Chapter 5: Liar

“Haah… Haah… Haah…”

My hands are cold. My chest hurts.

Ah.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t right.

[Sanguine Obsidia!]

No. No.

[What the hell did you do?]

I didn’t do anything.

[You said you’d live normally, like an ordinary magical girl!]

I didn’t kill anyone.

She didn’t die.

[You tried to kill her. Even if she managed to run away in the end!]

That wasn’t me.

I’m normal. I’m always rational. Always logical.

Then why… why did I do that?

Humanity?

Magical girl?

Normal life?

There’s no way I could ever find something like that now.

“Ha… hahaha…”

What a joke.

I thought the long, endless night had finally lifted, that a faint ray of light was peeking through— but it was just the dying ember on a candlewick.

There’s no going back to the sunlight.

The disgusting tumor lodged in my chest has devoured me.

I thought I could return to a normal life.

To the life I had before I met that damned ghost.

A past where I hadn’t killed anyone, where I was just an ordinary human.

But it was all a one-night dream.

I killed more than ten people in a single moment.

I was drunk on their deaths and intoxicated with arrogance.

It’s far too late to turn back.

And yet, I still believed something could change.

The foolish, fragile human brain… Eventually, hurting and killing people becomes a habit.

A habit that can never be cured.

That girl did come back alive.

So if I meet her again— If I meet Rosa Alyssa again… Will I kill her then?

It’s all because of this tumor.

I never wanted it.

But it latched onto me, a monster forcing murder upon me.

Kill people or let them die.

Those were the only choices I had.

You know that, right, Spooky? One year ago—you brought me that contract.

You didn’t know, but this tumor—this grotesque lump of hatred and murderous impulse—was waiting for me.

If only I had another personality, or if I had been mind-controlled, or if my memories were manipulated,

If I had killed people for such trivial reasons— That would’ve been easier.

If I could confidently say, “It’s not my fault”—how nice would that be?

But it’s all my fault.

This disgusting tumor feeds me hatred, rage, bloodlust.

It’s just a lump of flesh stuck in my chest—no intelligence, no conversation, no movement.

But it rots away my will, my morals, my sense of value.

Even my soul, emptied a year ago, is being devoured.

[Obsidia.]

There goes that ghost, spouting nonsense again.

Spare me the delusions.

[You clearly attacked that girl of your own free will.]

There’s no way I would willingly try to kill someone.

Don’t blame me.

That wasn’t really my choice.

[…Whether you were coerced or possessed, you were the one who acted. It was your will.]

That’s not true.

It’s nonsense.

I refuse to accept that.

A ragged scrap of stitched-up garbage has the nerve to act like some moral saint.

What do you know about my will?

My feelings?

Your body is so tiny I doubt it could even house something like that.

If this cursed tumor attached itself to you, do you really think you could keep up that righteous schoolteacher act?

Just shut up. You’re my mascot.

You’re supposed to understand me.

You’re my partner.

So shut your worthless mouth.

Suddenly, I felt empty.

Thud.

My body lost all strength and I collapsed.

It hurts. It hurts so much.

Yeah, Spooky. You were right. I am Sanguine Obsidia— A murderer.

I haven’t killed anyone yet tonight.

I have to kill someone.

So the thing buried in my chest won’t wake up.

So that the furnace of Moloch, which always demands a sacrifice, won’t go empty.

I see a human figure.

Someone walking alone near the park at this late hour.

Someone whose death wouldn’t raise suspicion.

The impulse spreads from my chest through my whole body and tells me: kill.

Goodbye, nameless person.

The smell of blood spreads. The impulse fades. The pain in my chest disappears.

I feel better.

I’m hopeless.

“I’m sick of it.”

No one answered.

The smell of disinfectant settled thickly in the air, mixing with the stale atmosphere.

But the hospital room was large enough for a girl to rest comfortably.

A short-haired girl with light violet hair sat at a table, her chin resting on her arms.

The chair was pulled close.

Her name was Yu Ji-hye—President of the Magical Girl Association.

“Wizard in Violet.”

One of her eyes gleamed purple, the other yellow.

Her sharp gaze was fixed on the bed, where a girl with drooping shoulders and gloomy blue hair sat—Glessia Azur.

“Sister…”

“What matters is what exactly happened. That’s all.” She emphasized every word.

“As you know, that monster’s been wandering around the country for the past half-year, killing random people like some senseless murderer. Even caused incidents overseas. The other day, you caught her trying to kill a vagrant.”

“Yes… That’s right.”

“The problem is what happened after that.”

Sanguine Obsidia actively spoke to the police and magical girls, engaging in the fight as if she was enjoying it.

Yu Ji-hye recalled the incident from six months ago.

The lights were out in the Magical Girl Association’s HQ.

It was late at night, and she’d stayed behind in the chairman’s office to sort documents.

Then, without warning, a pitch-black blade came at her from behind.

Sanguine Obsidia had the same face as now—but looked worn down and silent.

No needless provocation.

No exaggerated gestures.

She came in silently, as if all she cared about was assassinating the president.

