“Ding-a-ling-ling—”
The generic alarm blared, jolting Qi An awake, his heart thudding loudly in the quiet room.
He remained stunned for a moment, the surreal scenes from his dream flooding back, prompting him to instinctively glance at his phone.
“Damn it, it’s almost eight already!”
Fighting off the lingering drowsiness, he haphazardly threw on his clothes, splashed some water on his face, and rushed out the door.
“My electric scooter keys… huh?”
He rummaged through his pocket, but instead of keys, his fingers closed around a slightly warm, metallic object, distinctly not his keys.
Pulling it out, he saw a miniature, unsharpened sword. More akin to a strange cult’s crucifix than a true blade, its center was inlaid with a captivating purple gem, radiating an alluring glow and an inexplicable sense of familiarity, as if it were the true resting place of his soul.
‘No, I need to go back and find them…’
He muttered to himself, but a black cat on the stairs blocked his path.
“There’s no need to search. Its existence has already been ‘replaced’.”
As the cat licked its paw, these words resonated directly in Qi An’s mind.
“You’re the cat from my dream… no, was that not a dream at all?”
Qi An involuntarily recoiled a step.
“No, it was indeed a dream, but all the ‘outcomes’ within it, and your deepest desires, were utterly real.”
“What kind of joke is this…?”
His face became a canvas of conflicting emotions. In the dream yesterday, his past self had foolishly agreed, but his current self would never make the same decision.
“What does ‘becoming a magical girl’ mean? And ‘losing your current identity and life’?”
The details he had overlooked in the dream now stood out with stark clarity, leaving him with a regret as profound as a drunk gambler who had lost everything.
“It means exactly what it says, darling~”
The cat spoke with complete indifference.
“So, will I… vanish then? Like Magical Girl Madok— I mean, like Magical Girl O?”
“Indeed, though the circumstances are entirely different, in a sociological sense, you will effectively vanish.”
The black cat mercilessly delivered this truth. However, to its surprise, Qi An did not explode in anger or readily accept his fate. Instead, he hung his head, appearing utterly pathetic and humbled.
“Then… how much time do I have left?”
The cat wagged its tail, seemingly unaffected by his display, its voice remaining calm.
“If you refrain from using your magic… approximately half a year. Of course, using it will drastically accelerate the process.”
Qi An remained motionless for a long time, before a hoarse whisper finally escaped his throat.
“Will I… be forgotten?”
“Oh, no~”
A lively yet emotionless voice replied.
“Once your transformation is complete, and the echoes of your existence completely dissipate, you will be perceived by ordinary people as having died. You will have a plausible cause of death. Some may grieve and remember you, while others might simply brush it off with a laugh. But none of that will concern you, for even if you were to prove you were still alive, they would swiftly forget any subsequent interactions with you.”
“Is… that so…”
Qi An’s legs gave out beneath him. He, who had never fully despaired no matter how much sorrow or pain he had endured in the past, now collapsed onto the floor.
“Humans are truly peculiar. They yearn so desperately for escape and change, yet when presented with an opportunity to begin a new life, they are filled with regret.”
The cat shook its head, preparing to leave, but added one last remark before departing.
“Feel its power, and you will be able to transform. Be warned, your current constitution will make you more susceptible to attracting demons. Do not become overly immersed in the echoes of the past, or something far worse may befall you.”
Its voice was devoid of pity, apology, or any other emotion, merely a mechanical pronouncement.
“…”
“Ha… let’s go. I still have class this morning.”
Ultimately, he only managed a short, choked gasp, leaning against the wall to painstakingly pull himself to his feet.
He practically sprinted towards the school, his thin clothes soaked through by the cold wind, his lungs burning with each ragged breath. By the time he burst into the teaching building, the class bell had long since rung, leaving only the echoing sounds of his frantic footsteps and gasps in the empty corridor.
He was late.
The teacher at the podium merely cast a cold glance his way, then, with a pen, drew a distinct cross next to his name on the roster, marking him absent.
With his head bowed, he quickly made his way to the empty seat in the back row, settling down and trying to calm the frantic pounding in his chest, which felt as if he might drop dead at any moment. The teacher’s voice from the podium became blurred and distant, as if separated by a thick pane of glass.
His gaze swept over the few empty seats beside him. He knew those names; they often skipped class with such nonchalance, seemingly never facing any real consequences.
