"Listen, no offense, but your kid is a pain in all seven of my necks. I miss the days when great warriors were a dime a dozen, and only the bravest would take on my mantle. I'd pick anyone else. I'd take you over her." The Paragon of Purity paused in a way that made it less clear if this was more an offer or a joke.

"I'm an accountant," Mr. Yukifumi replied flatly.

"Yeah, but you are also confident. I wouldn't need to give you weekly pep talks to help you overcome your fears, ignore relationship drama, and actually beat the world-ending threat. Weekly!"

"Yeah, that sounds like my girl," he sighed. "Why can't you pick someone else?"

"The blasted gem. I need someone pure of heart and soul. They have to accept it. And the gem can't be removed without the current holder being tainted in some way."

"Huh? Guess I should be proud."

"Oh, get off your high horse and corrupt your kid somehow. I want a new champion, and you want your kid home safe."

"Hmm. You know, you mentioned the whole confidence issue. Sumiye's actually been doing a lot better about that lately. She even tried out for a solo in the choir. She didn't get it, but she tried. That's huge for."

"Oh no, please don't do this to me."

"And you've been pretty rude here. Sounds like you could use some lessons in patience."

"I loathe you."

"Someday, you'll thank me for this. I think we'll leave things the way they are, for now. But if you're disrupting her life, I expect you to help with her homework."

"Say what?"

"You heard me. Now, I have to go mow the lawn." And with that, he left the pocket dimension.

The Paragon stewed for a moment, then said to himself, "I guess it could be worse. He could have the gem."

Just then, Sumiye burst in, crying, "Pai-pai, Kenta saw me trip in the cafeteria. He laughed at me."

"First, don't call me Pai-pai. Second, was it funny?"

"I fell face first into mashed potatoes."

"Hilarious. Don't take the laughs personally. People would laugh no matter who that happened to. Now, let's see about your homework."

"My homework?"

"Yeah, suffice to say, your dad is kinda scary."

"... what?" Mr Takada asked.

"What you hear. I am bound to a specific bloodline, your late wife's" Sumineko, the Patron of Healing, had said. "And your daughter has no remaining relatives on that side. Akumatsu made sure of it"

"So, Akumatsu... what did he do? Send monsters after them?" Mr Takada asked. "Sumire-san died because of a sickness..."

"Akumatsu sent a plague over the bloodline that only wielding me can ward them against. Ai-chan is infected, but she wields me and thus she is not affected by it" Sumineko said. "She wants to avenge her mom and her other relatives, and I would choose you if I could..."

"Why me? I don't have Sumire-san's blood" Mr Takada said.

"Because you're Ai's dad, and thus technically count as close family. But I wouldn't be able to choose you anyways, because Ai would die if she gave up on me and if she died you wouldn't be eligible anymore" Sumineko said.

"You could've just said the first thing" Mr Takada said. "So... what should I do?"

"There are other Magical Patrons that are not bound by bloodlines and don't have users either. The Patron of Time is one of them. Only a person with a strong will can wield them, but your will is strong enough if you got through so much trouble to find me and save your daughter"

"About that..." Mr Takada lowered his head, apollogetic. "I'm sorry I threw you into the washing machine. I didn't know you would be this reasonable"

"So you were happy with throwing me in there if I was a sociopath happy with endangering your daughter?!" Sumineko asked.

Mr Takada couldn't help but nod.

"I have a lot of questions."

"I bet you do."

I rubbed my face and tried to collect my thoughts. "First off," I asked while trying to stay calm, "does your "chosen warrior" have to be a teenage girl?"

The cat...fox...creature shuffled around a bit before replying, "Well, no, but-".

"Then WHY HER?!"

"BECAUSE I HAD NO OTHER CHOICE, DAMMIT!"

"YOU HAD NO OTHER CHOICE BUT A TEENAGER?!"

The two of us stared daggers at each other for what felt like forever until it finally spoke up again. "Normally, we would gather the greatest warriors from across the land and put them through various trials to see who among them were worthy to receive our blessings. But that was centuries ago, and now..."

