Chapter 60 : Santa Grandpa’s Secret?

In the end, the magical girls sacrificed on the altar of idle discussions returned to their original duties.

Along with that, the policy in question—something no one had even asked for—provided unnecessary support for magical girls, diverting extra manpower to control citizens.

It ended up spreading infections not only among the citizens but also to the police officers on the front lines.

It became a disastrous policy that should never exist during a pandemic, a monumental blunder that became a cautionary tale and a source of ridicule in the international community.

“Wow, our national dignity is melting away,” someone remarked.

But unlike the melting national dignity, the world itself was freezing over.

The cold was such that simply breathing out while walking produced white puffs of vapor. With December’s arrival, both Siyeon and I needed thicker clothing.

Pulling out some crumpled cash from a wallet that rarely saw use,

I tucked it into a small handbag and headed to the market. Inside the small handbag was more than 100,000 won in cash—an amount surprising to have in such a small bag.

The market, a quintessential haven for tax evasion, where cash transactions were king.

After all, the best clothes are the ones you try on before buying. Especially since children’s clothes often leave little room for size options, it was essential to stock up on outfits that would last until the next year.

In a deep alley of the market was a small clothing shop run by an elderly woman with a bent back. She seemed entirely uninterested in the arrival of customers, her gaze fixed on the bulging back of an old TV screen.

“Pick whatever you like, however you like,” she said.

“Okay!” Siyeon replied energetically, weaving through adult clothes with determination.

Naturally, my steps led me further inside, sifting through the randomly hung garments to skillfully pick out children’s clothes.

What I usually chose were bright-colored clothes with patterns, not too big or too small. While darker colors were more practical and easier to clean, those thoughts disappeared the moment Siyeon ran over holding a light pink outfit.

“Marie! I want this one!”

“Okay, hold onto it,” I replied.

Seeing her excitement over the pink outfit made practicality feel irrelevant. After all, both Siyeon and I were still similar enough in size that we could share clothes for the next year.

With that in mind, I gathered an assortment of bright-colored outfits—short-sleeved, long-sleeved, thin, thick—and placed them beside the elderly woman.

As Siyeon brought over her chosen clothes, I held each one up, visually estimating how well it would fit her or me.

The elderly woman, blinking her wrinkled eyes, eventually looked at me with a blank expression and said,

“The kid’s smart.”

Whether it was picking out clothes for an elementary school student to wear for the next year or acting overly mature for her age, the elderly woman summed it all up with a casual “smart kid.”

That laid-back attitude was part of what made her shop a favorite of mine.

Once the pile of clothes beside her had grown sufficiently, the elderly woman finally said,

“Just give me 50,000 won. 50,000.”

No questions asked, no negotiations—just a simple statement of the price. Though they were children’s clothes, the amount of clothing easily looked worth at least 80,000 won.

Whether it was originally that cheap or if the elderly woman had simply given me a discount out of kindness, I couldn’t tell.

Handing over the money, I watched as she pulled out a paper bag from a corner piled with them. The unpriced clothes were haphazardly stuffed into a paper bag that resembled something you’d get at a department store.

Where did she get all those paper bags? It didn’t seem like she would have bought them separately.

With that reasonable doubt in mind, right after leaving the clothing store, I opened my eyes wide at the sight of the market, trying to blend into the upcoming Christmas atmosphere, even just a little bit.

Even without any monster-related incidents, my days were busy enough with piling laundry and cleaning. As a result, I had become numb to various holidays, and it was only when I saw the atmosphere in the market that I realized Christmas was coming up.

With winter break approaching, I shouldn’t have been too happy about the decrease in mask usage.

Tightening the rope-like paper bag strap to my shoulder, I subtly asked Siyeon, trying to preserve her innocence with a gentle question.

“Siyeon, what are you going to ask Santa for Christmas?”

“It’s a secret!”

‘This is bad.’

I had hoped Siyeon would tell me what she wanted for Christmas, but her answer, consisting of just two short words, left me with a big dilemma.

I was in an awkward position, unable to tell a first grader, ‘Santa doesn’t exist.’ When I got home and was putting away seasonal clothes in the drawer, I found myself deep in thought about how I could get her to tell me what she wanted.

