Chapter 7: Koma-san

A day’s worth of meals cost roughly 1,500 points.

At first glance, earning 5,000 points a day sounded like plenty, especially considering that during a mission’s three-day span, those bland, crumbly rations were provided for free. But the reality wasn’t so simple.

Ammunition wasn’t free, and I also had to pay wages to the Monoz. If I had 1,000 points left over at the end of the day, I’d consider it a win. The sniper squad got a slight subsidy since our ammo was expensive, but rookies like me were always cutting it close. Some soldiers didn’t even bother paying their Monoz.

Honestly, even that wasn’t really a problem. The Monoz—who seemed perfectly suited to working at a black company—were, without exception, born workaholics. They love labor. They don’t really need pay. Yeah. That was Monoz’s quality.

But paying them properly? That was my quality.

Thanks to the bonus I’d earned, I fiddled with my tablet and deposited 20,000 points into the shared Monoz account.

This palm-sized tablet felt comfortable to use. People from a later era might’ve used retinal projection devices, but I, accustomed to smartphones, couldn’t seem to feel at ease unless I was using my hands for something. Even in a place like this, I could sense a kind of generational gap. Thinking that, I pulled the cap, now thoroughly familiar after these past six months, snugly over my head and sent a message.

Notification: Please avoid unnecessary spending.

I tapped “Deposit.” A few seconds later, Rat Unit, Snake Unit, and Rooster Unit began circling around me. Some kind of gratitude dance, I assumed. The sentiment came through; I appreciated it, but I also wished they’d stop. I was going to end up accidentally kicking one of them.

Checking my wristwatch, I noted the time. The analog hands pointed clearly: 10:00 a.m., huh. Hmm.

“I’m thinking of making free time last until 18:00. Thoughts?”

“Beep beep!”

Response: No objections.

Six unanimous votes. It seemed everyone was on board.

“Well then…”

Before I could even finish the sentence, Dog Unit and Monkey Unit bolted off, racing each other. Watching them go, I thought to myself: the Monoz had such varied personalities. I wondered what they’d spend their wages on. Maybe I’d ask them over dinner tonight. It might be fun.

***

In this era, there were three major powers.

One was Tatara Heavy Industries. Known for durable armor and heavy weapons, it was the parent company of Dub-C, the corporation I belonged to. Their centipedes and Monoz bodies were tough, powerful, and hard to break. If I had to describe them in RPG terms, they had high attack, defense, and HP stats.

Another was Arawn Corp. Specializing in laser weapons powered by tree crystals, and focusing heavily on electronic equipment to counteract the jamming waves tree crystals emitted, Arawn’s centipedes and Monoz bodies excelled at data processing. They boasted absurdly high firepower but were finicky to handle and somewhat fragile. In RPG terms, they had high intelligence and magic attack, but low defense and HP.

Lastly, there was the Artisan Guild. Not a company per se, but rather a loose coalition of individual craftsmen. Their centipedes and Monoz bodies were wildly diverse. Some provided fine-tuned customizations; others built entirely from scratch; some offered extreme specs that wouldn’t pass approval at a regular manufacturer. Apparently, they had a dedicated fanbase. Unfortunately, my vocabulary wasn’t up to the task of finding an RPG analogy for them. A shame.

All three powers were military-oriented, likely because humanity was at war with aliens.

Well, setting that aside.

The relationship between these factions—or rather, these manufacturers—was complicated.

Tatara and Arawn were famously hostile. Whenever their executives met, it was said they started with a mutual tongue-click, then moved on to stepping on each other’s shoes while making small talk about the weather. By contrast, the Artisan Guild maintained reasonably good relations with both sides, even forming technical partnerships here and there.

What I’m trying to say is—

“Welcome, welcome, rookie newbie-san, to the famous Artisan Guild street market. Got your pass and universal currency?”

That’s what it came down to.

The sultry woman greeting me had sleepy, half-lidded eyes and wore a pointy hat like a witch. She crossed her arms—emphasizing, uh, certain feminine attributes—and spoke in a breathy tone.

Currently, I had 50,000 points of electronic money.

I’d planned to spend 15,000 on resupplying ammo, servicing the centipede, and stocking up on supplies. The remaining 35,000 would go toward strengthening my combat capabilities. It was then that I remembered what Yuri had told me about this market.

For this expedition, some of Tatara’s affiliated manufacturers had set up booths, but I could’ve bought from them at headquarters too. Since I was out here anyway, I figured it made sense to visit the Artisan Guild’s stalls—the kind you could only access out here.

But…

“Pass?” I asked.

