Mr. Magical Girl

Chapter: 112. Co-Conspirator.

Tick-tock.

I’m dreaming.

A child’s dream.

A dream of scattering their own body across the ground.

With no power, a child only satisfied with offering themselves to the world.

Tick-tock.

Time flows.

The child has met someone.

Someone carrying something enormous, out of place for their small body, walking along the path like they’re enlightened.

Someone to lead the way instead of the clueless girl.

A guidepost for the girl wandering aimlessly.

The child did not follow the guidepost set by the small one. Instead, they chased after the little one who set the signpost and went in a different direction.

As if to say, “This is the path you must take.”

Tick-tock.

Again, time has passed.

The back that once seemed large has now become smaller than hers.

Her thoughts are halting.

The back that she thought would always be straight is now bent.

It might have been bent from the start.

She has simply grown enough to notice it.

She opened her mouth. She wanted to help him.

That voice doesn’t reach him.

The thing before her doesn’t look back.

It just moves forward.

So she turned around for the first time, passing him.

This is such a dream.

“Yes, it is, a dream.”

Tick-tock.

“It’s time to wake up!”

Someone whispered.

Clang-clang.

I opened my eyes to the sound of something solid scratching intensely.

Morning. Time to wake up.

What I faced was a brand-new PDA filled with such sentences.

Can’t you wake me up in a more ordinary way? That messy method resembles its owner perfectly.

As I thought that while staring at the PDA, the black nurse cocked her head and repeated the same action.

Was she checking if I was conscious, rubbing the PDA against my face?

“I’m awake.”

Since I wasn’t the kind of person to let such bizarre behavior slide, I pushed the PDA away with my right hand and opened my mouth.

Only then did the black head nurse nod with satisfaction and continue with the next phrase.

Clang-clang.

It’s a brand-new sturdy item they gave me instead of the scratched PDA, but at this rate, it doesn’t seem like it will last long.

More importantly, is that habit unfixable even with revival?

Continuing with such useless thoughts, I looked down at my right arm.

Though I unconsciously moved my right arm, I needed to check separately if the sensation or function was intact.

Fortunately, my right arm was still attached. The joint area was covered by clothing and not visible, but it was definitely my arm.

My fingers moved well, and there was no pain or pressure on the joints.

After finishing the situation assessment, I searched for a clock to check the time but couldn’t find one nearby.

“How long have I been asleep?”

The black nurse, who was changing flowers, upon hearing that, instead of writing on the PDA, bent one of her fingers.

“One hour? The surgery went quicker than expected.”

Wobble-wobble.

My head shook wildly from side to side.

“Not a day?”

Wobble.

The head shook again.

Could it be a week? A month? There’s no way it could be a year, at least.

“A week? A month?”

Maybe from shaking my head, instead of the sound of my body wobbling, only the sound of wind slicing through the room filled the hospital.

Could it truly be a year?

As I wrapped my head around that thought, the finger I raised half-bent and flicked.

PDA, use it.

I said that, but perhaps stubbornness had taken over, as she added another finger, raising six fingers with one hand.

Does that mean 6?

So, maybe…

“It meant half a day.”

The black nurse shook her head up and down vigorously, indicating agreement.

Since it was bent halfway, it was 0.5, not 1.

I wish someone would enlighten that brat about basic common sense.

Thinking I wasted unnecessary time talking to a dazed head nurse, the moment I tried to sit up from the bed.

Beeeeep.

A siren suddenly started ringing from the ceiling speaker.

What now?

Emergency!

“Uncle! Don’t come in here!”

It might have been about ten seconds after the siren rang, a fool burst through the door.

Was it you again?

It seems they adjusted things so that the sirens go off when I get out of bed.

“First, lay down! How are you conscious? Is your arm okay? What’s 58+97? Do you know who I am?”

As soon as she entered the room, the girl swung a belt to secure me to the bed and unleashed a barrage of questions.

“Is your vocal cord paralyzed? Seems like the stab to the neck was a problem…”

“Calm down.”

