Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Taxi That Changes Fate - 10
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"Sleeping? For real?"
I shook his shoulder, but the taxi driver didn't budge an inch.
His arm draped limply over the steering wheel in the driver's seat, eyes already shut tight.
No one seeing this would doubt it—he'd nodded off right there gripping the wheel.
'No accelerator... no brake either.'
Seemed safe enough for a moment, so I swung my legs into the driver's seat to check it out.
Was this thing just mimicking a car? Aside from the steering wheel and gearshift, there was nothing related to driving.
I pried his arm off the wheel and took hold myself. It wobbled a bit, so at least the steering seemed properly linked to the wheels.
"What the hell is this?"
The wheel felt solid, so I figured the gearshift was legit too. I shifted down to slow us gradually.
But there was no satisfying clunk like in a normal car.
Suspicious, I gave it a hard shake. It spun freely without resistance—yep, toy gearshift confirmed.
Made sense. If the guy's the vehicle itself, he could handle shifting or hard stops on his own whim.
"So why's this one working fine?"
The gearshift on his side might as well be decorative, but not this one. My dick stood rigid as ever.
Even unconscious, it didn't die on me—same shape and form as when he was wide awake.
'Bet this'll wake him.'
One hand on the wheel, the other stroking or smacking his dick up and down.
I channeled all my frustration into it, hard and rough.
But it just twitched—no further reaction.
"He's really out cold?"
Stroke... stroke...
Each pass made it twitch, hips bucking faintly. Hard to believe.
Looked asleep, but like he was begging for more all the same.
"Ah."
I'd barely stroked it a few times.
But the rock-hard erection erupted powerfully all the same, as if unconsciousness capped it there.
His wheel-gripping arm and my stroking hand ended up soaked in sticky cum.
'...Annoying as hell.'
The last monstrosity, the Stalker, had been vicious—one slip-up and you'd lose. Approaching this guy the same way kept throwing me off.
No need to blow all my minus fare just to scout the passenger seat info.
He wasn't hiding anything major.
Just pay up front normally, and he'd probably spill it.
'Sigh...'
The Stalker toyed with me slyly, nice and slow. This taxi driver? Pure lust, no games.
Opposites in every way—I had zero clue how to handle him.
Couldn't read his psyche at all. Made it worse.
I could guess the Stalker's mindset. I'd been a guy once.
But this? No predicting it. Sure, a guy, but never that perverted.
"First... wake him up, I guess."
Whatever the passenger seat obligations were, I hated this situation.
Being dragged along? Familiar from the Stalker fights.
But a guy who'd just poured his heart out confessing, now pulling self-harm blackmail for sex? No thanks.
Felt like watching someone rejected make an extreme play for attention.
"Wake up."
One hand stayed on the wheel; the other shook his shoulder, tapped his cheek.
No dice. Like it wasn't enough stimulus.
I pinched his thigh hard, gripped his balls tight—still nothing. Deep anesthesia vibes.
'This won't cut it either, huh.'
Stubborn now, I tilted his head back, pried his mouth open a bit.
Then dumped inventory rice right in.
Stuff applied nearby on intake, but output? Palm only. So I held my palm steady over his face.
About ten seconds of rice-dumping later, a beep pierced the air, followed by a voice from the radio area.
Not like the Stalker violation blare that shook the world.
This was milder—ambulance siren level.
Anxious, I stopped pouring. His face was packed full anyway; more was pointless.
'Company-inserted clause?'
Rule 6: This vehicle belongs to the company; no problem customers.
Heard the committee added the three big rules via monstrosity consensus. Company probably did similar for members.
'They don't know what's happening?'
Glanced around.
Taxi driver: head back, dick hard, mouth stuffed with rice.
Me gripping the wheel as we barrel forward.
Anyone seeing this mess would know I was trying to wake him.
Just a warning? They were clueless.
'Ram the guardrail?'
Eyed the radio and rail alternately.
Speed: 140 kph.
Even special vehicle—I'd feel it. Driver wouldn't walk away unscathed.
'Or risk it on a slim chance and break the rules?'
Ignoring company warnings risky too. Unknown backlash.
But could open comms to resolve.
'Guardrail it is... right?'
Former: clear risk, known cost.
Latter: uncertain both ways.
Rational pick: crash.
But his confession flashed back, and how he'd stopped without pushing during my trauma.
'Just paying back the favor.'
Logically crash, but I wasn't that ruthless.
So, self-brainwash: doing this for me, peace of mind.
Steeled myself, dumped the last rice over his face.
Semitransparent hologram.
Straight out of sci-fi future, popping up on the front windshield.
Suit-clad secretary appeared eyes closed, declaring her role—then opened them, took in the scene, widened in shock, and cut off.
"What... what's going on here?"
Her dumbfounded look? I had no idea where to start explaining.
Full rundown from the start: air freshener sleep gas, inviting me upfront, passenger duty threats.
