Chapter 145
Chapter 145
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Lead and Silver Coins (3)
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[‘A father lost in the game, neglecting his family, and a daughter left to wander the streets without any attention. One day, the father hears his daughter has caused a major incident and rushes around belatedly to clean up the mess....’ Kyaa—seeing it laid out like this, you really come off as total trash, shell.]
‘Who was it that left me no choice but to dive into the game so desperately?’
[Hmm~~~ You?]
Crackle!
The Professor barely swallowed the profanity surging up to the back of his throat. Cynthia, seated in the passenger seat, was watching him with an anxious expression.
“So.... we’re heading to our village now?”
“Yeah. We took protection money in our name from those folks, so we can’t just stand by and watch. I need to see how this ‘village’ operates before I decide how to respond.”
“....Sorry.”
“I told you not to apologize. People make mistakes. Like I said earlier, just don’t repeat the same one.”
Vroom!
He turned the buggy on with one hand and gently stroked Cynthia’s head.
He was angry at Hyde’s words because they rang true.
‘Cynthia.... she has some serious mental issues.’
In his view, Cynthia’s kleptomania wasn’t greed so much as a desperate survival instinct.
‘The short life she’s lived has only exposed her to the cutthroat underdome crowd and three sets of foster parents who abandoned her. Dragged around empty-handed like a broken toy, it’s no wonder she clings to whatever’s left in her own hands.’
The three previous foster parents all abandoned me, so this one will too. So I need to hoard as much of ‘my stuff’ as possible. That way, even if I’m ditched, I’ll have something left—something like that, probably.
[She was desperately preparing for independence in her own way, huh?]
‘Strictly speaking, kids don’t really have anything that’s 100% theirs. It’s all stuff given by their parents. In that sense, Cynthia—with four sets of parents including her birth ones—might as well have lost everything she owned four times over. That’s what drove her to obsess over acquiring purely ‘her own’ things, not handouts from anyone.’
He bore some responsibility for this mess. He’d brought home a kid repeatedly abandoned and then paid her no attention. It’d be weirder if she wasn’t anxious.
So, he’d let Cynthia off the hook.
“No favoritism! If people can make mistakes like you say, why can’t I let it slide!”
“You deserve a beating, you punk. You said you’d take responsibility and raise her. But she sneaks out like that and you don’t even notice? Marksmanship training? Urban tactical movement? Are you insane?”
“The more she sneaks out, the more survival skills she needs! I even checked the community—it said early education is most effective for key skills! I started guerrilla training at sixteen and turned out like this. If Cynthia starts at ten, she’ll become an unparalleled assassin in the wasteland....”
Smack!
“Ow!”
“Quit bragging, you idiot. You turn her into a Rambo-level war machine, and you think that’s good for her? You disrespectful bastard. Where the hell were you wandering from morning that you couldn’t keep an eye on one kid?”
“I checked on her a few times! She was fine on her own, so I went to scrounge teaching materials! Look! See what I caught this morning!”
Bex dodged the Professor’s swinging left hand from the back seat as he opened the sack he’d been carrying all morning.
“Squeak!”
“Squeak! Squeeeeak!”
A rat. A big one, easily over 30 cm, slimy with strange fluids.
“Rat snail? Where’d you even get that?”
“Hee hee! What do you think? Changes your mind, right? I scoured every damp spot in the wasteland to catch this thing.... Fast, tough to kill, and even if it charges, it barely scratches. Perfect moving target, yeah?”
“Yeah.... it’s changing my mind, alright....”
Watching Bex pull out a thrashing rat snail from the sack, the Professor was convinced. He couldn’t leave Cynthia’s education to this guy.
‘I need to talk to the Dome president, hit the hospital.... Oh, and I’ve got that meetup with Speed Wagon.’
Recalling his to-do list made him anxious, and he pressed the accelerator harder.
“Um.... Professor? Do you know the way? I can guide you.”
“Nah. I know a guy in the area.”
Feeling presences gathering around as the buggy’s rough engine roared, he pulled up in a familiar street from the past five years.
The shopping district tri-junction.
If his memory served, the guy from Room 2 had settled nearby.
****
Kang Geumpil believed his quick decisions had shaped who he was today.
Defying his parents early on, he skipped college for hands-on skills, becoming president of ‘Geumpil Steel’ by forty and living large. When war broke out and soldiers lined up the men at the shelter entrance, he didn’t cower like the others—he stepped forward, declaring himself a technician.
Skilled in metalwork for fixing ACs, fridges, gas systems, and crafting anything with the right tools and materials, he earned a spot in a secure underground bunker with his wife and son, unlike the drafted men. He later learned it was a rich folks’ haven, where his rare expertise let him thrive among the unskilled.
After countless choices, he fully trusted his judgment now.
When the alarm from his new security system blared for the man he’d awaited, he pulled out his last remaining business card—kept with his late wife’s photo.
“H-Honored, Professor! I’m Kang Geumpil, president of ‘Geumpil Steel’!”