How could the perpetrator, the oxymoron, be louder than the victim, me?

“Ah, your vocal cords seem fine. How’s your arm? Can you lift it? Do you feel anything? I was so rushed I couldn’t do the operation properly…”

“Calm down.”

After not listening to me long enough, I lightly punched the oxymoron in the gut.

Harsh…

It was only a gentle hit, but from the oxymoron’s perspective, it was an unexpected strike, and they bent over, coughing into my face.

Thankfully, since the oxymoron was wearing a gas mask, the worst-case scenario of spit on my face was avoided, but it didn’t feel good.

Cough.

The oxymoron also produced strange sounds.

Was it really that painful?

It’s all the oxymoron’s fault, but I might have about a penny’s worth of blame, so I gave their back a pat.

“Breathe in.”

“Cough.”

“Breathe out.”

“Cough”

Sounds like they’re coughing up phlegm.

Thinking about what would happen if I were to get hit if I let anything out, how long has it been since I started patting their back?

“Cough… I’m good now.”

Finally, the oxymoron steadied their breath and spoke.

“So, are you feeling better?”

You’re repeating what I said back at me, it sounds like quite a perplexing situation.

“You seem fine…”

The oxymoron sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at my face.

“Sigh”

What the heck?

Why so suddenly quiet?

It can’t be from getting hit.

Fists don’t help in silencing others. Just look at my noisy students; I know that well.

So then…

“Is it because you lost to me?”

Did you have to say that out loud?

When did I start censoring myself?

“So, did I win?”

0

Another sigh. A lengthy exhale that seemed to release a lifetime’s worth of breath.

I got tired of watching the oxymoron and observed the black nurse doing calculations on the PDA.

“Yes, it’s because I lost. I used everything up, even the techniques I had to keep secret from you, and still lost.”

The oxymoron lay back against the bed, relaxing.

“Ah! Seriously! Really!”

They shouted while flailing their limbs about.

Just like a child throwing a tantrum.

Always acting like an adult, but that childishness shows through, disguising themselves as an adult.

Seeing that, I remembered the dream I had just before waking up.

A child, growing up.

Was it really the oxymoron?

They said there’s a psychic phenomenon of sharing memories and emotions with the defeated opponent, but experiencing it firsthand?

It’s my first time…

The oxymoron definitely stated they wished to be acknowledged before the battle ended.

Those words must have been deeply etched in their heart.

From what they said underground.

The day the Thunder God left.

Even bringing up the Black Marauder.

All of it was to seek acknowledgment that they had grown.

I don’t know how they developed such a personality, but it’s quite bothersome.

To cut someone’s arm and stab them in the neck just to be recognized by someone like me.

But, watching their current state still shows they are a child.

Throwing a fit in bed just because they failed once?

“Act like an adult if you’re going to be one.”

“Why don’t you treat me like one then?”

Now, they’re not even trying to hide it.

An adult, indeed; the oxymoron has mentioned that phrase a lot.

To ask for reliance.

Reliance…

Thinking it over, there was a phrase I had initially struggled with from the start.

“Oxymoron.”

“What is it?”

Where’s Unho?

“They went back down to check on the patients of the end disease while they had the time.”

Well, during the entire time I’ve been here, that brat was checking on something there.

On top of that, the appearance has changed from ferret-like to a bit more wildcat-like.

With a sharp, streamlined body, like a wild animal.

Enough about Unho.

“Black Nurse.”

I quietly addressed the last intelligent entity left in the room.

Wobble.

In reply, the black nurse gave a sticky sound instead of words, and I opened my mouth.

“Can you go out and see who’s coming nearby?”

Wobble.

She cocked her head excessively as if to say she didn’t understand my request.

“I have a secret conversation to have with my master.”

Did the word “master” resonate with her?

Upon hearing that, the black head nurse promptly threw her body out the door.

She was even careful not to make a sound as the door closed, controlling her strength delicately.

So that brat can control her power.

