Chapter 150 Fate
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
After seeing off the so-called Sword Demon Lord — a man who had somehow become my friend in a single day — I cleaned up the forge and stepped out onto the balcony. I’d fashioned a chair from mithril and the thin membrane of a giant bat’s wing, a craftsman’s absurd masterpiece, and now sat in it with the quiet satisfaction of someone who no longer expected peace but accepted it when it came.
The night was darker than the ones I remembered from my previous life. With fewer lights in town, the stars blazed like fragments of glass scattered across velvet. I let the sight wash over me, emptying my mind until even my lingering irritation toward Ethelena and Yohira faded to silence. Tatia’s apology had been the first small breach in my bitterness; perhaps that was why my anger no longer came so easily.
I watched a star slide across the horizon but made no wish. Do I not want to mend things with them anymore? I wondered. Yet something deep within me whispered that I did. I still cared for them both — that much hadn’t changed. It was only that my heart wasn’t ready yet. When Tatia was nearly defiled and broken, my rage had found a new outlet, and through that twisted detour, I had managed to forgive her. A cruel kind of medicine, but it had worked.
I exhaled softly. “Still… it’s a a damn shame I couldn’t torch the entire barracks while I was at it.”
The thought came without venom. More curiosity than malice. Could I forgive Ethelena or Yohira if they apologized now, without understanding the true reason for my anger? Maybe. The calm I felt tonight suggested I could. But forgiveness, I mused, often walked hand in hand with resignation. Humans were made of both. In my previous life, I had failed to accept my coworkers’ flaws and had been cast out for it. I should have swallowed my disgust and killed my heart, but I couldn’t. The moment I glimpsed the death of my own spirit, I had rebelled. Maybe that meant I’d never truly grown up.
”Is becoming an adult really about giving up?” I murmured to the stars. “If so, maybe I am one now.”
I laughed under my breath, a hollow sound. No — I wasn’t an adult. Just a child who’d given up on understanding others.
Ichika’s voice flickered through memory — her wish for me to live on, at least for ten more years. I had agreed. Yet now, even that borrowed time felt like a countdown to an easy death. Once, I had struggled to live in defiance of the Immortal King. Now, I waited for the end like it was a guest overdue for tea.
As I thought this, a few bats drifted into view, fluttering through the starlit air.
”…I told you to announce yourself before dropping in like that,” I said flatly.
A deep, amused voice replied, rich and resonant. “And I told you, Tatara Julon — when I wish to see your face, I come as I please.”
The bats gathered midair, merging into a single shadow that thickened, solidified, and took the shape of a man. When the darkness peeled away, the Immortal King stood there — draped in black pajamas, a red nightcap and gown thrown over one shoulder. Even eternity, it seemed, needed loungewear.
”I’d offer tea,” I said, “but I didn’t prepare any.”
”Worry not,” the king replied, producing a small pot from his own [Inventory]. “I brought my own.”
He poured with elegant precision, steam rising into the cool night air. I stared, unimpressed.
”What?” the king asked, tilting his head.
”The image, that’s what. You’ve got the presence of a god and you’re out here brewing tea in pajamas. Where’d you throw away your dignity?”
”Why should I posture before you?”
”Because my mental image of you just shattered, that’s why.”
The king chuckled, the sound low and genuine. I sighed. “Why do all the inhuman ones act so damn casual around me?”
”You hold me in such high regard, then?” the king teased.
”Only flaw I see is your lack of boundaries. Try staying home for once.”
”Yet you know I cannot. Instinct drives even monsters like me.”
I leaned back, lips twitching. “And you came to me, of all people. I’m not even a hero.”
”Because you burn brighter in your humanity than any saint,” the king said softly. “Someone else was drawn to that light tonight. I can feel their scent upon you.”
”You can tell that?” I asked.
”I can,” the king replied. “You met the Sword Demon Lord, didn’t you?”
So I told him — about the encounter, the strange camaraderie formed in a single day. The Immortal King laughed until tears threatened to fall. “You truly attract us nonhumans, Tatara Julon. Is it your mana?”
”At this point, I’d have trouble denying it,” I muttered.
