Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Random Encounter (3)
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The outskirts of peaceful Risk City.
AREA 49.
This place, commonly known as Area 49, was a sector where ordinary people struggled to survive.
"Ughhh..."
"Ugh, the smell's even worse today."
"Anyone got any spare booze?"
Area 50—the citywide landfill where all the trash was dumped—was right next door.
Most of the alleyways were crawling with filthy homeless folks and oversized rats.
Under the guise of a Special Administrative District,
this extraterritorial zone fueled a grotesque mash-up of twisted desires and bloodshed that was too nauseating to put into words.
They left the other decent areas alone.
But the people who deliberately crawled into Area 49? They were all broken in one way or another.
Those who came to Area 49 generally fell into one of two categories.
The first were your typical tourists.
Folks looking to score 'special items' not protected by city law, or drugs so potent they'd melt your brain.
Sometimes those types ended up listed as missing in Area 49, processed, and sold off as new merchandise.
But since they were just passing through temporarily, they were usually treated as harmless bystanders.
And then...
The second group? People who couldn't survive anywhere else in the city without falling all the way to Area 49.
Literal no-choice cases.
People too incompetent or sleazy for even bottom-barrel mercenaries,
or those with bounties from the city government or shady corps,
or folks under threat from someone for whatever reason.
The girl sprinting forward, arms overflowing with food, belonged to that second group.
Frozen chicken, hotdogs, sandwiches, more hotdogs, and so on.
All sorts of grub wobbling precariously like it might hit the pavement any second,
but the girl—blessed with natural agility—didn't drop a single piece.
Her destination: the slums of Area 49.
Even in this maze of a district, infamous for its nightmarish street layouts, this spot took the cake.
Minimal city laws meant
endless ant-hill-style additions to buildings faced zero issues.
If the landlords didn't have bullets, steel pipes, and butcher knives, the mess would've been ten times worse.
To an outsider, the girl navigating Area 49's poor security like it was her backyard might look like a suicidal idiot risking her neck.
"Tch."
"Just pretend you didn't see her."
"Talk about bad luck..."
The homeless in the slums pointedly turned away from the running girl, acting like she was invisible.
A few minutes later,
the girl arrived at the building where her comrades—her family—were holed up.
"Oh, food? Heh, dig through any dumpsters lately?"
"......"
In front of the firmly shut iron door.
A gang was waiting for her.
A guy with half his face covered in tattoos eyed her with a cocky smirk.
"You think that's enough to fill up the others? Come on, instead..."
"Piss off."
The girl didn't flinch, even with a man twice her size looming over her.
Her tone was razor-sharp.
His thugs scowled, trying to amp up the menace,
but the man—Bogers—waved them off leisurely.
His oversized gem rings sparkled under the neon sign flickering from above.
"It's not a bad deal for you either. How long you think you can hold out like this? A day? A week? A month? No way you last a year."
The head of the Bogers Gang—a fairly notorious outfit even in Area 49—had come all the way to the slums to wait for one girl.
A sleazy grin.
Bogers smiled, flashing stark white light.
His teeth looked like they'd had built-in floodlights or something equally freaky.
"You know playing hard to get just puts you in the red, right? Especially when no other gang would touch you after pissing off a corp."
He waggled two fingers in a playful pinching motion.
"You need a crew like the Bogers Gang to thumb our nose at a big corp like that."
"It's not thumbing their nose. More like clinging to a severed rope."
A twitch.
Bogers's shoulders jerked for a split second.
Catching that reaction, a slender smile slipped through the girl's tousled hair.
"Lemme ask you something. You happy living like that?"
"Of course I am! I live great, and..."
"Killing and bullying the weak while cowering from corps? Total hypocrite. Wonder if you even know that corp you're scared of doesn't crack the top 30."
The girl's venomous retort cut Bogers off mid-sentence.
Thick veins bulged on his forehead.
At the same time, an eerie heat rose from the tattoo covering half his face, making his thugs freak out and backpedal.
But it faded quick.
"Tch, whatever. Severed rope, huh? Still, you won't last without grabbing one."
"That's not for you to worry about."
"...Hah, won't even humor me."