It’s not that she couldn’t; it’s that she wouldn’t do it.

With that, the room was left with only the two of us, our breathing, the only sound in the silence.

Even the previously loud oxymoron had zipped their lips upon hearing my mention of a secret conversation.

“Oxymoron.”

I called out, infusing strength into my voice, not to sound frivolous.

“What’s wrong?”

The oxymoron, perhaps sensing the shift in my tone, wiped away the childish demeanor they had just a moment ago.

“The conversation I’m about to have now should not be spoken of to anyone.”

“Is it related to that secret?”

The Black Marauder. The secret shared between her and me. But…

“It’s something beyond that. So…”

Is it really okay?

This choice might invite ruin for all.

I might be the one to become unhappy.

She might be the one to become unhappy.

And yet, I opened my mouth.

“Can you keep the secret?”

Because I want to acknowledge her as a hero.

Because I saw her dream.

“Until someone steps on my corpse.”

What an interesting expression.

Since she said that, I guess I must repay her expectations too.

“The existence at the end of the story.”

I encapsulated the name of that. Our enemy.

“What I’m going to tell you now is information obtained from a certain group of monsters.”

“Did you get this during espionage activities?”

“It’s not some dirty information that cannot discern truth. It’s information filled with truth; I obtained it through connection.”

Quietly, she contemplated my words.

Friendship with hostile groups of the Association.

That aligns with serious crimes.

Of course, compared to my own crimes as a monster, it’s a minor one, but it’s sufficient grounds for an investigation.

Nevertheless, that was just a part of what I intended to convey.

“Well then… where should I start narrating?”

Looks like it’s going to be a long story.

… That’s the story. It’s full of holes and lacks solid facts.

About a minute’s worth of brief storytelling.

Upon hearing that, the oxymoron spoke in a chilling voice.

“Really… it existed.”

“Indeed, the only one I faced directly was the Modifier.”

The modifier, the planner, the narrator, the spectator.

And countless other existences.

The only ones I’ve heard of were those four.

Al’shel and Alsirin knew one each, Linshua knew two.

Those who merely knew their names, appreciating and wringing their stories. Linshua seemed to know a bit more but had no way to squeeze out further information.

… It’s hard to believe. It conflicts with the Association’s data.

“Right. The monster claimed that there’s no existence superior to themselves, presenting the invasion of the Otherworld as mere assault.”

The story seemed to be something they’d have no choice but to accept that it indeed existed.

In hindsight, it seems strange.

“Why did you use the term narrative?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who. Wrote that down first?”

Since when had everyone begun to use that word so casually?

Narrative suggests something artificial.

“Exactly. Oxymoron.”

I’m going to share this burden here.

“Investigate this.”

On the day it first opened, there was a worth of a narrative.

Perhaps there could be a betrayer.

But on a priority basis, I am too short on manpower.

Establish justice and prepare restraints.

To form factions, gather information.

So, let’s share the burden, like with Chung Solim and Yumil.

“Why me?”

“Oxymoron. I trust you.”

To the excellent hero who made me faint and has grown beautifully.

Beep.

“It’s me.”

As soon as I landed from the airplane, I got in touch with him.

“You’re a bit late. How did the plan go?”

The voice of Al’shel came through my phone. Quietly, I reached into my pocket and pulled it out.

“I secured it.”

Contained within the glass ampule, a sticky red liquid.

Though it’s only a tiny amount, it swayed quietly within the bottle.

Stealing this was a bit tough, but thankfully, I succeeded.

“Then Queph can rest easy now.”

“More importantly, there’s something we need to discuss?”

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Have you located Taejoon Kim?”

“Ah, if that’s the exchange condition, I found it. The information is set up with the Association, so the story will travel soon.”

Wobble.

I shook the ampule.

“How do you intend to receive this?”

“I’ll send the recovery officer soon.”

“Got it.”

Beep.

I hung up and slowly moved my feet.

To hand over the ampule.

The rat monster.

The executive of the order.

He will do quite a lot for the assassin Queph.

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