Their closeness would have seemed intimate to anyone watching. I thought of all the women who’d confessed to me — the succubus, the oni, the angelic hybrid, the automaton girl, even the nine-tailed fox — and not a single human among them. The king’s theory might not be far off.
”Guess I’m not much of a hit with my own species,” I said wryly. “Still, I’m lucky to be loved at all.”
The king’s expression sobered. “You sound weary. Does it have to do with the absence of your companions? I don’t sense their presence here.”
I gave a dry laugh. “Figures you’d notice that.”
I drew a slow breath. “Before we go further, there’s something you should know.”
”Oh?” the king said. “Speak.”
”I’m a reincarnate.”
The Immortal King’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity glinting in the shadow. Encouraged, I continued.
”I remember a full life before this one. I’ve used that knowledge to survive — arithmetic, history, materials, monster behavior, that kind of thing.”
”I see. And the Alchemist’s Egg I glimpsed in your blood’s memory — that too?” the king asked.
I shook my head. “No. That was my own idea — blending alchemy and crafting. Came up with it in this life.”
”Then your past knowledge matters less than your present mind,” the king mused.
I chuckled faintly. “You’re starting to sound like the Demon Lord now.”
The king raised a brow. “Our first conversation — did it mean anything to you?”
”I once read a story with a similar exchange,” I said. “Someone asked how much chance he had to survive, and the answer was: even if it’s one in infinity, that’s enough to fight for.”
”You already knew the truth, then.”
”No,” I said quietly. “I just believe that if there’s even a chance to protect someone you love, it’s worth it. I guess that’s all that really matters.”
The Immortal King’s voice softened, half sigh, half laughter. “Then perhaps being a reincarnate has little to do with who you are, Tatara Julon.”
The night stretched thinner as our conversation deepened. The Immortal King’s gaze held steady, unflinching.
”You’ve carried your past self into this life,” he said. “That matters more than you think.”
My voice was quiet. “And what, I’ve become the monster’s model of human perfection? No. The man I was didn’t even care enough to cling to life. You’d have hated him.”
I exhaled, the air trembling like a sigh from my old soul. I remembered that day — the moment that unmade me. The resignation that followed when I was stabbed, the way I’d felt nothing but relief. I hadn’t seen any worth in living then, only the hollow logic that death would simplify things.
”Back then,” I said, “I couldn’t see any value in life at all.”
The king watched, silent.
”When I fought you, I wanted to live — because there was someone I wanted to protect. To stay with her, even in despair. But now… I can’t see that anymore. Losing that thread means I’ve lost the part of me you admired. I’m just like before. Someone who stopped caring.”
The Immortal King tilted his head. “What caused it?”
I gave a bitter smile. “I told her the truth — that I’m a reincarnate. It touched an old scar, and she recoiled. So I pushed her away before she could hurt me further.”
I explained how my knowledge of the dungeon stretched to its deepest floor, how I’d hidden the truth to keep credibility with my companions. If they didn’t trust me, my advantage was meaningless. But when the time came — when the sixtieth floor boss demanded honesty — I confessed, fully expecting disbelief. And I got it.
The laughter, the teasing — even from Ethelena and the others — had cut deeper than I’d admitted. It had reminded me of those in my old workplace who mocked me until I broke. The sound of it still echoed, like a fracture in my chest.
I rubbed my sternum, as though the memory still bled there. “They joked about my lack of experience. Ethelena, the succubus — even the others joined in. I know it was harmless to them, but to me… it was the same old rejection, dressed in laughter. So I shut them out. Childish, maybe, but I couldn’t forgive it.”
The Immortal King listened, hands folded, the patience of a confessor.
My voice fell lower. “After that, I couldn’t find a reason to keep living. I was supposed to complete the Sublimation of Existence, but I stopped halfway. I extended my life once — only so my child could grow enough to enter school. Later, when the mother asked me to stay alive until adulthood, I added twenty more years. And then, I decided that was enough.”
I laughed softly — self-mockery, thin as frost. “So much for love. Whatever I felt was buried under anger. I’m nothing like the humans you admire.”
The king smiled faintly. “Perhaps not.”
