Work today was exhausting—didn’t sleep enough.
Finally made it to noon, ate lunch alone, and took a nap.
Was sleeping soundly, dreaming of a gentle, cute girl.
Suddenly, a jolt woke him up.
Looked around—still at the office.
Checked the time—only napped for 20 minutes.
Went back to sleep, this time until the afternoon shift.
Recalling the jolt, it felt odd, not like a normal palpitation.
Seemed like he sensed faint magic and a demon?
Checked his phone for news—it wasn’t a fluke.
A magical girl fought a demon at noon, 15 kilometers away.
That far, and he still sensed magic and demons?
Even with some innate holy body talent, progressing this fast seemed unreal.
I was about to dig into the news.
The supervisor passed by, so he hid his phone, not daring to slack.
The supervisor was checking in, chatting about work.
Naturally, he brought up the “Shaohao” NPC persona, a big focus for the copywriting team.
Without Shaohao’s details, other NPCs were hard to develop.
Even the supervisor cared, showing how crucial this NPC was.
After talking to the youngsters, he came to Song Wuli and the older crew.
Patted Song Wuli’s shoulder: “Old Song, our team’s role model. Everyone, learn from him.”
No one clapped, so the supervisor started, prompting others to join.
“Old Song clocked 80 hours last week. And you others? Little Zhao, what, 50 hours? Little Liu, even worse—48 hours.”
“You all need to learn from Old Song. Young folks, if you don’t hustle now, what’ll you do when you’re older? This company isn’t your retirement home.”
“Youngsters lazier than us old-timers—what’s that about?”
“Alright, keep working. Meeting tonight.”
Once the supervisor left, everyone sighed.
As usual, they grumbled about Song Wuli behind his back.
His overtime obsession made the team tense.
They also complained about the meeting.
Monday’s routine: a meeting.
If it was during work hours, fine, but they always held it after hours.
Annoying, in one word.
Song Wuli spent the afternoon on his weekly report—even low-level staff had to write one.
At quitting time, team leader Huang Yijun called the second copywriting team for the meeting.
Everyone was annoyed—just going through the motions.
Huang Yijun was acting off.
Wearing a blue T-shirt with Yinlin’s face, plus a hat.
Gave off… old-school otaku vibes, super weird.
“Ahem, get serious,” he barked, making it hard to keep a straight face.
He rambled about company goals, the future—same old nonsense.
Then called people to read their reports, always starting with Song Wuli.
As the model employee, it was normal—steady, rarely messing up, perfect for reading his report.
Song Wuli stood, spouting fluff.
Clapping followed.
Then others were called.
Usually, it’d end here with a “learn from them” spiel.
The youngsters were ready to bolt; even Song Wuli was set to stand and keep working.
But Huang Yijun didn’t dismiss them, saying, “One more thing. I, Huang Yijun, want to introduce our Lord and Heavenly Father… Hey, don’t leave, hear me out!”
Everyone bailed. No one stayed.
Song Wuli worked until 9 p.m., then headed home by subway.
Passing a snack shop, the aroma stopped him.
“Fried dumplings, two large portions.”
Took them home.
Opening the door, he heard footsteps—Diamond, drawn by the smell.
“Not bad, human, you know to offer tribute,” Diamond said, pleased, pointing to a box on the floor. “Your package—I brought it in.”
They each ate a portion, full.
Unpacking, Diamond watched curiously.
When the contents came out, Diamond asked, “A magical girl uniform? Why another one? And no magical aura.”
Song Wuli explained, “It’s for farming cash.”
Diamond didn’t get it.
Song Wuli transformed, shed the legit uniform, and put on the cosplay outfit.
It fit decently, though not as perfect as the real one.
The craftsmanship was solid, mimicking 60% of the original—pretty good.
Sadly, no matching heels, so he got a pair from another shop with 50% similarity.
Wearing them, he walked around the house, twisting his ankle a few times.
Diamond watched Yinlin wobble like a toddler learning to walk and opened a topic.
“You heard about today?”
“Today? What?” So much had happened—she wasn’t sure which.
Diamond coughed, spitting blood onto the floor.
It said, “An odd elite-level demon appeared, unkillable, healing any wound.”
She kept pacing in heels, asking, “Why unkillable? Elite demons are just mid-tier. Can’t beat it?”
Diamond: “It fought the famous Jinluan. It wasn’t about beating it.”
Song Wuli perked up: “So why unkillable?”
Diamond: “Not sure yet. Its strength exceeds mid-tier, closer to high-tier. But it has a special ability—regenerates fully, even from a severed head.”
Song Wuli: “And then?”
Diamond: “Jinluan ran out of magic, and it escaped.”
Song Wuli caught Diamond’s stare: “What? Don’t tell me you’re nudging me to fight it.”
Diamond: “With your endless magic, you might take it down.”
Song Wuli: “Don’t look at me. Not my problem. I just want to make money.”
Diamond: “But if you fought, you could save lots of people.”
Song Wuli stopped, looked at Diamond, and said seriously, “I never said I’d be a magical girl, let alone take on their duties. I’ve planned my life—not aiming for 100, but 70’s doable. So, I’ll consider magical girl stuff at 70. Before that, my life’s mine. After 70, the extra years are yours.”
It got heavy.
Diamond didn’t give up: “Many innocent humans and magical girls could die in those years.”
Song Wuli: “Guilt-tripping doesn’t work on me. I’m just shameless.”
He smirked and kept pacing the house.