The Strongest, but the Genre Is Magical Girl

After becoming a high school student, the moment the semester started.

A new word began to seep into our daily lives.

“Don’t just think of it as a day when school ends early, think of it as taking the real exam and solve it seriously—”

That word is the mock exam.

Like taking the real exam, from high school, we solve problems prepared by the school as practice and preparation…

…It’s a day when school ends early.

In response to the teacher’s announcement to solve the problems seriously, the class’s lazy answers echo leisurely.

“Yeees—”

And since you can’t say ‘no’ in that atmosphere, you say ‘yes’ with your mouth, but…

Not many students take it as seriously as the real exam that will come in the winter of their third year.

Even if there are, only a few good students who care about their mock exam scores.

Most ordinary students feel a small happiness in a school day that ends after the third period, filling their meaningless problem-solving with sufficient sleep and waiting only for the time to go home.

To not look too insincere, randomly marking multiple-choice questions so they don’t form a straight line.

Solving the early problems as much as you know, boldly giving up on the ones you don’t.

You’ve learned the lesson that struggling with problems you don’t know will only result in wrong answers, haven’t you?

The only friend nearby who cares about mock exam scores is the class president, Seong-a.

After the third period ends, so as not to disturb, I casually ask.

“Did you do well on the mock exam?”

“Just, so-so?”

Tap tap, Seong-a neatly arranges the collected test papers perpendicular to the desk before putting them in her bag.

A glimpse of the scored test paper shows a 96.

In contrast to my crumpled paper thrown into the trash, her actions and score were impressive.

Is it a rule that those who claim to be class presidents are good at studying?

Well, it’s also an action of already thinking about self-introductions for interviews.

“Mari, did you do well on the exam—?”

“I guessed everything.”

As today’s exams all ended, classmates gather around one by one.

Friends whose names I only know come behind and beside my chair, pulling my cheeks like sticky rice cakes.

There’s no particular reason they gather around me.

It’s just a simple instinct to touch the pitiful small body they find cute.

“You’re really too cute.”

Even as a high school student, my small stature makes people mistake me for a middle school student at a glance.

Being the shortest in class, once we get a bit close, I’m treated like a stuffed animal.

At first, I shook off their hands for a while, but only a couple of times.

After realizing the affection directed at me was similar to that towards small animals, I accepted it as a biological instinct.

Treating it as a personality trait to quickly get along with others, I’m trying my best to live with it.

“Why is everyone coming to my seat?”

But still, that’s that, and this is this.

I don’t forget to complain to the classmates swarming around like ants to candy, asking why they’re coming to my seat.

“Because Mari is here.”

The answer I get is, because Mari is here, an absurd answer.

Like the saying ‘because the mountain is there,’ they spit it out nonchalantly…

We’re clearly speaking the same language, but the conversation doesn’t make sense.

At this rate, talking to a monster would be more understandable.

“Stop bothering the vice president and go back to your seats—”

Click, as the front door opens and the sound comes in, I turn my gaze while having my cheeks squished.

The only adult to resolve this situation, the homeroom teacher.

Perhaps she was supervising the mock exams in a nearby class, she came a bit earlier than usual.

“Yeees—”

At the teacher’s voice, the clustered students quietly disperse.

The students slowly, sluggishly move back to their seats, and the teacher adds a few words.

“Huh? Don’t want to go home?”

“Nooo—”

With dismissal held hostage, the students quickly return to their seats.

Of course, the teachers know well that the students don’t want to stay in school a second longer, so they’re quite skilled at this kind of soft threat.

Through the transparent hallway window, students from other classes peek their heads out.

Students outside the window who make eye contact with close friends either make funny faces or try to communicate with hand gestures.

Among them, Siyeon’s face is also visible.

I wave back at her light, gentle wave from outside the window.

Regardless, the teacher always carries the attendance book and places it on the desk with a thud.

After setting it down, the teacher finally utters the first words of the closing remarks.

“Tomorrow, there are three subjects left for the mock exams, right? Prepare thoroughly, and don’t wander off to other places or karaoke just because school ends early, go home and study.”

“Yees—”

After the most insincere affirmative answer in the world, school is over.

These days, instead of assigning cleaning duties, students clean up the big trash before dismissal on their own.

The blackboard is cleaned by a machine once you fill it with water, and major cleaning is done by a company during vacation, or so I hear.

So, the only cleaning students do is with brooms and dustpans.

The memory of mopping the floor has quietly slipped into the annals of history.

Who knows, maybe it’s still around in some local boys’ middle and high schools.

With that, I tap the front of my sneakers on the floor and head out the back door.