He didn’t strike me down. Didn’t even raise a hand. Maybe, I thought, he simply saw no value in killing a man already hollowed out.
”I was pathetic,” I said. “Felt betrayed by the ones I trusted, mocked, surrounded, cornered.”
”You were,” the king agreed. Then, more gently, “And that’s still human.”
When I met his eyes, the king was smiling — not mockery, but something closer to mercy. “You still love her,” he said. “You wouldn’t avoid her memory so fiercely otherwise. Love twisted by anger is still love. It’s what makes you human.”
I lowered my gaze. Ichika had once cursed the remnants of that same affection, jealousy sharp enough to burn. Yet even so, I couldn’t lie — I still loved Ethelena.
The Immortal King’s voice softened to a near whisper. “Wonderful, Tatara Julon. You are human — foolish, brave, enduring. My kind’s favorite kind of creature.”
I frowned. “That’s too generous a read.”
”Perhaps. But if you mend that bond someday, you’ll be the human I long to see. If not… then I’ll kill you myself.”
I huffed a laugh. “I’ll resist, you know.”
”Do as you please,” the king said. His tone hardened. “But without someone to stand beside you, you’ll never struggle to live again.”
I had no answer. I couldn’t deny it.
When the Immortal King finally left, breaking the barrier to step out into the night, I escorted him to the door. The acting head of the household, stepping out of the bathroom, nearly screamed at the sight of us. I offered an awkward bow of apology.
Later, in my workshop, I tuned the companions’ equipment, forged one final blade for the day — a single strike of skysteel splitting silence — before returning to my room. The king’s words still lingered.
Maybe it was true. Maybe my lingering love for Ethelena meant I hadn’t gone entirely cold. I wasn’t sure if that was good or cruel — at least Ichika wouldn’t think so.
A soft tapping at the window broke my thoughts. I looked up to see a vast shadow outlined in starlight. When I opened the pane, Cipher — my mithril familiar — fluttered in.
”Right,” I muttered. “You never came back from the mayor’s place, did you?”
I let Cipher perch on my arm, closing the window behind us. The familiar pressed against my hand as I stroked its smooth metallic wings. Then it lifted a leg in agitation — a letter tied to it.
”Thanks,” I said softly.
Cipher hopped aside to give me space as I unfolded the paper. It was from the City Mayor, reporting on Tatia’s attempted assault. She had approved Tatia’s temporary withdrawal from the knight academy and agreed to shelter her under my protection.
I sighed. A relief, and yet — another reminder of what I hadn’t burned. “Guess I’ll have to live with that too,” I thought.
Morning crept in with sunlight cutting across the table — and yet another letter from the mayor still lying open beside me. The bureaucracy had stalled again. The judiciary, defense ministry, and vigilante corps were tangled in protocol over the inspection of the knight academy. Even Calmys, usually quick to act, was bound by her own guard duties until the city festival ended.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Of course. Paperwork before people.” Still, I knew it couldn’t be helped. Law kept the realm steady, even if it strangled urgency. Tatia’s bloodline — royal, though unspoken — made it even trickier. To expose that truth would only spark unrest. Student radicals were already using her heritage as their slogan, itching to provoke the visiting royals. Revealing her identity now would be like lighting a fuse.
Worse, rumors of my affair with Tatia could spiral if the wrong tongues started wagging. I grimaced at the thought. Without proof or a child like Ichika’s, every word would be twisted in the courts. I’d never stood in one, in this life or the last. The idea alone made my stomach knot.
The next page brought a shift in tone — a request from the merchant guildmaster. Arena preparations for the upcoming Aarem Festival needed help, with the Acting Head of Family involved. A rush order. “So much for a quiet morning,” I muttered. I scribbled a reply and tied it to Cipher’s leg.
”Back to work already?” I said as Cipher tilted its metallic head. The mithril familiar chirped happily, proud to serve. I watched it take off into the morning light. “How did I end up making golems that are better-behaved than people?” I mused.
When the day’s fatigue finally caught up, I left the window unlatched for Cipher’s return and drifted into sleep.
I woke to a cool, smooth touch brushing my cheek — Cipher nudging me awake. I opened my eyes to find its gleaming wings reflecting sunlight.
