Chapter 97 Tuna Cutting Knife
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”So, the main idea behind creating Artificial Orichalcum,” I started, tapping the metal bar on the table, “is replacing the impurities inside a steel ingot with Mana Stone.”
”What—you’re going to manipulate the impurities in the ingot!?”
”Shamir!!”
The sharp crack of Est’s hand hitting Shamir’s cheek split through the workshop—loud, clean, and absolutely deserved. Yeah, I could guess how she misheard me, but come on. I’m not some freak who gets off on fondling minerals.
”Replace, not grope, damn it,” I said flatly. “Even I’d get pissed if someone called me the kind of guy who obsesses over inanimate objects.”
”Ugh—sorry…” Shamir mumbled, rubbing her cheek.
”Honestly, Shamir…” Est sighed. “Anyway, Senpai, when you say we ‘replace’ impurities with Mana Stone—how exactly does that work?”
I took a slow breath and reset the mood. “You’ve used Concept Appraisal enough to get the idea. When you look at an iron or steel ingot, do you notice those parts that don’t quite look like metal?”
”Yes,” Est said carefully. “It’s hard to describe, but…”
”It’s like… glittering stuff, you know?” Shamir added. “Like sand trapped in glass.”
”Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s actually pretty close.”
The way she said it was odd, but she wasn’t wrong—impurities really did reflect light inside what should be a uniform, opaque structure.
”Anyway,” I continued, “by using both the Crafting skill and Alchemy together, you can swap those impurities with Mana Stone. Do that, and the steel transforms into Artificial Orichalcum.”
Shamir blinked. “You make it sound so casual, but that’s not… normal, right?”
”The City Mayor can do it without Concept Appraisal,” I said dryly. “So yeah, it’s simple enough.”
”That’s… not a fair comparison.”
”Well, Demonsteel aside, I’ve never heard of Shape Memory Alloy or Artificial Orichalcum losing much efficiency, so it’s not that complex.”
I clapped my hands. “Alright. Let’s give it a try.”
”You make that sound so easy,” Est muttered, but she still reached for her tools.
”Taking your classes, Senpai,” Shamir said, “I feel like you expect us to handle advanced techniques like skill fusion as if it’s normal. It’s… kind of terrifying, but I guess it’s training.”
”That’s the spirit,” I said. “And hey, in a dungeon, using multiple skills at once is standard. Besides, this isn’t even something that changes over time—we just need to keep Concept Appraisal running while supporting the Alchemy infusion through Crafting. Nothing extreme.”
The real issue was that neither of them was used to sustaining Concept Appraisal subconsciously. It wasn’t hard to use, but maintaining it without focus? That took discipline. If they couldn’t juggle three skills yet, maybe we’d have to train for that. After all, the advanced stuff—like Levitation Stones or Alchemist’s Eggs—would demand skill fusion as a baseline.
But first, I needed to help them get used to Concept Appraisal.
”Ugh, it’s not working at all…” Shamir groaned.
”Yeah,” I said, watching her mana flicker. “You’re not used to multi-skill control. That’s the bottleneck.”
Shamir relied too much on instinct, while Est was dissecting every step, trying to isolate what she lacked. They couldn’t be more different, yet both were learning fast in their own way. Shamir didn’t even realize she’d reached the point where she could maintain Concept Appraisal unconsciously. The real problem might be Alchemy’s level—or maybe even rank.
I could forge anything once I understood the blueprint, regardless of my own rank. That was… abnormal, apparently. Maybe they needed higher skill levels to pull this off.
While I was lost in thought, the closing bell rang. Time had flown, but watching them struggle had given me plenty of ideas. Time to play the mentor again.
”Shamir,” I said, “you’re failing because you’re overthinking using Alchemy. Your focus keeps slipping the moment you try to control it.”
”What—how can you tell!?”
”Because I’m your teacher.” I smiled faintly.
I could see it—through her mana flow, through the slight delay in her brain’s activation pattern. She wasn’t integrating the skill subconsciously yet. Hell, it felt wrong expecting that kind of finesse from students who hadn’t even reached the upper division.
”And Est,” I continued, turning to her, “your goal is to build a solid sequence for skill use.”
”A… sequence?” she repeated.
”Yeah. Don’t pick skills by intuition like Shamir does. Build a routine—A to B to C. Lock it down. Once you find the pattern that fits, it’ll click. I can’t tell you what that order is—you’ll have to find it yourself.”
