Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 007
Chapter Title: Family Business
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The next morning.
The air in the first-floor hall was heavy.
Like a herd of cattle dragged to the slaughterhouse,
four women sat around the table with hollow eyes.
Beat, 26. / Big tits.
Lulu, 25. / Slender build. Looks like she'd snap if you hit her.
Shasha, 29. / Old. She insists she's not, but whatever.
Maple, 23. / Pig. Eats five meals a day.
Excluding Rinea, who was still in a coma,
these four were the shop's immediate manpower,
and from now on, my slaves—no, employees.
"......So."
Among them, the undisputed ace with the highest popularity,
Beat crossed her arms and shot a sharp glare.
"You wake us all up at dawn to tell us the tribute's gone up?"
"......Yeah."
The Master nodded quietly.
Beat snorted derisively.
"So what? You want us to go out and stab someone?
Or..."
Her eyes narrowed viciously.
"You're raising the room rates?"
The other whores started murmuring.
"No way. We're already scraping by!"
"If they squeeze us more, what are we supposed to eat?"
"I'd rather move to another shop!"
Blame and complaints flew thick and fast. A natural reaction.
To them, a tribute hike was a direct threat to survival.
The Master glanced awkwardly at me.
[ ...I told you. Nothing good comes from passing it on.]
His eyes said as much.
So I shot back with mine.
[Fuck off and just do what I say.]
[ ...... ]
"Ahem!"
The Master cleared his throat loudly.
"Quiet down, everyone. And no, we're not raising room rates."
The commotion cut off instantly.
"R... really?"
"Then how are we supposed to cover the money..."
"The tribute's my problem to handle."
Strength filled the Master's voice.
Probably because he had this reliable body as backup.
Or maybe he was just a pervert who liked getting pushed around.
"The reason I'm telling you all this is...
things are getting tough, so I want us all to work harder together."
And suddenly, silence.
Whatever was so embarrassing, he kept up the fake coughs—ahem, ahem—
while fiddling with his perfectly fine glasses.
"You don't have to say that..."
"We're fine with making more, right?"
"I was wondering what it was... but yeah, without customers, it doesn't matter."
Beat replied indifferently.
The Master snuck a glance at me,
then—
Clink!
A pile of silver coins spilled onto the table.
A dull, beautiful metallic clatter.
The eyes of those bitches, indifferent just moments ago,
bulged out like crucian carp smacked on the back of the head.
"......?"
"......?!"
Maple's jaw, mid-chewing bread crumbs from the corner, froze.
Lulu's narrow eyes gleamed like a leopard stalking prey.
"Wh... what's this?"
Shasha asked in a trembling voice.
"Bonus... I guess? Anyway...
Take 20 silvers each."
20 silvers. In this slum, you'd have to work your ass off all week—
barely covering room and board—just to pocket that much.
And now it fell from the sky.
"R... really? We can take it?"
"Yeah."
Lulu's hand shot out like lightning, snatching 20 coins.
The other women hurriedly reached out too.
Even Beat, eyeing it suspiciously, moved her hand honestly.
"But."
Once the coins were divided, the Master spoke firmly.
"There's a condition."
"A condition?"
"...Gonna make us pull one out?"
Shasha grinned slyly, but the Master got serious.
"Split it in half. 10 silvers to spend however you want. Booze, bread, whatever."
"Gasp!"
Maple sucked in a rough breath.
Probably picturing raiding a whole bakery in her head.
That bitch needs to cut back on food expenses.
"The other 10 silvers? Spend it on the shop."
"On... the shop?"
"Yeah. There's stuff for you to go buy right now."
The Master folded his fingers one by one, reciting the script I'd written.
"First, new clothes. Not smelly or drab—clean and bright ones.
Second, scented candles and air fresheners. Use 'em to fix the room smells.
Third, bed sheets. Brand new, pure white, no bloodstains or stains."
The women stared blankly at the Master.