A subtle, bitter sensation, like delicate tendrils, wrapped around his heart, slowly tightening. That inner flame felt capable of consuming everything, yet he merely used himself as fuel to smother it, then buried his eyes deep in his arms, wiping them quickly, before lifting his head again as if nothing had happened.
****
When the lunch bell rang, students surged out of the classroom like a tide. He moved with the crowd, yet knew not where to go.
Driven by an inexplicable impulse, his steps halted outside the dormitory he had lived in for over two years.
The pale yellow wooden door stood ajar, letting out familiar yet strange, vibrant laughter and chatter.
“Our volunteer activity bonus points are definitely secured this time. The person in charge said I was very active, and my GPA was perfect last semester, so I should be able to get recommended for postgraduate studies next year.”
“Brother Yu, always showing off… Where should we grab a bite tonight?”
“How about that new grilled fish place on the back street? I heard it’s pretty good.”
These were the voices of his former roommates.
Their voices were light and joyful, planning shared activities, and celebrating easily won happiness and achievements. He had never been included in these activities, nor could he ever achieve such academic success.
Qi An stood frozen outside the door, like a ghost who had wandered into the wrong place, eavesdropping through the door on the ‘human’ voices that no longer belonged to him.
There had been no fierce arguments between them, only countless silent alienations, and his own clumsy, ultimately futile, concessions.
Now, every laugh from within pierced him like a tiny needle, pricking every muscle in his heart. The agonizing fire of jealousy reignited, but even fiercer was a profound sense of helplessness.
He wasn’t that clever, nor did he possess such high emotional intelligence. Even when he suppressed all his negative emotions, even when he swallowed every grievance, feigning indifference—
He had never truly managed to fit in. He, too, had once longed for such a mundane life, but his own unbreakable barrier and innate clumsiness had pushed it all away, turning him into a complete outsider.
“Alright, it’s settled then. I’ll go grab the takeout first, okay?”
Upon hearing this, he spun around abruptly, practically fleeing in a panic, terrified that the person about to emerge might see him again.
His vision blurred slightly, the laughter from behind pursuing him, more stinging than any reprimand. The fear searing his heart made him stumble down the stairs in disarray.
.
The afternoon classes passed in a haze, the hollow, acidic pangs in his stomach constantly reminding him that he had missed lunch.
After school, he pulled out his phone, his fingertips hovering uncertainly over the screen, eventually tapping only the icon labeled “Pin Hao Fan,” exclusively for cheap meal options.
Before this, he had been sitting in the cafeteria, pretending to play with his phone, his mind a turbulent mess. Ugliness, envy, and despair for the future tormented Qi An’s already fragile heart.
Novels and videos, which usually brought him a small measure of comfort, were now utterly unreadable.
“Ah… it’s finally here…”
The phone chimed with a notification, arriving earlier than the initial estimated time.
He pulled his thin clothes tighter, pacing back and forth in the designated area outside the school gate, the late autumn wind reddening his nose.
The phone’s notification finally rang, but it wasn’t the delivery rider’s arrival; it was a cold system message:
[Your order has been placed in the shared delivery rack. Please collect it promptly using your pickup code.]
By the time he rushed to the area, lined with countless cold metal racks, another fifteen minutes had passed.
He searched frantically, a growing sense of foreboding intensifying within him.
The delivery racks were notoriously unsupervised; often, orders arrived earlier than indicated on the phone, and once taken, there would be no notification, as the rider’s task was merely to deliver them there.
He searched relentlessly, realizing his hands were numb with cold, until the sky gradually darkened and heavy clouds blanketed the heavens. Only then did Qi An realize that his belated, cheap dinner had been casually taken by someone else—perhaps equally hungry, or simply uncaring.
Fine, cold rain began to fall, silently dampening his hair and shoulders.
He stood there, motionless, before that row of cold, metallic lockers, symbols of modern urban detachment and order, staring at the empty compartment for a very long time.
A massive, absurd sense of powerlessness seized him. He saw his former roommates walk past nearby, glancing at him with surprise, then continuing their group walk as if nothing had happened, though their smiles and hushed discussions felt like mockery.
Even such an insignificant meal, merely for basic survival, had to conspire against him?
He stood rooted, clenching his fists, yet finding no target for his anger.
The chattering stream of people never paused for him; soon, few remained. Silence, like a long-waiting beast, descended, and cold raindrops quenched his ridiculous anger and resentment.
