My Job is Innkeeping, I Guess...
"My job seems to be running this inn... probably..."
The middle-aged man sitting at the inn's front desk furrowed his brow. It wasn't a complaint about the inn's unfriendly treatment—he was the innkeeper, after all. His gaze was fixed on the darkening world outside the door. He was balding with a bushy beard, his large, stocky frame carrying none of the gentle impression one might expect. With his face twisted in a scowl, he looked downright comical. Any potential customer passing by might take one glance at that expression and turn tail.
The innkeeper let out heavy sighs, his face utterly unhelpful for business.
"With a mug like that, any guests who see it are gonna bolt."
His wife, who had been sweeping the floor with a broom, finally couldn't hold back and chimed in. Even so, he had no intention of fixing his expression. It wasn't mere stubbornness.
"Another day of flying solo with the flies, huh."
The man tapped the wooden desk with his knobby fingers. An oil lantern sat atop it, its flame flickering since sunset.
"No surprise there. We can't exactly control who comes and goes."
Her words were less a veiled rebuke and more a sigh of agreement.
The couple ran their inn midway up the mountain. Below lay a rural village, and beyond that, a small fortress. The inn focused on lodging, with stew as the only meal option. It was a single-story building with just three or four rooms. The location wasn't prime for booming business, but imperial soldiers passing through or novice travelers often stayed the night. They ran it more for satisfaction than profit.
But lately, no one had come at all. As the innkeeper put it, not even the flies were buzzing around.
"Still..."
The man smacked his lips. This wasn't a one- or two-day issue. No matter how positively he tried to spin it, guests were scarce. They weren't starving yet, but worry was etching deeper into the couple's faces. He even begrudged the oil burning in the lamp.
"Sigh. Something must've gone wrong in the world. Heard anything from the village? Like that earthquake beyond the ridge the other day."
"If it was an earthquake, you think we'd be fine up here? Everything would've been chaos. Come eat dinner."
The sun had set some time ago, making it a late meal. The man suddenly felt his hunger.
"The stew's probably all scorched by now."
"I bought some bread from the village. I'll set it out, so wrap up and come on."
Something to go with watery soup was better than nothing. The man slowly rose from his chair. With no guests these days, there were no ledgers to check.
"Gotta eat to keep going, even on a tight budget. Ahh."
As he stood, he added offhandedly, "What about that kid? Still sleeping?"
His wife recalled something she'd momentarily forgotten.
"Who knows. She'll come when she's ready, I suppose?"
"True, night shifts are rough. Maybe I should wake her."
No sooner had he spoken than slow footsteps approached. The couple's eyes turned as one. The subject of their talk peeked out, half-burned candlestick in hand. Her gripping hand was purple. Not a health issue.
The girl—her face was childlike and innocent, but her figure was unmistakably womanly curves. Her entire skin was pale lavender, with a pair of prominent black horns sprouting from her head. The lavender girl slowly stepped into the lobby. Aware of the couple's stares, she mumbled with her small mouth.
"Um..."
She seemed unsure how to greet them.
That's when the wife suddenly shouted.
"Oh my! You! You've been keeping that lit this whole time? Blow it out quick!"
The girl's purple eyes widened in surprise. Before she could react, the wife rushed over and puffed out the flame. Smoke from the wick wafted across the girl's face. Her husband scolded his wife as he watched.
"Woman, you scared her half to death yelling like that! It's just a candle. How's a kid supposed to navigate the pitch-black hall?"
The girl's room was the smallest at the end of the corridor. Dusty and worn, it wasn't fit for guests. With no hallway lights, her path out had been utterly dark. Even so, it clashed with her earlier grumbling about wasting oil.
"A young thing like her, what's there to be scared of..."
The wife trailed off ambiguously as she eyed the girl. The husband caught the implication. The lavender-skinned girl herself realized it a beat later. The wife raised her voice unnecessarily, as if regretting the double entendre.
