Chapter 146
Chapter 146
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 146
Chapter Title: Chapter 10: Lead and Silver Coins (4)
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****
Originally, I had planned to just tell that guy named Park Geum-pil something like, “I’ve finally stepped out of the house, so no need to worry anymore. Let’s do our best going forward,” and then head out.
I coldly brushed off Mr. Park Geum-pil’s attempts to get me to stay for a meal, tucked away the hunting knife he’d made just in case it might come in handy, and stepped outside....
Rumble—
“Whoa! Don’t push!”
“He’s out.”
“He was really in there?”
Instead of the car parked right in front of the door, I saw people clustered tightly around the entrance.
“That’s him.”
“It’s real. His left arm really looks like a monster!”
“Professor... coming out of Kang Sa-jang’s place?”
“Hey, Geum-pil! Don’t tell me you secretly set up a hotline with Professor behind our backs!”
Somehow, about a dozen or so people had gathered in front of Geum-pil’s house. Judging by the sand caked into the wrinkles of their ragged clothes, they’d been out working since morning and had stuck around until now.
The time from descending from the shelter to settling here at the three-way intersection house was barely twenty minutes. In that short span, word must have spread among the folks scattered around working nearby, drawing them all in. Shouting loudly or using noisy signals was taboo due to the risk of attracting mutant aggro, and of course, no one had radios like the big groups such as Dome or Raptor Society. So they’d all converged purely by word of mouth. Could it be....
“...Mr. Geum-pil?”
“N-No, it’s not me! I really didn’t call them! Hey, you guys! We’re all day laborers scraping by—why aren’t you working and why are you here? Jade, you said you were busy with community freelance gigs!”
“Kang. I thought we’d known each other a long time and lived like family in this harsh world.... When did you two start talking? When he settled here? Or when we got released from the log-in devices and rushed here saying let’s go?”
“You should’ve given us a heads-up at least! We’ve been on pins and needles this whole month worrying about that little lady being the only one coming down!”
From their reactions, it didn’t seem like Geum-pil had summoned them. Probably someone spotted me when the car came down and started the rumor, or others followed when they saw people rushing over.
“I’m telling you, that’s not it!”
“What do you mean? I just heard it clear as day! ‘Have a meal before you go, let’s talk business properly next time!’ Who do you think lives by digging dirt because they hate working? Come on, if there’s a chance, share some—”
“I’ll share.”
The bald man who’d been inching forward with a scowl recoiled as if burned when I stepped ahead, jumping back in shock.
Wasteland folk were quick on the uptake, that much I had to give them. They’d peek at me, pretending to be startled or excited, then vent all their frustrations at the familiar, easier target: Mr. Geum-pil.
‘Give us work.... No harm in that.’
I found it amusing how the bald guy kept sneaking glances at me while chewing out Geum-pil, so I was tempted to see how far he’d go. But he looked ready to grab someone by the collar if ignored, so I cut in at the right moment and stepped forward.
A speech. Never imagined I’d be making a public announcement in front of people in my life.
[Nervous? In the game, you were yelling your head off even on the battlefield.]
‘Feels different. Game and reality.]
[What’s the difference to us? Just treat it like the game.]
‘Like the game. Like speaking as Hero Professor.’
Huuuup!
I drew a deep breath under the crowd’s expectant gazes. Alright, think like it’s the game. What to do? Set a goal, plan the process, control the variables.
The goal wasn’t just relaying info—it was earning enough goodwill that they’d think, “This guy’s worth trusting and following to some extent,” while also instilling a healthy wariness to deter any funny ideas. For that, I needed....
‘Charisma.’
With the task clear, my pounding heart settled. The Professor stepped forward into the crowd.
My left hand, mutated like a variant’s, was inconvenient normally but handy now. Its blatantly alien look was perfect for leaving a strong first impression, positive or negative.
‘First, eye level.’
Locking eyes in conversation versus looking up creates a huge gap in perceived distance. Standing high lets even short people or those pushed to the back see the speaker. From presidential addresses to market hucksters, no one speaks to a crowd without some platform for a reason.
The Professor wove through the parting crowd to the parked buggy.
“Up we go.”
He grabbed the frame, hopped lightly, and perched on the roof.
I’d decided to take charge of these people, but I had no ambitions of building them into a Raptor Society- or Dome-sized powerhouse or wielding unchecked power.
Neither Dome’s dream of rebuilding past civilized glory nor Raptor’s domination through raw strength appealed. Living purely virtuously felt off given the devastation I’d left in the wasteland with my own hands, and going full ruthless had too many qualms.
“Life in the wasteland has its ironies—we’ve ended up gathered here like this.”
