Chapter 61 A Break in the Park
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The next morning, I could more or less walk. For someone who’d just spilled his guts—literally—my recovery bordered on miraculous.
My urine and stool were bright red. The lack of pain scared me more than the color. I’d expected three months of hospitalization, judging by my previous life’s common sense. Turns out that was naïve. The dungeon’s mystical artifacts were absurdly powerful.
If we repurposed them, we could probably culture organs.
”Ahh. What a beautiful day.”
I was out in a wheelchair, taking a slow lap around the park. Dressed in a white underkimono, I let the fragrance of the plants calm me in the men’s leisure chamber on the north side of the alien ship. The room’s floor was packed with soil. Street-trees lined the paths, and a small pond gathered the light.
Vocal Slut-san pushed me from behind while I basked in the sun streaming down from the ceiling. I’d canceled every plan after the injury and allowed myself, for once, to have a quiet day off.
The wheelchair squeaked—creak-creak, creak-creak—with each turn of the wheels.
”Great weather, Young Master!” she said brightly.
”It is.”
I was probably in a kind of shock. I’d watched too many people die and nearly joined them. My mind wouldn’t grip; thoughts slid off before they could bite.
This wasn’t the time to say that, but the fatigue was heavy enough to sway me in my seat.
Kaede-san, who’d attacked me—what had become of her? The ground war raging above. The Imperial Guards, hollow-eyed and spent.
Things were moving. I needed to think. Still, for now, I chose to reboot my brain. On my mental list, Kaede-san’s name wasn’t crossed out. She was alive—that much I knew, and that alone eased something inside me.
It had been more than a week since everything went to hell. Some things are already too late, no matter how hard you run. The town inside the ship was safe. Everyone insisted I rest my bones in the park, so I let them.
”The air tastes clean,” I murmured. “Human beings wither without sunlight. This warmth—mm.”
”Sunbathing is very healthy,” she said. “Let’s soak it in.”
”Right. Is this sunlight piped in from outside with optical fibers, or is it artificial? Wouldn’t surprise me if it was some kind of artifact.”
”I don’t know!”
”A mystery then.”
Vocal Slut-san steered us in lazy circles.
The wheelchair was upholstered fabric; every bump bobbed me up and down so my backside never settled.
I surrendered to the heat and loosened the last of my tension. Boneless, I gazed up: half ceiling light, half the soft swell of Vocal Slut-san’s chest filling my view. After the dungeon, this felt like a dream—one of the good ones.
”Still, the ride isn’t great,” I said.
I sank deeper, which only made the rattling worse. It couldn’t be helped—the chair was an early convalescent model, short on any honest suspension.
We’d imported the design around the Meiji era back in Japan: bent iron pipe masquerading as a chair.
”Is that so? Then I’ll just carry you.”
”Impressive—but that defeats the point of a wheelchair.”
She gripped the handles and lifted. The wheels left the ground by a few centimeters as she walked. With that easy strength, there wasn’t a hint of wobble.
”How is that?”
”Better. My butt stopped complaining.”
We skimmed sideways along the path like an airport moving walkway.
”But the headrest is just cloth,” I said. “My neck’s going to hate me.”
Since I was being spoiled, I added one more selfish request. There was nowhere for my head to settle. Stuffing it with cotton would make a decent cushion.
”Could we do something about that?”
”Leave it to me!”
”I’m counting on you, Vocal Slut-san.”
What exactly had I just left to her? Her confidence was so complete that I let my body relax into her care.
Then my whole world rose. I grabbed the armrests on instinct.
”Whoa—”
She hoisted the chair another notch higher and kept walking.
Through the flimsy headrest, the back of my skull found a soft, generous curve. Suspended with my chair, I was paraded through the park like some eccentric noble.
”How is it now?” she asked.
”Magnificent. I’m moved. A breast pillow—how could I ever compete with that idea?”
”You really do love chests, Young Master!”
She beamed. Sell this in the twenty-first century and every man would feel compelled—in the name of a sustainable society—to part with both cash and dignity. Genius. Absolute genius.
