Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Material Procurement (1)
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Behind Joseph's sausage factory, several kids had gathered.
Ages roughly sixteen to nineteen. Their outfits varied, but none were well-dressed.
They wore outdated fashions or ill-fitting clothes, like they'd been handed down scraps—and in truth, it was something like that.
Still, the kids chatted away as if it were nothing, completely used to it.
"Material procurement after so long."
"Master's been away on his trip, and everything got backed up."
"Gonna have to do a lot of walking for a while, huh?"
"Eh, isn't that fine? We get to roam around legally."
"Yeah, true."
"If we're lucky, we might even save some money and grab something tasty. I wanna try ice cream. Heard it's all the rage in Randa right now."
"Any place around here sell that stuff?"
The group buzzed noisily until the two squad leaders, finishing their headcount, suddenly shouted.
"Ah, damn it...! What the hell? One's missing! Who is it?!"
Squad Leader A grumbled irritably. Material procurement was grunt work, sure, but it was the foundation of the Family's business. A low-grade disciple showing up late? It was infuriating. If a mid-grade caught wind of it, they'd be the ones getting chewed out.
Squad Leader A raised his voice even more, annoyance boiling over.
"Which bastard's late? Line up properly! Let me check!"
That's when Squad Leader B cut in.
"Calm down. I know who's late."
"Who? That brain-dead idiot."
"Him..."
"What?"
"Him."
Squad Leader A's anger cooled in an instant.
Recently, "him" referred to only one person. The guy who'd become a formal disciple in less than ten days after joining—and had literally exploded someone in the process.
As if on cue, the guy in question appeared, and everyone fell silent.
"Hello. I'm here."
Oliver strolled up casually and greeted them. The low-grade disciples who'd arrived early all shut their mouths.
Normally, you'd chew out the youngest for being last, but no one dared.
They tried to play it cool on the surface, but the duel from before had left too deep an impression...
Still, there are always the bold ones. Squad Leader B, who was in charge, mustered his courage and spoke up.
"Wh-why're you so late?"
Oliver glanced at the watch on his wrist.
"Wasn't the gathering time before the short hand hits 1 and the long hand hits... 6?"
The squad leader checked his own watch and replied.
"That's right, but the youngest has to show up earlier. Because you're the youngest."
"Ah... Sorry."
Oliver immediately bowed his head in apology. It wasn't a big deal to him. This was just daily life back at the orphanage and the mines. But the squad leader felt like he'd maintained his dignity and cracked a faint smile.
"Eh, just be more careful next time..."
It seemed like things would wrap up smoothly—until a third voice interrupted.
"Be more careful next time, my ass."
Everyone turned toward the voice. There stood the mid-grade disciples.
"Ah..."
Slap.
"What 'ah'? Speak up—what's he gotta be careful about next time?"
The mid-grade disciple slapped the squad leader's cheek again and demanded.
"Th-that's..."
"Since when did our Family's discipline get this lax? Back in my day, even a little late would've meant a beating. Like this!"
With that, the mid-grade disciple kicked Oliver square in the chest.
"Just curious—has it always been this soft? Or is it just for this guy? You're not scared of him or anything, right?"
The mid-grade who'd kicked Oliver interrogated them. The squad leader looked on the verge of tears, but another mid-grade stepped in to mediate.
"Hey, hey, enough. We've got work today, so cut it out."
Only then did the kicker stop.
The mediator switched gears, briefly explaining the day's schedule before extending a hand to the fallen Oliver.
"You okay?"
Oliver looked up at him. A man with dark brown hair and an approachable face. Though his insides were anything but.
"Yes, thank you."
Oliver took his hand and replied.
Material procurement meant gathering the emotions and materials needed for the Family's business. It was a joint task between mid-grade and low-grade disciples.
One mid-grade, two low-grades. Teams of three were standard, patrolling assigned areas. In practice, the mid-grade handled the real work while the low-grades learned by watching and took care of the chores.
"Got it?"
The mid-grade disciple who'd helped Oliver and the squad leader... no, Rasso, said.
Not only had he bailed out the squad leader and Oliver from getting reamed by the other mid-grade, but he'd personally picked them as assistants for this procurement run.
The squad leader bowed deeply, overwhelmed with gratitude.
"Th-thank you so much for helping."
Oliver followed suit, bowing as well.
"Thank you very much."
Rasso waved it off humbly.
"Nah, nah. I picked you guys to make it easier for me. Peter's known for being diligent, and Oliver... well, you're famous lately. Kicks okay?"
Oliver nodded.
"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for helping."
"Nah, really. Even if you say you're okay. Pay me back when you make it big? You seem pretty talented."
Rasso joked lightly. But Oliver kept his head bowed, hoping to deflect any further attention.
"Mm... Anyway, let's get going. Everyone else has headed out. Schedule's not super tight, but better safe. Got all the supplies?"
The squad leader checked and replied promptly.
"Y-yeah. Bag with the test tubes, money here, and masks too."
Rasso confirmed the wad of cash in his sling bag, strapped it securely to his arm, and said.
"Alright, masks on, everyone."
Peter inspected the leather masks, handing the handsomest one to Rasso and another to Oliver.
Oliver examined his leather mask, then noticed something off. It wasn't just leather—it was human skin, peeled right off a face.
"This is...?"
"Just put it on."
Oliver stared at the mask for a moment before casually flipping it over his face.