Still rolling, fare ticking up. Explaining meant eating thousands—maybe tens of.
"He huffed sleep gas himself, dragged me up front, then said if I didn't wake him for 'passenger duty,' he'd charge me."
"Pardon?"
"Self-harm extortion, plain and simple."
"What?!"
"The rice on his face? Me using an ability to wake him. Emergency measures."
Quick summary.
Time waste, and the chaos fatigue was real.
"Do you have any ID to verify?"
"Why's that?"
"Sounds less like problem customer, more regulation breach during aid. Response varies by customer type."
"And if I don't show?"
"Story proceeds as is."
"Crashing into the guardrail wrecks the taxi bad, though?"
"Serious injuries, but recoverable. He dosed himself; that's factored in."
"Tales can't be disrupted without cause."
"Unless you're no ordinary customer—then emergency call, full intervention."
Open discrimination.
Head got it; heart didn't. Boiling over.
I'd called to spare the company member's taxi clean—nope, regular? They bail liability-free.
"Promise confidentiality on my ID, and I'll show."
"Promised."
"Sigh..."
Glanced at rice-mouthed, head-back driver. Sighed, pulled Stalker invite from inventory.
'What a mess...'
Since tangling with this tale, nothing went right.
No mind games from him, yet chaos piled up, cornering me.
Blown disembark reason TS, now exposing the invite I'd hidden? Unthinkable.
"Th-that's the Great Monstrosity's!"
"Fare's climbing by the second. Hurts me—fix it fast."
"Chairman will handle personally!"
"Quickly..."
Mentally exhausted.
Forced overtime drone, hell-commute home? Felt like that.
Just end this crap already.
'...!!'
Languid fatigue soaking in—
Sudden full-body shiver, limbs locked against my will.
Like Stalker's opening Fear debuff.
But different. Then: chills, paralysis.
Now: crushed by an existence stacked beyond count, immobile.
'Just one hand does this...'?
Floating in midair: hand.
Transparent gem reflecting light—that single hand was the source.
Hummm...
Frozen helpless—black invite glowed blue chill, wrapping me.
Oppressive aura vanished clean.
'Stalker?'
Light faded; cool, irritated gaze lingered.
What's this to my guest? Accusing stare.
Undaunted by secretary or hand, staring back.
"Chairman can't speak per rules, so I'll relay, Stalker."
"Chairman says it wasn't intentional, apologizes for rudeness to guest."
"This channel's for problem customers—forces presence aura on entry."
"My apologies too."
Irritated gaze softened.
Invite vibe: peeved but understanding tremble.
Bowing secretary, still-floating hand: sorry air.
'What're you all doing?'
Sandwiched shrimp me? Zero relief.
Car still blasting ahead.
"Chairman wants to view the situation. Read past okay?"
"Yeah."
Gruff prod.
Secretary wary now, chill stare, gem hand—didn't matter. Situation exhausting.
Meter at 15k liters? Hurry up.
Tap.
Gem hand tapped air. Square screen, past replay sped up.
My forced boarding to now, hyper-speed footage.
Lost track midway, but secretary, Stalker, Chairman watched full.
"Heh."
Her absurd sigh, gaze's disbelief, hand-tip tremble—clear they saw it all.
"Seen enough?"
"Yes... not problem customer. Medical aid."
"Fix it then. I'll pay the neglected passenger duty fare."
"Don't want the driver or taxi hurt."
"Chairman asks if that's really all."
"Yes. Why I called you instead of crashing."
"That triggers five fare-collection penalties."
"Fine."
My words ended—hand moved.
First: tapped rice-packed mouth.
Rice shrank, vanished.
Next: taxi seat tap—speed dropped, full stop.
Last: poked driver head, withdrew.
'Tweaking numbers?'
Not sure exactly, but power immense from fragments.
Few finger taps, mess sorted.
(Nggh...)
Five seconds post-head poke—
Driver's eyelids fluttered, stirring awake.
I jammed invite back to inventory, relief mixed with annoyance, anger.
'Why am I feeling like this...?'
Throbbing head, strength drained.
Like parents fixing kid's screw-up: relief, exasperation.
Broke rules, flashed invite, convinced secretary and Chairman to stop self-harm extortion.
Repay kindness with kindness, sure... but this hassle for a sex extortionist? Reality hit with headache.
"We'll take our leave."
(...Secretary? Chairman?!)
Driver blinked awake, gawked at hologram secretary and hand—freaked.
They bailed fast, like fleeing the scene.
Left: baffled head-shaking driver and me.
(What the hell just...?)
'Ah... head hurts.'
Chairman service-reset meter to zero last, sure.
But bolting at driver's wake? They knew it was messy, bounced.
(Why's my taxi fine? Secretary and Chairman—why'd they show?!)
Now I explain.
Wish meter stayed, let secretary brief him.
(The fare?! What about the fare?!)
Shrimp between whales worse than facing goldbricking sex-fiend post-wakeup.