Siyeon, who was stuck to the window, scurries over to the back door where I came out.

“Let’s go.”

A short two-word sentence.

As if taking that as a start signal, she sticks close enough to touch with a slight step to the side, and we walk together towards the school’s side door…

“What are you having for lunch?”

Rarely, Siyeon brings up the topic of lunch first.

Usually, I’m the one to bring up meal topics.

Is there something special she wants to eat?

Feeling a question in the question itself, I subtly ask back.

“Why, is there something you want to eat?”

“No, it’s not like there’s something I really want to eat…”

At the question, Siyeon hesitates as if hit in the right spot.

I knew it.

It seems related to eating, so I wait for the next words.

Hesitating, avoiding eye contact, she shyly continues with a few more words.

“I want to go to a buffet together…”

“Buffet?”

I tilted my head at Siyeon’s sudden restaurant choice.

Buffet, buffet… except for the last time with the Arctic and a gathering, we haven’t been to many together.

Well, most buffets are in big department stores, and there’s no direct bus route to get there.

To get to a buffet, you have to walk or consider the meal cost plus transportation.

The mindset was, might as well order what you want to eat at home.

But since she specifically wants to go, why not go once.

Conscious of the weight of the bag I’m carrying, I point to the road leading home.

“Then, let’s stop by home to drop off the bag and go right away.”

“Are we going?”

Even though I’ve already said what to do, Siyeon asks again.

Was it that unexpected to warrant a confirmation?

“If our little puppy wants to go, we have to go—”

“Pfft.”

The nickname ‘little puppy’ sticks to the mouth quite well.

Siyeon, knowing well it’s referring to her, can’t help but laugh, covering her mouth with slender fingers.

After stopping by home and lightly tossing the bag at the front door, we turn around and head out.

With wallet, smartphone, and mascot securely in my pocket, we wait for a taxi near the crosswalk, a bit away from the bus stop.

We could use a ride-hailing app, but I haven’t installed it yet.

After waiting about 4 minutes, a ‘vacant’ sign appears on the electronic board far across the crosswalk.

Waving my hand languidly, the taxi naturally stops in front of us.

“Get in.”

Unlike when I’m alone, I send Siyeon to the back seat and sit in the front passenger seat.

Sitting in the front seat, I fasten the seatbelt and state the destination.

“Please take us to the XX department store.”

On a weekday lunchtime, not a holiday, there’s no waiting line at the buffet entrance.

With only two customers, we’re quickly shown to our seats without waiting.

“The salad bar is available for 1 hour and 30 minutes, and you can start your meal right away—”

“Yees—”

After hearing the staff’s formal guide and responding, I hang my coat on the chair and immediately get up to get food.

Siyeon, who also hung her coat on the chair, doesn’t get up.

A bit flustered, I ask why she’s not getting up.

“What are you doing? Not getting up.”

“Have to guard the stuff…”

Was she worried about the coat left behind, saying she’ll get up after I come back?

I have the mascot in my pocket, what’s there to worry about?

“It’s fine, it’s not like I’ll be gone for 20 minutes.”

“R-really?”

“Just get up quickly.”

Like that, here and there, picking and choosing food to fill the tray.

Chicken, pork ribs, sweet and sour pork, smoked duck, fried rice, spaghetti, sushi.

Filling one hand with a bountiful plate, I fill the other plate similarly.

Both hands full, creating a mountain of abundant food, I return to the seat.

As if to say Siyeon’s worries were all for nothing, the coat on the chair remained unchanged, not a wrinkle out of place.

“You brought two plates?! Are you going to eat all that at once?”

“No, one’s not for me…”

Trailing off, I tap the coat’s pocket.

In the right pocket, pretending to be a doll, quietly sits the mascot Gomteng.

From the omitted words, Siyeon finds the answer ‘mascot’ and similarly looks at her coat pocket, saying ‘ah.’

Following suit, she takes out the cub from her coat pocket and drops it under the table as if dropping a spoon.

Placing Gomteng on the floor.

From across, Siyeon also quietly comes under the tablecloth, placing down the sea snake, pretending to be a doll.

“Smart…!”

“Good at petty tricks.”

After placing the two beasts down below, we stick our heads back up and have a short conversation.

The tablecloth covers the table with plenty to spare.

Below, in the shaded darkness, no one would bother to look, and even the staff, these days dish collection is done by machines.

Busy with calculations and food tray replacements, would the staff have the leisure to look under there?

Just passing the plate full of food down.

Just passing it down, we could convey the true taste of the buffet to the two beasts.

What about being seen by other customers?

A foolish question.

Unless there’s a loud noise, humans in restaurants are least interested in anything other than their own plates.