No megaphone, no group ideology or symbols—just a speech from a car roof in half-ruined streets.
Perfect for a gray-area guy like me.
“Glad to meet you. I’m the leader of BDSM, Professor.”
I playfully waved my massive left hand at the stunned, upturned faces.
The moment BDSM officially declared its presence to the world: Big Dream Small Margin.
****
“...And that’s how it happened.”
“Hahahahahaha!”
“You think this is funny? I’m on the verge of hypothermia and dehydration from cold sweat, soaked through with no change of clothes....”
“No, a guy like you making such small-folk complaints.”
“Just a few months ago, I was risking my life for a barrel of oil—what else would you call it?”
After simply telling the villagers I’d manage things from now on so no worries and no funny business, the Professor group arrived at Dome as planned. Like other visitors, they had to undergo inspection at the entrance.
‘Huh?’
‘C-Could you sign something....’
One difference: the inspection wasn’t about ID or purpose and didn’t end at the gate—it dragged all the way to the Inspection Chief’s office building.
The Professor realized he was far weaker to enthusiastic fans than he’d thought. When he tried signaling Bex for backup—who was also mobbed for signatures—Bex had already vanished with Cynthia. After nearly a month of training together, they’d synced perfectly; the moment he looked away, they’d used him as bait and bolted.
By the time he fought through autograph hounds, desperate pleas to decode mutant virus mechanics, and even women of a certain age stripping off tops and charging, the Professor was wiped out. He finally caught his breath in the Inspection Chief’s office, warmly welcomed, and recounted the ordeal.
“Hahahaha! Ahem, hmm! Sorry about that. Must’ve been a moment for the ages. Not mocking you, so don’t get mad.”
“Laugh it up. If the ruler of Sector 47 Dome wants to laugh, isn’t it blasphemy if I can’t join in?”
“Hmm, heh, ahem! Ah, it’s been ages since I laughed like this. You broadcast to crowds, but hate them that much?”
“I was trembling inside even speaking to sixteen in my village. And the parade? That was no joke.”
“An Inspection Chief can’t even joke about falsehoods. Anyway, ‘village’... You name your group so endearingly. I thought I had a good eye, but you always surprise me.”
“You’ve changed a lot since last time too? This isn’t your usual speech pattern.”
Inspection Chief Alexander Young looked quite different from the Professor’s last visit. His bushy field-commander beard was now a sharp 90s-movie officer mustache; his practical neat clothes had become a crisp suit that looked like it’d tear at a touch; his deferential tone was now confident semi-formal.
The one unchanged thing: those wolfish eyes glinting bluish amid the laughter. The tanuki-wolf hybrid chief had learned to fully sheath his claws.
“A ruler must show the people what they want. Dome citizens crave a strong leader, so I ditched the honorifics first. You should learn about this stuff soon.”
“We’re barely twenty including my kids—what ruler?”
He waved it off like it was nothing; the chief chuckled dryly and tapped the window behind him.
“See out there?”
“Hard not to. I rubbed shoulders with nearly half of them coming here.”
“That’s your current status. Dome’s hero. Savior Professor. If I hadn’t elevated you as Dome’s hero and revealed our close ties, a tenth of them would be camped at your house. It’s just the name ‘Dome’s Hero’—you live outside, but they see you as one of ours, so they’re behaving.”
A chill ran down his spine at the chief’s words. He peered out the window again. People waving flags with unfamiliar marks—crudely my-hand-as-character drawings on yellowish scraps, charred-wood sketches. Hundreds of them. As he frowned slightly, the chief stroked his sharp mustache and nodded.
“Yeah. We egged them on a bit.”
“Why?”
“In this chaos, nothing sells like a hero image. Look at them—not a worry in sight, like the old days. And you’re a real hero, no exaggeration needed. No qualms there. BDSM merch is flying off shelves in Dome now. Community’s selling a non-disclosure code for a novel based on this war, ‘Breaching Dun,’ for 300 shillings—a high price. Artists hawk flags and woodblock prints like those. And this.”
Rattle—
The chief pulled a wooden statue from a drawer. On a round base, engraved “[Roaring Fiercely Professor]”—the most embarrassingly tacky thing imaginable.
“Let me see that.”
“Sorry, I bought it myself. Made as an Inspection Department venture—sold better than expected. People thirst for fun.”
“You bastard! Aiming for a democratic rule-of-law state, but copyright’s optional?”
“Strictly, it’s just a character with the same name and vague likeness. Ah, if BDSM officially joins Dome, we could litigate and split profits. Interested?”
“Beat it! Why so desperate for cash you hawk kids’ toys?”