”I see… so you’re saying I should use my overthinking for once,” she said with a wry smile.
Smart girl. She caught my meaning even through my half-assed phrasing.
”Anyway,” I said, glancing at the wall clock, “we went over time. Let’s wrap up for today.”
”Yes! Thank you so much, Senpai!!”
”Thank you as well, Senpai. I’ll store the knife properly,” Est said, bowing slightly.
I nodded back and watched them leave. Time to regroup with that idiot and head home. Tonight, my mother-in-law and Hinagiku-san could train him again.
But when I got back to the classroom, I saw him—and Ethelena—surrounded by a pack of students. Again.
”Sorry I’m late,” I called out. “Let’s go.”
As soon as I spoke, Ethelena turned, bright smile cutting through the crowd. Then she just—jumped, shoving past the others and slamming into me, arms tight around my chest.
”Hey, this is school,” I said flatly.
”It’s fine,” she said, chin against my shoulder. “Let them see.”
”It’s not fine.”
She was trembling. Whatever that crowd had said, it had pushed her to the edge. Some of the students she’d brushed past looked stunned… one even looked like they’d just been punched in the gut.
”Hey, Julon!” someone barked.
I turned toward a boy who’d been hovering near the idiot. I didn’t recognize him—maybe seen him once or twice.
”That thing you gave to Carla earlier—make one for me too!”
”What, the katana?”
He nodded, eager.
Yeah, no. Not the time or place. “If you want something made, come by the shop and file an official request. And before that, have you ever commissioned a metalwork item properly?”
”But you made one for Carla, didn’t you? That magic weapon’s insane! It’s unfair to give only her one.”
”…I did ask her to test my latest weapon,” I said evenly. “She’s top of the exploration class for a reason. Don’t change the subject.”
Yeah, I spoiled her. She’s my childhood friend—and she saved my life once. But the request wasn’t favoritism. It was trust. And that title of class leader? It’s not decoration. It means something.
”I did take a proper commission from her,” I said, voice tight. “She gave me the iron ore and ingots herself, and I forged the sword from scratch. I know she’s strong enough to clear the fifteenth floor solo. That’s why I trusted her with that weapon. You get that, right?”
The guy in front of me flinched. He stepped back like I’d just growled at him and nodded, pale and stiff. At least he seemed to understand what a real commission meant. If he wanted something too, he could damn well come to the workshop like everyone else. And anyway, Katana pricing wasn’t even fixed yet—cultural import, unstable costs, specialized forging process. I couldn’t just slap a random price on that.
More than that, though… my pride wouldn’t let me sell my master’s craftsmanship cheap. That woman’s blacksmithing was art. It deserved respect.
”The blade I gave her,” I went on, “was based on foreign smithing theory—something I learned personally from overseas contacts. That means there’s a technical fee attached. And I won’t undervalue it. Even the best Explorers in Whirlwind couldn’t use that sword without a very specific fighting style, one that doesn’t even exist in this country.”
I hadn’t seen today’s training session, but judging from the tension in the air, that idiot must’ve pulled off something wild again. Hinagiku-san—the imperial royal guard herself—was his instructor, and my mother-in-law supervised on top of that. With mentors like that, plus his ridiculous raw talent, he probably couldn’t lose to another student even if he tried.
”So if I want someone to learn that sword,” I said, eyes narrowing, “I’d pick a talented fighter who’s still fresh—someone who hasn’t been trapped by old habits. And right now, that means the academy’s strongest student. You got a problem with that?”
He didn’t answer, but his lips trembled. I could read the thought running through his head—he thought that Katana made her strong. That the blade itself had some kind of magic power.
”Let me guess,” I said. “You think the sword did it. That it turned her into a monster overnight. Hate to disappoint you, but she’s strong because she earned it. Every damn bit of it. She trained, she fought, she pushed herself until she broke—and got back up again. That’s why she can wield my work. You? You’re looking for shortcuts.”
”Th-then give me a chance too!” he shouted.
I sighed. He wanted to fight about this? Fine. But first—
”Sorry, but… who the hell are you?”
”…What?”
”I’m serious,” I said. “I don’t remember you. I don’t recall you ever standing out, and I sure as hell don’t remember you introducing yourself. If I don’t even recognize your name, why would I trust you with a high-level commission?”
