Welcome to Happy Lostco (8)

Listening to the Count of St. Germain talk, Choi Eun-ha felt a vertigo that no words could quite capture. The claim that her own soul was the Philosopher's Stone, and that they should carve it out and share it with Kim Yi-yeon, was so hideously divorced from reality that it refused to sink in.

"It's not a bad offer for you either, you know. For a Daoist, the fabled Golden Elixir stops being a dream the moment you hold a Philosopher's Stone in your hand!"

What chilled Eun-ha to the bone was something else entirely: in all this talk, the Count of St. Germain had not looked at her once.

It was like watching someone glance at the smartphone sitting on the table and casually decide, Getting a bit dated, isn't it? Time for an upgrade. That was exactly the air he gave off — and of course it was, because a phone is just an object, and no one worries about an object's feelings.

That was precisely the Count's attitude now. Set any object in front of you, say whatever you like about it, and never once will the object's opinion enter the equation. Not out of malice, not out of cruelty — simply because that is what human beings do.

"I've been watching you since you entered Lostco, and from what I can see, you're wary of every last fool who flew in chasing the honey. So many enemies — that must be exhausting. Which means, to protect yourself, you need to grow stronger, don't you...?"

The Count of St. Germain coiled his serpentine persuasion around Kim Yi-yeon, offering to carve out his soul and split it between them. And Eun-ha... Eun-ha was too afraid to look and see how Yi-yeon would respond to the offer.

Because she knew him too well. And as the Count had said, Yi-yeon was surrounded by enemies right now. She wanted to believe he wouldn't, but if — by some miracle, one chance in ten thousand — he actually showed interest in that proposal? She had a feeling that would plunge her into a despair far deeper than anything her own predicament could inflict.

But human beings are creatures of curiosity. Once you begin wondering, no truth is too cruel, no wound too deep — you cannot help but check.

Slowly, Choi Eun-ha's head turned. Toward Kim Yi-yeon, standing behind her, to read his expression. And what she saw, with her heart in her throat, was...

Squeak-squeak

"Whew~ That all you've got?" — Kim Yi-yeon, boredom plastered across his face, was picking his ear with his pinky finger.

"Huh?" At the sight, Eun-ha let out an involuntary, strangled noise.

"What's with that look? ...Don't tell me you actually thought I'd go along with that idiotic proposal of his?"

"Huh? N-no! What kind of nonsense is that!? Who do you take me for!?"

"Really? Because it sure doesn't look like nothing. What's with the tears in your eyes, huh? You crying because you thought I'd sell you out!? Seriously, what do you take people for—!"

"N-no I'm not! That's not it at all!"

"...An idiotic proposal, you say." The Count of St. Germain's voice went cold. "I'd like to hear your reasons for declining."

"Then I'll tell you. Reason one."

*Note: This translation does not endorse heavy-metal-based internal alchemy.

"My master absolutely despises heavy metals. Golden Elixir this, cinnabar that — he says anything derived from metal doesn't even belong in your mouth."

"...The Philosopher's Stone is hardly mere metal."

"And reason two: you tried to swallow me whole at first, and only got anywhere because I forced my way in. Tackling your prey after someone else did all the work for you — isn't that just pathetic?"

"······."

Kim Yi-yeon shot the Count a look and let out a mocking little laugh. "You just couldn't stand the idea of an intruder crashing your hunt, could you? Am I wrong?"

"...That was not my intent, though I suppose you're free to see ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it that way."

"Yeah, see it however you like. And since we're on the subject, let me ask you something. How exactly are you manipulating an anomaly like it's your personal toy?"

"No comment... is what I'd like to say, but you seem to have figured out a fair amount already. Am I wrong?"

At its root, Lostco took the form of a massive logistics warehouse — but its true nature was a Ghost Market. The deeper you tried to leave, the more hopelessly you wandered. Anything carried ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out of it changed into something else entirely. And the price of its bargains was never money, but something else. Every one of these was a textbook hallmark of the Ghost Market.

But as the ages turned and markets shrank while the great supermarkets rose, the Ghost Market too had ridden the current of the times and changed.

"And that gap is what you burrowed into."

Its bargains were, above all, a one-on-one duel between merchant and customer.

"And once you'd bored your way into the anomaly's guts, you started rearranging its structure to suit yourself."

"You certainly talk with conviction."

"And why wouldn't I? It doesn't add up. The Ghost Market begins at night — the hour past midnight up to three in the morning is when it's at its most treacherous. And yet closing time is eleven thirty? However you slice it, that's bizarre."

The reason for the change was obvious.

"Because at that hour, nobody's coming into a supermarket. At best you'd get a night guard or two trickling in — and for you, that was a very inconvenient arrangement. No Philosopher's Stone to be found that way."

"Fuhahahaha! Still talking as if it's all settled fact. You're right, of course — I did interfere with the anomaly known as Lostco. The details remain my secret, but you've struck the core of it dead-on. What I don't understand is why you're so certain it was all in search of the Philosopher's Stone."

"Because you showed yourself even while the Masquerade Alliance was hunting you. It's obvious."

The Count of St. Germain surely wasn't inside Lostco all the time. The moment someone bearing the Philosopher's Stone he desired appeared in Lostco, he must have come scurrying over. And the reason was that the Masquerade Alliance had some means of detecting him the instant he materialized there.

Laid out in order, the whole affair ran like this.

1 — Choi Eun-ha took the bait the Count had scattered and entered Lostco.

2 — By the dictates of Lostco's narrative, the existence of the Philosopher's Stone spread via the bargain-flyer.