”Good morning. Thanks for the wake-up,” I murmured. Cipher chirped once and perched on the chair’s edge, too heavy to fly down unaided. I chuckled, dressed quickly, and carried it downstairs.
The kitchen was still empty — Ichika wasn’t up yet. After setting Cipher on its perch, I started breakfast. Today felt like a hot-sandwich kind of morning. I forged two sandwich presses from spare iron, sliced onions and tomatoes thin, soaked them briefly, tore lettuce by hand, and fried thick slices of ham until they hissed with flavor. Cheese followed — sharp and golden.
Butter spread, layers stacked, and the sandwich press snapped shut. The smell filled the kitchen. “That’s about right,” I said, flipping it once. When I opened it, the bread was a perfect golden-brown, the melted cheese stretching between halves. “If I lived alone, I’d just bite straight in,” I murmured.
I was lining up the next batch when I sensed movement. Turning, I found Ichika standing there, uncertain, eyes soft with sleep.
”Hey,” I said, handing her a ladle. “Mind making the soup?”
”Yes!” she answered instantly, all brightness. Cornremu the tiny dragon padded in behind her, tail flicking. The two moved easily around each other, silent rhythm in their morning routine. In no time, breakfast was ready.
As I sat on the sofa, waiting for the others to wake, a sudden hum filled the air. The teleportation gate activated — its sigils flaring blue. Ichika snapped awake from where she’d dozed against my lap, springing to her feet. Dahlia burst in from upstairs, weapon drawn — wearing a fuzzy pajama kigurumi instead of armor. I blinked. “Didn’t see that one coming,” I muttered.
Then came Tatia, shield raised, still in a thin nightgown that left far too little to the imagination. “Tatia,” I said flatly.
She froze. “My apologies, Lord. Emergency response…”
”You’ve got the skimpy magic armor, don’t you? You could’ve used that.”
Her face went scarlet. I sighed. “Just saying — same exposure, better defense.”
The air rippled. A glowing circle opened midair, revealing the manicured garden of the Torakuma estate. Two figures stepped through — young women, about Ichika’s age.
One had short black hair cut neatly at the shoulder, a crimson horn rising from her forehead, and eyes of molten gold. Her kimono — red and black — fit tightly across her chest, straining at the seams. The other had hair so long it trailed across the floor, her face half-hidden behind a curtain of black. A single dark horn arched above her brow, and her loose violet robes swayed with her slow steps.
”Wait,” I murmured. “Those two… Yohira’s sisters, aren’t they?”
The size difference alone was almost comic. Yeah, definitely sisters.
A voice came from behind them — the Acting Head of Family, face stiff. “Kasumi sent word last night, but I didn’t think they’d actually come.” His sigh said it all.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Acting Head, these ladies are—?”
”—My daughters,” he said with grave calm.
”Yohira’s sisters, then.”
”Oh? So she allows you to call her by name?” The red-horned woman smiled — sharp as a predator’s.
I turned back toward her, steadying myself. “A pleasure to meet you,” I said.
The woman dipped her head, smile widening. “I am Ibara, eldest daughter of the Torakuma family. It’s an honor, truly.”
Why did her grin feel like a threat? I glanced to the side.
The second woman bowed, slow and awkward, her long hair spilling forward. Her eyes lifted just enough to meet mine. “…Mitsuha. Second daughter. Pleased to meet you.”
The pause between her words made it sound less like greeting and more like judgment.
I inclined my head politely. “Tatara Julon, master of the house. Welcome.”
When I returned Ibara’s bow, her brows lifted slightly, as though I’d performed an unexpected trick of etiquette.
”I was told men of this city don’t bow in greeting,” she remarked, curious rather than critical.
”They don’t,” I said, smiling faintly. “But I’ve spent some time around Hizuru’s customs.”
Not entirely true — it was habit carried from another life. But that wasn’t something to mention over breakfast.
Ibara tilted her head, her crimson horn glinting. “So you’re the heir of Ame-no-Mahitotsu-no-Mikoto, then?”
”I am,” I admitted. “My master recognized me as such.”
