The Exchange Slave
“Hmmph... and here I thought my very first customer would be a piece of work.”
「T r u e」
Sprawled on the floor, I crammed an entire energy bar into my mouth in one bite and heaved a long sigh.
It had taken hours for a single trade request to finally come in, and now my monumentally historic first exchange had been hijacked by a complete weirdo.
“Does this guy have nothing better to do? Why is every single comment on my posts his?”
EightSpiderLegs.
I remembered that username. He was the one who'd taught me the basics of the gallery, after all.
I'd been quietly grateful to him, too — a gratitude that evaporated in the space of a single breath.
“Ten per bar? Is he insane? Isn't that giving away way too much?”
I shot up from my seat to check the photo.
Cold weapons like swords and axes sat alongside guns flecked here and there with dried blood. Grenades, talismans, books, figurines... wait, why on earth are there figurines? In any case, it was a heap of wildly miscellaneous goods — and every last one of them looked like something worth stockpiling.
“Charging ten bars apiece for this stuff feels a little...”
「S u c k e r」
“Hey now, you shouldn't talk about customers like that.”
My conscience had pricked me, pure and simple. I'd asked the Backrooms and learned the truth: energy bars and water could be generated infinitely.
Which meant the whole thing was essentially free. Even a tourist-trap restaurant would click its tongue at this markup. My cost-to-price ratio was a flat zero percent.
“...Your bootlicking skills are impressive, I'll give you that.”
「S u c k u p」
“Hmmp.”
“Right. Time to make a delivery, then.”
Which raised the question of how exactly to hand over the energy bars. Trapped inside the Backrooms as I was, delivery was out of the question — I couldn't even set foot outside.
The answer, as it turned out, was waiting in the announcement posts.
This is Juttak.
I have just subdued the troll who detonated a tactical nuke in this gallery.
Interrogation revealed the creature to be a teleportation-class anomaly.
Killing it outright seemed like a waste,
so I have made this ghost story a lifelong assistant moderator.
@QuickExchangeSlave
From now on, if you need a trade delivered, send a private chat to the above.
The slave will reach you within 10 seconds.
Make good use of the service.
Thank you.
“Hmm. Shocking reading, every single time.”
「V i o l e n t」
A gallery where ganking came calling the moment you stirred up trouble. Even if I ever made a burner account, I was never dropping a tactical nuke anywhere.
Chilled anew by the terror that was Juttak, I sent a private chat to the assistant moderator listed in the notice.
“What? He already left?”
「H o w ?」
A reply that arrived in one second flat.
The Backrooms and I were both dumbfounded. What kind of response time was that?
I was still standing there staring blankly at the chat window when—
—Fwoosh!
“What the—”
A sword shot out of thin air and carved the space itself open,
“Gasp! S-sorry to keep you waiting! Field exchange agent, arriving now...!”
and through the gap popped a white-haired girl in a business suit. Her eyes, though — the whites had turned pitch black. She paused to catch her breath, then seemed to realize her mistake and pulled down the hat in her hands with a deep bow.
“F-forgive me! I was simply so overcome at the thought of meeting the famous rookie in person!”
“Well, it *is* rude. You did barge into someone's home without so much as a by-your-leave.”
Half sincere, half joking.
But at my quip, the girl went white as a sheet.
“I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm an ignoramus who never learned how high-ranking anomalies expect to be treated...!”
“It's fine, it was a joke.”
“Heeek!! So you intend to blow my head off for it, as a joke...!!”
“......”
Utterly panicked, the girl crumpled to the floor right there,
and she did not stop shrieking until I reluctantly promised I wouldn't kill her.
“So. You can teleport to any gallery member's location?”
“Yes... but would it be all right to ask you to please speak casually to me...”
The exchange girl, finally calmed down.
The name was my doing, by the way. She *was* a barter ghost story, after all — so I'd dubbed her Swappie.
Kneeling on both knees, Swappie explained how she had managed to get inside the Backrooms.
