Chapter 370
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 370
Chapter Title: S7. Omelas Fixers -1
SCREEECH—! THUD.
"Aaaagh...!!"
A bright red sports car racing through the midnight streets of Omelas had crashed into a passing boy, causing a traffic accident. Blood splattered amid the sound of the collision.
The boy's left arm had been severed by a sharp protrusion on the sports car's bumper, and he rolled on the ground, clutching the wound.
And by the roadside... the birthday cake the boy had painstakingly saved up for, penny by penny, lay utterly smashed. That day was his sister's birthday. The cake had been for the celebration.
The sports car's headlights illuminated the pitiful scene.
Click.
Soon, the passenger door opened, and a young man with flashy blond hair slicked back appeared. He looked down at the boy as if examining a preserved insect specimen, then lifted the severed arm to inspect it.
"A real arm, huh. Not even artificial muscle fibers, no built-in power source. Why didn't you invest a little in body mods, buddy?"
The young man's voice was nonchalant. Unnaturally light. He didn't seem like someone who'd just caused an accident. The boy looked up at him, grimacing in pain.
I recognize that face.
He hadn't met him in person. As a petty thief, the boy had no connection to someone driving a flashy sports car like that. The reason he recognized the face was because the young man was famous.
Beyond him, a massive LED screen on a building wall played an ad. The blond young man on screen smiled as he spoke. 'Better functions, better life. Invest in your value. Utopia Industries.'
The face that frequently appeared in those ubiquitous ads was now right in front of him, pale under the flickering blue neon lights.
The young president of Utopia, the mega-corporation that effectively ruled Omelas. Marco. That was the young man's name.
Honest, capable, kind. Marco was known for donating vast sums to help the underprivileged and for slashing the notoriously exorbitant hospital fees.
So even a boy like him, wandering back alleys and cynical about society... had thought well of young President Marco.
"Might as well replace that useless arm while you're at it. An R-model prosthetic should land you a job that's actually useful to the city, right?"
"Ugh, ugh..."
"I'll give you plenty of compensation. Probably more than that arm was worth."
The Marco on the screen and the one facing him in reality were worlds apart.
Marco snapped his fingers to open his wallet. He pulled out a wad of bills haphazardly, like tissues from a box, and wiped the blood from his sports car.
Then he stuffed the bloodstained bills into the boy's front pocket, crouched down to meet his eyes, and said,
"Why the long face? This is amazing luck. The junkies dying in back alleys from electronic drugs would kill to be you. So... smile."
"Ugh, urgh..."
"Not smiling?"
As the boy gasped in pain, Marco's expression hardened. He despised people who didn't heed his logical persuasion.
To the lower-class folk of Omelas, suggesting 'trade an arm for 50,000 credits' would have them licking his shoes clean with their filthy, unbrushed tongues.
This was such a shocking, joyful opportunity, yet the boy wouldn't smile. Didn't that make Marco's generous payment meaningless? He just wanted to make the boy happy. He felt deeply disappointed.
"Hmm. You don't seem to know how to be grateful for good fortune."
But that's okay. He didn't think ignorance was a sin. Probably his parents hadn't educated him properly. In that case, he could provide a learning opportunity.
"You'll learn soon enough."
Beep. Marco scanned the boy's ID chip to save his biometric data, then got back into the sports car. Vroooom. The red vehicle sped away with a roar.
The boy stared fearfully at the taillights fading into the distance.
He recalled: He had been walking properly on the sidewalk. The sports car was on the road. The road wasn't narrow. There was plenty of space to avoid him.
Yet he'd been hit. That meant...
The sports car had deliberately swerved. To rip off a passerby's arm. That damned bastard had intentionally caused the accident.
"Ugh, ugh..."
But there was nothing he could do. No money to sue, and even if he did, Marco wouldn't bat an eye. No one would believe him. He ruled the city.
The boy gathered his severed arm, the ruined cake, and the bloodied money, staggering home.
And three months later, the boy would take his own life—due to failed prosthetic implant surgery and complications, his sister's disappearance and the debts transferred to his name, an unnatural fire in the slums, and a robbery.
Unlucky.
In this city, some people were just a little more unfortunate than others.
Crash! Bang!
Finn first scooped up all the scattered cigarette packs and tissues rolling around the living room and dumped them in the trash. Then he flung open every window for ventilation. He tossed the piled-up laundry into the basket and shoved it in.
The dakimakura he'd bought drunk? Folded it in half and crammed it into the closet. And... yeah. The floor felt sticky. Needed some mopping.
As he rushed to the bathroom, his foot caught on the clothes rack, sending him sprawling. Crash!
"Ow, ow!"
"Finn, everything okay in there? I heard breaking..."
"N-No, it's nothing! Just wait a bit longer!"
The rack had his clothes hanging all over, including square boxers with a big elephant printed in the center.
Finn deeply regretted his impulsive spending habits as he grabbed the entire rack and shoved it into the closet. First, get all this eyesore out of sight.
Meanwhile, the TV was building to a climax.
-Alright, the loser has to endure the vibrating massage chair for 3 minutes as punishment!
"Owch...!"
Beep. Beep beep.
He tried turning off the TV with the remote, but the batteries were dying, and it went dead. No matter how he pressed power, it wouldn't shut off. Of all times!
-Ahn♥
"Aaaah!"
Finn screamed over the moans and yanked the cord from the TV. Cut off from power, the screen fizzled to black.
Did she hear? No way. Yeah, she didn't. Please.
"Finn? If there's someone else inside..."
Goddess help!
"Ahahaha! N-No, there's not! It's just me! All done, so wait a sec and I'll let you in right away. Really, just a moment!"
Pat pat pat.