He stared like I’d stabbed him through the chest. And honestly, I wasn’t trying to be cruel—but nothing about him rang a bell. Maybe if he’d been in my class before, I’d at least recognize his face. But back in middle school, my memory around that time was a mess—my parents’ deaths had scrambled everything. Even so, the idiot used to drag me out to eat, keep me company, make sure I didn’t break completely. He was always there.
”Uh, Tatara,” the idiot called out, still surrounded by his fan club. “He’s in the exploration course. Rank twenty-six or something.”
”Oh. Yeah, that explains it. No wonder I don’t remember.”
Anyone outside the top ten didn’t usually stick in my memory. The ones who did had something—beautiful form, unshakable resolve, the kind of spirit that fought to protect someone else. Those people, I remembered.
But this guy? Nothing.
”Wh-why don’t you know me!?” he yelled, voice cracking.
”Did you ever even introduce yourself to me?” I asked flatly.
He blinked, speechless. Yeah, that’s what I thought.
”I fought you once! Back in middle school!” he said, desperate.
”…Middle school?” I repeated, unimpressed.
I thought back. The only one who’d beaten me regularly back then was that same idiot still standing there—top ten in practical exams, solid as a rock. Everyone else was a blur. Those were dark years for me; I barely noticed anyone.
”So, did you ever beat me back then?” I asked.
”N-no, but—”
”Then sorry, man. My only middle school rivals were him—” I jerked my chin toward the idiot “—and that Elf princess. Hard to remember anyone else.”
The Elf princess… yeah. She looked our age, but she was a century older and had trained for most of it. She never held back, even against me, a crafter. And somehow, the idiot over there still managed to beat her—pure talent.
Funny thing, though. After Ethelena moved in with me, that Elf princess stopped coming around. She used to pester me constantly about test scores. Guess she didn’t like competition.
”I was in your class,” the guy muttered weakly.
”In the same class and never introduced yourself?” I said. “Damn. No wonder I don’t remember.”
He looked crushed. I actually felt a twinge of guilt. But seriously—if he’d been in my class, the idiot would’ve remembered him. And he hadn’t said a word.
”I… I knew you, Julon…” he whispered, face ghost-pale.
What the hell? The way he said it, it didn’t sound like embarrassment. It sounded like panic. For a second, I wondered—had this guy been erased? Like, literally erased? Some kind of demon that eats memories or rewrites people’s existence?
But why him? He wasn’t dangerous, not powerful, not anything. What would a demon gain from wiping someone like that? The logic didn’t add up.
”Anyway,” I said, stepping back, “I’ve got stuff to do. Can we wrap this up?”
Yeah, I felt bad leaving him like that, but I had things waiting for me at home. My mother-in-law and Master were leaving soon, and I wanted to prep dinner for them—and I still had to make and practice with my own knife for tuna cutting.
The guy just collapsed onto his knees. For a moment, I actually pitied him. “Sorry, man,” I said quietly. “But if you really want something made, follow proper channels.”
”W-wait!”
I froze halfway to the door. Ethelena and the idiot had already started moving, pushing through the lingering crowd, when a voice called from behind.
”Hey, you’re being called,” the idiot muttered.
”Not by me, she’s not,” I said.
”What?”
”…Annoying as it is,” Ethelena sighed, “she means you, Tatara.”
”Huh?”
I turned. Standing there was a quiet girl—black hair, glasses, nervous hands clutching her skirt. She looked like she’d rather melt than speak. Oh right, I remembered her—she’d ranked just above Ethelena on the last exam.
”Um… I’d like to request a crafting commission,” she stammered. “For a magic catalyst. When will your shop open again?”
Her voice was so small it barely reached me, eyes darting everywhere but my face. Still, she was being polite, and if she wanted to make a proper request, I couldn’t refuse her. Even that wreck of a boy earlier deserved the same chance—just done properly.
”The soonest would be the day after tomorrow,” I said. “I’ve got a special job lined up until then.”
”I-I see. Then I’ll come by the day after tomorrow!” she said, bowing slightly.
Huh. That was easier than expected. I’d braced for some kind of fuss, but she just accepted it and smiled nervously. A magic catalyst, though… so she was probably in the exploration course, magic-user division. She had that academic air—reminded me a bit of Olive-san.
”Just to confirm,” I added, “you’ve already completed a metalwork commission somewhere in the city, right? That’s required for official crafting requests.”
”Yes!” she said quickly. “I also gathered iron ingots from a dungeon, and I’d like you to process those as well!”
