However, the most pressing issue at hand was how she was supposed to get through this crisis in the first place.
Was she supposed to repeat the old path?
There seemed to be no other way.
Thinking this, Su Mu logged into the Forum and created a new account named “Genius Girl Irina,” then began editing her first post once again.
She vaguely remembered it was about Lando.
Doing this felt incredibly cruel now.
The blue-haired girl from back then had just been a distant Magical Girl everyone admired, a stranger to her.
Because of that, she could write with a playful attitude.
Now, however, she felt every word she typed becoming immeasurably heavy.
Before she could even type 100 words, Su Mu deleted them all.
Sitting before the computer, she took a deep breath, falling into a state of immense distress.
‘Maybe I should try playing the antagonist first.’
Su Mu scrolled through various posts, trying to find a perfect target to direct malice toward.
However, the result was that she simply couldn’t do it.
‘Have I been a Magical Girl for so long that I’ve forgotten my roots? What exactly is going on?’
At this moment, Su Mu desperately wished for an answer.
In the past, Irina had been the one to clear her doubts, but now she could only rely on herself.
Independence was difficult regardless of the timing.
Suddenly, Su Mu remembered the strange phantom she had created in the Dream World.
The memories it described had an obvious discrepancy with her own, which led her to a hypothesis.
‘Were my memories tampered with?’
No, this was clearly far more than just a matter of memory.
Aside from her memories, many other things had changed.
And now, she had to adapt to them.
After taking a deep breath, Su Mu focused her energy on the Forum again and made her first attempt at baiting the users.
“I mean, does no one care about the Octopus Monster’s feelings?”
Under a familiar post, Su Mu posted a similar comment and then waited quietly for the results.
Whether it was because her words weren’t sharp enough or because she hadn’t utilized her abilities, the comment sank into the depths of the thread.
No one noticed it.
Even if someone did, they merely glanced past it, unconcerned.
Yet, this was the norm in the online world.
Anyone could speak freely, and anyone could be seen, but those who truly stood out were often few and far between.
On the contrary, many voices questioning Lando continued to pop up.
These were under a post regarding the incident where Lando had struck the Octopus Monster so hard it paralyzed the roads.
The current public opinion had basically shifted entirely against Lando.
Objectively speaking, Lando’s behavior did seem suspicious of venting her anger, but Su Mu knew that Lando often couldn’t control her own strength.
Her ability multiplied her physical techniques.
She would often accidentally exert power far beyond her capacity to control.
Care leads to chaos.
Before she knew it, Su Mu had been drawn into this meaningless argument.
“Maybe Lando’s intention was just to worry about the Octopus Monster hurting others? With her being so strong, who could possibly control their power perfectly?”
No one cared.
“At the end of the day, if it weren’t for Lando’s protection, would you be able to sit here comfortably in front of your computers condemning her? What’s with that high-and-mighty attitude?”
The amount of Dark Magic Power transmitted so far was — zero.
“Are the ones attacking Lando the Octopus Monster’s spawn? You’re so desperate. Fine, fine, we know you love tentacle monsters. Go crossbreed with a giant squid; the next generation of Octopus Monsters depends on you.”
The aggression seemed to be gradually increasing.
Correspondingly, people began to attack Su Mu, though their words lacked logic.
All she saw were meaningless insults.
Su Mu’s private messages began to be flooded with similar content.
“I f*ck your mm!”
“Ur mom ded!”
“Seethe, seethe, seethe.”
Su Mu watched the private messages in silence.
They grew from two or three to over 100.
Dark Magic Power surged in with them, but the burden on her heart felt much heavier in comparison.
Furthermore, even though it was already hundreds of people’s worth of Dark Magic Power, Su Mu felt it was merely a drop in the bucket.
It couldn’t fill her bottomless hunger at all.
She remembered it hadn’t been like this before.
‘What is going on?’
Su Mu suddenly thought of Mi Xian and searched for the other’s account.
To her astonishment, she discovered that Mi Xian had nearly 100,000 fans.
Even so, Mi Xian had to rely on numbers to support her needs, exhausting herself every day by hopping between major forums and even getting attacked by Tang Nai.
‘Wait, Tang Nai.’
Su Mu quickly tapped on the keyboard, typing the ID “Gray Rabbit Milk Candy” into the search bar.
The familiar avatar popped up immediately, as if tempting Su Mu to click on it.
There were supposed to be photos on the homepage.
Without hesitation, Su Mu clicked on it.
To her surprise, Tang Nai’s homepage was completely blank.
To be precise, there was only a single signature.
“See you in the next life.”
‘What does that mean?’
For some reason, those words gave Su Mu a strong sense of unease.
Tang Nai’s bookmarks were full of content related to Magical Girls.
Most of it was fan art and fan fiction, as simple as any other Magical Girl enthusiast.
She mainly hung out in the Magical Girl Forum and gaming forums.
This abnormality made Su Mu hesitate.
Should she communicate with the other girl?
After a moment of conflict, Su Mu exited Tang Nai’s homepage.
‘I’ll just wait and see for now.’
After that, Su Mu tried to replicate the baiting tactics from her memory, but the results were minimal.
Instead, she received mockery like, “What’s this? Trying to copy Mixian Shirt? Think I won’t flame you so hard your own mother won’t recognize you?”
Tormented by hunger, Su Mu couldn’t sleep well that night.
Her Monster Core was so fragile it couldn’t even support an E Level.
This meant she was no different from an ordinary person.
She didn’t even have the most basic abilities, yet she had to find a way to collect Dark Magic Power.
Tossing and turning, she heard the sound of the security door opening.
‘Mom was back.’
What time was it?
It shouldn’t be early morning yet.
When Su Ya got off work, it was usually around seven or eight o’clock.
But the sky was still gloomy.
The short days and long nights of winter delayed the sunrise by several hours.
The dim yellow streetlights outside could only provide light; they offered no warmth to passersby against the cold.
Su Mu propped herself up weakly.
She felt her vision starting to flicker, and her entire body lacked strength.
She felt like someone terminally ill, devoid of any spirit.
Checking the time, it wasn’t the 7:00 AM she had imagined, but 3:00 AM.
It seemed her perception of time had become distorted by her physical condition.
Time had become long and agonizing, where every second meant extreme suffering.
Under such pain, she had only managed to make it through half the night.
But why was Su Ya back at this hour?
The sound of high heels clicking against the wooden floor was piercing.
They moved hurriedly toward the interior of the house.
Had she come in without changing her shoes?
Before Su Mu could react, the bedroom door was pushed open.
What came into view was an anxious Su Ya.
Her eyes, which were always veiled with a layer of gray, were briefly bright at this moment.
But Su Mu no longer had the energy to hold on.
The flickering in her vision became more severe.
“Thump.”
Everything before her was completely swallowed by darkness.
Su Mu collapsed onto the bed, losing consciousness.