“Building a city. Needs a ton of money, obviously.”
Swoosh—
His posture shifted. From lounging back to leaning forward, hands clasped on the desk.
The lighthearted banter turned deadly serious in an instant.
[All that fluff, then straight to the point. That guy’s got GG nobility vibes no matter how you slice it.]
‘All this was buildup from the start.’
Post-war, even victory came at a cost for Dome; he’d upended the old regime to become leader.
No time for chit-chat with a body count tripled.
He’d given exhausted-me recovery time and lightened the mood deliberately. Loosen then tighten—feels tauter.
The real talk ahead warranted such prep.
“A city... That one in Sector 45?”
“Right. Preposterously well-preserved Old Era underground bunker. Raptors torched most, but the key control room survived everything but physical shocks. With Raptors crippled, we’re stepping up. They’re cheek-to-jowl with us—won’t they prioritize them over us?”
“Cheek-to-jowl. So Raptors have fully entrenched in Sector 43?”
“They halted between 43 and 42. Can’t call it ‘fully’ with their nature, but hundreds of tanks and vehicles in a nest—they can’t just relocate easily. Best assume they’re hunkering there for winter. Tons of 42-43 refugees confirm it. Even with stealth fields, Raptors combing everywhere means they’ll get found eventually.”
Sector 43. A sharp stab of memory pierced him.
‘Fuck. Elder Woojin.’
Woojin Urology dead center in 43. No way they’d skip a pharmacy stockpile. If Raptors owned 43....
‘...He’ll be fine. A living legend, right? Escaping solo’s child’s play with a scalpel. Nothing’ll happen.’
Long ago, first time in 43, caught trying to sneak a turret off the hospital outskirts—Woojin beat him senseless. He’d survive. Not the type to go down without a signal. No news is good news. The Professor shook off the worry. Focus on now.
“New Dome construction... Got everything you need?”
“That’s why we’ve been scraping shillings like mad. Self-sufficiency has limits, and we can’t redesign everything yet. Special alloys and small parts—we buy every one that hits market. Should hit targets soon, but one snag.”
He sensed instinctively: this meeting was for this issue.
“The snag?”
“City-scale large shield. Essential if we’re building a city around the bunker, not holing up. Sector 38 Dome promised spare core parts, but contact cut a week ago. No raid alerts or warnings—just gone.”
Swoosh—
The chief slid a crisp paper across the desk.
“That’s why I formally request ‘Caravan BDSM.’ Advance 20 million, 40 more on success. Grants department-head access to Dome facilities everywhere.”
“Department-head access... Includes exosuits?”
“One unit, yes.”
“Core part size?”
“Don’t know details, but not huge. With buffer case, about 40kg.”
“Box-sized....”
Not just any job—Dome’s core strength, exosuits permitted. The Professor scrutinized the contract. Total 60 million. Overkill for hauling a box, plus free use of Dome-planted ‘stations’ across territories. Department-head outranks station chiefs—could order “drain all fuel here” and they’d obey.
‘Super fishy!’
Overpay means hidden catches. Like....
“Cash-strapped, yet dropping 60 million on outsiders? Our combat’s barely a squad with exosuits.”
Life insurance attached?
“BDSM as one exosuit squad... That’s self-deprecation bordering on insult.”
Silent a beat, the chief fetched a sparkling whiskey bottle and two glasses from the curtained cabinet, downing his in one.
“...First thought it was comms glitch—sent transport as planned. Last contact in 39, then poof. Convinced of trouble, dispatched veteran agents and elite power team with one exosuit—same fate. Vanished into mist.”
Glug-glug—
Eyes on the stack of letters piled aside, he silently refilled his glass. Dome-marked envelopes—hemisphere shield over skyscrapers. Undelivered KIA notices for the missing.
In the wasteland, missing meant dead.
“Pure combat? Maybe no better than the silent-vanished exosuit squad. But ops execution? No one in this wasteland matches you. Official pay 60 million—but recover our missing, especially the exosuit? Another 100 million.”
“So, leave cozy 40s sand-winds for radioactive 30s storms, punch through mystery snatchers grabbing people quietly, fetch the goods. Why not just write that in the contract instead of this roundabout shit?”
“Can’t leak externally. You’d notice anyway.”
“Hmm....”
Great pay, unknown risks.
The Professor pocketed the contract and stood.
“I’ll discuss with my team and get back.”
“...Fair enough. As quick as possible. Before the missing hit ‘KIA’ status.”
Nod.
The Professor dipped his head instead of replying and left the chief’s office.
Find Bex first; Ian was in Dome on business too—gather them and talk.