Chapter 118 Touring the Wholesale Market
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The next day.
The elaborate ruse of creating Himawari No. 2¹—the artificial human being—and “gifting” her the ordinary happiness she craved had ended in failure. In her place, I’d gained a “touchable” Shafu² driver, and in the excitement, I’d completely spaced on my scheduled talk with Uribayashi-san.
This was bad. I’d promised her that yesterday was my only day for playing around. Bikka was already at the cottage since dawn, waiting to pick me up.
Uribayashi-san glanced at the black-ribbon jinrikisha idling in the yard and let out a frosty remark. “Is that the vehicle Your Lordship selected?”
Her voice was thick with exasperation. She clearly wasn’t hiding her disapproval.
”I mean, yeah… is there a problem?” I asked.
”By my professional estimation, that contraption is more than halfway to the scrap heap,” Uribayashi-san replied.
I’d noticed the axle groaning the moment I stepped inside yesterday, so she wasn’t wrong. But Bikka had looked so genuinely thrilled that I couldn’t bring myself to demand a different ride.
The chill in the air wasn’t just the leftover bite of March. To a woman like Uribayashi-san, the sight of that beat-up, “vintage” jinrikisha parked in the garden was an eyesore. I could have sworn even the cottage’s wood stove felt a little less effective under her cold gaze.
”It’s certainly impressive that you managed to park a vehicle at your honored one at all, but you really went and chose a ‘distinguished’ classic, didn’t you?” she said. “Did that thing actually manage to navigate the main thoroughfares?”
”It moved just fine,” I countered. “The ride quality was… unique, sure, but it got the job done.”
I really wished she’d stop calling it “that thing.”
She looked at me with the bitter expression of a teacher staring at a student who’d barely scraped a D-minus. She was clearly unsatisfied with the low-tier status of the ride I’d flagged down.
”Look, even if there’s an accident, I’m sturdy,” I explained. “You know I’m a Psionic Power user, right? I’ve taken down monsters. These black-ribbon rigs are unpopular, which meant I could actually get a reservation. Plus, it’s small enough to slip through narrow backalleys, which is surprisingly handy. Besides, the Shafu is a good kid. I trust her.”
”Oh, my. Well, isn’t that just… wonderful ~desuwa,” she said.
Prioritizing maneuverability—it’s the same logic as driving a compact car, right? But the logic didn’t seem to land with Uribayashi-san at all.
”Regardless, send her home for today. You need to learn the social etiquette and manners of the Imperial Capital before you go sightseeing, don’t you?”
”I’m not going to force the issue,” Uribayashi-san added, seeing my hesitation. “I feel for the girl too. Just toss this nagging old woman aside and go enjoy yourself as you please.”
”Wait, are you quitting?” I asked.
”Since I have accepted the duty once, I intend to see it through. I promised to provide a thorough education, and I shall do exactly that, without compromise.”
”I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “And I’m sorry I’m late in saying it, but I really am sorry. I was having too much fun and totally forgot we had a prior engagement.”
I felt a wave of relief that she wasn’t abandoning me.
She looked surprised, as if she hadn’t expected me to admit I’d simply forgotten rather than broken the promise on purpose. Most boys my age would have responded to a scolding like yesterday’s with pure spite.
”Please forgive me for assuming you’d dragged that piece of junk home just to insult me,” she said. “Before you head out, could I have a moment of your time for a consultation?”
”Of course,” I replied.
The misunderstanding was cleared up, even if she refused to stop calling the rickshaw a “piece of junk.”
We talked for about an hour. We decided that I wouldn’t cancel on Bikka last-minute. Then, I took the time to clarify all the things we’d missed earlier because we’d been talking past each other.
A caretaker’s primary job is daily cooking and laundry. While I’m out, she handles the cleaning and the administration of the grounds. We meet in the morning so I can give her the day’s schedule. She stays at the cottage most days, but goes home one night a week. I can also have her book tickets for shows or operas, and she’ll accompany me on outings if I ask. She’s essentially a high-end butler who covers the ground the Imperial Guards used to handle.