Damn, what could it be?

Even thinking back to when I was in her shoes, I had simply stated what I wanted, but no helpful memories came to mind.

Who knew that my own childhood honesty would return as a form of karma like this?

“Ugh…”

“Why do you sigh like that?”

The bear that had already settled on the bed on the second floor crept over to me, inching its face closer to ask.

The bear, once sitting on a cushion, had now taken over my bed, so it was no longer just sitting on the cushion but crawling up to where I sleep.

With no one else to vent to, I muttered my frustration to the bear.

After listening to my serious dilemma, the bear tilted its head and asked its first question.

“What is Santa?”

“Ah, so we’re starting there…”

The bear, a mascot of a monster who lacked the common knowledge of Earth, had no clue.

Instead of explaining the origin or old stories, I simply described Santa as an old man in a red suit with a bushy white beard, who flies around on a reindeer delivering gifts to children worldwide on December 25th.

Of course, I quietly explained to the bear that Santa was a fictional character.

“So, you need to give the gift without Siyeon knowing…?”

The sharp bear quickly understood the intent behind my lowered voice, which was to keep Siyeon from hearing, and also lowered its voice.

Understanding both the concept of Santa and the importance of preserving innocence, the bear now found itself in the same dilemma as me, lying on the bed with its chin resting in its hands, groaning.

“Hmmm…”

“Might as well just give her something she’d like…”

Muttering to myself in frustration as I let out a long sigh, the bear suddenly interrupted.

“Shh… just wait a moment.”

Here is the translation of the text:

“Be quiet and think it over,” the bear cub said, crumpling his expression even more. He seemed to have almost found a clue, but still, without changing his posture, he furrowed his brow and kept thinking deeply.

But how great of an idea could possibly come from this?

With that mindset, I didn’t expect much, so I just lay on the bed, eagerly waiting for the laundry to finish while telling him to think it through.

“Marie, Marie.”

Finally, the cub seemed to have finished his trivial thoughts. He pressed his soft hand against my temple, as if trying to say something.

“What?”

“Give me your smartphone. I’ve got an amazing idea.”

The cub’s actions, like someone with a sly expression snapping their fingers, and the sudden request for my smartphone.

I immediately felt distrustful, so I asked in a low voice what the amazing idea was.

“Just tell me, what is it?”

“Well… didn’t the two of you also install a chat app?”

“Right.”

“How about creating a fake account under the name ‘Santa’ and subtly asking them something?”

“Hmm.”

It was a method that, if it matched the situation, would be fitting for someone like the shy Siyeon who had just started using a chat app.

A one-on-one chat suddenly coming from Santa Claus.

If innocence and childlike wonder were still alive, it could definitely work.

Of course, logically, it didn’t make sense.

I remembered reading somewhere that if Santa Claus existed and wanted to deliver gifts to all the children in the world in one day, he would have to fly 26,000 meters per second.

At that speed, when would he have time for chatting?

I thought it was a good idea, but at the same time, reasonable doubts kept emerging in my mind.

“Does Santa even chat in Korean?”

“Eh, what’s the big deal with that?”

“That’s true.”

The bear cub dismissed my reasonable doubt. After all, if I were already doubting it at this point, the plan would be doomed.

Instead of shattering the illusion when seeing the family putting toys in the Santa socks by my bed…

It would be better to realize it later, through reasonable doubt.

Following the bear cub’s suggestion, I immediately created a fake account on the chat app, downloaded a random image of a Santa Claus from the internet, and set it as the profile picture.

No matter how I thought about it, it didn’t seem right, but I went ahead and named the account ‘Santa Grandpa.’

Which grandparent would put ‘grandpa’ in their own nickname, right?

But this awkwardness was also part of the childlike wonder.

What should I say first?

How should I phrase it so that it feels warm and kind, like a plump Santa Grandpa, and trick him successfully?

I erased the first line I typed, ‘Hello,’ because it didn’t feel right for Santa to sound so stiff.

After much thought and retyping, I finally sent the first message.

[Siyeon, this is Santa Grandpa.]