”Got it,” I said, switching into my polite customer voice without thinking. “I’ll be waiting for your visit.”
Her face flushed bright red right after I said it. Shy type, huh? Though, weirdly enough, the embarrassment only hit after the conversation ended.
As we walked away, I heard voices behind me praising and encouraging her—her friends, probably. She’d clearly worked up all her courage to talk to me, and they were proud of her for it. Good friends.
”…That girl,” Ethelena said softly beside me, “she actually asked me earlier when your shop would open. She wanted to commission something and couldn’t bring herself to ask you directly.”
”Oh, that so? Then those people around her…”
”Her party members, yeah. She’s bad at talking to strangers, so one of them stopped me and told her to ask. They were cheering her on from behind. I told her to ask you directly since I didn’t know your schedule—but when you showed up, she froze. She was right in the middle of trying to talk when you walked in.”
”So they weren’t crowding her—they were supporting her,” I said. “Makes sense. You didn’t look scared at all, so I figured it wasn’t the usual kind of crowd.”
She smiled faintly. “Guess it takes one awkward soul to understand another.”
”Meanwhile,” the idiot cut in, “I got surrounded by people asking about your Katana. They were convinced that was the secret behind Carla’s strength. I told them it’s just a crazy-sharp, temperamental blade, but then they started babbling about stat boosts.”
”That sword doesn’t have any special abilities like that,” I said.
”I know. I told them that. But they wouldn’t listen—they kept insisting I was hiding something.”
”You’ve had a rough day,” I muttered, half amused, half sympathetic.
Really, how did we end up with such different crowds? Ethelena got quiet admirers; the idiot got conspiracy theorists.
”So,” I asked, side-eyeing him, “you went that wild today?”
He scratched his cheek, grinning sheepishly. “Guess I did. After sparring with Hinagiku-san so long, everyone else looks slow as hell. Only Ethelena could keep up—and even then, barely.”
”She’s faster than you,” I pointed out.
”Yeah, and she still almost got hit a few times,” Ethelena said dryly. “That’s what scares me.”
How the hell was he even managing that? Ethelena’s Speed stat was over a hundred. On paper, he shouldn’t touch her. And yet somehow, he kept bending the laws of the damn world.
We were still laughing about it when we stepped out of the academy. Yohira, Ichika, and Dahlia were waiting by the gate, apparently untouched by trouble for once. Good.
I handed Ethelena off to them, and the idiot and I headed home.
”Hey,” I said as we walked, “that guy from earlier—the one who said he used to be in our class. Any chance that’s true?”
He frowned, thinking. “Nah. Never had him in any of ours.”
I figured as much. Weird though—he’d claimed we’d been classmates, but neither of us remembered him at all. Either he was lying, or something had wiped him out of memory. Either way, it was unsettling.
We reached my place before long. While the idiot went to change, I headed for the kitchen to prep lunch. Something quick, filling, and satisfying. Rice balls, miso soup, and maybe a side. Yeah—tempura sounded good.
Ichika must’ve cooked rice earlier, so that was handled. We had onions—three of them—and a pile of asparagus. Chicken would do for the main. I’d go with chicken tempura.
I sliced the chicken breast thin, cutting across the grain. A sprinkle of sugar first—rub it in to loosen the fibers. Then soy sauce, garlic, ginger. Mix, knead, and let it sit. While that marinated, I sifted flour to break the clumps—twice, maybe three times. Good enough.
Next came the batter: egg, cold water, mix, then fold in the flour lightly. No overmixing—just enough to smooth it out.
For the veggies, I wiped the onion rings dry, dusted them with flour, and dipped them in the batter. Asparagus—peeled, trimmed to fit the pot, floured, dipped, ready to go.
I checked the oil. Perfect—about 170°C. The onions went first, sizzling as the scent filled the air. When the coating stiffened, I flipped them, crisped the other side, and lifted them out to drain.
Then the chicken. Same temp, but smaller batches to keep the heat steady. Slightly longer fry than the vegetables—golden brown, crisp outside, juicy inside. Drained them too, letting the residual heat finish the job.
Once everything was done, I cleaned up, plated it all, and carried the dishes out.
”Thanks for waiting,” I said. “Chicken, onion, and asparagus tempura. All I’ve got for seasoning is salt and lemon, so take your pick.”
”Why are you talking like a waiter, Tatara?” the idiot asked.