As we spoke, what seemed to shock Uribayashi-san the most was my total lack of loathing toward women. Having spent her life around upper-class men, this clearly rattled her. A boy my age without that ingrained physiological disgust wasn’t just rare—it was, in her eyes, completely abnormal. She asked me question after question in a voice that was almost a breathless gasp. Once it finally clicked that I truly didn’t feel that repulsion, she started pacing the room restlessly.
Apparently, despite her stiff attitude, this old noblewoman had volunteered to be my caretaker out of a genuine sense of kindness. She’d heard rumors about a noble boy who’d spent his life in miserable circumstances and wanted to ensure I was finally looked after. Normally, hiring her would cost a fortune and require a reservation made years in advance.
The reason she’d been so grumpy earlier was that she felt bad for me. She didn’t want me, a newcomer to the Imperial Capital, to be mocked by other men for riding in a low-rent jinrikisha just because I didn’t know any better. That’s what being a caretaker meant to her.
In the end, we agreed that I’d ask for etiquette lessons or a better rickshaw whenever I felt the need.
Once the talk wrapped up, Uribayashi-san pressed a hand to her forehead and nearly keeled over from a dizzy spell. Her decades of common sense were clearly in the middle of a total system crash. I felt a bit bad for her, but I laid her down on the bed and made my exit. I’ve seen people get happy when they learn the truth about me, but she’s the first one to have a physical breakdown over it. I hope she recovers soon.
The morning sun caught the dazzling brown skin of my driver. Bikka was in her usual healthy-looking Shafu gear: the traditional haragake apron and momohiki leggings. Even though it was warmer than yesterday, she was oddly bundled up—maybe a silent vow not to give me any more “openings.”
She was leaning against the rickshaw with her hands behind her back, looking bored. I crept up and spoke softly. “Morning.”
”Eep!” Bikka shrieked, jumping nearly a foot in the air. She spun around, her eyes wide. She had massive dark circles under them.
”Did you actually get any sleep last night?” I asked.
”Ah… G-good morning! Yeah, I slept like a log! Totally crashed! It’s great having the next day’s schedule all filled up, you know?”
”Really? I figured you were up all night thinking about yesterday.”
”What? N-no… I mean, I guess… No, that’s not it! Shut up!” Bikka stammered.
”That’s too bad. I barely slept because I was thinking about you,” I teased.
”I… is that so-ssu?” she said. “I didn’t really…”
She was completely faltering. I had a feeling she’d been “busy” with herself all night.
”Did you end up playing with yourself after I left?” I asked bluntly.
”I did not! I told you, I’m not interested in that! And besides, what kind of noble person asks something like that!” she barked, her face turning bright red.
She scrambled to start the jinrikisha, trying to outrun her own embarrassment.
”By the way, why are you wearing long sleeves and gloves in this weather?”
”This? It’s… it’s so that if you suddenly grab my hand again, you won’t be grossed out by my sweat! Don’t get the wrong idea! It’s for the customer’s comfort, not because of some guy-girl thing!”
So she’d taken clever precautions against direct contact. She probably had stayed up all night overthinking this. I felt a tiny pang of guilt; I might have teased her a little too hard.
We headed toward a few recommended tourist spots. There were three main contenders.
First was Senso-ji Temple and the bustling district of Asakusa. It was a mecca for mystical trade, packed with stores selling equipment and food. These days, half of what Japanese people handle comes from dungeon resources. The reliance on dungeon food is so high that the only things properly grown on the surface anymore are fabric, rice, and miso.
Next were the Ueno Museum and the Nagata Library—hubs for those seeking the secrets of history. There are quiet cafes scattered around, but rumors say fairies haunt the museum and demons lurk in the library. It’s where you go to solemnly study the “proper” ways men and women have lived together.
Finally, there was the government district in Marunouchi, also known as the “Little London” district. It’s the social heart for the peerage, where balls are held every night and high-end zaibatsu shops line the streets. It’s peak “Taisho Romance” aesthetics, with the Imperial Theater and the Kabuki-za. You can even see the magically remodeled Imperial Palace from the outside. It’s also the stronghold of the Special Higher Police (Tokko³), housed in a grim, imposing mansion.
