Chapter 30
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Why Is It Real?
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Why is it real?
[Senyora of the Back Alleys] Volume 2 had caused a massive stir.
Some readers harbored dissatisfaction and anxiety over the story's direction,
while others tried to calm them down, insisting they should at least see it through to Volume 3.
But there was one point of unanimous agreement.
If the author didn't want to see readers driven mad, they needed to release Volume 3 immediately.
The bulletin board was chaotic both inside and out.
Inside... well, it was completely overwhelmed by posts about the novel.
Even users who had no interest in genre fiction either fled temporarily or got swept up in the hype.
And the latter group was far from small. At least on the board, it had cemented its superstar status.
As for the outside... just know that Warrenberg Publishing House's front doors never closed.
Readers hurling letters of fury and even storming in directly.
Other authors dropping by with manuscripts in hand to ask questions.
And Chabi, who had snuck away the moment things got too exhausting.
[Chabi's been working too hard lately, so she's off on vacation. Don't look for her for a while.]
"...".
Time passed like that. Warrenberg twisted itself into knots, putting on a full defense show under the excuse that it hadn't been long since Volume 2's release.
And they hunted down Chabi. No specific tasks for her, but since she was guilty of slacking, they wanted her to share the suffering.
But amid all this noise, there were always those who quietly enjoyed the novel without getting caught up in the fuss.
A man named Hans was one such person. Who was he? A policeman who, pondering what to do with his free time, decided to try reading a novel...
A solid young officer steadily climbing the ranks through hard-earned achievements from the ground up.
Through sheer luck, he managed to snag a copy of Volume 2.
Nothing special about it—just good timing on his day off, lining up right when it hit shelves.
Finally in possession of Volume 2, he was thoroughly enjoying it.
For starters, being a cop gave him a natural immunity to grim situations.
No matter how bleak the story got, it couldn't top real life's depravity—unless it was ridiculously exaggerated.
And by his standards, this level of darkness was just the right amount of spice. Perfectly savory.
On top of that, his vague expectation that things would ultimately head in a positive direction played a role.
He was still new to genre fiction.
So Hans simply couldn't fathom why authors would abandon what readers wanted and drift the plot in weird directions...
He marveled at the illustrations, including Senyora's; tilted his head at Karen's debut; nodded along in the midsection.
Seeing Rika in the latter half made him feel sorry for her; watching Senyora's mental state shatter filled him with pity.
[Listen up, author Aren]
If you don't release Volume 3 right now, I'll mobilize the full power of the police to make you taste bitter regret.
Sound the air raid siren!! It's time for Meteor Strike!!
People posted nonsense like that on the bulletin board too.
Anyway, he spent his day off in a healthy(?) way.
For Hans, the most appealing character was, of course, 'John'.
A conscientious cop character rare in fiction.
Though he hadn't been reading novels long, he knew police rarely got positive portrayals.
Reality was full of immorality, cops weren't exempt, and fiction was optimized for skewering that.
So seeing a purely positive cop felt refreshing after so long.
Right now, he felt like he could do anything. On a day off, no less.
His chest swelled with a sense of justice, inspired by John's actions in the novel.
So he headed out on a whim. Officially a patrol. The novel had unusually detailed descriptions of where Rika hung out.
Sure, it was fictional, and the neighborhood name where Senyora lived didn't exist...
But the author described a 'suspiciously weird publisher that only churns out bizarre works'—aka Warrenberg Publishing House—as a gag or something.
So people figured, even if not exact, the author drew inspiration from around there for the backdrop.
That's why exploring based on the detailed descriptions felt feasible.
He wasn't expecting much. No way it was real. At best, some local thugs.
Since he was out, grab food, take a walk, help if needed, eat again, head home.
That's what he thought. That's what he was thinking.
"??"
Until he wandered into a dark alley without much thought and emerged into the space beyond.
"Why does this exist...".
No, just coincidence. Could be a normal neighborhood.
Not some illegal den like in the novel—just a poor area.
"Aigoo, sir! Help me out!!"
"Grab that rat!"
"Heh heh..."
