Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Face-to-Face Conversation

Lin Yun drove Hong Siyu's car to drop her off at her apartment, then took the train back home; by the time he stepped into the foyer, the clock read ten o'clock.

He glanced instinctively at the shoe cabinet by the door and saw his daughter's shoes carelessly tossed on the floor; he picked them up and set them right, then walked toward the living room.

If Hong Siyu was right, tonight there should be a TV interview with the newly appointed magic girl.

He turned on the TV, checked the local channel, saw it was airing a cheap nighttime idol drama, realized the news segment had likely already passed, then opened his communicator and searched online for tonight's broadcast content on the local channel.

Soon, he found the evening news replay on the official website.

One of the reports covered the morning attack by the Residual Beasts in the downtown district.

The news detailed the damage and casualties caused by the Residual Beasts in that neighborhood, then shifted tone to state that the Residual Beasts had been defeated by the newly appointed magical girl—though a novice, she had made an outstanding contribution to public safety.

The footage then cut to the scene, where the reporter announced she had located the newly appointed magic girl and would conduct an on-site interview.

Not long after, this previously mysterious magic girl made her debut in the news interview.

The girl who appeared looked like something out of a fairy tale.

Golden pigtails, a pale blue dress, a bright yellow sash tied into an exaggerated bow at her back, a round gem pinned to her chest, and a tiny hat on her head.

"Hello everyone, uh, I'm the new magic girl, named Bai Mei…"

Just from her outfit, she gave no impression of a combatant—only confusion over which ball she'd wandered out of.

But such attire was standard for magic girls.

Most magic girls fought in outfits like this, and even more counterintuitively, no matter how restrictive their clothing looked, their movements remained completely unaffected by their elaborate attire.

Naturally, the first impression such magic girls gave wasn't "powerful," but "cute."

Yet as Lin Yun watched the video, he felt something was off.

This sense of wrongness had no clear source, yet it was so strong that he quickly recognized its essence—it was familiarity.

He felt familiar with the magic girl on screen.

Had he seen this girl somewhere before? The thought arose, and he instinctively compared the magic girl before him with his memories.

He had already sensed it deep down, but had refused to connect it to the one direction he least wanted to consider.

Yet if he didn't consider that direction, this familiarity had no explanation, no answer.

So when he finally hesitated and placed the most unwanted possibility on the table, Lin Yun froze.

Because he couldn't accept it.

How could it be her? Why her? How could it be her?

Countless questions flooded his mind; questions turned to confusion, confusion to agitation, then to rage.

Near forty, Lin Yun rarely felt such intense anger in daily life—it surged like it would burst from his chest, burning his mind to blankness.

He couldn't understand.

Why was the magic girl Lin Xiaolu? His daughter?

He had no desire to continue watching the news; he set down his communicator, feeling his thoughts in chaos and his emotions unsettled.

—I need to talk to her properly.

This thought surfaced in his mind.

Even though he and his daughter Lin Xiaolu had been in cold war for a long time, rarely speaking a word to each other, he still had to fulfill his duty as a father and talk to her properly.

If she became a magic girl of her own will, he had to tell her the pros and cons, so she could reconsider.

Carrying this thought, Lin Yun suddenly stood and walked straight toward his daughter's room.

【Knock first】.

A note was stuck on the door.

The familiar handwriting—when had this note started being stuck on his daughter's door?

In the two years since his wife's death, too many conflicts had arisen between father and daughter; he had always been poor at expressing himself, until their relationship reached this point.

They were family bound by life itself, yet went whole days without speaking more than a few basic daily arrangements—no heartfelt conversations at all.

Lin Yun paused, his finger resting against the door, then took a deep breath and knocked:

"Are you asleep? Little Lulu?"

No response from inside.

His heart sank slightly; he waited a moment longer, calmed himself, and knocked again.

Still, no response.

The soft knock vanished like a stone sinking into a deep pool.

Lin Yun lowered his head, his expression darkening.

On any other day, he would have already given up—he'd have thought the damage irreparable, that they needed space and time to heal.

But not this time. Even if this made his relationship with his child worse, he had to make his words heard.

So he wouldn't stop.

Click.

Just as he prepared to knock a third time, the door suddenly swung open.

A young girl in pajamas glared at him, snapping the moment she saw him:

"I'm awake. What?"

Her wary expression, like a cat with its fur standing on end.

Seeing his daughter again in this uncooperative state, and remembering he'd come only out of concern, Lin Yun felt a surge of irritation and anger—he thought how annoying this girl was, how he ought to scold her properly.

But the words died on his lips.

He suddenly didn't know what to say.

Ask her outright if she'd become a magic girl? Then scold her for doing something everyone saw as good?

Or confront her immediately with the dangers of being a magic girl and demand she quit?