The whole area felt remarkably like the Tokyo I remembered from my past life—specifically the transition from the Taisho to the Showa era. It was like a classic stream of Japanese culture that had been forced to accommodate a flood of magic and foreign influence after some great collapse. Every district felt like a mix of tradition, exoticism, and mystery.
The closer you get to the Imperial Palace, the more high-class the crowd becomes. In the Inner Garden, the gender ratio even starts to level out—it’s strictly for the elite.
”What’s that? There’s something weird wiggling in the sky,” I said, pointing upward.
”Ugh, looks like another ‘door’ is opening-ssu,” Bikka grumbled. “That’s going to shut down work for everyone around here. What a pain.”
On the way to Asakusa, we saw it: a massive, translucent tail, like a ghost-snake, dropped from the sky. It moved carefully to avoid the cherry trees and buildings before slapping a dungeon door onto the pavement. The tail then faded into nothingness.
Apparently, that’s just how dungeons appear. They’re sudden, localized, and a total nightmare for traffic. When they disappear, that same tail just comes back and hauls the door back into the sky.
The street was immediately cordoned off by the Special Higher Police. They set up a perimeter so no one could see the door. They have to judge if a dungeon is “safe” or “dangerous” based on their records. If it’s safe, they turn it into a tourist trap; if not, they bury it in dirt so no one can accidentally wander in. Given that some dungeons can kill an ordinary person in seconds, it’s a necessary precaution.
As we tried to pass the work site, a Tokko officer flagged us down. “Hey, jinrikisha! Stop right there!”
”Y-yes ma’am!” Bikka squeaked.
”License. Now.”
”I haven’t done anything wrong-ssu!” Bikka protested.
”Who told you that you could speak?” the officer snapped.
A jet-black baton hung from her waist, and she looked ready to use it.
”I’m going to count to twenty,” the officer said coldly. “If you haven’t complied by then, I’m breaking your legs.”
”I’m just a Shafu!”
”I have eyes. That’s exactly why you’re a suspect.”
The officer let out a low, intimidating breath. “I’ll make this clear so even a piece of trash like you can understand. You have no right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court record I’ll personally write. You have no right to a lawyer. All other rights are stripped. You don’t even have the right to end this conversation.”
It was a terrifying arrest warning.
”License. And tell me exactly why you were trying to pass through this thoroughfare. Resist, and you’re a subversive element. Any questions?”
”I… I have a noble passenger, so I didn’t want to make him take a long detour…” Bikka stammered.
The officer’s eyes instantly softened. “My deepest apologies. Please, proceed.”
The transformation was jarring. When I gave the uniformed woman a polite nod from the seat, she flashed a sweet, almost “fluffy” smile. “Please, have a safe trip! And good work to you, Shafu!”
She’d looked like a literal demon a second ago, and now she was waving us off like a friendly neighbor.
”Is it always like that? Just for a routine stop?” I asked.
”…That was terrifying,” Bikka whispered, shivering.
”The Special Higher Police are usually that intense? They’re always so nice when they talk to me.”
”That’s because you’re a guy! That’s literally the whole point of the Tokko!”
Bikka was drenched in a cold sweat. Apparently, the “Tokko” are serious, hardworking women who patrol the capital, but from the perspective of a commoner, they’re a nightmare.
”They’re a nasty bunch,” Bikka continued, her voice low. “They’re great if you’re in trouble, but rumors say they’ll pick a fight with any townsperson they don’t like just to seize their stuff. …Don’t tell anyone I said that, though.”
The Special Higher Police started as a branch to crack down on anti-war protests, then absorbed parts of the Army after the war ended. They’re basically cops with military-grade hardware. Their only goal now is “public order,” and since they’re a carryover from a more tyrannical era, false accusations are rampant. If you get hauled into their system, you end up in a military tribunal.
They have zero chill. I heard about one trial involving two crooked business owners where the judge, wanting to save time, found both the defendant and the plaintiff guilty. A 200% conviction rate. They aren’t looking for the truth; they’re looking to hit someone.
”There’s an old saying-ssu: ‘If you see a shadow under a willow tree, fear the guard more than the ghost.’”
”Could I actually get arrested?” I asked.
”No way-ssu. I’ve never even heard of that happening.”