We roamed the paths in our strange configuration, enjoying the looks we collected. The park was small; a loop took fifteen minutes.
Soon an older gentleman approached with his Imperial Guard in tow—much like us, master and retainer.
”Pardon us,” the guard said.
”Oh—are we done already?” I asked.
”Even if Young Master is first in all things, it won’t do to look down on passersby. Please be patient.”
”Okay.”
Vocal Slut-san lowered my wheels to the ground. We followed custom and kept right as we passed each other in the corridor. There were rules when nobles met; she was meticulous about that sort of thing.
”All right,” I said. “Resume.”
”At once!”
She lifted me again and strode on. To me, she was a loyal, bright-eyed puppy. To her, I was a child to be fussed over. We were a loop without end. With her, my mental age dropped a decade.
I felt myself knit back together.
We changed routes and circled the park a few more times, meeting several men along the way. There were more than usual. In truth, I’d never seen this many men in our town at once.
”Still, we’ve passed a lot of men today,” I said.
”I heard there was a big tea party up in the northern district,” she said. “They were celebrating our first victory. These must be people heading home. Probably…”
”You’re not sure.”
”I was taught, but I forgot. Should we ask someone?”
”No. Let’s keep it slow today.”
”Understood!”
So they’d been busy while I slept. If it was a victory, good—but announcements tailored for wartime morale inside the ship were hard to trust.
After I woke, they had me recount everything—every detail of how I’d ended up injured. The Imperial Guards interviewed me as if I were the investigator instead of the patient. By the time my head cleared, they were all crying and haggard, as if they were the ones in the bed. The strain leaked from their faces.
A lot happened, and now the Guards were locked in a loud, relentless strategy meeting. Vocal Slut-san, having no reason to sit through it, was shooed out—and thanks to that, I was free like this.
”But Young Master,” she said at last. “Don’t use your Psionic Power just because you’re bored.”
”Not allowed? There’s something I really want to check.”
”No. Even I would get angry.”
”Do you get angry, Vocal Slut-san?”
”Oh, when I’m angry? I’m terrifying,” she said, hands on her hips, exhaling sharply through her nose.
The effect was about as menacing as a children’s TV hostess pretending to scold the audience. Not scary in the least.
I couldn’t help laughing softly. I couldn’t imagine her truly angry.
”Ahh, if only there were a soft-serve stand around here,” I murmured.
The park was warm and peaceful. Resting my neck against her chest, I could feel sweat gather at the nape. I craved something cold, something sweet.
In this era, food and entertainment were both meager and underdeveloped. Hardly any casual treats existed—only those old-fashioned ‘health foods’ steeped in superstition and sold all over town.
Really, people needed to stop mixing men’s bodily fluids into food. Selling that kind of contamination at high prices? Revolting.
”What are you talking about?” she asked, tilting her head.
”When I think of a park, I think of that sweet, cold, white dessert—soft serve. It just came to mind. I wonder when that kind of thing was invented.”
I sighed. There weren’t even vending machines or public toilets here. I missed such conveniences.
”Oh! You mean ice cream,” she said suddenly.
”You have that here!?”
Vocal Slut-san’s eyes lit up with memory. “It’s an imported luxury. I believe it’s the same sort of thing you’re describing. I even know a shop that sells it.”
”Then go get one.”
”Is your stomach all right?”
”Doctor said I can eat and drink.”
She dashed off. A few minutes later, she came running back—fast as ever, the faithful errand girl who’d accidentally left her patient behind.
”One piece cost a whole yen!” she exclaimed.
”That’s… not cheap, huh. Wait, how much is a yen worth again?”
She held two bamboo bowls filled with chilled aisukurin, the so-called ice treat, smiling like sunshine itself. She’d bought two—of course one for herself.
”Oh, this is it,” I said, delighted. It looked exactly like ice cream. Without plastic, the utensil was a tiny bamboo scoop, elegant and old-fashioned.
We dug in eagerly. A light fragrance bloomed in my nose with the first bite. The sugar was less refined, giving the sweetness a faint grassy bitterness—something like an unwashed herb—but the mint swept it clean.