Ah, so the mother-in-law had chosen to tell them that version of the truth. Sensible. To Hizuru’s people, a disciple of a divine smith was far easier to digest than an entanglement with their younger sister.
”Strange,” murmured Mitsuha suddenly, her soft voice catching me off guard.
I blinked. “Strange… how?”
”Mother said your name was ‘Little Blacksmithing Tatara.’ Yet you called yourself Tatara Julon. Why?”
I rubbed my neck. “Because Tatara Julon is my real name. The ‘Little Blacksmithing’ title was something your mother had registered — a formality for when I visit Hizuru.”
I still remembered her casually forging an identity for me with the same ease I forged iron.
”Tatara-dono is an important man in this city,” the Acting Head of Family said pointedly. “Mind your manners, both of you.”
Their golden and dark eyes turned back toward me, evaluating. I met their stares with calm resignation. “Shall we eat?” I offered.
At least no one seemed inclined to start a duel before breakfast. Weapons lowered, tension eased.
”Breakfast?” Ibara asked. “But isn’t it night?”
Her sister sighed softly. “Elder Sister… it’s the time difference. The sun is up here.”
Right — first time abroad. I hid a grin as Mitsuha patiently explained the obvious. I wondered whether their mother had fared any better adjusting to western mornings.
I turned toward the table. “Let’s talk plans over food. We’ll need everyone’s cooperation today.”
And then Hinagiku struck.
”Ah! The art of toasting bread!” she declared with theatrical fervor, voice ringing through the hall. “The fragrance, the crisp golden crust — divine! Layering vegetables within, allowing the heat to coax forth their essence, creating a harmony of flavor! Truly, today begins as another blessed feast!”
A long pause.
”…Who is that?” Ibara whispered.
”She resembles the Karasu Tengu, Hinagiku-sama,” Mitsuha murmured, bewildered. “But… she cannot be.”
Even the Acting Head of Family looked faintly pained. The once-feared imperial guard now performed breakfast monologues worthy of a street vendor.
”Hinagiku’s presence may spread confusion when she returns home,” the matriarch muttered.
”Then perhaps we should assign her permanently to Tatara’s household,” Ibara suggested dryly.
”That sounds suspiciously like exporting defective goods,” Mitsuha replied, deadpan.
I nearly choked on my tea. The Acting Head sighed in defeat.
”Changing the subject,” I said quickly, “I’ve got a favor to ask, Acting Head. It’s sudden, I know.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Speak.”
”The merchant guildmaster requested my help with the Aarem arena preparations. I was hoping to discuss terms for the trade and alliance declaration there.”
”Understood. I’ll treat it as top priority,” she replied crisply.
I blinked. “A bit too eager about Aarem, aren’t we?”
Her eyes gleamed. Definitely too eager.
Then Ichika’s soft voice cut in. “Um… Master.”
Both sisters froze. Master? Their gazes snapped to Ichika, whose hands fidgeted nervously under the weight of noble scrutiny.
I kept my tone gentle. “What is it, Ichika?”
She straightened. “Tatia-sama and I plan to explore the dungeon today, degozaru.”
”You have her approval?”
”Yes. I decided it would be better than attending school for now… though, well, technically I’m skipping.”
I winced. The mayor’s letter — I’d nearly forgotten. “Tatia,” I said, “the mayor approved your leave and granted permission for you to stay here. You won’t need to attend knight school until this is settled.”
Her eyes lit up. “Truly!?”
I handed her the folded parchment. “See for yourself.”
Tatia read, then smiled with relief bright enough to lighten the room.
”So, how deep are you planning to go this time?” I asked.
”Sixtieth floor, if possible.”
I frowned. “Too dangerous with just you and Ichika. Without Ethelena and Yohira, you’ll lack firepower.” I glanced toward the stairway. “Dahlia.”
”Yes, my Master.” She appeared instantly, posture firm. Problem solved — mostly.
”Still,” I muttered, “leaving the idiots alone with Hinagiku feels like tempting fate.”
Acting Head sighed. “Then I’ll leave my daughters behind to watch over them.”
”Eh?” The sisters froze.