"Scary? Bet you were terrified when you first saw her!"
"Th-that's..."
It was an unfair jab for the man. He'd rushed out thinking it was a late guest knocking in the dead of night, only to find a horned purple figure at the door—who wouldn't be spooked? Luckily, seeing it was a trembling, teary-eyed girl, he'd let her in. Otherwise, he'd have barricaded the door and prayed all night.
Feeling she'd gone too far, the wife changed tack.
"It's been three days now. How does someone get lost in the hallway?"
"Heh! You're extra chatty tonight, woman."
The man glanced sideways at the lavender girl. That only made the wife's voice louder.
"Who was it nagging about saving oil? We're just putting up with her!"
"Hey now!"
The couple's voices rose. That's when the girl spoke up.
"Um, excuse me."
Their eyes converged again—harsh ones, differing only in degree. The girl bowed her head to avoid them and stammered.
"Sorry... I'm sorry."
The lavender girl with the extinguished candlestick gauged their reactions. A brief silence fell. The wife broke it first with a sigh.
"Sigh. Whatever. You come too."
Creak, click. The wife shut the kitchen door. The man cleared his throat awkwardly and chuckled.
"Ahem. You must've just woken up. Sorry for the commotion."
"No... it's fine."
"Wanna join us for dinner? Better to eat something if you're pulling an all-nighter, right?"
"N-no, I'm good."
Despite her lavender skin, her face was youthful. The man thought idly: If I had a late-blooming daughter, she'd be about this age. Of course, calling her a girl was a stretch with that body. Her tiny frame seemed barely able to support those enormous breasts—like they'd been forcibly attached. A deeply cinched waist. Hips two or three times her waist circumference, wider than her shoulders...
The man hastily averted his eyes. Even if his gaze was drawn as a man, he'd just been thinking of her as daughterly.
"Ahem. Still. You haven't eaten anything but stew so far, and even that you barely touched. You'll get sick."
"...No appetite, yeah. I just don't feel hungry."
He nodded slowly at her vague response.
"Fair enough, right after waking up. Take your time—we'll be eating slow anyway, so come if you change your mind."
The man forced a smile. His scruffy beard made it far from appealing, but the girl lifted the corners of her mouth in kind. Her smile was quite cute.
The couple ate dinner like that, asked me a few more times if I really wasn't eating, gave a couple of reminders, and finally headed to their room. They seemed on good terms overall. Hard to believe they'd been yelling so harshly earlier. I'd heard couples that age were more about loyalty than love.
"Haaa."
Idle thoughts. I wasn't in a position to worry about others.
The desk chair was tall—up to my waist. It really hit home how much smaller I'd gotten. I had to jump to climb onto it. But thanks to that, even with my short stature, I could see over the desk like the old man had.
No backrest, so I naturally leaned forward. I rested my breasts on the rough wooden desk. The coarse fabric stung a bit, but the uncomfortable weight on my shoulders and back eased somewhat. The seat was wide enough for an adult man, yet my ass filled it perfectly, no gaps. Same with my breasts—how huge were they?
"Haaa."
Outside was night. The owners had gone to bed. Alone again. With no one around, I sighed freely.
Three days. Just like the lady said, it'd been about three days since I arrived. Short if short, long if long. For me, way too short. Not just adapting to this completely changed body—I had to figure out what world this even was.
What I'd learned in those three nights and four days:
First, this was a totally unknown world. Judging by the clothes and furnishings, not modern. The giant the other day, and folks taking my kind in stride—fantasy world. Using metal mirrors, candles, lanterns—probably like medieval Europe. Definitely not a game; I tried yelling "status window," "stats," imagining it, even drawing on the floor like a lunatic—nothing. Not a novel either; nothing rang a bell. Even if it was, I didn't read that many webnovels. Pointless speculation anyway—no info. For three days, I'd been on a mountainside trail in the middle of nowhere, some rural backwater. No chance to see or hear what's happening around here. All vague guesses.
