Chapter 154: The Izakaya Hires the Braver and the Dark-Skinned One (Patreon)

Natsuka rose slowly to his feet, looked at the brother and sister weeping in each other's arms, and nodded, satisfied.

"May all lovers under heaven end up as siblings."

He glanced at Utaha, standing off to the side.

"Done pretending to be asleep?"

Kasumigaoka Utaha's face went hot, and her leg started bouncing furiously to cover for it.

"Dumping a sleeping lady in the middle of the street…"

"Descender-sensei, you really are something."

"That falls under force majeure."

"I—I know." She turned her back on him, the tips of her ears faintly red.

"So I'll grudgingly forgive you. This once."

Before long the siblings, finally steady again, came to stand in front of Natsuka.

The man kept his head lowered, his voice still raw.

"I honestly don't know how to thank you."

"That medicine must have cost a fortune. I—"

Natsuka raised a hand to cut him off, his face turning serious.

"Don't start with any 'I'll offer myself to you in the next life' business."

"I'm not taking it."

The man started to say something, then stopped.

I wasn't planning on saying that.

He swallowed the retort.

Natsuka went on.

"The you standing here now has nothing worth repaying me with."

"If you really want to settle the debt, at least make something of yourself first."

"And what you should be doing right now is getting your sister back to the hospital for an examination."

"As for the medicine—"

"You genuinely can't afford it."

"If you absolutely insist on paying me back, then be ready to work for me for the rest of your life."

With that he walked on without looking back, Utaha in tow.

Behind him, the man lurched forward a couple of steps and shouted at his back.

"I will!"

"Once I've made something of myself, I'll work for you my whole life!"

"My name is Yuzuru Otonashi!"

"Please remember it!"

Natsuka didn't turn around. He only lifted a hand and gave it a lazy wave.

Kid.

You've still got one more disaster waiting for you.

Survive that, and then we'll talk about payment.

Morning.

A ringing phone dragged Natsuka out of sleep.

He pried his eyes open, and the first thing that filled his vision was Kasumigaoka Utaha's face, wearing a wicked grin.

"Oh my. The little boy's awake?"

"I enjoyed myself a great deal last night."

She was swimming in one of Natsuka's loose T-shirts, though the shirt hid absolutely nothing — if anything, it traced her curves more clearly.

She lay on her side at the edge of the bed, curling a strand of hair around one finger, playing bashful on purpose.

"How did you even get in here…"

Natsuka had no words left.

She'd missed the last train the night before, and on the grounds that she'd already told her family she was staying at a hotel with her editor, she had shamelessly wedged herself into his apartment.

The problem was this.

He had given her a perfectly good guest room.

And she'd come around first thing in the morning to tease him anyway.

Didn't she know a guy runs hot in the morning?

Utaha pressed closer, fingertip tracing slow circles on his chest, her breath deliberately warm.

"I was only worried you might not hold back at night and do something strange to your JK housekeeper."

"So I came to keep an eye on you."

Natsuka rolled his eyes, and the hand under the covers slid along the soft flesh at her waist.

"Eep—"

Kasumigaoka Utaha jolted like she'd grabbed a live wire and was off the bed in a blur.

"Heh. All bark, no bite."

"I—I still have a call to take."

Her face colored. She held up her phone, gave it a shake, and winked at him with one eye.

"Besides, I've already collected this morning's fanservice."

And with that she went bouncing down the stairs, humming a tune that broadcast exactly how good her mood was.

Only then did Natsuka fish his own phone out from under the pillow.

Unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Good morning! Is this Mr. Natsuka?"

"Speaking."

"This is Chisato, from the LycoReco café."

"That shop space you asked me to find — I've got it sorted for you."

"Do you have time to come by today?"

"That fast?"

"Hehe, of course!"

"A customer's troubles come first, after all."

"You can always count on Chisato's efficiency!"

"Thanks."

After hanging up, Natsuka washed up and flipped through his messages.

He opened Kuroneko's chat window to a solid 99+.

At the very top sat a single line radiating murderous intent.

"WHAT did you two do last night?!"

Natsuka replied calmly.

"Nothing at all."

"I just lent that woman a room."

Then he scrolled up, and his forehead twitched.

A certain glass cannon had gone and sent that kind of photo to Kuroneko.

In the picture, he was dead asleep, all but drooling.

That part alone wouldn't have been so bad.

The problem was Kasumigaoka Utaha lying beside him with three buttons deliberately undone, her face pure gloating.

"Nice. Very Utaha Kasumigaoka of her~"

Natsuka typed in silence.

[For the record, I'm still a virgin.]

After washing his face, he skimmed yesterday's news.

[Foreign man claims responsibility for yesterday's gas explosion; currently in police custody, suspected to be an escapee from a psychiatric hospital. Interview footage below.]

"There are still people willing to play the fall guy these days?"

Natsuka tapped the video open.

