The next day was Saturday—you thought there’d be no work?
Nope, still had to go.
As a workaholic, Song Wuli went to the office.
He was the kind of “grind dog” younger colleagues cursed, blaming him for ruining the work environment.
Song Wuli couldn’t argue back.
He used to hate overtime like those youngsters.
But after hitting 30, to avoid being cut, he “voluntarily” worked extra hours.
Twelve-hour workdays, 84-hour workweeks.
During layoffs, he’d pull 15 or 16 hours a day, practically living at the company.
Now at 34, he’d outlasted most old-timers and youngsters, with colleagues coming and going, only a few familiar faces left.
Yet he still stood tall.
Rumor had it, in this company, fewer than six people over 34 in entry-level roles avoided layoffs.
The programming team had the strongest backing, with the fewest cuts and the highest average age.
Enviable, but impossible to join.
“Morning.”
Song Wuli snapped back, returning the greeting: “Morning.”
It was Huang Yijun, also working the weekend.
He looked puzzled: “Why the backpack?”
Song Wuli replied, “Some spare clothes.”
Huang Yijun: “Planning to live at the office? That dedicated, huh?”
Song Wuli neither nodded nor shook his head: “Just a thought, not decided.”
He sat lightly at his desk, enjoying the AC. His butt didn’t hurt as much—he could sit now.
Huang Yijun chatted briefly, then returned to his desk.
Today, about 70% of the copywriting team showed up.
Some youngsters had the guts to skip overtime.
Others didn’t need to work extra.
Song Wuli placed the backpack in a good spot and unzipped it.
Diamond peeked out, observing the ordinary office.
“Silver, this is where you work?” Diamond whispered.
“Yes.”
Song Wuli found it boring, but Diamond was curious, scanning the surroundings.
He typed away, working for a few minutes.
Noticing Diamond’s curiosity, he asked softly, “Why’d you want to come to work? Your condition isn’t good for moving around, right?”
Diamond: “I want to understand you as much as I can in my limited time. You’re the last magical girl I’ll support.”
Song Wuli fell silent, typing for another minute before replying, “No need to make it so heavy, right?”
Diamond: “I’m stating facts.”
Song Wuli stopped typing: “No way to change this? I mean, no way to cure you?”
Diamond: “No way.”
Song Wuli: “But in movies and anime, terminally ill characters start with no hope, then find ways to extend their life as the story progresses.”
Diamond: “I’ve seen human works. Movies and anime depend on the writer. Take Tatsuki Fujimoto’s works versus Houbunsha’s works —big difference. Some writers kill off characters like it’s nothing.”
Song Wuli: “So, is our story written by Fujimoto or Houbunsha ?”
Diamond: “Can’t answer. Not enough data.”
The conversation stopped.
Song Wuli resumed work, busy for an hour.
Feeling tired, he stretched.
He glanced at the backpack—no Diamond.
Leaning closer, he confirmed Diamond was gone.
Panic set in, cold sweat breaking out.
Diamond only *looked* like a cat—it wasn’t one. If someone spotted it, especially the Human Alliance, and recognized it, Song Wuli was in danger.
That’s why he didn’t want to bring Diamond.
He searched quietly, avoiding shouting to not draw attention.
He checked the office and bathrooms—no Diamond.
Passing the manager’s office, he caught a glimpse of something.
Diamond was napping on the manager’s chair.
Thank goodness the manager wasn’t in today.
He rushed in, grabbed Diamond by the scruff, hid it in his clothes, and hunched back to his desk, stuffing it back in the backpack.
“Don’t wander off!” Song Wuli was spooked.
Diamond just stared, silent.
Song Wuli worked another ten minutes, then felt a fuzzy sensation at his feet.
Looking down, Diamond had escaped again, napping by his feet, using them as a pillow.
He glanced around—no colleagues nearby, no one watching—so he let Diamond sleep there.
He worked until evening, tense all day, nerves frayed, more exhausted than usual.
On the way home, he carried the backpack in front, chatting with Diamond.
“How many magical girls have you contracted?”
“Five.”
“How many beings like you exist?”
“Many.”
Song Wuli asked something he’d been curious about: “You said becoming a magical girl grants eternal life. What does that mean?”
Diamond: “Have you seen a 20-year-old magical girl?”
Song Wuli: “Not 20, but I’ve seen some in their 30s.”
Diamond: “I’m serious. Once you become a magical girl, your lifespan becomes infinite—you don’t age until death. Usually, only young girls can become magical girls. You’re the only exception I know.”
Song Wuli: “Lots of questions. First, if they don’t age, how do magical girls live among humans long-term without being exposed?”
Diamond: “That’s another issue I won’t tell you now.”
Song Wuli: “You’re still keeping secrets? Is that necessary?”
Diamond: “For you right now, yes.”
Song Wuli: “Fine. Next question—why am I the exception? What’s special about me?”
Diamond gave no answer: “I don’t know.”
Song Wuli: “Next question…”
Diamond: “I’m tired.”
It curled up in the backpack, fast asleep, ignoring him.
Fine. Seeing its frail state, Song Wuli didn’t press.
On the way home, he opened his senses, feeling this familiar yet strange world.
Untransformed, his perception was weak, only catching vague impressions.
He faintly sensed something enveloping the city, unsure what.
A magical girl’s aura passed overhead, riding a wand.
She was too far to identify.
She flew slowly, like patrolling or leisurely strolling.
This wasn’t a one-off—it might’ve been happening for a while.
So this was the real world.
Joker and Morgana really are together in every world
He should be glad he’s not in a Tomino work