LGHTNOVELBOOK Side Story 8
Side Story 8. Malicious Influence
The man who left the Amatsugahara Market moved swiftly, distancing himself from the ruins. His destination was the outer town. The path between the outer town and the Amatsugahara Market, unlike before, had been cleared of monsters and bandits, making it safe—so he traveled without caution.
Upon closer inspection, the man looked out of place. What was odd? If he were from the ruins, his clothes would be slightly dirty, and his physique gaunt. Yet, though his attire was old, it was clean, and his frame was sturdy. Clearly, he was no native of the ruins.
Walking along the cracked, degraded asphalt roads, past crumbling buildings, dilapidated shops, and decaying houses, he eventually reached the outer town’s gate.
The gatekeeper gave him a puzzled look as he approached. The sun had already begun to set, painting the sky orange. While the ruins’ residents lined up in the morning, they never came near by evening—those without identification were driven out after dark.
“Hey, you. It’s almost night. No ID means you get kicked out, y’know?”
“Kicked out” was putting it mildly—in reality, they’d be met with violence that could easily turn lethal. Normally, the gatekeeper wouldn’t even speak, just grunt and shoo them away. But lately, with the Amatsugahara Corporation folks frequenting the area, he’d grown more courteous. The heavier bribes were also a factor.
“Ah, it’s fine. I’m an outer town resident.”
The gatekeeper’s concern proved unnecessary. The man pulled out his ID, showing it clearly. Confirming it wasn’t forged, the gatekeeper stepped aside to let him pass.
“Rare to see someone coming back this late.”
“Yeah. Heard there’s some new market in the ruins now—Amatsugahara or somethin’. Probably went shoppin’.”
“A market in the ruins? Really?”
“Dunno. Just rumors. Not like we’d go there anyway.”
“Hell no. Who’d buy anything from that dump?”
Laughing loudly, the gatekeepers chatted about which bar to hit after work, already forgetting the man who’d passed through.
A gust of wind blew past—but they didn’t even notice.
The man quickened his pace, hurrying before nightfall. Even in the outer town’s ruin-adjacent zones, while monsters were absent, bandits swarmed like insects.
Ironically, he was more alert here than in the ruins. Passing through a shantytown area, he reached a district of worn-out but intact single homes and row houses. The security here wasn’t terrible—neighborhood watches and occasional patrols saw to that.
Letting out a relieved sigh, the man entered a shop with a garish neon sign. Inside, deafening music blared, and on a small stage, a half-naked woman danced. Ignoring the leering men whistling and jeering, he headed deeper in.
Stopping before a heavy door labeled VIP Room, the two black-suited men flanking it glanced at him but said nothing. Casually raising a hand, he entered.
As the door closed, the raucous noise vanished. Instead, the coquettish laughter of women and the voices of older men filtered through.
“Hm? Oh, Yamanaka! You’re late—we’ve already started.”
The spacious room held plush sofas and a table laden with food. Well-dressed men entertained themselves with hostesses while drinking.
A portly, gray-haired man, arm around a heavily made-up woman, grinned.
“Mr. Amago. Apologies for the delay.”
“Don’t sweat it. But you are late. Today’s the monthly meeting, y’know.”
The man called Yamanaka frowned as he sat, his displeasure obvious. The old man, Amago, raised an eyebrow. The others, too, found his demeanor odd.
Yamanaka Nozukenosuke—a name borrowed from a famously loyal warlord—was usually a hedonistic schemer, his face unreadable. This open irritation was rare. Sensing trouble, Amago decided to probe.
“Something wrong?”
“…At Amatsugahara Market, they’ve started buying a new type of monster core. E-Cores this time. 300 yen apiece.”
Yamanaka spoke bitterly, as if delivering grave news. But most of the group relaxed, their tension dissolving.
“That’s it? You scared us.”
“Thought something serious happened.”
“Yamanaka, you jerk—messing with us?”
They laughed, dismissing his words, and returned to their drinks and women.
But Amago’s expression darkened.
“What else was added to the Core Store?”
“…Corn seeds.”
Relieved sighs followed.
Yet their earlier tension had a reason—this gathering was a consortium of outer town wholesalers. Flour, rice, vegetables—they dealt in foodstuffs. While the region’s distribution was controlled by Captain Aneyama, these men operated within legitimate channels, unlike the black-market dealer Numata.
In short, they were wealthy merchants catering to the outer town’s upper and middle classes.
“Corn? Don’t scare us like that.”
A younger man—the heir to a flour wholesaler—approached Yamanaka, slapping his shoulder amiably.
“You think it’s fine just because it’s not wheat, Izutsu?”
Amago’s icy tone made the young man flinch.
“I-I mean, corn? Roasted or boiled, it’s nice, but it’s not exactly high-demand…”
Amago clicked his tongue, slamming his whiskey glass down. Ice cubes clattered.
“Fool. First potatoes, now corn. Next could be wheat or rice—who knows when? Should we just sit here trembling? And that’s not even the real issue!”
“But monopolizing Core Stores is impossible! They’re everywhere now—even the military gave up!”
“The stores aren’t the problem. Most people can’t even use them properly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Those vending machines seem useful but aren’t. Water? We don’t need it. Bread? Easy to get. Seed potatoes, corn—nothing valuable. But it’s about volume. People. When masses move, worthless things gain worth. Trade a core for 10 loaves—it’s a few days’ food. But sell it for 1,500 yen? Buy old clothes, scrap vegetables for stew, save for the future. Suddenly, ‘tomorrow’ isn’t just a ghost.”
This was impossible in the outer town. The Amatsugahara Market, buying cores for mere 30 yen, was amassing power. And if wheat or rice appeared in Core Stores?
“Once they have the funds, they’ll influence the outer town. By then, it’ll be too late.”
From the back, a hooded figure—metallic arms glinting—sipped whiskey. A woman’s voice, slightly hoarse, spoke.
“Exactly. We can’t wait to act.”
“Then what? Rally the liquor union’s Suwa? Use his military ties to crush that trash-heap market?”
The others grimaced. Suwa’s ruthlessness was infamous—he’d suck them dry.
“Why destroy it? Why not hoard cores ourselves? Flood the market until they can’t buy. Kill their collectors. Starve Amano out.”
“Gather cores? By going to the ruins? We’d need soldiers.”
“Leave that to us. You just fund it. You’ve got debt slaves, right? Those broken by loans—we’ll turn them into soldiers.”
The merchants hesitated. Debt slaves were plentiful—those crushed by taxes and loans. But arming them?
“They’d turn on us the moment they got guns.”
The hooded woman smirked.
“Leave it to me. Snakes know snake paths.”
The wholesalers exchanged glances, then nodded.
“Fine. We’ll trust you.”
“Kukuku. Relax. Just give me time.”
Eyes glinting from under her hood, the woman grinned.