Sort Your Trash

1.

"Kids. Don't you think this is a little much?"

It was the dim hour before dawn. Inside a shabby hideout where a thin wash of moonlight was all the light there was, a man asked the question in a gentle voice.

"How many times have I said it? Trash has to go out on time."

The most ordinary nagging in the world. Even the voice he scolded them in was soft as anything, the way you'd scold a child. And yet—why?

"...I'm sorry, Captain. For the crime of failing to lead the members properly, even as vice-captain. I will cut this meager life short and atone."

Shing.

The instant the vice-captain finished, the other two members drew their daggers after her. Of everything they carried, these were the most elegant blades, and the sharpest—short daggers engraved with the insignia of the mercenary company they belonged to, Black Wolf.

"Thank you for everything, Captain."

There was no hesitation in them.

!!

With a flick of the hands too fast to follow, all three reversed their grips and hauled the blades straight for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their own throats. A keen-edged dagger. Moonlight pouring in. Dust adrift on the air. In the very instant the throats of the three, vice-captain included, were about to be run through—

"Stop."

A cold voice halted them. The man rose from the wooden crate he'd been perched on and walked over to the three.

"Quit the useless theatrics and just throw the trash out properly. You hear me?"

He tossed it out like an afterthought, glaring at the other two.

"Especially you and you. Sort the trash. I'll be watching."

"...Sort the trash? ......Oh! Yeah! Got it, Captain!"

"Never again. I will not—disappoint you."

"Good. That's how it ought to be."

Once he had their answers, the man drew the crimson light back out of his eyes and got to his feet.

"Dismissed. Go easy on the dawn training. Be back before breakfast, same as always."

"Yes, Captain."

"Thanks, Captain!!"

"Never again. No matter what happens. Absolutely. I will not—disappoint you."

It had been a grim predawn summons, but that, at any rate, was the end of it. After sending the members out, the man came back inside the hideout and dropped onto the bed.

"Haa......"

The man's name was Nahan.

And—

"...I want a late-night snack. Fried chicken and a beer."

The character he had possessed was named Nahan too. He was a twenty-five-year-old man who had been dropped into this damned novel, Babylonia.

"Waking up at dawn is seriously brutal. Even in the army they let us sleep till six-thirty."

The only reason a man this thoroughly ordinary had ended up possessed was curiosity.

What, this author's new series is out?

He had blitzed the free chapters through episode fifteen, and before paying to read on he had only ducked into the related gallery to check the plot. That was all.

Some weirdo had hooked him clean, and in a fit of rage he had picked up his keyboard and smashed it—

and just like that, he was possessed.

Which was to say he had been possessed into a novel whose plot he didn't even properly know.

The one mercy was this.

"Already two. Did it tick up while I was asleep last night?"

Even if he just sat here and did nothing, the bad endings prevented themselves. And whether it was a perk of being a possessor or not—

"Information lookup. Nahan."

There were limits, but he could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠peek at other people's information the same way.

So just lie here like a lump.

Dodge whatever threat came creeping in by way of the status window, and wait until every bad ending was gone. The Nahan that Nahan had possessed was nothing but a C-rank captain leading a mere D-rank mercenary company, Black Wolf.

Just in case he ought to be doing something, he had checked his people's ranks. Every one of them was D-rank. The vice-captain, Lactea, was the best of them at C−-rank.

The hero's party he'd seen in the prologue had been S-rank. The moment he stepped out front thinking he'd stop a bad ending himself—

"Who are you?"

"Ah, I'm not actually a suspicious person. I just came to prevent a bad ending."

"?"

"Whoa! You don't know what a bad ending is? That thing is seriously ter-ri-fy-ing."

Chop!

His head would come clean off. No question. And the author of Babylonia was famous for writing nothing but dark fantasy, which only made it more dangerous.

Anyway. Just as he had done from the moment he was possessed until now, he could stay wedged inside this D-rank company and wait until every bad ending had been suppressed.

"Just dig in and hold."

Endure, and endure, and then it was home ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sweet home. For now, that was enough.

"...Then again, was it a bit much, nagging them from dawn just because they didn't take out the trash?"

Nahan thought it over for a moment.

"No? Not harsh at all."

From the instant he was possessed until now—more than a month—Nahan was the one who had single-handedly handled the trash sorting and the food scraps. But the moment he tried to say anything, they fell all over themselves with I'm sorry, I'll die, the way they just had, so aside from the first two times he had done his best not to scold them and had swallowed it alone.

"If we're living together, we share the housework."

Nahan let out a sigh and lay back down. Sleep, though, was the last thing coming. The fact that he had started nagging at dawn kept snagging at him.

"...How much meat do we have left."

He got up and went down to the kitchen, thinking he might put a little care into breakfast. The sentiment lasted about as long as it took to get there.

"Haa. These brats just left."

The trash they hadn't bothered to clear sat strewn across the kitchen, plain as a taunt.