For the record, I did not force her down there. I told her to sit comfortably; what was I supposed to do about someone that stubborn?
“Got it. It's not complicated.”
“Thank you...”
“So I just hand the goods over to you?”
A moment ago, Swappie had walked me through the barter system: give her whatever I wanted delivered, and she would tear open a dimension and fly it across herself.
Utterly invaluable. Regular delivery took a good twenty to thirty minutes — this took less than one.
“Yep! You just place everything in here!”
—Swwwip.
Swappie answered crisply and produced a leather pouch from her sleeve.
Roughly the size of a single fist. A remarkably small container for hauling goods.
“Will everything actually fit in there? It's fine now, but what if the other side sends a lot back?”
“No problem at all! This is a tool-type ghost story, you see.”
“Ahh.”
A tool-type ghost story. A name I'd read about in the notices before.
Temporary-Nick Code No. 4. Incapable of movement, perhaps, but still very much a living being with an ego of its own, apparently?
“It's a friend that can devour absolutely anything, without limit. Juttak gave it to me as a gift.”
“Oh. So you wouldn't be lonely on your own?”
“No. It got caught reality-ganking too, actually.”
Hm.
Yeah, no more trolling for me, ever. Who looks at a *tool* and thinks, 'let's reality-gank that'?
Brushing aside the idle thought, I scooped up a fistful of energy bars from the floor and stuffed them into the pouch-ghost.
That was when I felt it — an unmissable, shameless stare.
“Th-that's... that's the very...”
Swappie was drooling at the energy bars. Copiously. Enough to soak the front of her suit down past her collar.
Ghosts supposedly couldn't eat, but it seemed she'd seen my sales post.
“Want one?”
“Eh? I-I'm quite all right!”
“Swallow first, then say that.”
Gulp. Swappie swallowed her drool.
“...I'm grateful, truly, but I'll have to decline. How could I possibly accept something so precious for free?”
“I never said it was from the heart.”
“...Pardon?”
“Kidding.”
—Rustle.
While Swappie was still flustered, I slid a single energy bar toward her.
“This is...”
“I've got plenty. If you can't ever bring yourself to accept it, just call it a delivery tip.”
“Ro-Rookie, sir...!!”
Tears streaming, Swappie accepted the energy bar,
tucked it lovingly into her suit's breast pocket, sniffled, and snapped me a salute.
“I will deliver your goods with the utmost devotion!”
“Right. Take care out there.”
I waved her off with an appropriately lazy hand,
“Thank you! I'm off!!”
—Shhhk!
and Swappie drew a massive greatsword from the leather pouch, sliced open the empty air, and vanished into the gap.
The seam sealed itself shut a few moments later.
“I'm jealous. I want out of here too.”
「N o t c o m i n g ?」
“She says no one else can tag along. Nothing to be done.”
「I s e e」
Nothing but regret, really. If I could have gone with her, I could have gone home.
I shook off the wistfulness and got to my feet. I had preparations to make before the goods arrived.
“You're ready, Back?”
「O b v i o u s l y」
What every ghost story trapped in the Backrooms — no, in *any* ghost story — absolutely had to attempt.
Escape.
“All right then. Let's begin the—”
—Ding!
(photo of a spider's hand holding an energy bar)
Me — normally high awareness rating, consistent exercise routine..
Rookie put up a sales post, so I bought some planning to feed my kids, took one little nibble off the corner to test..
All I thought was "holy crap this is delicious"
(photo of an empty energy bar wrapper)
See this? LOLLLLL
Came back to my senses and I'd eaten the whole thing. Nothing left but the wrapper
Anyway, off to share the rest with the kids
No idea how much stock is left, so you lot better hurry up and buy some
—Ding! Ding!
[A private chat has arrived!]
[A private chat has arrived!]
[A private chat has arrived!]
“Mm.”
「M m」
...Looks like I'll be heading out a little later than planned.