”Because my Master and my mother-in-law are here,” I said. “It’s automatic.”
I set plates in front of everyone, then dropped a large platter of rice balls in the center. The idiot and Hinagiku-san’s eyes lit up like kids at a festival.
They chorused a loud “Itadakimasu!” and immediately grabbed food—each taking a different tempura piece, eyes going wide as soon as they bit in.
”This chicken tempura’s incredible,” my mother-in-law said with quiet delight. “The garlic and ginger shine through beautifully. Salt and citrus… such a simple pairing, yet elegant. If only we had some sake and dipping broth.”
Yeah, that wistful tone again. She always missed her drinks. I’d wanted to make proper tentsuyu, but we didn’t have the right stock ingredients here in Whirlwind. My Master chuckled. “This makes me crave soba or udon. And tempura with salt, huh? Refined choice, Tatara.”
”Normally I’d serve it with grated daikon and tentsuyu,” I said, “but Whirlwind doesn’t have either. Salt and lemon were the next best thing. Back in Hizuru, I’d use kabosu or sudachi.”
”Sudachi, huh?” she said, squeezing lemon over her salt. “That’d pair beautifully.” She stirred it together, making her own lemon-salt mix, and took another bite—eyes soft with pleasure, though she still sighed every time she glanced at her empty drink spot.
”TATARA, this fritter’s amazing!” the idiot roared.
”Glad you like it,” I said, grinning.
”The coating’s thin but crunchy, the onion’s crazy sweet, and the asparagus—holy hell, that texture!” He was practically glowing as he ate, clearly preferring the veggies, probably his farm roots showing.
Hinagiku-san, not to be outdone, jumped in next. “It’s delicious, Tatara-dono! A revelation—tempura not of fish or vegetables, but chicken! The breast meat’s lean yet juicy, the garlic and ginger give it bite, and the balance of soy sauce and sugar—divine! And this salt with lemon—it resets the palate and keeps the appetite surging! What a terrifyingly perfect combination!!”
”You’re in top form today, Hinagiku-san,” I said, trying not to laugh.
”It’s incredible how she does that unconsciously,” I muttered.
At this point, I was so used to Hinagiku-san’s food commentary that I barely reacted anymore—just threw in the occasional “uh-huh” at the right moments. My mother-in-law, on the other hand, looked quietly defeated, as though she’d long since given up trying to rein in that woman’s endless enthusiasm and vocabulary.
Still, watching her dig in so happily made me think—if only I’d had some shrimp, I could’ve made tenmusu. But importing good shrimp without a proper aquaculture setup was absurdly expensive and rare here. Money wasn’t the issue—it was the connections. The merchant guild leader’s shop could probably get some, but it’d be the kind of luxury that would make this whole meal feel ridiculous.
”Oh, right,” I said, setting my chopsticks down. “Master, Mother-in-law—about tomorrow.”
”Yes?” my Master asked.
”What’s the matter?” my mother-in-law added.
”Since you’ll both be leaving tomorrow,” I said, “I wanted to serve the tuna you gifted us as a farewell meal. Any preference on how you’d like it prepared?”
Their eyes lit up a little. Yeah, that was the reaction I’d hoped for.
Of course, the how was the tricky part. Sushi would need proper vinegared rice. Grilled steaks would require charcoal and a net, which I could handle. But if they wanted something like a kabuto-yaki—roasted tuna head—that would mean building a furnace outside. A tail stew would take half a day to simmer, and a sashimi bowl would need the rice cooled just right so it wouldn’t ruin the flavor. I laid out all those options while explaining the steps.
Honestly, this kind of planning always reminded me how much I missed my old-world recipe apps.
”Just those dishes you mentioned are more than enough,” my mother-in-law said kindly.
”Truly,” my Master agreed. “Even simple sashimi would be perfect.”
Their politeness made me a little sad. Adults always indulged the whims of children—surely it was okay for the child to spoil the adults once in a while, right?
”Hey, Tatara,” the idiot spoke up. “So they’re both heading home tomorrow?”
”Yeah,” I nodded. “My contract with Master ends tomorrow. I wanted a longer apprenticeship, maybe a year, but she’s too busy for that. One week was all she could spare. Mother-in-law came to check on Yohira and make sure her dance training hasn’t lapsed.”
Technically true—but it was also a cover story. The real reason they were leaving involved the growing unrest in the student factions, and the last thing we needed was the knights catching wind that we were preparing for anything.