And the moment the situation turned against her, she escaped by spiritualizing her body without a hint of hesitation.

From that day on, Sanguine Obsidia became noticeably passive.

Reviewing the records from the last six months: Obsidia rarely spoke while killing or fighting magical girls.

She never provoked.

Just quietly disappeared after killing one person per day on average.

“There’s a disconnect. Like she’s a different person.”

“Should you really say that in front of a patient?”

The one who brought in two steaming cups of coffee was a magical girl with grey hair tied up and a white coat.

Her name tag read: ‘Medical Director Kim Hyeonjeong – Surgeon.’

Steam fogged up her round glasses despite spring having already passed.

Still, she walked in confidently, seemingly unaffected.

“What about drinking coffee in front of a patient?”

“I’m fine, really…” Glessia, now visibly timid, fiddled with her fingers.

“She says she’s fine. It’s a private room anyway.”

“Ha.”

Blanc shamelessly sipped her coffee. She was the attending physician and chief administrator of the Association’s affiliated hospital. If she wanted coffee, there was no stopping her.

“Well, if she’s okay, I’ll continue.”

Blanc nodded. Violet shook her head in disbelief but carried on.

“As I said, she laid low for about six months, avoiding the authorities.

Not even a single sighting for the past week.

Then suddenly she shows up—and despite being ambushed, she goes all-in on the fight.”

There’s no video footage, but based on the testimonies of Glessia, Materia, Argente, and surviving police officers, it had clearly been a fierce battle.

If it were the usual Obsidia, she would’ve fled. No question.

“It really was strange. I fought her once before. She was ice cold and expressionless. Terrifying.”

Glessia rubbed her left shoulder.

It had been surgically reattached, but there was still an eerie sense of loss.

“So, as a doctor, what do you think?”

“No idea.”

Blanc cut her off bluntly.

“I’m a surgeon. Never met the girl. I can’t offer a psychiatric opinion. But if I had to say, maybe it’s a change of mindset. Or a worsening mental illness. Could be a psychopath, or someone with a different goal now. Maybe she has bipolar disorder and showed up during a manic phase.”

Bottom line: “I don’t know.”

Blanc tugged on Violet’s sleeve.

“Excuse us for a moment, Glessia.”

“Yes, doctor. Thank you.”

I’m just her sister… and she’s ‘doctor’?

Not fair. Violet muttered as she was dragged away.

“…It’s about Rosa Alyssa, right?”

“Yeah. If Glessia heard another girl got hurt, she’d feel terrible. And you probably have something to tell me.”

“How is she?”

“Physically recovered. Emotionally… we’ll see.”

Late at night, well past midnight, a popular new mascot with rabbit-like features—Viscount Lapin Mercurius—had knocked on the hospital door.

Floating behind him, ghostly pale and bleeding from her abdomen, was Rosa Alyssa.

Lapin had used just enough power to avoid violating mascot laws, and passed out the moment Alyssa was taken in.

“She saved her life, sent her back, and was ambushed the second her back was turned.”

“That’s a first.”

“Did she want to play the good guy? Or convince herself she was one? We’ll find out once we catch and interrogate her.”

“Well, I finally got approval from the old men on the committee.”

Violet clenched her fist.

The incident had made headlines, disgracing the Association and police.

The dead officers and Magical Girl Graurum would be honored as heroes. Glessia would be cleared of all command responsibility.

After all, it was just that Sanguine Obsidia was too powerful a villain.

The Association’s reputation had to be protected.

But the public wanted justice.

Death to the witch.

“We’ll announce it next week: we’re forming a special team to capture her. A unit with extralegal powers.”

She swore firmly:

“This time, she won’t escape.”

My hair’s black again, my clothes are normal.

I must’ve returned to my usual self, same as always.

Habit.

Damned habit.

[Are you okay?]

You really call yourself a mascot?

You’re useless.

Who do you think you’re worrying about?

My head hurts.

I shouldn’t think.

What can I do?

The spirit realm is an evil corporation.

Even if the customer demands a refund on their mascot, they just ignore it.

Still, the pain and impulses have settled. That’s a relief.

A cold sweat drenches my body.

Maybe a shower will help.

I enter my familiar apartment building.

The elevator doesn’t work, so I take the stairs.

– Hello! You weren’t home again today, so I left this note. We made nutrition cookies at work today, and I had some ingredients left, so I baked a bunch. I brought a few for you. Please don’t feel pressured. Feel free to reply or stop by anytime.

Your close neighbor.

P.S. My name is Ahn Yujin. If you’re okay with it, please tell me your name next time!

A plastic bag hung heavily on the doorknob.

A note inside—written in a stranger’s warm tone.

It hurts.

I don’t deserve this.

I’m hungry.

Even now, I can’t resist my instincts.

I took the bag and stepped inside.

Thankfully, no sound from next door.

I don’t want anyone to see me like this.

The faint warmth of the cookie crept into my hands.

My heart fluttered.

The ember on the candle flickered—ready to go out, but still clinging to life.

Maybe this time.

Maybe this time, I’ll get to live just a sliver of a normal life.