A black-haired man stood on the roof of a police car, holding an absurdly exaggerated spellcasting pose.

"Hwoooo—HA!"

And then.

Nothing happened.

And then after that, he and another oddly dressed young man beside him were both loaded into the car by the police.

"Chunibyo?"

Natsuka dragged the progress bar back and forth, but the footage was too blurry to make out either face.

He filed the question away for later and set that photo of Utaha Kasumigaoka as his new wallpaper.

As for the previous wallpaper.

A certain someone's black stockings.

The reason was simple enough.

Doctors have said it themselves: looking at black stockings and pretty girls helps a boy live longer.

Downstairs, Natsuka ate the breakfast Sayu had made while straightening his clothes.

At the door he turned back with one last instruction.

"There's a key on the desk in the room."

"I'm not home much."

"If it's ever inconvenient to be out alone at night, you can stay here."

"Got it."

Utaha answered around a mouthful of bread, her crossed pale thighs pressed into a heart-stopping curve.

As it happened, she was busy today too.

The signing event was over, but there was no shortage of follow-up work.

Not like a certain someone.

Who refused, absolutely and forever, to hold a signing.

"Bleh…"

Kasumigaoka Utaha stuck her tongue out at him.

Beika Town, 5-chome, No. 39.

Natsuka climbed out of the taxi, stared up at the enormous [Mouri Detective Agency] sign in front of him, and sank into an eerie silence.

"Mr. Natsuka! Over here, over here!"

Across the street, Chisato waved at him cheerfully, radiating energy from head to toe.

For reasons he couldn't name, Natsuka found it a little frightening.

Girl.

Do you have any idea that waving at me like that makes you look exactly like the victim who gets murdered in this episode?

He hesitated a moment, then walked over anyway.

"Before anything else — can you tell me why you picked this place for me?"

"Because the location's excellent, of course," Chisato said, with total conviction.

"This used to be an izakaya too, so there are regulars in the area, and the transfer price is dirt cheap. It fits your requirements perfectly."

"Why is it cheap?"

Natsuka went straight for the heart of it.

Chisato blinked, then dropped her voice, thoroughly delighted with herself.

"Word is the previous owner got killed by his mistress over a love affair gone bad."

"Afterward his wife couldn't stand the sight of any of it, so she unloaded the whole lot cheap."

"Oh, right, the barbershop down the street had a murder over a relationship too."

The more she talked, the more into it she got.

"Apparently this street has its own urban legend."

"Cheat on your partner, and the Machete Curse comes looking for you."

Natsuka glanced up at the Mouri Detective Agency on the floor above and shivered without a word.

"…Are there any other locations?"

Chisato scratched her head, looking a little guilty.

"There is one."

"There's just been a small complication."

"A small complication?"

"Take a look at this."

Chisato held out her phone.

The headline read:

[Large-scale firearms-smuggling ring erupts into infighting during a deal at a bar; fierce gunfight breaks out at the scene.]

Natsuka opened the photos.

The bar that had been the alternate candidate had walls so riddled with bullet holes they looked like they'd been scoured by a storm.

From what little he knew about guns, punching a place up like that would take something in the Gatling family.

"I've got shots from the scene too. That place really was the best match for you."

Chisato swiped to another photo.

In the blurred frame, Natsuka could just make out a figure with blond hair and black clothes.

Gin, huh…

So he'd gotten into it, hard, with that Commander person's organization.

Sounded like it might actually be interesting.

"It's honestly impressive that you got out of there alive," Natsuka said, and he meant every word.

"Hehe, staying alive is the important part."

Chisato ruffled her hair and darted twice on the spot, left and right, as if to prove she could handle herself.

"If you're willing to wait a few months, that spot might suit you even better later on."

"But nobody's caught that crowd yet, so the police still have the scene sealed off."

Natsuka ran a rough calculation.

Wait for the police to catch Gin?

Give it another ten years.

He looked the shopfront over from every angle.

The setup really wasn't bad at all.

Barely any renovation needed. Hire enough staff and he could open the doors as they were.

His eyes drifted up to the Mouri agency again, and he started running the numbers in earnest.

The rules of who dies in the Conan world actually had loopholes you could squeeze through.

At minimum, the protagonist himself generally didn't die.

Besides, nothing said he had to run the place personally.

Hire a few employees with tough enough fates and a whiff of protagonist about them, and wasn't he mostly in the clear?

The more he thought about it, the better he liked it.

They finished the paperwork, paid the agency fee, exchanged contact details, and promised to send business each other's way before the two of them finally parted.

Over the next few days.

Natsuka built an enormous sealed cask and hid a Spatial Gate inside it.

And so a self-serve drink dispenser that could never be drained was born.

Two days after that.

He put up a help-wanted notice.

Somewhere in the middle he made time to take Yuuki and Yui to Bocchi's first proper live show, and paid a visit to Kuroneko's house as a guest.