"Welcome to the modern world," I fired back.

The creature seemed to ignore my remark and continued. "Between the urgency of the situation and my unfamiliarity with the 'modern world' as you put it, I was at a loss - where would I even begin my search for a champion, much less find one so quickly?"

"So you just picked some random person off the street?"

The beast leapt onto a nearby table and stared me down. "Do you know how your daughter and I first met?" he replied. "She came to rescue me from thugs possessed by the dark powers I've sworn to fight against. Well, tried to, at least.

"I didn't want to choose her, truly - too young, too reckless, too eager to use underhanded tactics. But she was a damn sight more noble and worthy than those men and women that claim to be 'defenders of the peace'."

"You mean the police?" I asked. "Cause yeah, they're a mixed bag at best."

The creature jumped down and paced around. "So there's your answer," it concluded. "She was my only option given the circumstances."

As if on cue, the front door option and Jessica walked in, looking so exhausted that she was ready to collapse at any moment. She muttered something under her breath when she caught sight of us and stopped. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" she weakly asked.

"No, but we need to talk."

"Oh, here we go again," I said, as yet another goddamn middle-aged Japanese man came storming into my office. "Hello," I said. "Welcome to the Osaka Branch of the Heavenly Love Warrior Office. My name is Ker-"

"You fucking monster!" the fat ugly bastard shouted. He got up all in my face and pointed his finger at my nose. "How DARE you recruit my daughter to fight your wars! Why, if I had a gun I'd. . ."

"Oh, FUCK OFF!" I snarled back. "You think I like it any better? Listening to helium-voiced little Japanese girls going 'kyaa!' and 'mouuuuu' and whining about how fighting monsters is going to ruin their date with some mealy-mouthed preteen boy with a mashed-potato sandwich personality? But if you haven't noticed, you self-righteous prick, THIS IS A MAGICAL GIRL UNIVERSE!"

The fat old fuck immediately recoiled in shock, the world behind him turning jet black with a single line of light slashing through it. "GAAACK!" he gasped. "I never THOUGHT OF THAT!"

"Well, you SHOULD have! Like it or not, we are NOT the main characters here! Your daughter. . . who is your daughter, again?"

"K-kumiko Nakagawa," the old fucker sweated.

"Ah. Magical Love Archer Cutie Sweet Cupid. She's fantastic, by the way. . . ANYWAY! This is NOT about you being protective of your daughter. This is NOT about me supposedly 'needing warriors' to fight against monsters from the Hate Dimensions. What this is about is Kumiko. This is her journey of growth and discovery. HER allegory for the struggles and tribulations of growing from girlhood into adulthood. And you are NOT going to ruin that for her by being overprotective, just as you HAVE been since her mother passed away!"

"She's fighting MONSTERS!" the bald fuck whined.

"And she's KICKING THEIR ASSES!" I pointed out. "She's gaining confidence in her ability to stand up for herself and face her fears. You and I might prefer if she never had to do that, but given that this is a magical girl series, she's gonna fight monsters, and she's doing an excellent job of it." I glared at him over the tops of my magical glasses. "And don't think you're gonna get away with buying a gun and fighting the demons yourself or some shit. Hate Dimension Demons can only be defeated by the True Light of Love from the Sweet Cupid Arrow Strike."

"She's my daughter," the old man complained. "I worry about her."

"Then why the fuck aren't you talking to her about this? You know, the way a real parent would? Supporting her through her struggles, listening to her problems, being there when she needs you? But no. You have to go and lash out like some big macho man without considering her feelings first. Dick."

Kumiko's dad sweated silently for a moment. "Does she HAVE to wear that short skirt?" he asked plaintively.

"Magical Love Archer Cutie Sweet Cupid's outfit is a reflection of what she views as maturity and power. Which in your daughter's case, does happen to be a short skirt, similar to one worn by the pop idols and music stars she idolizes. I know that doesn't reflect well on how our culture views female maturity, but I'm just here to defeat the Hate Dimensions, not undo thousands of years of cultural baggage."