”Cold and good,” I mumbled through a mouthful.
”Mmm, delicious indeed,” she said.
”It’s more like sherbet, really. No vanilla essence—just mint and salt. Works surprisingly well. This could be a hit.”
We finished almost immediately, nostalgia melting it even faster.
”I could eat more,” I sighed.
”I’m sorry, but my salary’s gone for the month…”
”Are you poor, Vocal Slut-san?”
”Not at all! The Imperial Guard earns three yen and fifty sen per month—we’re practically nobles.”
”Ah, you’re teaching me the rates. I still don’t understand anyone’s cost of living here.”
Ice cream, though—damn expensive. Two servings cost half her monthly wage.
”One meal’s three barley buns, two meals a day, that’s six sen total, so per month… one, two, three… a lot! Sorry, Young Master, I’m bad at math…”
”Dessert bought by such an innocent soul tastes even better. Like sin itself.”
She looked proud to see me enjoy it—genuinely happy. Her affection was pure, even though I was behaving like a shameless host. Judging by the prices, it must’ve been the late-Edo or early-Meiji standard of currency. She’d really gone out of her way for me.
I pointed at her aisukurin, which she was nibbling in tiny, careful bites.
”Let’s swap.”
”The flavor’s the same, you know?”
”Yours looks bigger.”
”What!? No way!”
My cup was nearly empty. I didn’t mean to tease her; I just wanted to share, like kids do. Of course, the taste didn’t change—identical through and through.
”Tasty, huh?” I said, voice muffled.
”Very,” she agreed.
”Here, ahh—” I held a spoonful toward her.
”Yay. Thank you very much,” she said, opening her mouth with a grin.
We fed each other melting aisukurin. She didn’t seem nervous at all, just quietly happy. I’d never done something so… date-like before. Honestly, it felt more like playing with a friend back in elementary school.
Then a voice cut in. “Excuse me, may I ask something?”
I looked up. A man—perhaps thirty, soft-faced and pleasantly plump—stood there, pointing at my empty bamboo bowl with his fan. His eyes were covered, and several elderly ladies and Imperial Guards stood behind him. All well-dressed, all upper class.
He spoke with curious warmth. “Forgive me for intruding. You seemed to be enjoying it so much.”
I didn’t flinch. Between men, there was no need to bow.
”It’s called aisukurin,” I said.
”Oh? First I’ve heard of it.”
”An imported ice dessert—made from milk and white sugar.”
”An ice dessert, you say?”
”Sweet yet cold. A strange but wonderful thing.”
”Ho ho ho,” he chuckled, shaking slightly with amusement. His gaze lingered on the bowls in our hands. When someone showed that kind of interest, etiquette demanded you offer them some—or at least arrange to send some later. Otherwise, you’d be branded stingy. But I couldn’t hand over a half-eaten dessert, and it was clear he wanted one fresh anyway. I would’ve offered to show him the shop, but my wheelchair said otherwise.
Vocal Slut-san and his Guards quickly exchanged directions and pleasantries. The man thanked me and departed, likely heading straight to buy some.
”What a glutton,” I said, amused.
”A very charming gentleman,” she replied. “Good posture too—ah, wait, we mustn’t say such things about men. It’s rude!”
”I’m not sure your comment was any better.”
If that man got hooked on ice cream, eating it daily would mean ruin—by my old-world math, that was a six-figure habit. I couldn’t help worrying for the kind, slightly round fellow. Boys are expensive creatures.
”Oh, that reminds me—money.”
I rummaged through the bag on my wheelchair. She’d paid from her own pocket. Since I carried no cash, I offered her one of my luxury medical treatment drugs instead—a mystical item from the dungeon, of course. The weaker kind, actually. Trash-san had forced too many on me, so I had extras. A merchant would’ve screamed at the unfairness of the exchange rate.
”Th-this luxury item… are you sure!?” she gasped.
”It’s my charm for you. Don’t hesitate to use it.”