Second, I'm probably not human. Not doubting my memories, ego, identity, humanity. I was definitely a Korean human guy. The problem's my body. Turning female was shocking enough, but not human is the real headache.
I flipped my hands over. Small palms. Slender fingers. Clenched my fists tight. More cute than threatening. But what stood out more: skin gleaming lavender in the lantern light.
"Haaa."
I tilted my head slightly. Hair tickling my shoulders and neck—bright pink. Gaudy like cheap dye, yet soft. Even the breasts on the desk were bigger than average women's—ah, no. Stop that. No tail or wings was a small mercy, I guess. But what good's that with these blatant horns.
"Meals" were the same. Whatever the owners thought, I truly had no appetite. Probably the day after I got here. They gave me a wooden bowl of reddish-brown stew. Looked weird, but smelled okay—couldn't swallow after the first spoonful. Forcing it down upset my stomach. Since then, just sips of water, no real food. Not starving, but low energy, a vague emptiness. Do I even need regular food? Maybe succubi can't eat solids? Then what do they eat? No way...
"...Urgh! Ughhh!"
I shook my head furiously, scattering the mental image. I was a guy. A human. Even imagining it disgusts me. Horrifying. Revolting.
Other thoughts. Next topic. Right. Third—and most immediate problem. This is an inn. Didn't know when I came; there was a sign, but it was midnight, unreadable script. Only lit place around, so I barged in blindly. Naturally, no money on me.
I offered first: I'd do anything, could they help? After hesitating, the couple proposed: they'd house me if I worked the night shift. I was terrified they'd treat me like a servant or—god forbid—prostitute me out. Huge relief—they're decent folk. The old man eyeing my body, the lady yelling like earlier... understandable. With this figure, I'd sneak peeks too. And business was dead; no wonder they're touchy. Letting a purple-skinned broke girl crash is generous already.
So night shifts started yesterday. First night, tense as hell, but nothing major. Like graveyard shift at a convenience store. No deliveries, no customers. Just brutally boring.
I propped my elbows on the desk, chin in one hand. Pitch black outside. What time was it? No clock. Bored.
No books on the desk. Even if there were, can't read this world's script.
Sweep the floor with the broom? Too lazy to climb back up. Hate how my breasts and ass jiggle.
Currently wearing the "outfit" from the other day—like armor—as underwear. Took it off 'cause too jiggly, put it back on. More like crammed myself in. Thin straps, skimpy coverage, pinching my shoulders and back—painful, uncomfortable. What size are these breasts? Need real ones to compare... How is a stranger's chest my body... Waist measurement? Do they use metric here? Or yards and pounds? Why's there even an inn in these mountains? Were old inns like this? Selling those rooms for money? Did I possess into an inn management novel? Succubus Innkeeper Chronicles? But I know zilch about business...
Creak. Hinges turning. Customer? Door shut, heavy boots on the floorboards. I snapped my head up. Real guest. Straightened from leaning on the desk. Breasts' weight immediately settling on shoulders and back. But first customer—gotta greet properly since they're housing me.
The guest was short, in a long coat-like robe. Wearing one of those wide-brim "mage hats." Face shadowed, but she promptly removed it.
"...Whoa."
Black-haired girl. Her fresh-faced beauty, revealed sans hat, drew an involuntary gasp. About my height. Fancy clothes—skinny model build. Noble lady maybe? She looks at me. Uncomfortable, dissatisfied expression? My stomach dropped. Did I mess up? Oh right.
"W-welcome!"
The greeting tumbled out late. Forced a smile. Even as a guy, I faked salesman grins; this face probably works better? But her face stays sour.
"Uh..."
Is my face that bad up close? Bad service? Should I hop down and show her to a room? Wait, which one? Old man didn't say...
The girl, eyeing me sourly, finally spoke. I held my breath without realizing.
"...Demon?"