The bald guy stood up and walked to the door of my office. He paused with one hand on the door. "You're not some intergalactic monster who's secretly harvesting my daughter's misery for power, are you?"

". . . No. Get out."

He did. I buried my face in my hands. "Fucking Kyuubey ruining this shit for the rest of us. . . Old fashioned, wholesome magical girl agencies can't do shit these days." I sighed.

"Squeaky, stay still so I can kill you!"

The giant purple furred hamster dodged another empty bottle, shattering against the wall with supernatural force. Squeaky usually wasn't too athletic, but it knew a life and death situation when it saw one.

"Wait, Mrs. Yamada, please listen! I had no choice!"

Junko Yamada, formerly Princess Protector Sapphire many years prior, ignored the creature's pathetic begging. Maybe next time it would consider the consequences of its actions, before roping another twelve year old girl into fighting some world ending disaster. If it lived through the next ten minutes, anyway.

"Mom, no! Squeaky is my friend!"

Jumping between her mother and the cowering hamster, Mimi Yamada (name in magical identity presently unknown) spread her arms out defensively. Junko froze mid-air, moments before impact.

"Mimi, honey," Junko said delicately, "just give Mommy a second here, okay? Me and Mr. Squeaky just have some important, grown up matters to discuss."

Belatedly, Junko lowered her fist, though only an inch or two, as her feet touched down once more on the living room carpet. Most of the furniture had been upturned by now, but Squeaky was running out of hiding spots. And it looked like the little bastard was quite aware of this, from how it timidly peeked out from behind Mimi's leg.

"Please, Mrs. Yamada," Squeaky said, voice quivering, "I swear, if there were any other option—I wouldn't have risked upsetting you of all people like this!"

That was a lot more believable than Junko wanted to admit. Pathetically, openly self-serving? Of course. Way too honest? Perhaps. But Junko had known Squeaky long enough to be certain it was too terrified to lie right now.

"That's ridiculous," Junko insisted, though she had a sinking feeling that "ridiculous" and magical girls often went hand in hand. "You told me yourself, any daughter of a magical girl can use the Staff! Why did it have to be Mimi?"

"Well... yes," Squeaky admitted, nodding along nervously. "It's just, um, well you see—"

Junko raised up a foot threateningly, dangling it right over Squeaky's head.

"Just spit it out already, you damn rodent!"

"Mimi is the only one!" Squeaky cried out, waving its tiny paws frantically. "There aren't any other daughters the right age! ...Or at all, really."

"Eh?"

This was enough to give Junko pause, if only from the unexpected angle. She didn't lower her foot, not quite ready to back down nor follow through. It wouldn't hurt to at least hear Squeaky out, she supposed.

"There's no way that's true," Junko said, a little less confident than she wished she could be. "There were dozens of magical girls my age alone—I met most of them, over the years. There must be at least a hundred old enough to be raising children, if not more! How could Mimi possibly be the only one?"

Squeaky cautiously backed away from Junko's foot, coming around to the other side of Mimi's leg. The girl in question looked nearly as nervous as Squeaky, eyes darting between her mother and her strange magical companion.

"Um... Mom?" Mimi said, at last finding her voice now that Squeaky's life didn't seem in immediate danger. "H-How many of your former teammates would you say are, um... married?"

"Huh?" Junko's head raised up from the floor, carelessly stomping down where Squeaky had been standing just moments prior. "At least a few? Yuyu and Kimiko were basically together from the start, and then Reina ended up with that other girl from—Oh... oh no."

Panic starting to set in, Junko mentally reviewed every magical girl she had ever met in any setting more casual than imminent doom. One of them had to have a husband, right? Any of them...?

"There, there, Mom," Mimi patted her shoulder awkwardly. "It's okay, I know you love Daddy a whole lot. There's nothing wrong with liking men!"

Trying not to curse her entire generation of magical girls, Junko took several deep breaths. There was nothing wrong with liking women either, of course. But did it really have to be all of them? Everyone but Junko?