”Thank you, Young Master. I’ll treasure it forever!”
”Use it.”
She burst into tears, overwhelmed.
I slipped out of the wheelchair and lay back on the grass, letting the warmth soak into my bones. The park’s grass was soft, cool, and forgiving. We lay there together, sunlight warming our skin, and time passed at an unhurried pace.
”Ow… hah. That’s better,” I sighed.
”Yes, it is,” she murmured.
She stood beside me, eyes closed, dozing on her feet. For a bodyguard, she was remarkably relaxed. Like a big, loyal dog, this one.
I let the green beneath my back cradle me, letting the fatigue leach away.
”You always look like you’re thinking about something difficult, Young Master,” she said.
”Hm?”
It was rare—unheard of, really—for an Imperial Guard to strike up idle conversation. Must’ve been a first. She looked down at me with a puzzled expression. Apparently I’d been frowning without realizing it, worrying her. I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
”Well, there’s just… a lot on my mind,” I admitted.
”Please don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’ll protect you. If anything goes wrong, I’ll carry you and run.”
She thumped her chest with a confident don. “I may not look it, but I’m fast,” she said. “Just trust me. I’ll take you anywhere—anywhere there’s nothing to hurt you.”
”Vocal Slut-san…”
”Leave everything to me!” she declared, bright as ever.
”Then I’ll count on you.”
”Yes!”
Not that she didn’t look exactly like the kind of person who’d say that. Her voice rang out with the energy of a child making a promise, and somehow, that lightness eased me.
”It’s a promise, okay?”
”Got it. Promise, promise—promise with Young Master!” she said, crouching to link her pinky with mine, humming under her breath like she might wag invisible ears and a tail from joy. I couldn’t help smiling.
After that, we talked about nothing in particular. I’ve always liked hearing about people—especially the pasts of those close to me. Vocal Slut-san came from an ordinary middle-class family, the third of five sisters. She’d never been good at studying, all brawn and energy from childhood. Though she’d dropped her surname, she still visited home several times a year—only to be scolded and told not to return until she’d finished her service. It was a soft, heartwarming story.
We stayed that way for a while, until another guard—Sow-san—appeared. She moved like a zombie, face the color of drowned flesh.
”Young Master… thank goodness… you’re alive…” she croaked.
She spotted us and nearly collapsed from relief. It was just a park break, but the strain etched into her face was far beyond reasonable. She staggered closer, her semi-long black hair sticking out in broken tufts, twisted like snapped copper wire. She looked like a cursed doll abandoned by its owner.
”Good work,” I said. “Shift over?”
Trying to sound kind, though the sight of her made me uneasy. She looked seconds from death.
”Yes,” she said weakly. “I’m here for the bodyguard rotation with Vocal Slut. The meeting… still ongoing. They’ve decided decoding your Psionic Power is the priority. Also investigating a woman named Yukari-something from Inubou Town…”
”Good job. Here, let me give you a pat.”
”Uh… that’s my butt.”
”Oops. Wrong spot.”
I’d reached out automatically, a half-conscious reflex. After an unfortunate detour to her backside, I properly patted her head.
”Hehe… heheh… ehehe… hehehh…”
Her eyes—something was off. Dark rings, twitching mouth, blissed-out grin like a half-dead junkie mid-injection. She was broken. Probably still suffering the aftereffects of all that head-patting yesterday. Her emotions were scrambled, neck trembling with every breath. Sow-san muttered unconsciously, words slurring out in pieces. “Heheh… half of them just cry all day… the rest keep secrets, act on their own… useless, every one of them… I… I can’t…”
Yeah, she’d hit her limit. My poor big sis figure had crossed into full burnout—partly from the workload, mostly from me. The guilt, and… the head pats. Too much of both.
”I’m sorry, Sow-san,” I said gently. “It’s my fault. I used Psionic Power recklessly and put you all in danger. I’ll stop now. I’ll do things the right way from here on.”
”Ahh… hehe… heh…”
I stroked her hair again, and my mind drifted back. After I recovered enough to talk, the Imperial Guards interrogated me. Given I’d nearly died, I resolved to tell the truth—at least as much as I safely could.