Of course they'd be dumbfounded.
The "shop improvements" were really just upgrades to their own quality of life.
"......Master."
Beat furrowed her brow.
"You losing it?"
"...I'm fine."
"Scented candles in this shithole? And new clothes?"
Beat flapped her ragged, worn outfit.
"They'll get torn to shreds in a day anyway once customers come.
For the shop, right? Wouldn't more booze be better?"
The other women nodded.
Not wrong.
At least, not for slum rats like them.
Investing was a luxury to these people.
They could barely fill their bellies today, let alone think about tomorrow.
And,
"What if... we do all this,
and later you call it debt or some shit?"
Lulu clutched her silvers warily.
That's how suspicion creeps in too.
The Master looked troubled, glancing at me in the corner.
Needs advice, huh.
Fine, time to give this indecisive glasses-wearing pussy some courage.
[Dumbass. Can't even stand up to whores.]
[Why not cut off your dick and sell your body?]
I mouthed it clearly.
The Master took a deep breath
and slammed the table.
"Shut up and do as you're told!"
The room went silent.
The Master lit a cigarette,
"...Customers would rather do it in a clean place than a pigsty.
And it's not debt, so relax."
His shout shut the women up.
Relieved it wasn't debt, but still confused looks.
The Master played his trump card.
"Buy the stuff, clean your rooms before sundown.
And the one who makes theirs the cleanest...
"
He held up two fingers.
"Gets 20 more silvers tomorrow morning."
"......!!"
The air shifted instantly.
Doubting, hazy eyes sparked with fire.
"R... really?"
"No take-backs, Master?"
Beat shot up from her chair.
"Move! I'm going first!"
"Sis! Together!"
"Outta my way! All the pretty clothes are mine!"
Crash! Thud!
Before the Master could even finish,
the four women bolted out the door.
Confusion? Doubt?
Mere dust before cold hard cash and competition.
Especially for poverty-stricken lives.
"Phew......"
The Master exhaled smoke and a long sigh, slumping into his chair.
His back was soaked with cold sweat.
"......Did it work?"
He wiped his glasses and asked.
"Not bad."
I clapped as I approached.
The Master eyed me dubiously.
"Not sure if this is right."
"Telling the whores about the tribute?"
"......Spending 1 gold in a dump like this."
"What, regretting it?"
I grinned, pulling up a chair beside him.
I'd given the Master 2 golds.
1 to cover the imminent tribute,
and the rest—including tomorrow's 20 silvers—sprinkled away.
So,
"...Makes me uneasy. Tribute's due every month."
He probably wanted to save for next month.
But that changes nothing.
I flicked bread crumbs off the table,
"Until now, you were just selling holes.
That's why you got treated like cheap trash."
Based on five years of observation here,
I laid out my "Whoreology 101."
"Not just stick it in, cum, done. From now on, sell 'fantasy.'
Clean rooms, nice scents, pretty clothes. The feeling of being treated well.
That makes 'em come back more, spend more."
The Master listened quietly,
"......No clue what you're on about."
"Ugh, fuck."
Fine. Guy doesn't even know stocks exist; no wonder he doesn't get it.
Doesn't matter if he understands.
This shithole's mine now anyway.
The spineless glasses nerd just needs to obey.
"Alright, first step's done."
I hopped off the chair.
"Nothing to do? Watch Rinea for a bit."
"...Heading out?"
"Yup."
Lunchtime soon.
Better hurry.
Time to drum up business.
.....
"Ah... this nostalgic smell."
Where's this?
A rundown construction site in the slums.
My past life's Yagada DNA twitched.
The faint aroma of belly lint made my eyes misty.
Obviously, compared to my old world's sites, this was shit-tier.
No hard hats.
Rock falls on your head? Dead.
Workers' comp? Ha.
Get hurt, you're fired on the spot. Efficient system.
No forklifts, no cranes.
People turn into oxen and horses, hauling stones and digging dirt by hand.