Bogers spat on the ground and turned back toward the alley she'd come from.
"Yo, let's bounce."
"...Yessir!"
His steps were jaunty,
but the face of Bogers walking away was pure murderous rage.
"...B-Boss."
"What."
"Do we really need that brat?"
His loyal underling couldn't help asking.
Because no matter how you sliced it, this didn't look like a job for the gang boss himself.
'Though our gang ain't small potatoes either.'
The Black Star Society ruling the black market, the Sparro Rapido Family like a full-on warlord outfit, the notoriously brutal Hakuga Group.
Those three usually lorded over Area 49.
The Bogers Gang was a step—or two—below them.
It made zero sense.
Bogers's head heated up again at his dumb underling's question, but knowing it came from concern, he cooled off fast.
"Hah... You think I'm doing this for fun?"
"Is it your type or...?"
But he couldn't let that slide.
Bogers smacked the back of his thug's head and scowled.
"You idiot."
"S-Sorry!"
"...Hah, stuck herding morons like you."
Yeah, if he hadn't seen the intel leaking from the corp, he'd have thought the same.
But explaining in detail? No point—info like that spreading would only hurt.
In the end, Bogers smacked his underling's head again to shut it down.
"Enough. Just do what you're told."
"Got it."
"And never mention my 'type' again."
He wasn't into juggling sharp blades as a hobby.
Anyway.
On the way back to their hideout,
Bogers recalled the food overflowing in the girl's arms.
'...No way another gang's involved.'
Stopping there, he eyed his underling rubbing his smacked head.
"Hey."
"Y-Yes!"
"Once we're back, dig into something."
"Yes!"
He'd planned to use her comrades' bonds as leverage, slowly drawing her in.
This early interference was a problem.
"No need for extra escape routes."
"...Huh?"
"Talking to myself. Shut it."
"Y-Yes..."
Fewer variables, the better.
As always.
Inside the thick black hair.
The cute girl's face scrunched up.
'...Should I handle him?'
The impure thought surfaced, but she shook her head to dismiss it.
No, not yet.
She wouldn't move first unless something happened to her or her family—that was the deal.
The heavy iron door creaked open.
"...You're back?"
"Welcome back from out there—oh! Food!"
"Food!"
Skinny kids swarmed in.
Dozens of them, easy count.
All had round, harmless—straight-up cute—faces,
but their ears were weirdly pointy.
Like someone had marked them on purpose to tell them apart.
A blue-haired girl gently stroked the girl's face.
Her eyes—or lack thereof—reflected no light at all.
"No wounds... And what's all this?"
"Brought it back."
"From who?"
The grocery store fronting as a gang...
She started to answer, then tilted her head.
'Wait, did I even join that group?'
Pretty sure he never got an answer.
She recalled last night.
The grocery owner, casually handling three armed guys despite chances to kill them easy.
Just let them go.
Tired of taking and wasting lives, his actions lit a fire under her own resolve.
"Dunno yet."
"...Hmm."
The hand fell away, thick hair shifting to reveal a pointy ear.
She looked like she wanted to say more, but the blue-haired girl just nodded.
"Still, thanks for the grub."
"Yeah, seems like a decent guy. Not blood-soaked food, so eat up worry-free."
The starving kids mobbed the pile at those words.
The girl watched with a soft chuckle, bliss on her face.
Then the blue-haired one sidled up and whispered.
"'Decent guy,' huh? Was he a dude?"
"...No clue why you're asking that."
"Hmmm..."
What was she even thinking?
The blue-haired girl beamed at her reaction.
Her voice turned impish.
"Springtime for you at last?"
"...Keep talking and I get mad."
"Come on. What'd he look like? Personality? Name?"
"......"
Come to think of it.
She hadn't even asked his name.
'And I never gave mine.'
It hit her like a major screw-up, guilt weighing heavy.
Sensing it, the blue-haired girl half-lidded her blind eyes.
"...No name?"
"W-Well, uh..."
That man's name was...
"Hotdog Man! He's a god!"
"Thank you... so much!"
"Hotdog Man! Hotdog Man! Hotdog Man!!"
How the hell did things end up like this?
I stared at the homeless crowd surrounding me, my head spinning.