”Right. A country that arrests men doesn’t exist.”
There’s no profit in locking a man up.
”Besides,” Bikka added, “men don’t really do ‘bad’ things. Or maybe it’s more like they don’t think what they’re doing is bad.”
”That’s a bit of a riddle, isn’t it?”
”I guess… But if you really did something, what would happen?”
”I don’t know-ssu. I’ve heard rumors, but even if you tried, you probably wouldn’t get in that much trouble, right?”
Technically, the Tokko have the authority to “protect” (arrest) men. If I accidentally killed someone, I’d probably just get a gentle talking-to. If I killed a group of people, maybe they’d hold me for half a day to “get my side of the story.” If I were a repeat, malicious offender? They’d probably “confine” me to a luxury suite with AC for a day until I felt “better.”
It was a system with zero concept of gender equality. Bikka’s panic made perfect sense.
”It’s scary,” I said. “And they’re all modified humans, too.”
”Yeah. No Psionics, but they’re loaded with mystical gear. If they mark you, you’re done.”
”I actually feel kind of bad for that woman,” Bikka said, a bit of a smirk returning.
”Why?”
”She realized she’d made a scary face in front of a noble. She even got caught being foul-mouthed. She’s definitely crying right now. She’ll be drinking herself into a stupor tonight, for sure.”
”Yikes.”
Bikka chuckled, clearly enjoying the thought of the officer’s regret.
We finally reached Asakusa. The cherry trees gave way to a massive plaza lined with stalls. There were no skyscrapers or train stations, and it was less crowded than I expected. The plaza was essentially a trade fair for mystical objects—a place where towns from all over Japan showcased their goods.
It was a demilitarized buffer zone. Since resources across the country are so lopsided, trade is vital, but the constant civil wars make standard commerce impossible. So, representatives meet here, exchange samples, and sign contracts. The actual goods are exchanged later, often with both sides providing armed guards to protect the shipment.
Before we went in, I insisted on getting Bikka changed. There was a dress code, and I wasn’t going to let her in looking like a laborer. The clothing shop didn’t ask questions—they just put her in a dark blue afternoon dress that was slightly too big. Normally, a commoner isn’t allowed to wear something that expensive, but I pushed it through.
The theme: “Visiting the family estate of a girl you’re usually fighting with, only to find out she’s a high-class lady.” She’d be mad I saw her in a dress. I even bought her a toque hat—it looked great with her short hair.
”Very ladylike. Like a little princess,” I said. “Maybe some gloves and a parasol, too?”
”Heh… I guess… maybe,” Bikka muttered, spinning in front of the mirror. She was blushing, but she clearly felt proud.
”You’ve gotten pretty used to talking to me in just two days,” I noted. “You’re a total lady now. It’s almost a little lonely.”
”That’s… that’s because you’ve put me through so much! It was like… like a bitter medicine! I don’t know… anyway, it’s just how it is!”
She’d come a long way. As long as I didn’t touch her, she wouldn’t run away.
”You look like a perfect noble daughter. Let’s head in.”
”Having a noble spend this much on me… I bet I’m the only one! My Shafu friends are going to be so jealous they’ll grind their teeth to dust!”
She was beaming, her ego growing by the second. But then, her expression clouded. The joy just… withered. “I’m so lucky… If I told myself from two days ago about this, she’d call me a liar…”
”What’s wrong?”
”I… I just…” Bikka suddenly crouched down and started sobbing.
”Why are you so sad all of a sudden? Talk to me.”
”I’m not sad! I just feel… I feel so bad for being treated this well!” she cried.
”I’m doing this because I want to, Bikka. Don’t worry about it.”
But the tears wouldn’t stop.
”It’s all wrong! I hate being this broke! The roles are supposed to be reversed—I’m the one who should be giving you things! And I can hear myself—my grammar, my manners—it’s all wrong! I’m pathetic as a woman!”
She wouldn’t move, her tears dripping onto the dirt. “I’m so uncool.”
”No, you’re not. You’re plenty cool, Bikka.” I reached out and rubbed her back. Hang in there, kid.
The venue was a massive marketplace. Samples were spread out on folding tables as far as the eye could see. Because it was so crowded, a Tokko officer was assigned to shadow us as a guard.
