Chapter 2
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 001
Chapter Title: A Lucky Day
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Rinea Valentii.
Valentii was a surname that didn't suit this neighborhood.
For a name hanging on the tavern wall, it was too straight-laced,
and too elegantly pronounced to roll off the tongues of the customers.
So no one called her by her family name.
Just Rinea.
Legless whore Rinea.
Business wasn't good.
To be precise, it was barely there.
Having no legs was disqualification enough in these parts—no explanation needed.
Customers would take one look and shake their heads,
"So what if she's crippled."
"As long as she's got holes and looks decent."
But when those hagglers tried to lowball her,
Rinea would just smile and shake her head.
Instead, she did other work.
Cleaned rooms,
did laundry,
raised kids.
Me.
Rinea raised me.
Mornings, she'd wash me first,
and just wipe her own face haphazardly.
She'd fill my bowl with food first,
and take whatever was left for herself.
At dawn, she'd lay me against the inner wall,
and sit back-to-back beside me.
In case I rolled off.
For a legless cripple, she was one hell of a sharp mother.
Rinea never made excuses.
If it was inconvenient, she'd switch the order.
If she lacked strength, she'd make up for it with time.
So I stayed clean,
I didn't starve,
and if I got sick, she'd know right away.
That's how I grew up.
Sloppy, but nothing was missing.
And now.
I'm five years old.
...
Five-year-old me
lives in a fucking filthy neighborhood.
Not a metaphor—it's literally dirty as hell.
"Leon, can you open the window?"
"Yeah."
Opening the window lets in a damp, shit-stinking gust.
Rotten water, booze, and human sweat all mixed together in a whoosh.
Breathe it in, and your throat gets filthy first.
Is this what they call morning ventilation?
Rinea called this alley "behind the South Gate."
People just called it the back alley,
and tavern owners referred to it by zone number.
Either way,
it wasn't a proper name.
"Let's eat."
The table was low.
Two bowls on a cloth spread on the floor.
I sit cross-legged.
Rinea often asks what kind of weird pose that is,
but on this hard floor, it's the most comfortable.
I shove a few spoonfuls in my mouth and set the spoon down.
"Again?"
"Tastes bad."
"I know."
Quick reply.
No excuses, no convincing.
"Still, two more spoonfuls."
"No."
"...You won't grow if you don't."
"It's fine. I'm already about your height."
And it's true.
Whether it's a woman's height half the norm or a five-year-old brat's, they're about the same.
Rinea took my bowl and wordlessly mixed it with hers.
Yeah, yeah.
Eat as much of this crap as you want on your own.
I got up from my seat.
"...Where to now?"
"Post-meal dessert."
Time to suck it down.
...
Bang!
"Hey, titty time."
"You psycho."
The woman greeting me warmly was Beat, the ace prostitute of this tavern.
In other words, Rinea's coworker.
A few months ago, she'd popped out twins,
turning her into a mother of two.
"I'm hungry. Gimme milk."
"Freak... crazy, you left him with someone, you little shit?"
Right on time for feeding her own blood clots,
she bared her breasts, left and right,
Beat's little shits latched on in tandem.
"These fuckers... even cold water has an up and down."
"Quit bitching and go suck on your own mom."
"Rinea doesn't lactate, though?"
Dried up and shriveled, you know.
Just then, the one sucking the right tit burped.
"Noy says he's full."
"Not Noy, Noah."
"Same difference."
When they look identical,
how's anyone but their mom supposed to tell?
I went over, took one of the little shits, and rubbed his back.
"Urrp."
"Noah, ladies don't burp in a man's face."
"How many times do I gotta say it—Noah's a boy."
"Oh, right."
I kept rubbing until he burped a few more times, then laid him in the swaddle.
And naturally sat on Beat's right thigh.
"Mmm, always so plump and squishy tits."
"Ugh... creepy little bastard."
Beat clicked her tongue but
didn't push me away from her nipple.
It wasn't the first time, nothing special.
I gulped down the white, warm stuff.
If you ask if it's tasty, it's not quite like milk.
Though compared to the shitty boxed milk from my past life,
I haven't tried this world's actual milk.
Heard it's fucking expensive.
Cow tits rarer than woman's— what a joke of a world.
Beat tapped my head.
"Hey, stop sucking."
Slurp... "Still gushing out, though?"
"Then what about lunch?
You gonna starve my kids feeding next year's litter?"
She flicked her breast, popping my mouth off the nipple.
"Tch, so stingy."
Still bulging full—could squeeze out two more bowls easy.
I wiped my mouth as best I could, unsatisfied.
As I started slipping from her lap,
"Oh, right."
Beat grabbed me.
"Got nothing to do? Watch the kids."
"Got nothing to do."
"Good, then..."
"But no. Too much hassle."
Little shits are the worst.
Can't talk, just cry all the damn time—blood clots especially.
Smack!
"Don't hit."