Never mind how he would present evidence to support his claims—by laying everything out so bluntly, wouldn't he trigger the child's fragile, sensitive nerves?

Even if we step back a hundred thousand steps, after such a long absence, to confront the child with outright negation—would such words truly be appropriate from a father? He wanted to understand his daughter's true thoughts, but did she truly wish to open up to him? Could such a harsh conversation possibly achieve his goal?

How could he possibly make the child believe him now?

No matter how he thought about it, the answer was impossible.

Lin Yun couldn't help but wonder: what was the real message he wanted to convey to her? Strip away these external conflicts, set aside the accumulated distance between them—what he truly wanted to know was her honest thoughts. But what of his own sincerity?

In his daughter's gaze, his thoughts twisted and turned, until finally, every idea dissolved into nothingness, leaving only one voice:

"It's been several days since we last saw each other. Dad missed seeing you."

This, alone, was the only truth left after stripping away anger, anxiety, worry, guilt—all the unnecessary emotions.

He might not be able to make her happy, might not be able to solve the problems between them, but at least now, he wanted to see her.

Now that he knew his daughter had become a Magical Girl, what he wanted to know was whether she was safe, whether she was afraid, whether her emotions were stable.

The girl standing at the door heard these words; her furrowed brows lifted slightly, then relaxed, her expression turning complex.

"Now? Just for this?"

"Yeah, because I didn't want to upset you this morning."

A faint smile tugged at Lin Yun's numb face: "Now that I've seen you, I feel much more at ease."

The black-haired girl sniffed, pressed her lips together, then after a long pause, whispered:

"You're drunk?"

"Maybe. I drank quite a bit tonight."

Lin Yun, following his inner feeling, spoke honestly: "I'm truly glad you opened the door."

"... So now you've seen me. What then?" His daughter still frowned.

"Nothing much. I just wanted to ask how you've been lately. Are you happy at school?"

Lin Yun stood still, waved his hand: "I won't ask about your studies—you manage it yourself. I have no right to lecture you."

The conversation between them fell silent again.

Surprised that her father had asked such a question, the daughter studied him oddly, then answered with casual indifference:

"Oh, it's ordinary. Nothing happened."

"There were dangerous incidents near your school. Are you okay?"

"Danger? Nothing serious. I can handle it."

"Should I pick you up?"

"You do your own thing."

"How's the phone I bought you last birthday?"

"It's fine."

"Is the dinner cooked by the housekeeper okay?"

"Fine. Aunt Liu cooks well."

"Has anything good happened recently?"

"Good things?"

The daughter raised her eyebrows, puzzled, but soon, as if recalling something, her expression grew hesitant.

"I don't know. But at least nothing bad happened."

Nothing bad happened...

Lin Yun's heart stirred slightly.

"I see. Then I have nothing else to ask."

Hearing his daughter's ambiguous reply, he exhaled as if relieved, stepping back: "Little Lulu, I'm sorry to you."

This drew a brief silence.

"... Saying this now is too late."

The girl behind the door murmured, glanced at him once, then lowered her eyes and began pushing the door shut:

"I'm going to sleep. Don't bother me again."

Click.

The door in front of him closed.

Lin Yun stood outside, lost in thought, standing still for a long while before walking toward his bedroom.

He still hadn't brought up the topic of the Magical Girl.

He couldn't speak it, couldn't ask it—whenever he thought of the word, his throat turned bone-dry.

But not speaking now didn't mean he had given up.

During the conversation just now, Lin Yun had already devised another way in his mind. Perhaps, with that method, he could tell his daughter something about the Magical Girl—and be confident she'd take it seriously.

Opening the door to his bedroom, he shed his formal attire, set down his briefcase, his gaze burning as he walked toward the wardrobe in the corner.

The master bedroom had two wardrobes—one large, placed against the wall, the other small, tucked into the corner.

Lin Yun owned few clothes: just a few sets of casual wear and formal suits for work.

He opened one drawer, filled entirely with old clothes—many from his youth, styles now outdated and mismatched to his age.

Pushing aside the topmost garments, he reached in slowly and pulled out a palm-sized gift box.

"... Nineteen years."

He murmured, lost in thought.

He, who once buried this box against his wife's objections, had never imagined he'd ever take it out again. Back then, he thought life was perfect, everything settled—he had no reason to open the box.

But now, after all these years, now that he knew his daughter had become a Magical Girl, he finally understood: avoidance never solved anything.

He gently unclasped the box's latch and lifted the stiff, reluctant lid, staring at the item inside in silent stillness.

It was a fractured-gem flower.

A gem covered in fine cracks, already dusted with grime.

It had another name—people always called it the "Heart's Flower."

And in this world, only one kind of person possessed such a peculiar treasure.

—Magical Girls.