I stopped at a stall where the owner looked bored. “Welcome. We handle goods from the Geishu region,” she said.
”Hiroshima, huh? That’s a long trip,” I noted.
”Naw, if you take the Sanyo Road, it’s less than a month.”
”Was the snow tough?”
”It’s a real pain in the neck, but we’re used to it. Happens every year (mainen),” she said with a thick local lilt.
The mistress seemed happy that a male was being so friendly.
”Is this a faucet?” I asked, pointing to a silver tap on the table.
”Give it a try,” she said, handing it to me.
I took the washcloth Bikka had used to wipe her sweat, pressed it against the back of the tap, and turned the handle. Squelch. The moisture was sucked right out of the cloth, drying it instantly. Pure “Middle Schooler Natural Water” began to flow from the tap.
I took a sip.
”It doesn’t even taste like sweat!”
”Gyahhh! What are you doing! Throw that disgusting stuff away!” Bikka screamed, trying to snatch it back. The Tokko officer immediately slapped her hand away.
”This is incredible,” I said. “It extracts nothing but pure H2O.”
”Here, have a real drink to wash that down,” the mistress said, letting me drink water squeezed from a stone slab. The stone dried up and crumbled into dust.
”How do people use this?”
”It’s the ‘No More Chaps’ faucet. It pulls moisture from almost anything. Outside of the big cities, running water is rare. Going to the intake tower every morning is a chore, and wells near the sea come up salty. This model even filters out impurities.”
”Filters? Ah, I see—it’s a handmade modification.”
”The local craftsmen put a lot of work (and sugar) into these. It’s the talk of the town (kabachi) back in Geishu.”
The tech was fascinating. It used a trap from a dungeon called the Satogahara (Sugar Field) Desert, where everything is stripped of moisture. The faucet used “mystery sugar” mixed with charcoal for deodorizing and a monster’s “bitter gall” to create a compound. When you turn the handle, the compound touches the source, pulls the water, and another mystical object pumps it out the spout.
It’s perfect for damp rooms. If you put it on a wall, it acts as a dehumidifier and a water source at the same time. Just don’t use it on wooden pillars or brick walls, or the house will rot or crack. And you can’t use it on living things. It’s a bit tricky, but useful.
The shop also sold candied goods. Hiroshima is apparently famous for dungeons that produce mystical objects perfect for food preservation. The owner was shocked that a guy from Chiba was so interested. I bought some Akebi and wild grape jam before moving on.
The next stall was the Okinawa “Antenna Shop.” They had pork products, glassware, and their biggest draw: booze.
Unlike my old world, the Ryukyu Kingdom’s aged sake survived because there was no US invasion. They love their parties in Okinawa, and they use a lot of mystical objects in their brewing.
”Blegh! My tongue is on fire!” I coughed.
”That’s some brave drinking (kimottama) you’re doing!” the clerk laughed.
The Awamori I tried was way too strong for my “child” palate. I couldn’t even taste the quality through the burn. I barely managed one swallow.
”It’s for breathing fire! Drives out the ‘Yankee’ spirit!” the old woman and her granddaughter behind the counter shouted. They both smelled like they’d been sampling the inventory all morning. They were completely hammered.
”What are they saying?” I asked. I couldn’t understand the thick dialect at all.
The Tokko officer stepped in. “Ma’am! She says her ancestors used this sake to breathe fire and roast enemy spies hiding in caves. Apparently, the invaders were so terrified they jumped off cliffs. …She tells a good story.”
”That sounds… highly suspicious. Were they just drunk-fighting?”
The officer flinched under my gaze.
Belch. “Whoa, hot!” A small fireball actually shot out of my mouth.
It really was a mystical object. It turns you into a human flamethrower. I’d totally missed that part of the explanation.
”I can’t finish this. Do you want it, Officer? I don’t know if you’re allowed to drink on the clock, though.”
”I gratefully accept! Excuse me!” She downed the rest in one go. “Phew… I’m sorry to return such a kind gesture from a noble, but please excuse me while I detox.”