A strange sensation followed. It wasn't just his face—the feeling enveloped his entire body, like he'd skinned himself head to toe.
Without thinking, Oliver looked at his hands. His pale, skinny arms were gone, replaced by dark, tanned forearms.
Curious, Oliver prodded his new arms.
It felt like wearing a mask over his skin—odd, but not uncomfortable.
"It's a black magic item called 'Fake Face.' Flip it on, and it changes your whole body, not just your face. More like covering yourself entirely in the mask, really."
Rasso's friendly explanation piqued Oliver's interest. Black magic could do this? Cool.
"Is this a product?"
"Product? Sort of. But not our main one. Fake Faces are pricey, so bank robbers or gangs buy 'em occasionally for big scores. We got something else as our staple."
"What's that?"
Oliver asked again. Peter tried to hush him, but Rasso just smiled and beckoned.
"Nah, it's fine. Gotta have that curiosity to be a black magician. Just know when to rein it in—not everyone approves."
"Y-yes, of course. Absolutely."
Peter bowed on Oliver's behalf. Still, Oliver wanted an answer, and after a moment's thought, Rasso spoke.
"Eh... We've got work. No time here—I'll explain on the job. Sound good?"
Oliver bowed and agreed. Rasso seemed pleased and grinned.
"Good. Follow me."
Oliver grabbed the document bag with the test tubes and trailed after.
He didn't know the assigned area, but it was a long walk. Midway, Peter sidled up to Oliver and whispered.
"Consider yourself lucky."
"Pardon?"
Peter glanced at Rasso's back and whispered again.
"Lucky, I said. Low-grades aren't supposed to talk freely to mid-grades. Rasso's just nice, letting it slide. Don't do it again."
Nice, huh... Oliver eyed Rasso—or rather, his emotions. Hm... Nice?
"But why can't we talk freely?"
"It's the rules. Our Family values hierarchy and order. Subordinates obey superiors."
Oliver nodded. Same as the orphanage and mines. But now, he had too many burning questions.
"What're you two whispering about?"
Rasso called from ahead. Peter stammered it was nothing, but Rasso just chuckled.
"Haha, no need to tense up so much. Think of it as a casual stroll."
"Ah, y-yes."
"Anyway, Oliver. I said I'd tell you about the product earlier, right?"
"Yes."
"Hard to explain upfront. Let's do some work first."
Rasso pulled out a notebook from his pocket and checked it.
"Start here? Lemme see... Paul Street, 112A."
Rasso muttered as he scanned the ramshackle inn and entered one. It was small and filthy; a weird, rancid smell hit them right away.
"Who's there?"
An old woman—presumably the innkeeper—emerged. Her eyes were ringed with liver spots, pretty repulsive.
Rasso said casually.
"Are the fruits ripe?"
The old woman's eyes twitched, and she replied.
"Got three ripe ones ready."
"Mind showing me? I'd like a taste."
"Follow me."
They followed her up a narrow hallway barely wide enough for one, past the counter, to the second floor. Three small rooms, kid noises coming from them.
Knock. Knock. The old woman rapped on a door.
"Mama in there?"
Moment later, the door creaked open slowly. A face peeked out.
"Inn... keeper? What brings you...?"
"Huh? Oh, nothing big. Told you before. About that thing. It's here. Open up."
Oliver saw it. The faint emotions beyond the door.
Trembling with fear. But then resolve hardened, and the door swung open. A woman on the cusp of girl-to-adult stood there.
An infant in her arms, clothes still being adjusted from nursing.
"Th-these people..."
She said, scared. The old woman reassured her.
"No worries. I told you till my mouth hurt—it's not dangerous. Not for the baby either. Just think of it like donating blood."
The woman looked terrified but squeezed her eyes shut, out of options.
"Pl-please... be gentle."
"Heh heh. See? Pretty good, right?"
Rasso flashed two fingers where only the old woman could see.
She nodded in agreement, and Rasso ordered Oliver.
"Hand me a test tube."
Oliver opened the bag and passed an empty one. Rasso took it, calmed the woman, and reached out.
"Won't hurt, no side effects. Don't worry."
With that, Rasso extracted her emotion. Love for the baby—maternal love.
It glowed beautifully, warm. Oliver was momentarily awed. When the tube was about a third full, Rasso stopped.
"Whew..."
The woman exhaled and slumped down, dazed by the unfamiliar sensation. But at the sight of the thick stack of bills Rasso offered, she snapped to.
"This is...?"
"Told you—we pay too. Pretty generous, huh?"
Distracted by the cash, she nodded. Rasso bowed politely and handed the extracted maternal love to Oliver.
"Thanks, looking forward to next time."
The woman clutched the money and nodded. They left the room, repeated the process with two more unwed mothers in the other rooms.
Back downstairs, at the entrance, Rasso handed the old woman a sum larger than what he'd given the three mothers combined.
"Tha... Huh? Less than last time?"
"You know how it is. We pay fair, but we're picky about quality. That last lady's getting there."
"Yeah, fair enough... Got it. I'll boot her soon, find a better mom. That work?"
"Yes. Bring top stuff, and I'll throw in extra."
The old woman nodded. Rasso said friendly goodbyes and stepped out, then turned to Oliver.
"You got the extracted emotions safe?"
"Yes."
"That's the material. For making the product. Guess what it is?"
Oliver shook his head. Rasso smiled.
"Filterette."