The people in the shop, as I expected, did not want me to become a disabled person with two handicaps. They found a doctor to treat my fracture, put on a cast, and wrapped me in bandages.
After a week of rest, I resumed my odd jobs. However, with one hand unusable and an injured person not suitable for guests to see, all my tasks were switched to day shifts until I healed. My main responsibilities were cleaning rooms, including those "after battle," and the private rooms of the workers.
The effect of the beating was significant. No, even I knew it was not suitable to act rashly before the injuries healed. If the green hills remain, there will be no shortage of firewood.
I cleaned rooms, finished work, and slept, being as diligent as a salaryman.
I had planned to seek a new path after my injuries healed, but a turning point arrived unexpectedly. On the dressing table in a worker's room, I saw my whistle necklace.
"?!?!!!"
The whistle necklace we speculated was bought by the yakuza, appeared here?!
Really, it was true... there were really yakuza members patronizing this place?!
Could the bet with Scumbag Man A actually be valid?!
My reunion with the whistle was too unexpected. I stood there stunned until the current owner of the whistle, a beautiful woman working at the shop, asked, "Do you know this?"
I nodded honestly, not wanting to be labeled as a "habitual thief" or the next undesirable label for lying. It would be difficult to work here if I did.
Taking out the blank part of paper torn from an old book from my pocket, I held the pen in my left hand. Writing with my non-dominant hand was much slower.
After writing a few words, I regretted it a little. They merely asked casually, why was I so eager to give a detailed explanation?
Fortunately, the other party didn't urge me to continue cleaning. I shamelessly continued writing: I cannot speak naturally, this whistle is mine...
My thoughts had a brief断层 (duàncéng - break/gap). I was temporarily unsure of what word to use.
It's mine...
No, it's "my" ...
It's something my family gave to "me."
If the Zoldycks knew that, like Alluka, I had a soul that didn't belong to them at all and was not loyal to them, they would immediately take everything back.
Yes, the recipient of everything they gave was "me," not me. Don't get it wrong. I am merely an actor playing the role of "Mollus Zoldyck."
I am not the real Mollus Zoldyck; I am a thief who stole her body.
Once I lose the glamorous shell of "Mollus Zoldyck," I am nothing, I have nothing, only a dirty, lowly soul that no one will like. Perhaps destroying her shell would bring me closer to my true self?
I covet her name, her identity, everything about her, including her whistle. This is a luxury item custom-made for her by her family.
Does she herself have a soul? Where is she now? Is she still sleeping within this body? Will she wake up? Will she reclaim everything that belongs to her? Can I kill her? Can I replace her forever? Can I have everything that rightfully belongs to her? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I?
Who am I? I am not anyone else. I am Mollus Zoldyck.
It is something my family gave to me. I wrote.
Writing too much would be annoying, so I stopped and handed the written note to the woman.
"...Family?" the woman read the word on the note aloud.
I recalled in the original work, the members of the Phantom Troupe from Meteor City showed unfamiliarity, even disdain, for the concept of "family." I miscalculated. This woman from Meteor City might also not understand the concept of "family."
"It doesn't matter," the woman crumpled the note and put it in my hand. "Whether what you said is true or not, everything here, including me and you, are commodities. If you want them, you have to pay to redeem them."
She turned the mirror on the dressing table, and its reflection made me squint slightly.
The mirror showed "my" appearance: silver, slightly curly hair that just touched my shoulders. My previously round cheeks had thinned. My blue eyes were large, and my pupils had contracted into slits due to the strong light, like a cat's.
"You are a very beautiful child, more beautiful than anyone I've ever seen. You can earn enough money quickly," the woman said. "Don't steal anymore. I don't lack jewelry. I'll wait for you to redeem it later."
Mollus in the mirror moved her lips.
I knew what she was "saying." She was saying, "Give it back to me."
"Ten silver coins, and you can redeem your necklace," the woman said.
Mollus in the mirror fell silent.
I blinked my eyes, and the image in the mirror blinked along. Mollus, who had been "talking" to me earlier, seemed like an illusion.
No longer looking at the mirror, I looked at the woman.
I had been deceived once already.
The owner of the miscellaneous goods store in District 12 said he wouldn't resell it. I asked him periodically if it had been sold, and he lied.
Ah, don't worry. If this woman lies, the solution will be the same. I can kill her.
Don't believe her. Believe yourself. Believe that Mollus Zoldyck can make her pay the price for lying.
