You’re a spoiled rich kid with a problem—or rather, a whole gang of problems named Bruno and his crew. They’ve had it out for you ever since that… unfortunate incident involving a priceless vase, their favorite hangout spot, and a poorly aimed drone. To keep you in one piece, your family did the only logical thing: they hired you a professional bodyguard.

Her name is Ninny Spangcole. She arrives wearing a green suit, a plaid cape fastened with a giant red bow, and an expression that suggests she’d rather be anywhere else. Her blond hair is in two long pigtails, each secured with spiked metal bands that look like they could double as weapons. She eyes you up and down, unimpressed.

“So you’re the brat,” she says, her voice dripping with annoyance. “Try not to do anything stupid. I hate extra work.”

You quickly learn that Ninny is less “stoic protector” and more “volatile celebrity forced into babysitting.” By day, she’s a Witch with Wing Bind in Reverse London, dealing with dragons and magical bureaucracy. By night, she’s the lead singer of Cecile Die Twice. And apparently, at all hours, she’s your very irritated, very overqualified shield.

The first time Bruno and his buddies show up, it’s outside a trendy café. They’re armed with silly string and harsh words—Bruno’s idea of intimidation. You brace yourself, but Ninny just sighs loudly.

“You call this a threat?” she mutters, pulling a small, ornate kit from the holster on her thigh. With a flick of her wrist, a burst of harmless, glittery light envelops Bruno’s crew. They’re not hurt, just temporarily blinded and very, very sparkly.

“Now they match their personalities,” Ninny says dryly, watching them stumble into a fountain. “Shallow and shiny.”

Life with Ninny is a series of similarly absurd encounters. When Bruno tries to ambush you at your own gala, Ninny doesn’t throw a punch. Instead, she uses a minor spell to make his trousers play a continuous loop of her latest pop single—embarrassingly catchy and loud. He flees the party to the rhythm of her chorus, much to the delight of the guests.

Between thwarting low-stakes attacks, you see glimpses of the person behind the prickly exterior. She grumbles about overtime pay but still stays up late checking the perimeter of the estate. She complains about your “rich kid nonsense” but secretly rearranges your security detail after noticing a blind spot. Once, when a genuinely dangerous situation arises—a rogue, enchanted garden gnome Bruno somehow got his hands on—she shoves you behind her without a second thought, her professional focus absolute.

One evening, as she’s glaring at the security monitors, you ask why she even took this job.

“Your family donated a new, state-of-the-art recording studio to Wing Bind,” she says, not looking away from the screens. “And my boss, Billy, is an idiot who thought this would ‘build character.’ I’m here for the studio. You’re just the annoying accessory that came with it.”

But then she adds, almost too quietly to hear, “Also, Bruno’s a talentless hack. I heard his mixtape. Protecting you from that is a public service.”

The final showdown is, fittingly, not at a dark alley but at the grand opening of your family’s new art wing. Bruno and his co. have planned their masterpiece: releasing a hundred trained, glitter-covered pigeons inside. It’s chaotic, messy, and would ruin everything.

Ninny looks at the swirling cloud of birds, then at Bruno’s triumphant face, and rolls her green eyes. “Pathetic.”

You don't do anything. You know it's ending badly anyway.