And worst, no Lotte Chilsung.
The soul of manual labor, that sweet caffeine transfusion in your veins.
How the hell do they work? Someone holding a knife to their throats?
"Damn, soup's white again today."
"Tastes like shit, no chew to it."
"Shut up and eat. Or you won't last the afternoon."
Rough talk drifted over.
Squatting on dust-covered ground, slurping watery slop and hard black bread chunks.
Tsk tsk, working on that crap.
Meanwhile, I'd sucked fresh titties this morning.
A smug grin crept up.
Donning my most innocent face,
"Big bros! Having lunch, huh!"
The losers' eyes locked on me.
"What's this rat?"
"Rinea's kid, right?"
"Oh, the legless bitch's?"
One chewed bread and waved me off.
"Scram, kid. No bread for you."
"Beg somewhere else. We're starving too."
Expected. Slum hospitality at its finest.
I hopped onto a dirt pile in their midst.
"Aw, bros. Why so harsh?
You think I came to mooch food?"
"Then what?"
I grinned, pulling a wad of paper from my pocket.
My masterpiece, drawn all night under candlelight with shaky hands.
"Came to share some good info."
I swiftly handed them out one by one.
The paper said,
Fuck 10 times, get 1 creampie FREE!
"......"
"......?"
The men's eyes zeroed in on the papers.
Most were illiterate, but I'd drawn pictures too.
"...What's this?"
"That's... a pussy hole, right?"
"Sharp eyes. This ain't just scrap paper."
I shook it, spitting as I hyped.
"Ever heard of consequence-free pleasure? Creampie action?"
No thin rubber condoms in this world.
Birth control? Pull out at the right time. That's it.
Fuck up and cum inside?
Kid pops out, girl's out of work, guy's on the hook—lives ruined.
That's why whores scream "Not inside!"
Not 100% safe, of course.
Exhibit A: the twins.
Don't know whose they are, so Beat's frustrated.
But hey, milk for me.
"Bros, always pulling out—on bellies, outside...
Honestly, doesn't it suck? Ruin the moment yanking out?"
The men nodded. Eyes full of empathy.
"But cum inside and knock her up? Then what?
She'll grab your pants crying responsibility."
"Exactly!"
I slapped the paper.
"This here's a coupon!
10 blanks! Fill one each fuck at the shop!
To the stylish bro who fills it all!"
I dropped my tone, volume low.
Super secretive,
"Our shop covers it. Creampie worry-free, blast away."
"......!!"
Gasps erupted.
Shop handles the aftermath? Game-changer.
Eyes spun.
"How's that sound? Tempted?"
Men murmured, eyeing each other.
"Well... yeah, but,"
"Don't got the coin right now..."
Intrigued, but wallets light.
Time to seal it.
"Oh, and not saying come now."
"......Huh?"
"Shop's prepping. Sisters getting new clothes, dolled up."
I pointed at the sun.
"Tonight, after sunset. And I promise..."
I paused, then beamed.
"First day only, free beer chaser."
"......!!!"
Game over.
Free booze?
Strongest spell for slum rats.
"R... really?"
"They give beer free, no cash?"
"Yup, no lie."
Men jumped up.
"Yo, let's go tonight."
"Straight after work."
"Don't lose the paper like an idiot."
"Hey... but,"
One eyed me suspiciously.
"Who the hell are you to promise that?"
Others halted, excited buzz fading.
And...
"Yeah, why should we trust a kid?"
"This punk's pranking us?"
Murmurs grew, voices rising.
Figured it'd happen.
A tiny brat like me, strutting like the boss.
But fine.
This doubt was scripted too.
"Aw, trust me. Master's got no choice but to listen to me."
"Why? Got dirt on him?"
"Ah... super secret, but..."
I paused dramatically,
"He remarried my mom."
Sorry, puppet boss.
That's the story now.
What can ya do? Might as well go full family business.