”Wait,” he said. “So… your ‘Master’ is some kind of big deal back home?”
”‘Master’?” my mother-in-law asked, arching a brow.
”Yeah,” he said innocently. “She told me to call her that the first day.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What were you thinking, Mother?”
She just smiled knowingly.
”Anyway,” I continued, “she’s the wife of a high-ranking noble from Hizuru—important enough to oversee national ceremonies and festivals. Calling her my ‘mother-in-law’ isn’t wrong… and if I don’t, she gets upset.”
The idiot blinked. “You seriously call that person your mother-in-law?”
”Yeah,” I said flatly. “Trust me, it’s safer that way.”
My mother-in-law, listening in, gave us the kind of soft, doting smile you’d see on someone watching kittens play. I still wasn’t sure why that conversation amused her so much.
”I’d like to see them off too,” the idiot said, scratching his head.
”Well, that tuna’s huge,” I said. “So there’s plenty. Stick around and eat.”
”…How big are we talking?”
”Over four hundred kilos whole. Maybe three hundred edible.”
”THREE HUNDRED!?”
”And my mother-in-law’s the one who brought it,” I added.
”WHAT!?”
Yeah, his face said it all. The sheer scale broke his brain.
The bones alone could make broth, ensuring nothing went to waste, but the sheer amount of prep was going to be hell. Meanwhile, my mother-in-law was happily telling him, “My husband caught it himself,” in a tone that sounded an awful lot like bragging. The idiot’s soul visibly left his body. Guess we all had our burdens.
After that lively lunch, the idiot and my mother-in-law went out to the yard for more training. I cleaned the dishes, then slipped into the forge. Tomorrow, I’d need a proper tuna butchering knife—so I pulled out the mithril.
Adamantite would’ve been ideal for practice, but I didn’t have enough. Mithril was the next best choice—still a magic metal, and abundant for once. Funny how there was less steel than mithril around these days.
I heated the mithril to red, hammered it, quenched it, and began layering. Forge welding, preliminary binding—step by step, slow and steady. Slower than usual, though, since I was testing the “Sky Splitter” forging technique my Master had taught me. Not quite as ornate as Yohira’s Temaribana or Ichika’s Botan, but it would rival them in quality.
Chef’s request had been clear: pour everything I’d learned from my Master into this blade. And so I did.
The heat, the shimmer, the song of the metal—it pulled me in. I could feel myself getting closer to her level, little by little. The work was grueling, but damn if it didn’t feel good.
From rough forging to training rounds, I kept singing to steady my rhythm—just like she used to chant prayers while working.
”♪ Cut the tuna, slice it fine~
Make it perfect, fresh, and divine~ ♪”
Yeah. That came out way weirder than I intended. But hey, it worked.
The mithril began to take shape, its layered structure forming intricate inner veins as star mana seeped through. After finishing both lower and upper folds, I moved to shaping.
Following the old knife designs, I wrapped a core of iron between a broader blade steel and outer steel—a three-layer forge. The proportions made it look more like a monstrous deba knife than a katana, but that was fine. A tuna knife shouldn’t look like a weapon.
I trimmed the tip, straightened the spine, added no curve. Fire shaping, applying clay, and finally—quenching. Steam hissed as the blade hardened, and I felt a thrill run through me. Even if this was just “practice,” I’d poured everything into it.
When the clay cracked and fell away, the mithril’s pure light shone beneath. I polished it until it gleamed—a reflection of everything I’d learned.
I tried using Appraisal—but nothing came up. No stats, no category. Weird. Tuna knives should exist in this world’s system, but somehow, this one didn’t register.
”If this thing turns out to be a conceptual weapon too, I swear…” I muttered.
Still, I couldn’t leave it nameless. My naming sense was garbage, though. I needed something that fit.
”…’Maguro-cleaver,’ huh? No… wait. ‘Shinguro.’ Yeah, that’ll do.”
It was dangerously close to a certain B-grade yokai’s name, but whatever. I wasn’t calling it that.
I reappraised it, just in case.
Tuna Butchering Knife – “Shinguro”
Physical Attack: 96
Magic Attack: 96
Special Abilities: Seafood Slayer, Hymn of Life
”…What the hell kind of abilities are those?”
Notes:
• 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.
• Dahlia – The automaton.
• Ichika – The fox girl. Kunoichi.
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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