A scrawny Rat Beastkin fleeing toward him, chased by a gang of tattooed thugs...
For now, he had one 'great impression' of the neighborhood etched in.
"Sir, sir! I know it's shameless, but save me just this once! I'm about to get sold off!"
"Get behind me... What's going on here?"
"That bastard didn't pay us back!"
Hmm, Beastkin and debt. Seen that in the novel. Another great impression.
"Then handle it legally, not with this violence..."
"Beat his ass too!"
"Whoa whoa whoa!"
Hans let out a hearty laugh. Closer to a hollow one.
These guys seemed open to talk at first, but flipped at 'law'? Absurd.
...And above all, the eyes of the one charging him were glazed over.
'They're on drugs.'
So he decided to enforce justice(!) without questions.
One against many, but no issue.
He'd only recently started novels because he'd spent his time building strength before.
In a world with auras and such, no cop would be weaker than street punks.
He turned them into dough, one by one. Since it was his solo holiday stunt, he held back—just enough they'd flee without arrests.
"Urk... You'll regret this!"
"Next time I see you, it'll be bad news."
As if I'd come in plainclothes again?
"Aigoo, thank you, sir...!"
"Yeah... well... explain the situation. Name?"
"'Quick Hands'."
"Whoa, bold choice."
"I named myself."
"So, about the debt and getting sold—what's that mean?"
"No idea, sir. Suddenly, they say I gotta pay my cousin's debt."
"Hmm."
"I'm an orphan who doesn't even know his parents."
"Huh."
Did I ask for no reason? Push forward anyway.
"...So, getting sold?"
"What else? Not for hard labor. Gotta be some high-up with filthy tastes buying me."
"Hmm."
"Use me as a punching bag or keep me as a pet—"
"Hold on, watch your words, sir..."
"No, in this shithole, what's too crude to say...?"
A bit embarrassing answer, but the situation was clear now.
What the hell, human trafficking in this day and age...?
And yeah, I get why he specified that angle.
Rat Beastkin—quick, sure, but no muscle. Tiny build. I could probably lift and toss him one-handed.
Looks... dainty, if you squint. Even filthy like this.
"I just don't get how the world works."
"Same here."
"Why leave normal women alone and eye even married men?"
"Uh, what? Pardon?"
"?"
"Wait, you're a dude?!"
"Obviously?"
Why obviously? Androgynous face and voice had me unsure...
But that line made me think woman.
"Why?! Just why?!"
"...Born with it attached?"
"Right..."
Better change the subject.
"Yeah... anyway, I'll help. Name's Hans, cop."
"! A cop? Then this...!"
"Hm?"
Some white powder. Looks like 'that drug' to anyone.
"What's this?"
"Drugs, sir."
"Holy shit, for real."
"Pure stuff."
"...Why show it? Confessing?"
"Huh? No no, not mine. Those guys'."
"?"
"Snatched it while fleeing. Planned to screw them somehow."
"Damn, fast hands."
"Hence Quick Hands."
"Theft, then."
"Huh."
"To the station."
"Mercy, sir."
"You won't die."
Not punishment. Extension of help.
"First, explain what this place is."
"...".
"Cooperate, and leniency possible."
"Alright, about this place—first off—"
He got the explanation. Lots of details, but simple conclusion.
'Aren used a real place as backdrop...'
Wasn't just calling humans trash out of nowhere... This was reality...
Yeah, he knew.
About these illegal filthy dens.
About Beastkin living more miserably than appearances suggested.
...And that cops knew but couldn't act.
These spots did illegal shit, but too big-scale. No touch unless major incident.
Everyone swept it under the rug, hands tied.
Report to superiors? Nothing changes. Lucky not to get disciplined.
He was off-duty, acting alone anyway.
As a cop, he could do zilch.
...As a 'cop', that is.
"Scoured the whole bulletin board."
"Pardon?"
"There's this thing."
"Oh, right."
Time to switch from Officer Hans to 'anonymous poster'.
"Come with me for now."
"Huh? But you said leniency."
"Yeah, gonna buy you food."
"Hmm..."
Oh, right—a quick station detour too.