The real Mollus must have inherited the Zoldyck family's consistently excellent intellect and would be very smart.
Unlike me, who is so stupid. Besides getting injured, I haven't accomplished anything. I can't even protect a hawk or a whistle.
Why am I alive?
I am not alive. I am just not dead yet.
Asking the woman about the whistle's origin might alert her. I nodded to show I understood and then continued my cleaning work.
Information exchange with Illumi was done via notes as usual. His last message asked if I wanted to eat roasted crow.
"..." Was that even a question?
I replied with "Whatever," wanting to see how low his EQ could go.
That day, Illumi and I were both on the day shift, starting at eight in the morning. Illumi arrived precisely at seven with roasted crow. Unfortunately, it lacked salt and other seasonings, but it would have to do.
Now that living conditions had improved, we boldly discarded the meager crow meat from the torso, keeping only the wings and legs. Sitting side-by-side on the steps of the back door of the shop, we first gnawed on the crow legs, then the crow wings.
As I threw the leftover bones a bit farther away, Illumi asked me, "Sister, were you not harassed or molested by anyone?"
What are you talking about?! You brat!
"..." That's too much. I've been enduring it without asking if your butt hurts!
"Although I studied related common knowledge before, I only recently learned about other methods," Illumi said. "For example, saying some words that are difficult for us to understand, making meaningless gestures, and peeping from special angles... Have you protected yourself properly, Sister?"
"..." Oh, is that all? Scumbag Man A did the first two, didn't he?
"After observing and learning for these few months..."
"..." What did you observe and learn? I don't really want to know.
"I know that some people look at me with intentions to do specific things to me."
"..." Then does your butt hurt or not? Tell me quickly!
"Regardless, doing such things is too early for us and not good for our bodies," Illumi seemed to misunderstand my expectant meaning. "They are performing to cater to customers. Don't really think they enjoy it, Sister."
"..." What the hell! I don't want to hear you talk about this! I have a million times more adult knowledge than you! I just want to know if your butt hurts!
Scornful look.jpg
"Oh, then I can rest assured," Illumi bid me farewell. "I have to go to work. Contact me if anything comes up."
This cold, business-like speech was just like you, the future workaholic Illumi. People like you are the most likely to be cuckolded. You really need to plant needles in your wife's head to control her. Now I finally understand your foresight.
I hope you get married soon. I will enthusiastically help your sister-in-law cheat. It's a small favor, no need to thank me.
Mollus Zoldyck's physical condition was good. The fracture, which doctors estimated would take about two months to heal, was healed in one month. There was no need to worry about the inconvenience of attacking yakuza members while injured.
Speaking of which, Illumi's information-gathering ability is still not good enough. If a certain detective o Nan were here, he would have recognized people's occupations at a glance, instead of us being passive throughout, waiting for the rabbit to come to the burrow, hoping that the guests' meaningless flirting conversations would reveal something related to the yakuza.
I'm tired. I've been in the Meteor City instance for almost a year. My whole body smells like garbage, and I'm increasingly blending in with the local flavor.
Ah, I'm so tired. The most passionate years of killing the "District 12 Miscellaneous Goods Store Owner" are long gone. I've burned out. I want to be a lazy fish. It's better to just muddle along like this.
Anyway, the eldest son of the Zoldyck family is here. The Zoldycks won't abandon us here forever. Even if I haven't accomplished anything, they will still take us back. It's only a matter of time.
The dessert plate in my hand didn't even pique my interest.
The whistle didn't matter either.
All four are empty.
With a "sage-like" expression, I cleared away the empty wine bottles from the table and replaced them with new ones. In the background, a male guest was embracing a scantily clad woman in an intimate interaction.
I'm enlightened. After staying here for a long time, not only can I freely block out those discordant sounds, but I can also automatically censor them. Even scenes of intense battle cannot move me in the slightest, and I even find them tiresome.
Desire has moved away from me. I have no reason to strive anymore.
I've given up my career of "eavesdropping." I've gone flat.
Let the eldest son of the Zoldyck family strive!
I was walking down the corridor carrying a tray when the Zoldyck family's eldest son's efforts bore fruit. Among the various odd jobs, I was often assigned to carry trays to the guest rooms. The reason, of course, was my good looks, which could serve as a facade to promote consumption, much like how a fruit stall owner would display attractive fruits at the front.