He also dumped the manuscript he'd squeezed out between everything else on the editorial department, which counted as keeping up with his obligations.

By the third day.

Natsuka had finally hired the two employees who suited him best.

"I'm Tooru Amuro. I look forward to working with you."

The tanned young man produced a smile so gentle it was very nearly perfect.

"I—I'm Emi Yusa!"

"I promise I'll work hard!"

"I heard room and board are included here. Is that true?"

Natsuka sat in the sofa booth with one leg crossed over the other, studying the pair of them with unusual gravity.

Nothing in this world can defeat a Braver.

Except free room and board.

Ah.

So it was true after all. Filter out the normal people, and all that's left is problem children like these?

"…Um… is there something wrong with me?"

Tooru Amuro touched his own cheek.

"No." Natsuka's face stayed dead serious.

"I just realized that with the fates you two carry, you should both make it comfortably to the grand finale."

"…Probably."

"Huh?"

Emi Yusa didn't care about grand finales in the slightest.

She hugged her stomach and raised a hand, eyes bright with anticipation.

"Um, can we eat first?"

"Of course you can."

Natsuka nodded gravely, his tone turning downright ceremonial.

"Miss Emi Yusa, as of today you are the honorary manager of this establishment."

"Every matter in this shop is yours to decide."

"Including, naturally, a matter of the highest importance: meals."

"You really don't have to call me that."

Emi Yusa waved both hands in a hurry, thoroughly embarrassed.

"That's far too generous."

"It's necessary."

Natsuka's expression remained solemn. He even lifted a cup of tea and offered it forward with great reverence.

"Tea, Boss."

"With you holding down the fort here, I'm confident this shop will stay open indefinitely."

"Which means I can go on adventuring with a clear mind."

Emi Yusa scratched her cheek. Her stomach growled again, honest as ever.

"So…"

"Can we eat now?"

"I haven't eaten anything in three days."

In the Inner World, Emi Yusa went by the name Braver Emilia.

She was a half-angel.

And she commanded a special power called Holy Force.

Inside the izakaya the lights ran warm, oil crackled and popped in the pan, and the air was thick with the mingled smell of sauce and searing food.

Natsuka sat in the booth at the back, a cold glass of cola in his hand, his gaze resting on the "former" Lady Braver at the stove, whose movements grew more practiced by the minute.

Emi Yusa hefted the pan one-handed, snapped her wrist, and sent the ingredients arcing up in a beautiful curve — and not a drop of sauce spilled when they came back down.

Watching it, what filled Natsuka's head wasn't the homey warmth in front of him, but those memories from the past that had once pressed the breath out of him.

Because wherever a Braver appeared, it meant the Demon Lord was most likely somewhere nearby.

The sort of beings who could tear space open by force and cross a world's border with a single step were nothing to joke about.

Even now, the sliver of Holy Force still left inside Emi Yusa felt like enough for her to pry open a seam in the world at some moment of her choosing and walk straight back to where she'd come from.

Faced with someone on that level, if it ever came down to force, there seemed to be no play except going along with her and leaving things alone for now.

Natsuka took a sip of cola and sighed without making a sound.

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Fight? Can't win."

"Run? Not sure I'd get away either."

Of course, the situation hadn't escalated to the point of drawn swords.

He and Emi Yusa both had only a scrap of last-resort power left at the bottom of the trunk, and that sort of thing worked more like a mutual safety catch. Until they truly fell out, neither of them was going to flip the table.

So Natsuka had no intention of standing guard over her day and night like she was a burglar.

He simply wanted to pull them all the way onto his side, and the heat wasn't quite right for that yet.

At minimum he'd need comparable hard strength of his own before he'd have the standing to raise the subject seriously.

Until then, better to think about something more practical.

Such as scraping something genuinely valuable off a Braver.

Such as the training method for Holy Force.

The thought made his eyes light up.

If he made his attitude sincere enough, kept his posture low enough — bowed his head in submission right there on the spot — might he actually get a chance to learn it?

The DanMachi world's power system leveled up slowly enough to set your teeth itching, and at every turn it demanded you throw your life against your own limits.

But it wasn't without its advantages.

The greatest of them was that it raised the ceiling of the human "vessel" from the root.

Like smashing a locked ceiling apart, slab by slab.

The thing was a bit like unlocking some kind of genetic limiter in the body.

Once that foundation was properly laid, any other power system he touched afterward would grow at a ridiculous speed.

Except reality was still reality.

"I'm only Level One right now."

"Even if skills prop up my surface combat strength, the 'vessel' underneath hasn't changed at all."

"No point rushing it."

"And now that I'm the boss, getting a Braver to sit down and teach me Holy Force isn't a one-sentence job either."

"Slow and steady."

Natsuka spun the glass half a turn on the table, and his gaze drifted, of its own accord, to the other side of the room.