Chapter 70 : Magical Girls, Diets, and the Troublesome Mascot

From a familiar older sister emanates a strangely unfamiliar talent for crime.

Meanwhile, weekends drift by with no particular destination—just lying on the floor at home, fiddling with a smartphone.

It’s already been two years since the magical girl gatherings stopped happening.

Around the early stages of the pandemic, when the “no gatherings of more than five people” rule was introduced, any plans for new magical girl meetups or anything of the sort faded away completely.

People talked about how vaccines were useless or how some country supposedly achieved herd immunity.

Living in such a vague, uncertain state for so long, masks were now exchanged haphazardly, if at all.

If I get sick, then I get sick. If not, then whatever…

As that mindset spread among most people in society, naturally, the “no gatherings of more than five people” and social distancing policies became little more than hollow gestures in name only.

“What should we eat for lunch, Siyeon?”

“Hmm… Kimbap!”

Siyeon, sitting in front of the computer, responded without taking her eyes off the screen.

Lately, Siyeon’s main interest was computer games.

She especially enjoyed playing a few casual mobile games on her computer.

Why play games on a computer when you can just play them on a smartphone?

It’s a sentiment old-timers like me can’t quite grasp.

As for me, I’ve recently gravitated away from competitive RPGs that are all about grinding and winning. Instead, I enjoy relaxed games like farming simulation and healing management games.

Since I’ve turned away from collecting games and RPGs, I don’t feel the need to be glued to the computer anymore. Naturally, the computer has become Siyeon’s territory.

I’m not sure why the games I used to find so fun suddenly stopped being enjoyable. At some point, I just drifted away from them.

“I’m back~”

With the mechanical chime of the door lock, my older sister Ji-eun entered the house.

As if I’d been waiting for her, I rolled over from where I was lying in the middle of the carpet and directed my gaze down the long hallway as she entered.

“We were thinking of ordering kimbap. What would you like to eat?”

“Just eat without me. I’m on a diet…”

But the response from her was that she was dieting, as always. She pulled a small, familiar handbag from her side and took out a plastic container.

Inside, as usual, were things that looked completely unappetizing—greenish vegetables and cherry tomatoes.

Calories are the power of taste, and to live a life limiting them…

I looked at that plastic container with pity, but Ji-eun, munching on some cabbage as if she’d found inner peace, opened it and said,

“Ever since I stopped being a magical girl, I’ve been gaining weight like crazy. Be careful, you two…”

“…Okay.”

That defeated look on her face.

For some reason, it didn’t feel like someone else’s problem. While still touching my relatively normal stomach, I replied.

Pinching a little bit between my thumb and index finger—a soft layer that barely surpassed the fingers.

Somewhere on the internet, I’d read that women are biologically more prone to gaining weight than men.

“I’m still fine, right?”

As I was worrying about my figure, Ji-eun continued crunching away on her cabbage and suddenly asked me a question mid-bite.

“Oh, right. You know the meetups are starting again this year, right?”

“What?”

‘What is she talking about now?’

Surprised by the sudden news of the gatherings resuming, I let out a short gasp.

I turned to Siyeon—the bear who should’ve told me about this earlier—with a startled look.

“Ah, I totally forgot.”

The moment I made eye contact with the one munching on potato chips, they paused their crunching and spoke, having been listening to the conversation this whole time.

I immediately stood up and grabbed the head of the stuffed toy that had been lounging on a cushion.

With a crunch of crumbs and the desperate screams of the doll echoing through the air:

“Ahhhhhh!”

“When will you actually behave for once, huh?”

After launching the bear into the air like a soccer ball, I delivered a rough soccer kick, sending it thudding against the wall.

This sort of thing had become part of daily life now.

Back in first grade, Siyeon would’ve tried to stop me, but now she just clung to her computer, paying no attention.

Ji-eun, who used to be uneasy at the sight of me whaling on our “mascot” during the early days of our friendship, now fiddled with her smartphone and continued eating her salad without batting an eye.

Well, both of them know by now that this little bear deserves the beatings it gets.

After thoroughly smacking the bear until it spat out all the potato chips it had eaten, I finally asked the question I’d been meaning to ask.

“The date?”

“Urgh… next Saturday… ma’am.”

Clutching its stomach, the bear managed a short reply while spewing out a pile of potato chips.

After hearing the answer, I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and began sweeping up the scattered crumbs on the floor.

The vacuum whirred loudly as it sucked up the debris, the crackling sound of chips being devoured by the machine overlapping with the hum.