I understood the concept of universal currency. Yuri had shown me before a diamond-shaped crystal, abbreviated as “C.” People would casually say “100-C” the way you’d say “100 yen.” It was made from processed tree crystal. Mission rewards were paid in electronic money, usable only at Tatara subsidiaries or towns under their control. So if I wanted to shop with the Artisan Guild, I’d have to exchange it for universal currency.

That much, I knew. That was fine. But… what was this pass?

I tilted my head. Obviously, that didn’t produce an answer, so I asked aloud.

“Do I need that to enter?”

“Yup. Don’t have one? If not, over there. Exchange your money for universal currency at the changer and buy one while you’re at it.”

Before I could react, her slender white hand gently pushed me forward.

Honestly, I hadn’t been keen on buying a pass just to get in. But faced with such a beautiful woman, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. So I obediently joined the line.

Well, I needed to exchange currency anyway. Might as well.

***

The market was surrounded by a chain-link fence.

Sitting with my knees hugged to my chest against it, I reflected.

I realized something.

I probably wasn’t very smart.

Apparently, once you bought a pass, it granted access to any Artisan Guild market anywhere. Maybe that’s why it cost so much: 10,000 points. Cheaper than a certain rodent kingdom’s annual pass, but still… not the kind of price a rookie could easily afford.

Thank goodness for the ranking bonus. Thank goodness for the prize money. The saying “a skill will see you through hard times” really hit home.

Even the currency exchange clerk had praised me when she learned I was a rookie buying a pass. She’d praised me… a lot. Almost too much.

In the end, I exchanged my remaining 25,000 points into universal currency.

“…”

I’d been flattered into doing it.

“……”

And since the universal currency was bulky, I bought a pouch to use as a wallet.

“………”

It cost 500-C. My first official purchase.

“…………”

Still hugging my knees, I lifted the leather pouch.

Jingle jingle.

It was heavy.

The sound and weight of my entire fortune. I felt a little hollow inside. I hung my head.

I told myself, once more:

“……………”

I’m probably not very smart.

When I next checked my watch, it was 3:00 p.m.

I think the last time I’d looked was around noon, which meant I’d spent nearly three hours sitting there hugging my knees. Yuri once told me that kind of thing was a talent, but I honestly didn’t get it. Still, thanks to Yuri’s recommendation, my personnel file listed “Stealth” as a certified skill.

Ridiculous.

“Well then…”

I spoke aloud—for the first time in three hours.

Sitting here any longer wouldn’t accomplish anything. It was time to fulfill the reason I’d come here.

Sure, exchanging all my money on impulse had been a painful mistake. But looking at it differently, it meant I could go all-in on my purchases.

I probably couldn’t afford the very best equipment, but I should be able to get something decent.

With renewed resolve, I stood up and set off into the marketplace.

***

Let me start with the conclusion.

Apparently, I really wasn’t very smart.

If a day’s worth of food cost 1,500 points, that meant roughly one point equaled one yen. So ask yourself: what kind of decent weapon could you buy for 25,000 yen? The answer should be obvious.

The conclusion: at best, I could afford a cheap handgun. And even if I bought something like that, it wouldn’t be of any real use. The company-issued Type-7 Light Machine Gun loaned to Dub-C rookies was more than enough.

After about thirty minutes of wandering, I came to that conclusion and turned back toward the chain-link fence I’d been sitting at earlier. Until I reunited with the Monoz, I’d just sit there hugging my knees again. Someone like me was better off passing time like that. Heh.

“Hey there, kid. You thinking of buying something?”

“…”

And yet, for some reason, someone else was already there.

He was a man like a lion. Probably in his mid-thirties. His slicked-back hair looked forcibly tamed. His mirrored sunglasses, his stubbled face—everything about him radiated menace, or maybe strength. He had the aura of someone powerful, someone on the fighting side, like Yuri.

The way his muscles moved, the scent that clung to him—he was unmistakably cut from the same cloth as her. And yet, despite all that, he sat there hugging his knees at my oasis, just like I had earlier.

…No, that shadow on his back wasn’t my imagination.

I glanced at the merchandise laid out in front of him.

Guns. A typical sight here—practically 80% of the market stalls sold them. But even from an amateur’s perspective, the quality of his weapons was obviously different. Or rather… unfinished.

I gave him a questioning look, silently asking permission. He nodded, so I picked one up. It was light. For a large-caliber submachine gun, it was oddly light. Would it even be strong enough? Could you control something this unwieldy? The concept seemed fundamentally mismatched. A lightweight SMG was great. A large-caliber SMG had its uses. But combining the two—was that viable? The barrel was plastic, too. Was this… okay?

“Ah, that one? Careful, kid. It explodes when you shoot it.”

“…”

Silently, I put it back.

It was not okay.