She psyched herself up. Suddenly, her nose lengthened into a muzzle and her eyes turned a bright, animalistic yellow. Sharp fangs poked from her lips. “Grrrrr…”
A few seconds later, she was back to normal. She didn’t breathe fire—she had a physical ability to neutralize the effects of mystical objects. Everything in this place was weird. Including me.
The air around the alcohol stalls was thick with the smell of booze. No one seemed to mind, even though the staff from the Ainu and Chishima stalls were also clearly wasted. In Japan, day-drinking isn’t a big deal—drinking during work was only banned in the West because of factory accidents. Here, people even drink before heading into dungeons to settle their nerves. It’s better than being hooked on morphine or meth, I guess.
”Oh, look at him… he’s so cute! I’m so jealous! I wish a noble would offer me a drink!” a voluptuous clerk sighed, swirling a wine glass as she watched us.
The Tokko officer smirked, clearly gloating that she was the one hanging out with a guy. For these women, just being near a male is better than any festival.
”I’m a Psionic user, so I’ve got a strong constitution,” I said, feeling a bit bold. “I’m not the type to let my guard down just because I’ve had a drink.”
Actually, I’m probably weirder when I’m sober.
”Whoa… did the ground just shake?” I asked, stumbling.
”Please, lean on me,” the officer said, catching me.
The world was definitely wobbling. I clung to her waist. “That’s some… intense live-demo over there. Man, I really want another drink.”
”I believe you’ve reached your limit, Your Lordship. I recommend stopping here.”
”I’m fine! The ground just… moved!”
”It was not a tremor. This is dangerous.”
She had a great waist. Solid. I could feel her abs. “So cool…”
”I’m an adult on the inside, you know? I can handle my liquor. That Awamori was just a fluke.”
”I am well aware,” the officer said, clearly humoring me.
”I can even do… adult stuff. I can do my duty!”
My face was burning. The officer was just nodding along, looking panicked. “Yes, yes, of course.”
”Seriously, listen to me! Whoa, there it goes again…”
”How many fingers am I holding up?”
”Three! I see three officers!”
”We are taking a break. Right now.”
”Hehe… okay…”
I was grinning like an idiot. I knew I was saying stupid things, but I didn’t care. “Hey… want to touch me? You women like that, right? You’re so weird…”
”I heard nothing! I am legally deaf right now!” the officer shouted.
She tucked me under her arm and practically dragged me away. I felt like a sack of potatoes. The shopkeepers were glaring with jealousy, the other male tourists were looking at me with pure disgust, and the poor “dog-cop” was just trying to survive the embarrassment.
”It’s not fair-ssu,” Bikka muttered from the sidelines. She looked miserable. Apparently, she’d tried a sip of something distilled and was still reeling from the bitterness. Poor lightweight.
”Are you lonely? You want to rub my chest?” I offered.
”You don’t even have one-ssu!”
”Then my ball—”
”Stop it! That’s scandalous!” Bikka yelled.
People were staring. The officer hauled me out of the alcohol section as fast as humanly possible.
By the time we reached a sofa, my head was clearing. The fresh air and the scent of chrysanthemums washed away the booze. But for some reason, Bikka and the officer both looked incredibly awkward.
”I think I blacked out a bit… my head hurts. Oh, hey, the Kazusa Province booth!”
I saw familiar names. Ichihara had a water bird feather in a basin. Inubou had bundles of hydrangeas. Kisarazu had dried “Monster Aoyagi” clams. Even in wartime, these towns were still hustling. Kujukuri was selling robot vacuums and battery capsules, along with some low-grade meds.
It was nice seeing “home” represented. It gave me a sense of pride. But then, I saw something that made my stomach turn.
A dangerous mystical object from an alien ship—something I recognized—was sitting right there on a napkin.
”What’s with that face-ssu?” Bikka asked.
”I’ve talked to someone who used this,” I said quietly. “It’s a cruel object. It preys on a woman’s deepest wish, but it’s a trap. If you use it, you’ll regret it forever. But if you don’t… you’ll regret that, too.”
I explained it to her. It was a metal sphere called the “Barren Woman’s Conception”—an artificial womb. You insert it, it fuses with the body, and it cures infertility. You become incredibly prolific, and the children are healthy.