It worked pretty well. The Professor was caught off guard, at least.
The Professor carefully examined the gold-embossed card handed to him. Edges worn, but the foil intact. In this world, such cardstock and gilding were impossible now—a credential proving pre-war industry creds.
“Let’s see.... Whitesmith, right? That’s your community handle?”
“Y-Yes! Exactly! You remembered! I never dreamed you’d visit in person....”
“You dropped your address in the chat room. I was in the area with questions, and since we’re unintended neighbors, thought I’d drop by.”
“I.... gave out my address? I don’t recall doing something that risky....”
“We have our ways.”
Leaning back in his chair with a ‘we know everything’ vibe, the Professor watched Kang Geumpil and his son tense up beside him.
‘Only one spot worth living at the collapsed shopping tri-junction.’
He’d combed these alleys for five years. Prime spots for cover, ambushes, shelters—all mapped in his head. Hearing ‘near the tri-junction’ pinpointed this place.
Sure enough, stepping in triggered a loud alarm, and out came the man.
Slurp—
The Professor sipped the mushroom-steeped ‘tea’ Kang offered. Bex, tense-faced, had sneak-tasted it first to confirm it was safe. The unique bitterness was surprisingly good.
“Alright, Geumpil. Showing me the card like this.... you want more work in this line, right?”
“Exactly! I only grabbed portable gear in the rush, but with my full setup, I could craft anything metal and take pride in it!”
The man brimmed with pride at work talk. The Professor grew suspicious.
Technician. A high-value one: raw processing to basic electronics repair.
Five years post-war, survivors had bases. Why ditch a stable setup for unproven, rumor-heavy BDSM?
Two hypotheses: fake technician, or fled his old group.
First was debunked on entry. Corner piled with scrap metal, coal. Brand-new shiny shovels, pickaxes. Coal—pricey for heating—stacked high. Legit.
As if sensing the doubt, Kang explained his move without prompting.
“Escaped a rich bunker when things went south?”
“Yeah. I was busy maintaining systems, no big deal. But the useless rich, cooped up years in that tight space, went mad one by one. Someone smashed external comms on purpose, so they didn’t know the war ended or about the mutant virus. When the entrance collapsed, sealing them in, they snapped.”
“Wasn’t there another exit? Service elevator behind the control room....”
“N-No way, you even know that.... Ah! You were at the Area 45 bunker fight recently! Yes! Big enough for vehicles. Clueless admins thought the virus couldn’t escape, so they cut power and wrecked the doors with tools. I escaped via vents with sane colleagues.”
The Professor and Bex listened calmly, faces impassive. Under the table, they jabbed thighs, flashing rapid military hand signals.
[Forward, forward, forward, past target, survivor!]
[Sudden encounter, hideout, civilian!]
Area 45 underground bunker. Kang had survived what was a mutant nest by the time they arrived.
“Out in shock at the ruined world post-war, scavengers nabbed me. I made armor, blades for them till recently. My group got wiped in the bunker raid. Free at last, debating next moves, I heard BDSM okayed nearby settlement and came straight here.”
“And the bunker escapees with you....?”
“Some slaved away till death. Survivors settled here with me.”
‘Yes!’
The Professor inwardly pumped his fist.
Snagging Dome-sought techs for free.
He’d considered stiffing the piddly protection fee, but this changed everything. Bunker shut-ins till war’s end, scavenger grinders—clean slate, no baggage.
Poke—
Another thigh jab. Bex signaling under the table.
[Forward, wrong, intel]
[Confirmed. Aware.]
He knew there were lies.
‘Real slaves wouldn’t community-post under their ID. Meant downtime and personal access gear.’
Scavenger capture probably true. But skills earned respect, good treatment—maybe killing, fighting turf wars.
‘He said he chose it. Community-goer knows Dome perks techs. Chose anyway.... He’s aiming to stake a claim.’
[Stake a claim? On what?]
‘Founder status in a rising group. Better snake head than dragon tail.’
The Professor eyed the confident man across the table. Labor-hardened build, unflinching lies under pressure. Ambitious, selfish, sharp, quick judge. Liked the smooth deception—not spilling under prod. Docile workers needed hand-holding; this guy’d fend for himself.
“Hm, good. You pass!”
Pocketing the card, the Professor spoke. Kang and his tense son beamed.
“P-Pass means....”
“You’ve just been grifted off our name. Now join BDSM proper.”
Unlike fleeting fandom, ‘Hero Professor’ rep endured; people already formed a community around his house.
Ignoring it would worsen things. Might as well use the crowd properly—and here was perfect mid-manager material.
“Geumpil. Instead of loose mutual aid, want to properly organize the area?”
No need for answer. He’d made excess shovels, pickaxes for more than one.
“G-Got a construction-savvy guy! Two blocks over, ex-demolition. Give the word, I’ll deliver results you’ll like!”
Kang gripped the Professor’s offered hand with both. His judgment spot-on again.
****