That I’d grown close to Kaede-san in that isolation room. That I’d used Psionic Power. That she’d attacked me. And that I’d slept with Kaede-san, Yukari-san, and several of the Guards. I knew that confession could cause chaos—revenge, scandal, a total collapse of trust—but it felt wrong to lie after surviving death. I’d hidden my rarebit nature, my obsession with women, long enough. Dying because of it would make it meaningless.
Still, I never got the chance to say it. Kaede’s involvement made everything complicated. The blood-sealed contract bound us to secrecy. Especially what had happened between us in bed—that could never be spoken aloud.
The Guards had drawn their own conclusions anyway. They thought my Psionic Power activated through closeness—a bond of affection. Essentially, that I could only use it on my favorites. No one knew the truth: it required raw intimacy—actual flesh and skin, the dirtiest kind of membership.
And there was something worse than the collapse of my Guard unit: breaking that contract. If anyone started questioning how I could use the power on Kaede-san so quickly, while it never worked on those who’d served beside me for years… the math would lead straight to sin.
It wasn’t that I feared being seen as a philanderer. No—the real danger was that even hinting at our relationship might count as violating the contract. Especially Maggot-san and Trash-san—they were sharp enough to make the connection between my power and sex.
The nightmare scenario was easy to trace: I tell them Kaede attacked me while I used my ability → they realize I could use it on her → they ask why → they doubt the “closeness” condition → they guess it’s sex → “He slept with her!”
Just like that, I’d broken the contract in spirit, even if not in words. I’d never said outright that I’d slept with her—but giving them the pieces and letting them fit it together wasn’t exactly innocent. Maybe I was overthinking it. But with mystical contracts, intent mattered.
The arbiter of the blood oath was the Dragon God—a being merciful toward accidents, but merciless toward deliberate deceit. And “merciless” was a kind way to put it. If the contract ever deemed me guilty, even outside the dungeon, a despair-class monster would appear and tear me apart.
I know—sounds like I can’t say anything ever again. But it’s not that simple. The contract isn’t about the letter; it’s about the intent. Judging by past cases, mine fell in a gray zone. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder—why are these fuzzy, loophole-ridden blood contracts so popular? Apparently, this mystical item has a spotless track record of arbitrating multinational agreements, where every nation tried twisting the terms to favor themselves. It cut through all bias cleanly. In some regions, people still revere it as a divine artifact. Especially between areas with conflicting religions—Europe and parts of Asia—it was invaluable. The only arbiter immune to bribes or politics.
And so, I couldn’t tell anyone that I could use Psionic Power on Kaede-san. I told them she attacked me, yes—but not out of malice. I framed it as an accident during information gathering from an unfamiliar contact. Officially, the town report framed my injuries as a Psionic Power outburst from newly awakened abilities.
Naturally, the Imperial Guards didn’t buy it. Especially Sow-san. And Maggot-san. And Trash-san. Actually, everyone. But I had to tell them I couldn’t reveal more without violating a blood contract. Once that was said, they concluded the attacker must be connected to Ichimatsu—or someone near him. That triggered a full reinvestigation into his circle, though no one dared act rashly without knowing what might break the seal.
Some even suspected Yukari-san—the poor exorcism-obsessed woman. Since she was already known to be on my Psionic Power list, the rumor made sense. I denied it completely, but her reputation was in ruins. She’s now a “mysterious suspect.” Poor girl. In truth, it could’ve been either deliberate harm or an unfortunate accident. Logic aside, it’s hard to imagine a woman intentionally attacking a man.
I brushed my fingers through Sow-san’s hair. “Thank you, Sow-san. I don’t plan on doing anything reckless again. I’ve learned my lesson.”
”Heh… hehe…”
She nearly collapsed, and when I tried to rest her head on my lap, she politely refused. Shame—male lap pillows are worth their weight in gold. Vocal Slut-san caught her gently. “Young Master’s still injured, Sow. Please be more considerate!”