Once the vacuum, having roared at full volume, finished cleaning the floor and leaned against the wall to rest, the doorbell rang as if on cue.

It must be the food delivery I ordered through the app.

I realized, as I reached for the doorknob without needing to stand on tiptoes anymore, how much I’d grown.

“Enjoy your meal!”

“Thank youuu.”

Taking the bag from the delivery guy who, unusually, was waiting by the door, I returned inside with a “thank you” and a bow.

The moment I grabbed the bag, the rich aroma of tteokbokki and fried snacks hit me.

Kimbap goes with street food, street food means tteokbokki, and tteokbokki is incomplete without fried snacks.

As for soondae? I left it out since Siyeon doesn’t like it.

In our house, the only tables were a computer desk and a low table that doubled as both a desk and a dining table.

“Ughhhhh…!”

As I set the bag of delivery food down in front of Ji-eun’s salad, the aroma wafted over, and her expression turned painfully conflicted.

But this was the only place in the house where we could eat together.

Feeling a bit guilty, I pulled out a neatly foil-wrapped roll of kimbap and offered it to her.

“Kimbap’s okay, right?”

Without the kimbap ham or egg, it’s practically a health food that even vegans could eat.

Korea’s great that way—you can make plenty of tasty food with just greens. Vegan-friendly versions of pajeon, noodles, tofu dishes, and so on.

But Ji-eun firmly refused, saying,

“Carbs… I can’t have carbs….”

Her tightly pressed lips and pitiful chopstick movements were almost heartbreaking.

On the other hand, Siyeon, who was far from worrying about dieting, finished her game on the computer, kicked back her chair, and plopped herself right down in front of the delivery food, completely ignoring Ji-eun’s diet struggles.

Got it.

As the envelope opened, the intense aroma of spicy tteokbokki and the greasy scent of fried food wafted through the air.

Alongside them, though it didn’t have a strong smell, there was gimbap packed full of vibrant and colorful ingredients.

In the end, Ji-eun unnie silently got up, picked up the airtight container with her salad, and escaped to the second floor.

Finding her behavior odd, Si-yeon innocently asked, without any ill intentions,

“Why isn’t unnie eating?”

“She’s on a diet. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

“Okay.”

At an age where neither Si-yeon nor I had to worry about diets or gaining weight yet, I wondered:

One day, will we also come to understand the misery Ji-eun unnie feels?

As I picked up a neatly sliced piece of gimbap with my chopsticks and ate it, I glanced toward Ji-eun unnie, chewing her salad upstairs, and thought about that.

Compared to freshman year, when even one or two delivery orders would leave leftovers, by our senior year, the amount we ate had noticeably increased.

Slowly but surely, a shadow of unease crept in, as if worried we wouldn’t get our fair share.

Even the mascots, who used to take care of the leftovers, now grumbled that there wasn’t anything left when delivery food came in.

“Will there be any leftovers?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Aw, come on…”

Looking at the dwindling portions of food, I firmly stated my thoughts.

Of course, Si-yeon’s mascot behaved quietly and without complaint, but the bear cub mascot was the real issue.

Even though it could survive without eating, this creature had recently started joining us at meals for no apparent reason—even on ordinary days.

Lately, I feel like even scolding it doesn’t make any difference.

“I even bought you snacks, so what’s your problem?”

Nearby, a mountain of snacks piled up around the cushion.

It was an act of generosity to offer something to eat to mascots who didn’t even need to eat.

Yet the bear waved its hand dismissively and spoke with a sulky tone.

“I just threw up everything earlier! And how can a person live on snacks alone?”

“Person? What are you even talking about?”

Looking at this moving plush toy, who had the audacity to argue about how a person couldn’t live on snacks, I considered giving it a good kick.

But instead, I argued back.

The saying “kindness will be mistaken for entitlement” seemed to perfectly describe this situation.

The sheer audacity and shamelessness left me dumbfounded.

I turned my head toward the second floor, shouting out loud.

“Unnie, is there no system to replace mascots?!”

“Unfortunately, no.”

The response that came back was a definitive “no.”

Hearing that, the bear became even more smug, placing its hands on its hips and puffing out its chest with pride.

“Not a chance, nope! Ahhh, nope nope nope!”

Where did it even pick up this bizarre internet meme it was now chanting?

In the end, for the first time in years, I decided to prove my frustration by ripping its neck off.

I swore to myself that I would never summon it again. Cry out in despair, you little thing! Feel the grip of hell!

“RAAAAAARGH!!!”