"Is sorting the trash really that hard? Honestly......"

He was sighing at a bin where trash and food scraps were jumbled together, not sorted in the slightest, when—

Ding.

A bright little chime, utterly at odds with the scene, and a system window rose.

"Ah. Went up on its own again."

The good news that a bad ending had been stopped cooled his temper at once. Twelve left.

"Auto-hunting is sweet."

Sit still, kill time, and he could go home sweet home!

"...Haa, yeah. I'm going back to my own world anyway."

If he wanted to savor a developed civilization again, living a little uncomfortably on the way out was fine. The kids were stupid, not bad. So until then—

"I'll just clean it up myself."

Hup—!

One month since he had been possessed.

"...But what did I even choose?"

A new morning dawned on Nahan, the C+-rank captain of a D-rank mercenary company.

2.

Over here, meanwhile, it was still dawn. Time slipped back a little.

"Dismissed. Go easy on the dawn training. Be back before breakfast, same as always."

Right after Nahan finished the conversation and returned to the hideout, the vice-captain drew a notebook from inside her coat.

Once the brief notes were done, the vice-captain stepped up to the two who were still kneeling and whispered.

Past the long fall of her platinum-blonde hair, golden eyes shed a cold light.

"Answer."

"Ah, okay, sis. Don't be mad."

The blonde girl swallowed hard and nodded, and in the next instant—

WHAM!!

The man who had been kneeling, member No. 3, Hanryang, drove his head into the ground, and when he lifted it again a thick mask like a savage beast was seated on his face.

"Gladly—I accept."

It was a heavy mask to match that enormous frame, and past it a blue glare flashed.

"Agh, you scared me!"

Thwack!

Member No. 4, Luna, cracked Hanryang across the back of the head, then clicked a mask of her own into place—she had it out before anyone saw her draw it—and waved at the vice-captain, Lactea.

"We'll go make up for it!"

Lactea nodded, and as if that were the signal, the two of them vanished.

A few minutes later.

"...? The hell are you. Where'd you come in from."

Crunch!

"Ah, they're bolting!! Crush them gently!!"

"Refused—it is."

They were the rising criminal outfit of the imperial capital's back alleys, commonly called the Sewer Rats.

"I-intruders!!"

"Who!? What do the bastards look like!!"

"M-masks......? No way!!?"

Outlaws gathered around their boss, Hanson—men who broke even the underworld's Code and put their hands to every filthy job there was.

"Shit...... that's Tal."

"I-it's Tal!! Everybody run!!"

"...It's no use, you bastard. If those two showed up, that already means—"

Crunch!

"Hmph. Must be nice, being famous, Tal?"

"Better—if the name stays unknown—it is."

"Right? Oh, there's one running off over there."

Their rise had been that steep. By now they had swelled past the point where either the Empire or the underworld could lay a hand on them easily, and yet—

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Don't come!! D-don't come near me, you monster bastards—!!"

Crack.

"—urk."

Two intruders. Ten minutes. Annihilation, the boss excepted.

"Fuck...... Please, let me live. Please, I'm begging you......!!! I'm the boss here, all right...? Y-you've got to want something. Huh? I'll give you anything, anything at all, just please, my liiife!!!"

Hanson, the only one left alive, had been driven to the far end of his safety bunker and was groveling for all he was worth, but—

"Persona—is it—you?"

"Yeah. He's the last one."

"—It is."

Crunch!

It did him no good at all.

"Finished—it is."

"Right! Should we go get breakfast?"

"Hungry—I am."

Not even the imperial guard had been able to move against these people lightly, and yet—

"The Captain—must not be kept waiting."

"I know, so could you quit nagging?"

"Not nagging—a frank word—it is."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it, so put me back up on your shoulder. I don't want to step on the corpses."

"Climb on—you may."

"Yes! Thanks, Tal!"

The hulking man in the mask and the woman drenched in blood turned on their heels, chatting as if nothing at all had happened.

"You really are too stubborn for your own...... Oh!"

Luna startled and turned an uneasy look on Hanryang.

"H-he told us to sort the trash properly."

"......Sort the trash—is it?"

"Nnngh, I don't know either. He didn't exactly explain...... Come here. Let's think it through together."

"Heads together—we put. Intelligence—rises."

"Nnngh. I feel like I'm getting dumber."

Heads together—no, masks together—the two of them began their council.

"Right!? You think so too, don't you?"

"Surely—correct—it is."

"Good! Then let's start right now!"

"Trash sorting—it is."

And they began sorting the trash at once.

Of course—

"Argh, I'm telling you, it's bones, flesh, and organs!"

"Head, chest, belly—it is."

It was a very long way from the sorting Nahan had meant, but—

"Whatever! Let's just both do it right!"

"Understood—it is."

Crack! Creak! Snap!

At any rate, the two of them had done a fine job.

"Damn it, what maniac chewed meat and spat it into the trash bin...... Urk!! No, seriously, is sorting the trash that hard?"