"Also, um," Mimi started, pulling back a little, holding her arms against herself nervously. "Would this be a bad time to mention I kissed one of my teammates last night?"

Junko nearly shouted something. Anything. But then she thought better of it, and simply let out a sigh.

At least her adoptive grandchildren wouldn't be in any danger of this.

They say that you never imagine something bad could happen to you until it does. Whether that be a natural disaster, a terminal illness diagnosis, or a violent crime. I had been proven wrong that day, as many others in the past have, but nothing could prepare me for the purpose behind it all. Magical Girls had been long known to exist, of course. Watching one fight a giant monster on the news is one thing. Being there to witness it is another. But to not only be there, not only watch it unfold both in real time and on the nightly news, seeing your own face on the cameras... But to be the mother of one of them. To know that for the past month, she had been running around risking her life under an assumed alter ego...

Her Guardian Angel, her patron, Lasciencia, stood before me and spoke, "Yes. She is one of the Divine Children. The only one. Surely you noticed?"

I did. "Divine Children". What a joke. They were disappearing, some being found dead all over the world. Some are still missing. I replied, "Yes." as flatly as I could manage with my rage still soaring higher than Icarus.

"Then you understand." she had the gall to insist.

At that point, I stood up, no longer capable of holding back, "Understand!? You could have chosen anyone, but you chose a girl just entering adulthood, with a loving family and everything to lose, to go die in a ditch without telling anybody!? Without even asking!? How can you call yourself an angel!?"

But she had the patience of a saint to wait me out before answering as if nothing was wrong, "We do not recruit them to die. Before now, many would live long and fulfilling lives. Our powers are more than enough to protect them."

"Then why are they all dead!?" I spat back, intent on cornering her.

She quietly sipped from her porcelain teacup before answering, "The situation has changed."

At that point, I couldn't imagine a circumstance that could lead to such a drastic turn of events, "How!? You could have chosen any adult if you were truly so desperate! A soldier, an officer, an athlete, and yet... Why a child!? Do you---"

Though she did not yell, she firmly interrupted me; uncharacteristic of her usual propriety, "Do you really believe we would have chosen a child had we the option otherwise?"

In my anger, she had me. I couldn't formulate a proper response then, so she continued with an ominous phrase, "I am the last guardian angel alive."

I sat down, not only from the shock of such an unbelievable statement, but to imagine how such a thing could possibly be true. I could only mutter, "How?"

She took no pity on my state, and only stated the facts of the matter, "I am the last of the earthly guardian angels. Our kind were methodically wiped out in a matter of years. I only managed to escape extermination by a miracle, and in my helpless state, I could only receive your daughter's help."

She got up, hovered over to the open window, and stared at something in the middle distance, "She believe I was a shooting star. An object of fate, crashed into earth from the heavens. In a sense, she was not wrong. At the time, the only chance I had to survive was to be in her care. To give her the halo and trust her with the power to heal. She saved my life."

She turned back around. Outside the window, I reminisced about the meteor shower that was predicted just weeks before. I had wondered why she didn't come home that night, and why she acted strange the day after. But I suppose it all made sense. I could at least visualize the event. It would certainly be just like her to want to help a fallen angel.

That angel came to my side once again and continued her monologue in my silence, disregarding if I could handle any more of it, "It is not I who chose your daughter."

At that, I was at least slightly offended. But I was beginning to understand, those thoughts clicking into place like puzzle pieces upon her next words: "No, she chose herself. What qualifies a divine child above all else is the strength of their conviction. Not their physical ability or wit, but the resolve. Their Love, their Joy, their Hope, and their Determination. She had all of those in spades. I was powerless in her wake, as I still am."

It is at that point I realized, and it seems that she noticed, "I take it you know what you must do, now?"

I nodded painfully, "Is there nothing I can do?"

"Unless you can turn the hands of fate itself and bend her will to your own, no. And given what I see of your potential..." she began to uncomfortably probe my mind with her unnaturally shaped eyes "...you do not possess a superior emotional strength."