"Pay the milk tax, you creepy shit."
"Jeez, how much could I have even drunk..."
Beat grinned slyly,
"Or should I... tell Rinea?
That her son-daughter's been sucking my tits from colostrum days to now?"
Subtle blackmail.
Fucking bitch, big tits her only asset.
"Tch... how long?"
"Two hours... nah, hour and a half?"
"Booked? Fast."
"Afternoon's packed."
Jealous. Some moms strike out even yesterday.
"Whatever... fine. But,"
I latched back on the nipple and sucked hard.
"Hey, quit pigging out!"
"Pay the babysitting fee."
Equivalent exchange holds in any world,
and especially in this hood,
there're plenty ways to feed a kid.
Thud thud. Ahh ahh.
Some start work early,
"Waaah!"
"Waaah!"
"...Shut up, you little shits."
While others play losing babysitter,
"What I wanted to say is..."
Rinea sat face-to-face with the tavern Master
in her room.
"Rent's overdue again this month."
The Master's voice was dry.
Not a question—more confirmation.
"I know."
Rinea nodded.
"But better than last month."
"Last month was rock bottom."
The Master flipped through the ledger.
To Rinea, the rustle of those pages
sounded like thunder and lightning.
"Well... so, I'll ask around, but,"
The Master exhaled his cigarette smoke,
"Rent. What're you gonna do about it?"
"...How much?"
"You can read it yourself."
Sure enough, Rinea was rare for a whore—she could read.
3 gold 24 silver.
And she could do math.
Enough to buy 32,400 loaves of 1-copper bread.
For a woman selling her short-legged nights for two measly silver coins,
an impossible sum.
"Can't pay what it shows."
"Tch, getting bolder by the day."
"Gotta be, as a mom."
Rinea smiled.
...Or tried to look like she was.
Legless woman.
Whore who doesn't sell well.
Mom.
In the position of handling all three,
it was her priciest bargaining chip.
The Master knew it.
So he didn't wipe the smile away.
"Not saying pay it all."
He said.
His finger tapped down on the ledger numbers.
"Next month. 1 gold inside that. If not..."
Calm, but
"Room's empty. Kid too."
This time, no bluff.
Rinea's eyes shook faintly.
"...Hard. At least five months... no, three..."
"Enough."
The Master cut her off,
lit a new cigarette.
"I've cut you a lot of slack. Least that's how I see it."
"...I know."
"Yeah... since you know,"
He inhaled and exhaled deeply,
"It ain't easy for me either to say this to you.
Appreciate that too."
"......"
If she'd brushed it off like usual, fine.
But this negotiation wouldn't budge.
Rinea didn't smile.
She'd already used it.
"...Understood."
Short reply.
The Master nodded and stood.
"......Sorry, Rinea. I've got my own troubles."
Troubles.
In this neighborhood, that wasn't an excuse.
"Waaah!"
"Waaah!"
"...I said shut up, can't hear."
I shoved the homemade pacifiers (whittled from wood) into the two nonstop-crying shits,
and pressed my ear to the wall again.
Chair scraping from beyond the wall.
Door opening.
I pulled my ear away.
"Fucking asshole and his troubles."
Ejaculating inside or out,
that's the level of his "troubles" for sure.
I prayed briefly for the landlord's erectile dysfunction,
then sat back against the wall.
"Hm, 1 gold."
In one month too.
By five, you know what you need to, basic economics kicks in.
Counting past life, I'm mid-thirties,
not hard to grasp the debt size.
1 copper = 100 won,
silver x100, gold x100 again.
My wailing mom sells once a day if lucky, gets 2 silver per spread leg. 3 if super lucky.
Yeah, totally fucked.
Even lucky double dips daily,
won't hit 1 gold.
In the end, money.
Past life or now, goddamn money's the issue.
Grunt labor to feed dad,
or mom selling body to feed kid.
Oh dear, short on cash—what to do?
Earn more.
But how? HOW?
I'm five.
Shorter than peers,
potbelly, skinny arms.
No strength.
So what can I do?
1. Steal.
Kid thieves in this hood get caught 9/10 times.
10th gets beat.
2. Beg.
Too many kid beggars already.
Fierce competition. Saturated market.
3. Honest work.
You nuts? Who'd hire me?
Objectively,
a five-year-old stinking of milk has no use.
Smells like Beat's tits, but that's beside the point,
"Ha... fuck, hate getting kicked out."
Really hate it.
Streets are shit-and-piss plastered.
Better up here on the second floor, just sniffing it.
Few more years, I'd tag along with mom for male-prostitute debut.
But this body—ass won't open, dick won't stand, too much.
No matter how I think, no sharp ideas...
"Waaah!"
"Agh, fuck."
First things first, earn that milk money.
...
That night,
Rinea came downstairs on her prosthetic leg and cane,
leaning actively on men,
and somehow succeeded, sold her body.
Got 3 silver,
a lucky day.