Dragging his hungry body, he had lost the will to order another meal. Tears, which had been threatening to escape his eyes for an unknown duration, stirred once more. He merely endured, desperately suppressing them, as he ran towards the rental room, the only place where he could cry without restraint.
Opening the door, he plunged back into the suffocating darkness. He buried his face in his pillow, but then his phone screen suddenly lit up, accompanied by a cheerful yet abrupt ringtone.
It was a video call request from his mother.
His heart lurched, as if gripped by an invisible hand, and he fiercely pinched his thigh, dragging himself out of his sorrow.
His fingers trembled uncontrollably as he took several deep breaths, vigorously rubbing his cheeks.
Simultaneously, he fumbled for the dim desk lamp in front of him, turning it on and deliberately angling it so his face remained unlit.
The warm, yellow glow of the lamp barely illuminated a small area, making the shadows on his face even more pronounced.
He took another deep breath, forcing his facial muscles to work, expertly contorting his face into a natural, yet utterly false smile—one that made even him sick—before finally pressing the answer button.
“An An, why did it take you so long to answer? Have you eaten?”
His mother’s face appeared on the screen, with the familiar, warm living room of their home in the background. Unfinished bowls and chopsticks seemed to be on the table.
“Yes, I ate. I’m very full.”
He heard his own voice respond with an unnaturally light tone, every word so fake it sickened him.
“The school cafeteria had braised pork today; it tasted quite good.”
He even deliberately smacked his lips, as if savoring the flavor, despite the dull ache of hunger in his stomach, a miserable emptiness.
“How’s the weather there? News said it’s getting colder. Wear more clothes, don’t catch a cold.”
His father’s voice chimed in from the side, carrying that familiar, inexpressive yet undeniably genuine concern.
“Yes, I know. I’m wearing plenty of layers. It’s… fine here, not cold.”
He instinctively tugged at his thin shirt, which was now cold and damp with sweat from his run. He felt as though the gaze from the other side of the screen could pierce through the virtual network, seeing right through him, making him squirm.
“Are you tired from studying? Are you used to living alone? How are you getting along with your classmates?”
His mother asked again, her eyes cautiously probing, as if afraid to touch a sensitive spot.
“Not tired, classes are alright. My classmates… they’re all good, we look out for each other.”
He felt the muscles in his cheeks ache, praying for the call to end quickly, yet at the same time, he couldn’t bear to part with the faces and voices on the screen. His two conflicting ‘selves’ felt like they were tearing his soul in half.
How desperately he wished to tell them about the persistent musty smell in this room, about his lost, cheap takeout, about the red cross the teacher drew when he was late, about the cheerful chatter he overheard outside the door, about that damned black cat and the irreversible contract that had plunged him into despair.
He wanted to cry, to sob like a little girl to the people on the other side of the screen who were most likely to accept his vulnerability, to scream for help, to tear apart all this hateful reality like a madman.
But he couldn’t. He could only continue to perform, to portray a ‘doing well’ Qi An, a barely satisfactory son who wouldn’t cause them too much worry.
His parents rambled about family gossip, reminded him not to stay up late, to remember to eat breakfast, and to say if he needed money… Every mundane word of concern felt like a slow, agonizing torture to his heart. He wanted to hear more, yet feared they would detect something amiss.
“I… I need to go to bed now. I have things to do tomorrow morning. You two should also rest well…”
His voice, depleted of almost all strength, severed his chance for help. The contradictory call finally ended, and the moment the screen’s light dimmed, the rigid smile he had maintained for so long utterly crumbled.
He sharply bent forward, pressing his forehead against the cold, rough tabletop, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
He bit down hard on his arm, daring not to let out a single sob, afraid it would be amplified by the silent room, afraid it would be heard by any potential presence, including that black cat.
A monumental wave of sorrow and despair, like the cold night rain outside the window, completely engulfed him. He shivered beneath his blanket, tears falling onto the small sword, which also trembled in silent commiseration.
He feared the impending ‘sociological’ disappearance, dreaded imagining his parents’ expressions upon learning of his ‘death’.
He envied the human world outside the door, a world he couldn’t join, and detested his own incompetence, his cowardice, and the rash wish he had made that night.
The blanket offered no true warmth, and the unlit room was eerily silent. The last glimmer of light in ‘Qi An’s’ eyes gradually faded, his tears inexplicably ceasing.
‘She’ picked up the gem, which had begun to glow at some point, and walked out the door, moving against the flow of people returning home, the rain gradually soaking her long hair…