A feeling of helplessness washed over me. Not unlike that which I assume the angel felt when they crashed into earth. How could I possibly convince a 17 year old girl to give up unspeakable magical powers fueled by their hormone-addled emotions? No mind, no matter how logical or tactical, could hope to do that. And even then...

"Is this really a bad thing?" I asked, entering the acceptance stage of grief.

"That is a question only you can answer." she replied.

Poignant, is all I could think of at that moment. Even now, I do not know the answer to that question. But what I do know, is that the next answer she would give me would chill me to my core.

A time had passed before I finally asked, "Why did they all disappear? Why are you the last one? Why her?" all at once, as if I had not already asked, or perhaps as if I could not believe what I knew.

The angel looked troubled. "Do you recall the demons?" she asked, seemingly unrelated to my question.

Of course I knew. They had attacked cities before. They were now.

"The demons were thought to have been eradicated completely." she said.

I could only stare at her for a moment. "...But they're here! I saw one---"

She interrupted me again, "That was not a demon. It was the memory of one. A shadow. A resurrected zombie. The coalesced rage of their ancestors. No..."

I had more questions posed than answered. She stood up again and turned away, unable to make eye contact as she continued, "But there is one."

"One?" I asked, not sure if I even wanted to know at this point.

"Yes. There exists one demon left. One demon... and one key to the gates of the divine realm."

It is then that I finally realized what the stakes were. At the very least, I wanted to know... "Who?"

She did not turn to me. She did not move or speak for a solid minute. Then, a deafening explosion shook both of our hearts from outside, when she finally answered.

"The Godslayer."

Mystics are the norm in this world.

Every so often a fantastical threat descends upon the world, and a band of heroes rise up against it. Every time the heroes would win, but usually at some "Cost". Be it one of the heroes dying or losing a limb, or the threat manages to deal some such sufficient damage. Either way, it literally always plays the same, and over the years, people realized that it was completely invariable... except for the "cost" part.

Around 1850, Gurrug Molank ended up paying the smallest cost in history. After defeating his threat, all that was costed was his pinky toe. From this point on people started to realize that these costs could actually be minimized depending on the person. And so the Mystic Association of Gurrug International Congregations (or MAGIC) was founded in order to seek out heroes who were calculated to have the lowest dollar rate costs per threat.

Now obviously this sounds impossible. How do you calculate who has the lowest costs? Well there are a number of factors, such as physical stamina, mental skills, and magical prowess, and to be fair the program didn't actually help much until 1972, when Kullull Malgoon discovered a mystic artifact that could detect, and measure peoples "Attunements".

I won't get into it, but basically "Attunements" are a person's level of magic in any particular field. Turns out there's a direct correlation between a person's attunement, and the cost of defeating a threat. If a persons attunement to a particular field is higher, and the attunement of the threat is weak against that persons field, then their costs will be minimized. (Think of it like a level 100 charizard having an advantage over a level 1 Bulbasaur.)

From that point on, world governments replicated that artifact, and have found the optimal candidate for these threats every time. The costs are practically non-existent anymore, and the heroes always end up succeeding with minimal hardship.

The problem is now that it's a beurocracy, there are lots of new "Problems" that arise with selecting a candidate. For instance, a lot of big-name brands like to put the face of the latest hero on their products. Well for that the hero needs to give the rights to their likeness. Turns out a lot of heroes aren't business savvy, and end up getting screwed over. So MAGIC started assigning them lawyers. Then turns out being one of these laywers is a pretty lucrative position, so there's a lot of competition to be one. Well then they needed a refined vetting process for the laywers. What about the hero themself? they need their expenses handled while they're off saving the world. So a new fund was set up to help the heroes with expenses. This means higher taxes for countries that pay into MAGIC. Then some countries may not want to pay into MAGIC, so they don't get protected by it anymore.