”Considerate? You dare use that word to me?”
Her voice dripped with quiet venom. Vocal Slut-san flinched. “Scowling won’t help! Don’t show Young Master that scary face!”
”You… you…”
The tension between them buzzed like two dogs growling. I ignored it and asked Sow-san: “The war’s going well, right? If the town becomes unsafe, I’ll take everyone and run.”
I said it like I wasn’t the problem. She slipped free from my hand—pity, I’d wanted to keep playing with her hair. “Young Master,” she said. “Per our agreement, I’ll speak truthfully. Our side holds the advantage.”
”Good.”
”You needn’t worry about such matters.”
Last night, I’d negotiated with the Imperial Guard’s brainier members. I’d secured the right to be briefed on the war’s progress directly. From now on, they’d combine their intelligence reports with whatever I gleaned via Psionic Power to keep me updated. A reasonable division of labor. Trash-san had advised me to rely on them, and since I couldn’t reveal certain things, I followed her advice.
I had to know where things stood. Because I wasn’t strong—not mentally, anyway. The memory of that girl begging for her life in the red swamp still haunted me. The screams, the sinking—it replayed at random. I hated seeing others suffer for my sake. If even one of the Guards died, I’d probably lose my mind. But this world prized my life too much for me to indulge in suicidal heroics again. If defeat ever loomed, I’d retreat. If the Guards faced death, we’d run. Leave the town behind, disappear somewhere new. I’d fall from grace in this male-dominated world and start over quietly.
As part of the deal, I agreed to stop acting alone. No Psionic Power, no private investigations—nothing without Guard consultation. Even if the path they chose wasn’t ideal for my future, I promised I’d respect it. If it came to running, we’d run together.
Sow-san had been the toughest opponent in that negotiation. She’d declared that an Imperial Guard’s life meant nothing compared to her master’s rise—and that her heart wouldn’t survive another of my injuries. In the end, it took five straight hours of head-patting to win her over. My most exhausting negotiation ever.
”We were both stubborn, huh,” I said.
”Young Master’s belief in the equality of lives… I can’t comprehend it,” she replied. “Statistically, you’re worth more than a thousand women.”
”That’s not true. I get it now, though. Life here is cheap. I just don’t like it.”
She gave me a troubled look.
As for Kaede-san and the rest, I’d decided to let things rest for now. Why were they ordered into suicidal missions? And Ichimatsu—their commander—why was he so indifferent? Kujukuri Town had medicine for external wounds, but not for neural trauma or immune diseases like Maggot-san’s. Maybe Ichimatsu was terminally ill himself. His reason for approaching me so directly remained a mystery.
But none of that really mattered. Nothing outweighed my own survival—or the people who still cared enough to worry for me.
”Still… I need to confirm it for myself,” I muttered.
I had to know what became of the women from that dungeon. Had the remaining captives been freed after interrogation? If my reckless rescue attempt had exposed Kaede-san’s group, they might’ve been attacked again because of me. If they’d suffered for it, I needed to face that. Their names still glowed unmarked in my mind’s list. I could reach them anytime—but doing so would break my promise to the Guards.
”I’ll see it through,” I whispered. “At least the parts I started.”
Beyond that… I didn’t know yet. That night, they assigned me a bodyguard—to “protect” me. But really, to keep watch.
Notes:
• Kaede – A female psionic explorer known as Necksplitter, is a veteran assassin and messenger of Lord Ichimatsu. Her appearance is both young and old, with gray hair streaked through black and vibrant, unlined skin. She is graceful yet carries the fatigue of a long life in war, resembling an old hunting dog. Her psionic ability is mysterious and potentially dangerous.
• Psionic Power – Mental energy concept in Chapter 35’s lecture. Trash-san teaches it to strengthen the protagonist’s mind after dungeon ordeals.
• Yukari – Dora’s imperial guard, the one who hide in MC’s wardrobe. Twintail.
• Ichimatsu – A high-ranking figure associated with the Imperial Guard, mentioned as having spineless guards around him, with no further details provided.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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