Off Work, Then I Become a Magical Girl
Book 2: Chapter 22: Magical Girls Squad

Vol 2 Chapter 22: Magical Girls Squad

Is “Magical Girl” a suitable theme for entertainment and creative works?

This question has sparked a decades-long debate in the Material World’s creative and publishing industries. Even now, there’s no definitive answer.

About fifty years ago, in the Material World, anything related to “Magical Girls” had always been a hot topic in entertainment. People were full of imaginative ideas about these mysterious protectors, trying to project all kinds of fantasies onto them.

Some of these imaginations were beautiful—praising them as heroes, longing to be like them. Others were critical—questioning the origins and intentions of Magical Girls. And of course, there were also the unspeakable ones—the kind that could never be mentioned in polite conversation.

This creative boom lasted for quite a while. “Magical Girl” gradually transformed from a well-defined term into a cultural symbol within entertainment. Eventually, even real Magical Girls began to take on a certain idol-like or entertainment quality. Some fans started organizing themselves, supporting their favorite Magical Girls in various ways.

But as with anything, things can go too far.

Once works about Magical Girls became mainstream, bad actors inevitably infiltrated the scene—seizing control of public discourse for personal gain or spreading rumors to defame others. Caught in a tide of gossip, the public struggled to tell truth from lies. The phrase “Magical Girl” gradually started to change in meaning within public discussions.

Most Magical Girls, faced with these frustrating rumors, could only pretend not to see or silently endure. After all, their voices were too small in the face of public opinion—no matter what they said, it would only get twisted further.

Yet even among Magical Girls, personalities vary. When the rumors and gossip—and the increasingly outrageous creative works—crossed the line, a few with tougher personalities finally snapped.

“I can't shut all of you up, but I can sure deal with those sleazy paparazzi.”

This was a quote from a retired Magical Girl from the Xiluo Province during an interview, around forty years ago, when the conflict first exploded.

Starting from Xiluo, both active and retired Magical Girls launched a direct confrontation with the publishing and distribution industries. The standoff spread to the eastern provinces and eventually turned into an all-out mess, with no clear winners. On the surface, though, it seemed like the Magical Girls came out on top.

Because the Magic Kingdom officially spoke out to city governments across provinces—putting an immediate stop to the conflict.

Works that distorted, defamed, or maliciously speculated about Magical Girls could no longer be published or distributed. In the years that followed, commercial works themed around Magical Girls slowly disappeared from the market, except for those anime targeted at young girls.

Of course, stories portraying Magical Girls in a positive light still existed and had their own audiences. But they were no longer a mainstream topic.

Fast forward forty years, and public perception of Magical Girls seemed to have circled back: in reality, they’re heroes who protect cities; in fiction, they’re cartoon characters for children.

It was in this context that, a few years ago, a mobile game called Magical Girl Squad quietly launched on the intercity network in the Dongying Province.

The game used the popular gacha and character-training format. Its content was frankly underwhelming—players built and trained their own Magical Girl squads, presented through turn-based combat and generic growth mechanics. The artwork looked like cute doodles straight out of a kids' coloring book. The in-game characters were pixelated chibi figures, completely lacking appeal.

In a later interview, the game developer said, “This is what Magical Girls are like in my mind.”

Unfortunately, his vision didn’t resonate with the market. The game’s unremarkable appearance and plain name failed to gain attention. Within months of launch, Magical Girl Squad was already running a deficit.

But this was business as usual in the Material World’s gaming scene. Too many games launch only to vanish without a trace. This one seemed destined for the same fate.

And yet… it didn’t die.

The turning point came two years ago.

By then, Magical Girl Squad was in a full-blown crisis. As a small studio’s experimental project, the game had nearly bankrupted its creators. Then, for reasons still unclear—perhaps a company acquisition, maybe a new investor—the game was miraculously revived.

It got a major 2.0 update. While keeping its storybook art and character-building gameplay, the visuals improved drastically. More importantly, detailed lore and background were added to what was once a barebones game.

In the new setting, players take on the role of a creature called a “Fairy,” tasked with seeking out Magical Girls in a fictional city and forming a squad by collecting and nurturing them.

Management and strategy elements were introduced, and the old turn-based combat was refined. The game finally became fun.

But that still wasn’t enough to make Magical Girl Squad a hit.

The market is full of polished games. Great art or clever mechanics don’t guarantee success. This was still a niche game from a small company, mostly ignored despite the update.