And now you see why it's an issue. MAGIC is at the center of a huge political debate pretty much all the time. Some arguing that the heroes should just be sent off to fight with no compensation since they're already predestined to win. Others saying it isn't right to force someone to be a hero without compensation, comparing it to slave labour. Some arguing the heroes should be left to their own affairs after and not given legal help. Others saying it isn't fair to be a public figure without knowing what it means for them.

Yet by far the biggest issue always ends up coming to the heroes themselves. All this political and social pressure gets to their heads, and while they may not end up with a "cost" for the threat, they absolutely get one for simply being a hero in the first place.

There are groups that either hate or love the heroes. If you thought being a celebrity was bad, being hero is a hundred times worse. Your face gets plastered worldwide as the saviour of humanity. While you're getting all those cheers from fans, it will often twist your ego, making you accustomed to the love. But when the next threat comes around, and you're no longer the center of attention, the cheers abruptly stop, and with the lack of cheers, there's nothing to drown out the hate.

Hate groups are merciless, and will dig into every single wrongdoing of any given hero, even years after their time as a hero is up. They'll insult, threten, and even outright attack previous heroes simply because they hate the way they look, or talk, or even as a byproduct of hating MAGIC. Some extremists will even go so far as to try and kill the hero they hate. But even if those extremists fail, the post-hero depression might do it.

13.1% of heroes end up dying from suicide and 12.7% die of "Unintentional Injuries" (which everyone knows usually means overdosing). The insane pressure of being a hero, and having hate groups associated with you is more than enough to get the better of someone. Sure there's been political pressure to do something about it, but most governments are no longer concerned with heroes after they've done the hero work.

So now after explaining all this, I'm sure you'll understand why I will NOT let my daughter work for MAGIC, a MAGIC girl if you will. I don't care if her attunement is abnormally high, or if there's a college fund or anything. I will fight to make sure she isn't put into that position, and so that she doesn't need to suffer the true "Cost" of being a hero.

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There I was. Well, there we were. As the sun stood in the middle of the sky, it truly felt like a Sunday. Honestly, work has been kicking my ass lately, but after breakfast, Nia did one of her classic hour long tantrums and now here we are. I know it's not good to give into her, but she's just so cute when she get's upset. And now here I am, pushing her on the swings.

But really what I was curious about, was this cosplaying guy hunched over watching us from a bush.

"So, who the hell are you? Isn't it a little early in the day for cosplay?" I shouted.

Immediately, he stood up straight, blurted out "I am not cosplaying!", then started making his way towards me.

"Listen creep, if you don't want to get peppered stay back!"

"I am not a creep! My name is Abraham Lincoln!"

What did he just say?

"Okay I don't know what you're playing out but you're clearly some anime character, not Abe Lincoln."

"I told you I'm not cosplaying! And Abraham Lincoln is just my name, look here." He pulled out a license with his picture and name.

"Oh, so it is." I said, deflated.

"Now behold!"

He pointed towards his open palm, facing up.

"Think of any fruit."

I squinted my eyes and imagined my favorite fruit.

He smirks, "Good."

As he flexed his arm I saw a light begin to emanate from his palm, he then began to chant "Icurus Cuora", or something like that, I don't really speak magic. And as he began to chant, suddenly the bright red fruit appeared in his hand.

"Why the hell is there a tomato in my hand!?" Abraham Lincoln exasperates.

"Tomato is my favorite fruit. What, you didn't know tomato is a fruit?"

"How about you just pick a normal fruit instead?" He shook his head. "Whatever, surely that's enough to prove my magical powers."

I'm not totally convinced. "Try making a durian next."

"Listen! Your daughter, it may be hard to believe this now, but one day she will be the one who saves this world."

We both turned and looked at my four year old drool machine.

"You know she's four, right?"

As his face dropped, he let out a sigh.

"Yes, Mr.Lopez, but one day she won't be."

"Don't you think that's like, creepy?"

"I didn't mean it like that! Like anything else, magic is taught better to youth. We should start her training now. That is, if you want your world to exist in 40 years."

"Yeah, no, I think we're both good."

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