spat out some blood, then charged at Jack. It was like something in his brain snapped after that last punch. He threw his arms around wildly while yelling–a final barrage from a desperate man who hadn’t realized he had already lost.

Jack countered and began wailing on the thug. He took solid blows from Jack’s fists, one after another. With a final sock to the noggin, the thug stumbled backward. His body fell back onto a snack display, landing on a cushion of potato chip bags.

With the fight over, Jack walked over to the thug and picked him up by his shirt collar.

“Now you listen here, punk. You don’t come back here and pull this kind of crap on me or anyone else in this store again. You hear?”


“Because if I ever see or hear that you or your friends–”

“Jack,” I called out.

“Try to mess with an innocent clerk,” Jack continued, “so help me–”

“Jack!” I yelled.

Jack looked over at me, dropping his intense expression. “Yeah, Daniel?” he asked, puzzled.

“He’s unconscious. He can’t hear you.”

Jack looked down at the thug. “Oh. Whoops! Guess I overdid it some.”

“Some?” I asked.

Jack gave a huge grin, then went over to the thug’s friends and picked them up. He carried all three bodies over his shoulder and took them outside. He dumped their bodies into the pothole, creating even more of an inconvenience for incoming traffic.“Get outta here!” he yelled at the trio.

Of course, all three were knocked out cold, so they couldn’t do as told even if they wanted to.

“Can’t even listen to one dang order,” Jack cursed.

Jack walked back to his register to resume working. There, he saw the store manager popping out from who knows where.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Martinez!” Jack said. “Just had to take care of a couple of trouble makers. I’ll quickly get back to the register.”

Mr. Martinez, a middle-aged stoutly man with–

“You’re fired.”


And that’s how Jack lost his third job that month! Heh heh…