What finally made it blow up was a single blog post on social media.

“Wait… is this supposed to be me?”

The post included a screenshot from the game’s character screen.

The blogger? None other than the Material World’s most famous current Magical Girl—Blue Star.

As the captain of Tiandu City’s Magical Girl Squad and widely recognized as the strongest Magical Girl, Blue Star’s social media account had a massive following. Even her briefest posts would attract waves of support.

So when she posted a game screenshot, thousands of fans rushed to download it. On that day, Magical Girl Squad’s servers crashed from the surge in traffic.

As more players dove in, they uncovered a shocking truth—the game’s setting was too realistic.

Setting aside the “Fairy” concept, long tied to Magical Girl urban legends, the game’s portrayal of Magical Girl powers and battles was uncannily detailed. Some self-identified retired Magical Girls even claimed that the person behind version 2.0 might have been one of them—because the settings were that spot-on.

That alone might not have meant much—there are quite a few retired Magical Girls, and some entering the gaming industry isn’t unheard of.

But then people started noticing something else: several in-game characters bore uncanny similarities to real Magical Girls.

They didn’t look exactly alike, but their abilities, personal files, and background details matched almost too well—sometimes even revealing information fans had never heard before.

Take the character Blue Star had posted. She didn’t look much like Blue Star, but her combat stats and profile details were identical. Even details that had never been publicly disclosed.

Hence the question: “Is this supposed to be me?”

There was no real privacy breach—no names were named. Nor was it slander—every Magical Girl in the game was shown positively.

In short, Magical Girl Squad managed to dodge all the previous restrictions while scratching the public’s itch for gossip—with pure, convincing “realism.”

From there, the game gained popularity among Magical Girl fans, then spread to the general public.

Two years have passed since, and the 2.0 version of Magical Girl Squad has remained hugely active—until recently, when it finally began to reach its original target audience: teenage girls.

Even just in Class 3, Grade 2 at Xizhao Middle School, several girls could be heard discussing the game between classes.

And Lin Xiaolu—a girl who didn’t care for games and preferred watching Magical Girl anime on the couch—ended up downloading the game too, thanks to Jiang Yuan’s enthusiastic recommendation.

After a short patrol around the Luoming District, Lin Xiaolu returned to the secret base, plopped onto the sofa, and opened Magical Girl Squad.

Expressionless, she watched the opening animation. While munching snacks, she waited for the data-heavy update. Even after finishing a whole bag, the update still wasn’t done. She was getting impatient.

Games are such a hassle. Maybe I should just watch TV instead? she thought.

But in the end, her love for the “Magical Girl” theme outweighed her impatience, and she waited it out.

After wading through a confusing opening story and a yawn-inducing tutorial, she finally got to try the gameplay herself.

Expressionless at first. Then, a frown. Then she suddenly sat up, baring her small fangs and yelling:

“Ugh! This is so boring! I’m done!”

She had been wondering what kind of wild game could become a hit just by slapping on the “Magical Girl” label. Turns out, it was a slow-paced turn-based game with overcomplicated stats—totally unappealing.

She tossed her phone aside and turned on the TV with the remote. But her favorite animation channel happened to be playing a show she didn’t like. That only made her more bored.

With a sigh, she picked up her phone again and reluctantly resumed playing.

She cleared the newbie stages with a basic team, slogged through some dull story content, and finally got a system message: she could now recruit new Magical Girls.

Recruiting meant pulling cards—a standard gacha mechanic. Lin Xiaolu followed the prompt without much thought and entered the banner screen.

That’s when one image caught her eye.

The banner showed a Magical Girl in a reddish-purple bubble skirt, her expression shy but strangely resolute. She held a notebook-like weapon, which the game called a “Magical Armor,” clearly corresponding to the Magical Armor used by real Magical Girls.

This seemed to be a newly released character. The banner was titled “Resurfacing Memories,” and her alias was Morning Glory. Along the edge, a caption read: “Let blooming magic guard the unfulfilled memories.”

For some reason, Lin Xiaolu felt a strange sense of familiarity.

She didn’t know this character. The art style was cartoony and simple. But still, she had the nagging feeling she’d seen this girl somewhere before.

That familiarity faded quickly. Looking again, she no longer felt anything unusual.

It’s just a game, she told herself. Probably just my imagination.

Following the tutorial’s instructions, she entered the newbie banner.

Then, with a strange sense of excitement, she tapped the “Recruit” button.