But the children’s internal organs are all wrong. They’re human on the outside, but their insides are a mess. They’re almost always sterile. To have their own kids, they have to use the machine too. Each generation mutates further. By the third generation, natural birth is impossible. You’re trapped. I’d met a mother who spent every day crying and apologizing to the baby she was holding.
”That’s horrifying! It’d be better not to be born at all!” Bikka shouted.
”Would you resent your parents for it?” I asked.
”I… I could never be that disrespectful to my ancestors. But I wouldn’t want children of my own if that was the price. It’s too cruel!”
Bikka’s moral compass was probably the right one. But who am I to tell someone they have to die alone and childless?
”And look, there’s a Monkey’s Electrode,” I said, pointing to another item. “That’s straight-up contraband. You stick it in your head, it fries your brain with pleasure, and you never come back. You turn into a vegetable.”
”Why the hell is that even here?”
”Probably clearing out illegal stock.”
”Bastards… I don’t want that stuff in the capital! I hear about it, but seeing it… it’s just wrong-ssu.”
Bikka was genuinely shaken. Growing up in the capital, she hadn’t seen the desperation of the rural towns. The clerk at the booth told me they were popular items for towns that wanted a temporary surge in “disposable” labor. You give them pleasure, they work like dogs, and then they die without leaving any heirs to inherit their property. I’d seen the ugly side of my home province.
We tried to get into a high-class exhibition for male-only mystical objects, but we were blocked at the door. I’d been looking forward to that, but apparently, you need special permission. I watched other nobles walk in with smug smirks while I turned away, dejected.
We stopped by Senso-ji Temple. It’s been there for 1,300 years—way longer than any dungeon. There was no magic there, just the work of human hands. It felt exactly like my old world, and for the first time all day, I felt truly at peace. Religion has a way of staying solid while everything else is shifting.
Dungeons are handled differently by every faith. Buddhism rejects the “mystery,” seeing dungeons as just another earthly temptation that leads to suffering. Shinto, on the other hand, just added a “Dungeon God” to the pantheon and holds festivals for it.
We tried the Ueno Museum and the library, but we got kicked out of the waiting rooms before we even got in. Just bad timing, I guess.
I ended up buying some cheap sweets from a diner, said goodbye to Bikka, and went back to my room to emotional-eat until I passed out. The world was just refusing to let me have a good time today. Grumble.
—
Summary:
The protagonist reconciles with his caretaker, Uribayashi, before heading to the Asakusa Wholesale Market with Bikka. They navigate the terrifying authority of the Special Higher Police (Tokko) and witness various mystical trade goods from across Japan. The day ends on a somber note after seeing cruel ‘alien’ artifacts and getting rejected from a high-class exhibition.
—
Character Insight:
Bikka experiences a profound emotional breakdown when treated as a ‘lady,’ highlighting her deep-seated class insecurity. The protagonist displays his typical lack of gender-based fear, which physically shocks Uribayashi and the Tokko officer.
—
Behind the Scenes:
The ‘Reverse Chastity’ setting uses the Tokko (Historically the ‘Thought Police’ of Imperial Japan) as a tool for enforcing female dominance and male protection.
—
TL Notes:
Notes:
• Uribayashi – High-end noble caretaker with decades of common sense and a sharp tongue.
• Himawari – A one-eyed black oni girl/aberration-type psionic; town leader/face; asks for promotion help; apologizes for killings; sets 2‑day deadline.
• Bikka – A fifteen-year-old rickshaw puller with tanned skin and a short haircut. She wears a black ribbon (lowest rank) and clothes covered in patches. She is taller than the protagonist and binds her chest with a starch-stiffened wrap. She is an Edokko with a stubborn spirit.
• Psionic Power – Mental energy concept in Chapter 35’s lecture. Trash-san teaches it to strengthen the protagonist’s mind after dungeon ordeals.
• Tokko – Modified human officer of the Special Higher Police; can shift into a wolf-like state.
• Kazusa Province – A region cited in Chapter 29 dungeon records defining unreturnable dungeons. Serves as a geographic and academic reference for explorers.
Please bookmark this series and rate ☆☆☆☆☆ on here!
Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
Leave a Reply