3 — Jeong-myung-gyo and Cosmos, having learned of the flyer through some means, moved on Lostco.

4 — The Count of St. Germain, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who confirmed the same fact, entered Lostco as well.

5 — The Masquerade Alliance, detecting the Count's entry, issued a directive to the Paranormal Administration Bureau.

6 — The Bureau entered Lostco.

7 — My companions and I entered Lostco; midway through, the Count decided we were an irritation and tried to bar our way — and failed.

And so we arrived at the present.

"······Those people truly are tenacious. Chasing a man around for a hundred years — talk about a stalker."

"Normally I'd stay neutral when I don't know the whole story, but after watching what you do, I figured I could skip that step."

"That wounds me... So — you refuse my offer, then?"

"Yep. What, you want to try taking it by force? You won't manage it."

"...I see. You are no ordinary man."

"Uh, why wouldn't he manage it?" Eun-ha asked, bewildered.

"Because whatever the method, this guy's still a Lostco employee."

What supermarket employee anywhere on Earth grabs merchandise out of a customer's hands at will?

"So long as he exploits the anomaly, he himself cannot escape the anomaly's laws."

"However, something like this is still within his power." The Count of St. Germain raised his left hand and pointed at the watch on his wrist. "We've spent a great deal of time chatting, haven't we? Isn't it already 11:17?"

Closing time was 23:30. Less than fifteen minutes remained.

"Suppose, for instance... I kept you all here a while longer and sent you out after 23:30. What do you suppose would happen? Would you simply walk out the door at closing, as innocently as that? I'm sorry to dash such optimistic projections, but no — you would not. The Lostco Customer Center is inside the store."

In other words: a threat. Hand over Choi Eun-ha, or never leave before closing.

"...You filthy bastard." Eun-ha spat the curse, but the Count of St. Germain didn't so much as glance her way.

It was, in the most literal sense, the treatment of an object.

"Don't you think that's a rather juvenile threat?" Yi-yeon said.

"Juvenile or not, what must be done must be done."

"Well, well. Pretty brazen for someone overstepping his authority, aren't you? Fine — since it's come to this, sitting around would be a waste of time anyway. Let's talk."

"Oh? You're rather bold... I don't suppose you've only ever seen Lostco during business hours and decided it was harmless? Lostco after closing is an entirely different beast. Even for you—"

"So — shall we talk, or not?"

"...Very well. I was feeling bored besides."

"Great. When did you sink your teeth into Lostco?"

"Roughly twenty years ago. Immediately after I learned that a true Philosopher's Stone — the one completed by Master Paracelsus — existed in this world."

"And before that? What kind of anomaly was Lostco?"

"A far tamer one than now. My interference twisted its narrative, you see. And when I changed the operating hours in particular, it transformed abruptly into something dangerous."

"Hahaha! That must have given them quite the headache. You went and caused a lot of trouble for our friends in government, didn't you?"

"Says the man who treats a girl's soul as merchandise and is threatening a human life as we speak — and yet you care about that?"

"I once served a state myself, you understand. I cannot help but sympathize with their labors. ...Incidentally, what is it you're waiting for right now?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"It could hardly be otherwise. Your eyes are far too clear for a man waiting for death."

Beep.

Just then, a single text message arrived.

"So you've received a message. Let's see... a text message?"

The Count's eyebrows twitched. "From whom... no, how, from within the I-myeon—?"

Judging by the way he said it, for all his meaningful posturing, he didn't actually know the specifics of my ability.

"See for yourself."

I showed him the screen. But...

"...There's nothing there, is there?"

"Huh. I can see it just fine."

"See what?"

What was invisible to the Count of St. Germain's eyes was laid out plainly before mine: at the bottom of the usage rules, beneath the promotional blurb of the Narrative Expansion Public Rollout, a QR code for the head office. And the Lostco head-office site reached through that QR code naturally featured a customer complaints section as well.

"Lostco's employee conduct regulations are stricter than I expected, huh?"

"...And what did the reply say?"

"What—!?"

BOOM!

The moment the words left my mouth, guards in black suits and blurry, indistinct faces came crashing into the gray room. Unlike when I had attacked the manager, it wasn't one or two — dozens of them encircled the Count of St. Germain.

"Ghhk!"

Gritting his teeth, the Count of St. Germain kicked back from his seat. In the same instant, the guards hurled themselves at him. He vaulted over them as if they weighed nothing and lunged for a cabinet against the wall of the gray room. When he threw it open, pitch-black darkness was waiting inside.

Just before flinging himself into that darkness, the Count looked back at me and said, "You will regret this choice—"

"Got anything a bit fresher? You're not even trying to hide that you're a third-rate villain."

"Grrkh!"

"Surely that's not your exit line? A single 'Grrkh!' because you've got nothing left to say — that's a pretty standard exit line too, you know."

"······!"

In the end, hounded by the guards, the Count of St. Germain hurled himself into the cabinet, mouth clamped shut, without a single fresh exit line to his name.

For a man bearing the grandiose title of Alchemist of Time, it was a humiliating exit.

The guards leapt into the cabinet after him, but I doubted they'd catch him. Given that he'd prepared an emergency escape route, there was no way entry was open to anyone who merely followed him in — and even if they could follow...

'Strip away the narrative compulsion and those guards are complete deadweights.'

Going by the presence I'd felt up close, the Count was, at absolute minimum, a Special Grade. Outside Lostco, where the narrative compulsion's buff no longer applied, the odds of those guards catching the Count of St. Germain were vanishingly close to zero.

Then—

Tap, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tap.

The man in the black suit and the white hapcheon mask, the one directing the guards, came up to me and spoke.