Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Condensed Dream
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"Something a bit grotesque, huh?"
Don't forget—you're the cause of this.
When I woke up after a short nap, the wall was regenerating like a living creature regrowing its skin.
Not like wooden planks appearing—no, it was actually squirming, occasionally flashing glimpses of raw red flesh underneath.
"Maybe I've actually ended up inside your stomach?"
...You've figured it out.
"?"
Just kidding.
"…"
Seeing the shop crack a pun it would never bother with normally, it seemed pretty pissed off because of me.
I slowly extended a tentacle.
Be careful.
"Don't worry. I'm starting to get the hang of it."
Indeed, not only had the speed picked up, but the movements felt smoother too.
I carefully folded the blanket lying crumpled on the floor using the tentacle.
A motion I never could've pulled off before.
"Definitely convenient."
I fetched the Dream Solvent I'd been steadily producing as usual.
What are you making this time?
Momentary Dream?
"Nah, something new."
Someone's Dream serves a different purpose altogether, so set that aside. Momentary Dream's effect is pretty weak for a recovery item.
You can beat a mild cold without meds anyway—how much help is something that barely covers that?
So this time, it's a full-on recovery item.
It guzzles Dream Solvent, which is why I couldn't make it until now. But I've stockpiled enough.
"Shop, whip me up a 1-liter PET bottle."
Check it out.
"Okay. Thanks."
When I poured all the Dream Solvent into the PET bottle, it gave off a faint green glow.
The basic process is like Someone's Dream.
The difference? A lot more blood instead of just a drop. But since I regenerate anyway, 500ml is no big deal.
Next, I chanted an incantation—different from before, but still total gibberish.
The liquid in the bottle shrank dramatically, leaving just enough for a single sip.
"Done. Let's call it 'Condensed Dream'."
Being Dream Solvent-based, the names all run in the same vein.
But the effects? Wildly varied—no need to worry.
This one's made through a brutally simple, brute-force method, honestly.
True to the name, it's just a massive batch of Dream Solvent, super-condensed.
Still, it's the best-performing Dream Solvent item I can craft right now.
Anything better needs other materials, and the risks are too high for that yet.
Besides, I don't need top-tier stuff like that anyway.
"This is gonna be our shop's priciest item now. How about pricing it at a heart?"
A life for a life.
Some kinda weeb motto popped into my head.
Fine, care to explain that absurdly high price tag?
"This liquid? It'll save anyone short of full-on corpses."
Doesn't regrow lost bits, but if something's damaged enough to be knocking on death's door, it'll mutate 'em to pull through.
Say one lung's trashed—it'll rework the body to survive on the other one alone.
Kinda horrific, sure, but it saves lives. Good enough, right?
The Bureau would haul in ten hearts to trade, no doubt.
Why say no if a handful of dead criminals can save their VIPs?
That's why—one heart.
It also means if you wanna save someone that bad, pony up the resolve.
Though the Bureau'll just grab some mystery heart from god-knows-where and snag it.
"One wine glass and a fancy red cushion, too."
Got it.
Ingredients for this too?
"Nah? Gotta display the Condensed Dream right. Premium stuff sells better with vibe. Y'know, that luxury feel."
I cleared space on one side of the display shelf and set up the Condensed Dream.
"Mmm! Visual so killer, even a random kid passing by'd gawk for ten minutes."
Meanwhile, our recent sales had thinned out the other items' stock—they looked downright deflated by the new competition.
Guess I should restock the staples too.
"Shop. Can you make stuff like this?"
If it's just possible or not? Sure.
But think of it as an efficiency problem.
You could make it, but it'd cost several times the effort you sank into getting the ingredients.
"Even if not for selling, cool to know it's doable."
Yeah.
Today's to-do list done, then?
"Wish. Might as well knock out the rest while I'm at it."
Good attitude.
"Gotta grab more Eyeball Candy and Infinite Pig's Flesh."
Names are worlds apart, but they surprisingly come from the same tale—won't take long.
Location?
"Restaurant."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Good day, sir. How may I assist with your order?"
The waiter approached and asked what I'd like.
Maybe it was the restaurant's upscale vibe lifting my spirits—my heart pounded fiercely.
Or more likely, the fact that the waiter had no head.
Waiters with blood streaming from their neck stumps every time they moved went around to various tables, greeting patrons and taking orders.
This place had only me as a customer, so who the hell were they serving? But headlessness while talking was the real bug—drop the pointless questions.
Anyway, time to order something.
I opened the menu.
🍽️ Menu 🍽️ Main Dish
Infinite Pig's Flesh - Price: Left Arm Once-Poached Chicken - Price: Right Leg ... Desserts
Eyeball Candy - Price: Both Eyeballs Non-Melting Ice Cream - Price: Tongue The prices made even our shop seem cheap, but the sales gimmick was straight out of our playbook.
"Once-Poached Chicken, please."
This joint runs on post-payment, so order whatever for now.
"Order received. Please wait a moment."
The waiter noted it down and headed into the kitchen.
If I tried farming items here normally, I'd need dozens of limbs to cover what I want.
But there's a shortcut for limb-poor saps like me.
The Fine Dying Restaurant cooks ingredients—it doesn't source 'em.
Which means daily deliveries from the factory.
I casually stood from my chair.
Popping up briefly while waiting for food? Happens all the time—no weird looks.
Then strolled toward the kitchen.
Heading to the kitchen to check on your food? Not uncommon either.
Kiiiek—
And pushed open the kitchen door, stepping in.
"Excuse me."
Curious about the recipe and poking into the kitchen? Totally natural, right?
"Customer. You're not allowed in here."
As if.
Unlike the waiters, the chefs—with proper heads attached—approached, kitchen knives gripped in hand.
This place skimps on staff appearance consistency, apparently.
"I'll give you lot some consistency."
"Customer? Get out—"
💥 HEADSHOT! 💥 Chef Neutralized
The tentacle blew the chef's head clean off in an instant—no more words from him.
Too bad chefs can't yap headless like the waiters.
They respawn quick after death, so hustle.
I slipped into the warehouse behind the kitchen.
Piles of ingredients I needed inside.
"Grabbing these'd keep me stocked awhile, but I'm after more than a quick fix."
Deeper in the warehouse, a mannequin was unloading supplies from a truck.
"Found my shortcut."
In the game, you hijack that truck and drive to the factory. Me? No license.
Tried it tons—couldn't pass the road test to save my life.
Pointless now, but my friends ragged on me hard for it.
Long story short, no truck-driving for me.
But hijacking? Totally doable.
I snuck into the truck's passenger seat without the mannequin noticing.
A bit later, it climbed into the driver's seat.
"Wha—? Who the hell are you?"
Mannequins look fake, but they think human enough.
Which means human tricks work on 'em plenty.
"I wanna go to the factory."
"What is this? Get out now, or I'll get rough."
Bummed—no dice on cooperation.
That's when you switch to negotiation.
Something menacing burst from my shadow, primed to bestow 'consistency' on the mannequin.
"Drive now, and you live."
I get mine, it survives—perfect deal.
"…"
"…"
"I'll get you there safe."