"She's still young. You'll have to wait until she grows up a bit to entertain you." "That's right, we'll notify you first when the time comes." "No matter how much money, I can only secretly tell you, she hasn't been touched yet." "You want to pre-order? Oh dear, it's not about money."
Even though they could "look but not eat," many people still enthusiastically ordered me to serve drinks. After all, alcohol is expensive, especially in the resource-scarce Meteor City, and it's an important part of the shop's income.
These are consumption traps, tricks, customers!
Illumi is a typical "doesn't show up without a reason" character. He must have important information to seek me out during working hours.
Problem description: The content of a phone call made by a male guest in the restroom before leaving allowed Illumi to confirm his yakuza identity. We finally found a yakuza member, and this person was about to leave District 6. Opportunities like this don't come twice. Who knows when the next chance will be? We must strike decisively and ensure he instantly collapses. The result was that the hand chop to the back of the neck was too strong, and the person died on the spot. Illumi had to hide the body under the corridor. Now the target has become a corpse. To fulfill the bet, how can we make it eye-catching? Urgent, waiting online.
... Huh?
According to the plan Illumi and I had previously made, the process should have been to confirm the target, then create a shocking death in front of everyone, drawing attention and letting the witnesses spread the news throughout the streets and alleys, informing Scumbag Man A that the bet was fulfilled.
The target died so quietly, and his identity was ordinary – a mere subordinate in the yakuza. The death of a small figure would likely not make much of a splash in Meteor City, where death was commonplace.
The only way a corpse of an ordinary person would attract public attention in the "real world" is through the most gruesome dismemberment. However, Meteor City is inherently a place that accepts anything, even bodies thrown here. Scattered body parts are not uncommon.
"Give me some time to think. I'll deliver the drinks first," I said to Illumi using lip-reading.
He nodded and disappeared into the darkness.
After delivering the drinks, I took out a piece of paper from my pocket and drew a simple sketch, suggesting he give the target an "artistic pose" to break through cultural barriers with art and break the monotony of the trash-filled lives of the people in Meteor City.
Illumi: (ooo)
"?"
"Sister, you always come up with some amazing things." Illumi took the paper. "I understand. I'll adjust the rest myself."
He reintegrated my suggestion with the previous plan.
The opening remained the same: a large fire was set at the garbage mountain near District 6, using the fire to attract public attention.
One of the original plan's climaxes was to remove the target's arm and use it as a screaming candle stuck in the garbage mountain, complete with sound and light effects... but the target had become a corpse and could no longer speak. So, the climax had to be changed to posing.
I suggested making the target into a chair. First, arrange him in a cross-legged sitting posture, then remove both arms and stick them into the hollows of his knees as armrests. His head should be placed on the seat of the chair.
Illumi completed the operation before the corpse entered rigor mortis. He even added crow feathers to the chair and placed a book under the head.
This seemingly solemn and inexplicable act... Good heavens, Illumi Zoldyck, you are a contemporary great artist. It's a pity that you are being a killer.
Even after I heard that imitators of this art appeared in Meteor City, Scumbag Man A did not show up to fulfill his promise.
"This must be one of District 6's biggest secrets. Apart from the ability user themselves, perhaps no one knows how to deactivate the ability?" Illumi was mentally prepared but still somewhat disappointed. "We've worked for someone else for free this time."
"..."
Yes, men, as a species, none of them are good!!!
"Do we have no choice but to entertain guests to earn money and redeem ourselves?" Illumi pondered.
"?!" You think so too?!
"Eh?" Illumi tilted his head. "I was joking. You can only entertain guests here when you're sixteen."
"!" How do you know it's sixteen?! So you asked too!
"Eh? So Sister also asked?" Illumi placed his hand on my shoulder and met my gaze. "No, Sister. If you do this too early, you might not be able to get pregnant later."
That's not your concern, is it?! ! ! ! ! !
"... Then does your butt hurt or not?" I finally couldn't help but ask using lip-reading.
Illumi: (ooo)
Tell me quickly! Does it or doesn't it!
"I didn't expect Sister to care so much about me."
Stop talking nonsense, does it or doesn't it!
"Let me think."
Does that even require thinking?! The impression must be unforgettable!
"Does Sister wish it does or wishes it doesn't?"
Alright, I see through it. With my level, I definitely won't get the truth.
After writing "None of my business" in his palm, I stood up from the steps and walked away without any lingering attachment.
Men, as a species, are indeed not good!!!