I hesitated. “I appreciate it, but isn’t it risky, leaving them in a stranger’s house?”
The sisters nodded so quickly their horns nearly clicked. Sensible reaction.
”Kasumi raised them well,” the matriarch said. “Ibara has her mother’s fists; Mitsuha, her housekeeping. They’ll manage your meals and keep order.”
I glanced at Mitsuha, who was quietly sweating. “Right,” I said. “We’ll make it work.”
I turned to Ichika. “Can you leave Cornremu as backup?”
”With pleasure, degozaru,” she said, bowing.
The tiny creature waddled over to Mitsuha, who stiffened at its approach. Cornremu waited patiently until, with trembling fingers, she reached out and stroked its head. The familiar cooed happily.
”Looks like they’ll get along,” I said with a grin.
Mitsuha blinked, curious. “Tatara… what is it exactly?”
”Exactly what it looks like — a golem.”
”I see,” she murmured. “Not a household spirit, then?”
”Hardly,” I said dryly. “Have you ever seen a cute household spirit like that?”
”I think it’s adorable,” she said softly.
I couldn’t imagine calling my own squashed face cute, but Mitsuha’s gentle smile said otherwise. People saw beauty in strange places. Ichika was already showing her around the kitchen, Cornremu waddling beside them, its small wings fluttering as it chirped in approval. The faint sound of laughter drifted through the hall — a rare, wholesome melody.
”That settles everything then, yes?” the Acting Head of Family asked.
”More or less,” I said, scratching my cheek. “Minor details aside.”
”Good. Then someone must teach my daughters how to use the… facilities.”
I froze. Oh no. The washlet.
The last thing I needed was an oni-strength noblewoman obliterating my plumbing by accident. I quickly delegated the task to Ichika, who took it with cheerful diligence. Soon, muffled voices and the faint whir of water controls confirmed the crisis had been averted.
By the time everything was settled, the so-called ‘bastard’ arrived, only to stop dead upon seeing Ibara. Their silent exchange promised history I didn’t want to know. I decided ignorance was mercy.
I handed the exploration party freshly tuned equipment and stat-boosting potions. “If luck runs short, these will help,” I said. Whether the supplies could be replaced after this dungeon run was another matter — but generosity was safer than regret.
Once they departed, I joined the Acting Head of Family en route to the arena. The streets were alive with motion — carts rolling, banners unfurling, and crews hauling materials under the merchant guild’s precise supervision.
”What energy,” I murmured.
”The guildmaster must be exceptional,” said the matriarch, eyes scanning the bustling site. “You can feel morale through their stride.”
I nodded. Leadership by example — the mark of real authority.
”Tatara-han, Torakuma-sama! Morning!”
The guildmaster waved, bright blue jumpsuit gleaming in the sun. The matriarch and I returned the greeting.
”Sorry for callin’ you sudden-like,” she said with her usual drawl. “Had somethin’ to ask.”
”Good timing,” I replied. “I had something for you too.”
Curiosity sparked in her eyes, but she gestured toward the interior. “Come on, easier talkin’ while walkin’.”
We entered the new cafeteria — a bright, open space already lined with counters and tables. Sunlight streamed through wide windows, gleaming on metal cutlery and fresh woodgrain.
”This the café we reworked from your old salon, Tatara-han,” the guildmaster said proudly.
”It looks great,” I said, scanning the warm design. “Inviting. Kids won’t feel out of place.”
She grinned, tail swishing. “Thank ya kindly!”
The Acting Head nodded approvingly. “Pleasant atmosphere. Yet… something’s missing.”
”What d’ya mean, Torakuma-sama?”
”Aarem,” he said simply. “It lacks a trace of their spirit.”
I chuckled. “A fair point. I can forge a few decorative Aarem models — but it doesn’t have cores, just display pieces.”
The guildmaster blinked. “You’d do that?”
”Sure. Got room in the budget?”
He puffed his chest. “Thanks to you, wages came under quota. I got plenty left for metal.”
”Perfect. I’ll craft a few Imperial-standard suits for the layout. Maybe even armor replicas.”
His eyes sparkled. He whistled for a tiny bird-shaped golem, scribbled a note, and sent it flying.