He crammed all the ugly stuff into the closet, wrung out the mop, and scrubbed the floor in a frenzy. Maximizing the goddess module for the optimal path, he dashed through the room.
When was the last time he'd moved this frantically? Maybe he was setting a personal speed record right now.
Done. Nailed it. All clean!
Finn, sweating bullets, opened the front door.
"C-Come... in. Make yourself at home, it's humble."
"Yes. Pardon the intrusion..."
Thump thump.
The little pope entered Finn's one-room with slightly flushed cheeks. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. First time seeing where Finn lived.
Learning a new side of someone you know was exciting. Finn seemed... messier than expected. The cleaning noises had echoed out the door.
Living with a neat freak who cleans well would be nice, thought the little pope as she rolled up her sleeves.
"I'll wash my hands first!"
"Ah, sure... Wait, hold on. Let me check real quick."
Finn bolted to the bathroom. Any dangerous stuff left here? He scanned around. None. Looked everywhere—nope. Good.
Whew. Relief was short-lived. He caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and froze.
Beard was gross. Fine.
But long bachelor life meant comfy home clothes: he was in just a white tank top and boxer briefs. Hadn't noticed.
He should've dressed before letting the kid see.
"...Hands, here. Use this hand sanitizer. Press, and it comes out..."
"It comes out when you press!"
"Better be thorough, between fingers too, ideally 5 minutes or more..."
"Got it, Finn. I was in the mood to wash properly today anyway."
Creak thud. Finn quietly closed the bathroom door. From beyond, humming: Hum de dum~
While the little pope washed vigorously, Finn pulled clothes from the chaotic closet—stuffed with his depravity—and managed to dress.
He flopped on the sofa, covering his face with both hands.
I burned white...
The first question had to be this.
"How'd you end up coming here?"
"Couldn't find you, so I asked around. Heard you were on a mission in another world. So... I asked if I could join, and the mage kindly said yes!"
"...It's dangerous. No matter what..."
"I got the briefing. Might face tough stuff. But no death, totally safe..."
Finn was troubled. Yeah, the mad mage's guarantee meant no dying. Bennett had said the safeties worked fine in a similar spot.
But that wasn't the issue. Survival didn't mean all good. Body intact, but mind scarred? That wound?
Wasn't this tricking the naive little pope into danger? Finn pursed his lips, face serious.
"I'll formally protest. Your Holiness doesn't need to go through this!"
"No, Finn. It's fine."
The pope spoke quietly.
"I'm the pope, bridge between Goddess and believers. So I must learn and grow to be better, that's why..."
"You can learn that later. No need to grow up too fast!"
"But I want to grow up early. I've already worn the crown... So I thought it was something I'd do someday. That's what I was taught. Others expect it too."
"......"
Pat pat. The pope patted Finn's hand with her small one. Like saying she was okay.
The little pope was extraordinary. Beyond a kid her age. Speaking unwaveringly, she proved why the Goddess chose her.
If a paladin sat here, they'd respect her resolve and help fulfill it.
But.
Could it really be okay?
Finn saw the girl, not the pope. He spotted the shadow beneath her brilliance. Her resolve shone, but wasn't sturdy. Part of it... dark.
He knew the weight of duty. Bearing a hero's name unfit for him. Too heavy for a child.
But he didn't want to deny her decision.
So Finn chose to be a filter.
Omelas was filthy. Too complex and ugly for a kid. He'd screen all those landmines!
"No wandering alone. Omelas is dangerous—stick with me. No solo actions."
"...Finn, you'll protect me?"
"Who else?"
"......"
Only the little pope and Finn in this world. Obviously, only Finn could protect her. That's what he meant.
"Yeah, who else but Finn..."
The little pope beamed.
She took it a bit differently—Finn didn't notice.
After hearing Finn's censored 2-week summary, the little pope nodded.
"So, Finn's doing... mercenary work here!"
"Right. Called 'fixers' here. Handling folks' small requests for cash."
"Cool job. Granting people's wishes—kinda like the pope."
"Can't compare... Anyway, time to head out. Your Holiness, don't open for anyone. Curtains on windows."
The pope jumped up, blocking Finn's path, arms spread wide. Then asked,
"Can I come too?"
"...Your body and words don't match."
Not asking permission—more like 'take me or else.' Finn pondered... First time she'd insisted so strongly.
She added,
"I'll help. I can use holy power."
"True... Hmm."
Fair point. Leaving her alone might be riskier. And... she seemed a bit scared.
Yeah. Unfamiliar world. Took Finn time to adjust. Alone with no one she knew—scary. Better together.
Finn nodded, warning,
"Stick right by my side."
"Exactly what I wanted."
Slap. She clung.
"......"
Finn started the day's work with the pope stuck like gum.
Neon blared, monitors flaunted high-tech wonders. But human dealings were the same everywhere.
Requests too.
The motel owner where Finn lived, 'Drunken Mama,' was quite slovenly. She requested from her big chair.
"Finn! You know my son works security for Utopia? In the city's biggest building, fat salary too."
"Heard it dozens of times. My ears are callused."
"Hohoho! You're the only one who listens to my bragging. Anyway, he misses mom's cooking. Deliver this lunchbox?"
"Leave it to me."
Finn flipped on his sunglasses coolly, accepting.
The little pope beside him, eyes wide, mimicked and said,
"Leave it to us! So your son feels family warmth after so long—delivered perfectly!"
"...Finn, who's the kid?"
"Uh, my... cousin."
"C-Cousin! Name's Becky-o. Nice to meet you."
Bow.
[Quest 1: Find 'Drunken Mama's son Joe at Utopia Industries headquarters and successfully deliver the lunchbox.]
And so, the two took their first request.