Then my eyes landed on the stall’s sign. “Sign” might’ve been generous, it was just cardboard with marker scribbled across it. Even in this era, cardboard was alive and well. Maybe I’d try wearing one as a disguise next time I infiltrate somewhere.

…No, probably pointless. Anyway, back to the sign. It read:

“Komainu Shop.”

“Ah, you caught me, huh? You figured it out. Listen, kid, keep it a secret, okay? That it’s me running this shop?”

Following my gaze, the lion man gave a sheepish grin. Apparently, he was the “Komainu” in question. I decided to call him Koma-san.

“See, someone like me—someone famous… once people know it’s me who built these, they’ll rate ’em just ’cause of my name. But that’s not what I want. I want my work judged for itself, y’know?”

“I see.”

It was a bad habit of mine. Saying “I see,” even though I didn’t understand a thing. But Koma-san didn’t know that. He looked genuinely pleased.

And as he happily kept talking, it became clear he really was famous. I didn’t know him, but apparently, he was a big name. Probably famous as a soldier, not as a craftsman. And now he was selling hobby projects at a street stall. That’s how I read the situation.

“That’s admirable.”

What was admirable? Honestly, I wasn’t sure.

“Right? Right?”

“…”

“Wait. Don’t tell me you really didn’t know who I was?”

Noticing my underwhelmed reaction, Koma-san tilted his head, the eyes behind his sunglasses no doubt clouded with unease.

“…Sorry.”

I turned my gaze away and apologized.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Koma-san slumping over in despair. I understood how he felt, so I pretended not to see.

A delusional guy who thought he was famous.

That’s what I’d assumed.

But it turned out Koma-san really was famous.

I found that out when he dragged me off to a stall in the market for a late lunch after recovering from his slump. He insisted on paying, so we sat side by side eating cheap, crumbly yakisoba. Every few minutes, people stopped by to greet him, ask for work, try to commission him, and either got politely turned down or got pitched one of his explosive guns and promptly declined.

“You really are famous,” I said, poking at a strip of pork in the yakisoba.

“Huh? Oh… you mean me?” Koma-san tilted his head, puzzled.

I pointed at him with my chopsticks. “Yeah. You.”

“Well, yeah… By the way, kid, you a rookie?”

“Yes. This is my first assignment.”

“What unit? What company?”

“Sniper, Dub-C… Company x Company.”

“Ah… you’re under Alex, huh.”

Slurp. We both sucked up noodles.

“So you’re kinda promising, then,” Koma-san concluded. “So, kid—what brought a sniper like you to the market today?”

“I was hoping to buy a new weapon, if I could.”

“Oh ho… And your budget?”

“…Twenty-five thousand C.”

He gave me a look that screamed “You idiot.”

I nodded proudly: “Yes, sir.”

“What kind of weapon are you after?”

“A good one.”

He gave me the same “You idiot” look again. Once more, I nodded proudly: “Yes, sir.”

“Well, then. Looks like it’s up to me to show this hotshot rookie, who made enough in his first mission to afford a market pass, where to find a good one.”

Koma-san slapped his knee and stood up, a grin spreading across his face. Apparently, things had somehow turned out that way. I hurried to finish my yakisoba.

***

In the end, I used 35,000 points to buy a market pass and a small new weapon.

So, what had the Monoz done with the 20,000 points I gave them?

“…That’s no Zaku.”

Three Monoz stood lined up before me, their bodies now matte black instead of the dull gray they’d been that morning. Rat Unit, Rooster Unit, Dog Unit. Their once round eyes were now slitted into crosses. Their trim was, of course, red. This… this was definitely that. There was no mistaking it.

“Should I rename you Gaia, Mash, and Ortega?” I asked.

If they were going that far, why not?

“Beep beep!”

Proposal rejected: No renaming required.

“I see.”

Well, then, fine. I operated my tablet and sent the blueprint for my new weapon’s ammunition to each Monoz. They couldn’t actually make it yet—I didn’t have the materials, and it wasn’t something they could craft from stone—but still, it was my first acquired blueprint. A milestone, even if it didn’t really matter. I wanted them to use it as soon as possible.

“Beep!”

Request: Please disclose new weapon specs.

A message from Rat Unit. I glanced down and met his gaze. His inorganic green eye seemed almost… curious.

Moments like this made me realize the Monoz weren’t just machines. They were friends, with personalities of their own. If that was the case… then I wanted to act like a friend to them, too.

“It’s a secret,” I said, pressing a finger to my lips and giving a wink.

I was trying to emulate Alex’s “grown-up charm.” My own little playful flourish, modest but sincere.

“Beep!”

All six Monoz immediately rolled backward in unison.

Apparently… I’d weirded them out.

I looked up at the sky. It was a clear, beautiful blue.

“…”

My little playful charm didn’t go over very well.