”Later, we could host Aarem tournaments,” I mused. “Winners get their Aarem’s face carved into plaques.”
The matriarch’s eyes lit up. “A splendid idea. Invite me when it begins.”
”I’m in too!” added the guildmaster.
And just like that, an impromptu ten-minute design meeting turned into a joyful brainstorming session. For me, it was one of the easiest collaborations of my life.
”Wouldn’t it be nice,” I said, “if people could just gather here, drink coffee, and ramble about Aarem like old friends?”
That offhand line would later curse me. The café’s eventual name, engraved in brass above the door: Otakugatari — The Geek Talk.
Next came the restaurant, still an empty shell of bare walls and echoing floors.
”No concept’s stickin’,” the guildmaster admitted. “Blank mind.”
I studied the space. “We could go opposite the café. Something darker, calmer — like a craftsman’s den.”
”Then, Tatara-han… you design it.”
I nearly choked. “Me? I have no sense for that!”
”Don’t fret,” she laughed. “We’ll call in experts later.”
”Fine,” I sighed. “But I’m not taking complaints afterward.”
I pulled Orc wood from my inventory, treated it with mana-infused preservative, and began layering planks across the walls. The room took on a rich, deep tone. Indirect lighting warmed the edges. Ceiling fans hummed gently as air stirred through the space. Behind the bar, polished counters connected straight to the kitchen.
”So, a bar counter?” the guildmaster asked.
”Sort of. It can serve meals too. Even without alcohol, coffee or soft drinks would fit the atmosphere.”
I smiled faintly. It needs the smell of bitter coffee, I thought.
The image built itself: dim light, murmuring voices, battle-scarred warriors sipping black coffee after the arena’s roar — the quiet heartbeat of craftsmanship.
”Tatara-han,” the guildmaster asked at last, “what’ll we call it?”
I paused. The faint echo of a melody crossed my mind — one from a past life of steel and fire.
”…Choking,” I murmured.
”Huh?”
”Don’t mind it,” I said, half-laughing. “Just… a song reference.”
Behind me, the two women were already debating whether ‘Choking’ was a profound metaphor or utter nonsense. I tuned them out, finishing the last touches as my smaller golems eagerly waited to help.
Thirty minutes later, the restaurant was complete — dark wood, soft light, the perfect haunt for dreamers trying to look serious. The kind of place kids might peek into, whispering, Someday I’ll drink coffee there.
A café for laughter. A restaurant for quiet pride. Two halves of the same city heartbeat.
I exhaled, wiping sweat from my brow, and allowed myself a small, tired grin.
Maybe this was what peace looked like — not grand, not divine. Just coffee, craftsmanship, and company.
Notes:
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name. Oni warrior.
• Ichika – The fox girl. Kunoichi. Virgincest⚠️, becomes pregnant immediately.
• Cipher – Tatara’s familiar, sent to guard Tatia.
• Calmys – War God’s knight, Mayor’s guard chief, whip-master hiding as a swordswoman; sharp tongue, big-sister vibe to Tatara, grants him and Ethelena church protection.
• Cornremu – TataraGolem; wears red scarf (*”Ta-!” greetings*).
• Dahlia – The automaton.
• Ibara – Eldest daughter of the Torakuma family (Yohira’s sister). She is sharp, formal, and possesses a predatory confidence and dry humor. Relative of the Narrator’s ex-companion (Yohira) and a new house guest/guard. Short black hair (neatly at the shoulder), crimson horn (from forehead), eyes of molten gold, red and black kimono like Shuten-dōji (Fate).
• Mitsuha – Second daughter of the Torakuma family (Yohira’s sister). She is quiet, awkward, surprisingly deadpan, and possesses a gentle, nurturing side (shown with Cornremu). Hair so long it trailed across the floor like Tomie Kawakami (Junji Ito), face half-hidden by hair, single dark horn (above brow), loose violet robes.
• Hinagiku – A tengu woman as Ranka’s potential companion. She stays with Tatara’s group after travels. Joins household scenes only. Linked to Ranka by shared gluttony jokes. No direct tie to Tatara beyond cohabitation. Cheerful eater.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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