The Golem boy from yesterday had returned.

  "Oh, Igora."

  "Thank you for yesterday! The pot was a huge hit—they said it had 'character!'"

  "Glad to hear it. Here, try some of this."

  "Eh?"

  "Side dishes. They're probably not going anywhere today anyway." I slid a plate across the counter. "...Actually, do Golems even eat the same things as humans?"

  "Yes! People from other worlds always find that strange, but we eat basically the same things."

  "Well, that makes my life easier. Tell me what you think."

  Igora chewed with unusual dedication for a small golem. I found myself genuinely curious about what kind of digestive organs were rattling around in there.

  "It's a strange flavor... a bit salty, but—this is delicious!"

  "Heh. Seasoning is the one thing I've never failed at. The salt is for preservation, by the way."

  "You should turn this into a deli! Sell the food with the dishes!"

  "...I'll think about it." I paused. "Actually—could you watch the shop for about an hour? I want to hand out flyers at the village square."

  "Eh?"

  "Just tell anyone who comes in that the owner is out distributing flyers. Honestly, no one's showing up today anyway."

  Igora looked at the empty shop. Then at me. Then at the empty shop again.

  "...Sure. You did feed me, after all."

  "Thanks. Back soon."

  ***

  I sprinted to the village square, armed with a stack of handmade flyers and what remained of my dignity.

  The square was lively. People on benches, children running in circles, a merchant arguing with a bird about the price of something unidentifiable.

  "Grand opening today—General Store, up on the hill! Pottery, preserved foods, forest goods! Please take a flyer!"

  I projected from the bottom of my lungs, using every vocal technique I'd learned from six months of convenience store training. It was deeply embarrassing. I did it anyway. This was another world. Embarrassment was a luxury I had returned to sender.

  The flyers disappeared faster than expected. Humans, demi-humans, and what appeared to be a sentient mushroom all grabbed one with surprising enthusiasm.

  ...Is this world actually kind of decent?

  The thought had barely formed when two large figures stepped in front of me.

  They were Kobolds. In uniform.

  "Oi. Who gave you permission to distribute those?"

  —Of course.

  Forty-five minutes and ten thousand Gel later, I was the proud owner of an Official Advertising Activity Permit, stamped three times, signed in duplicate, and utterly useless for anything except proving that bureaucracy had, in fact, achieved immortality across all known dimensions.

  In another world, I thought, walking home. Some things never change.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  On the way back, the evening light was warm and golden. A comfortable slow life felt almost possible.

  —Usually, that's exactly when things go wrong.

  ***

  Standing in front of my shop was a small, ancient-looking old man in a flat cap pulled aggressively low.

  His wrinkles had wrinkles. His race was unclear.

  That cane of his—it wasn't just wood. It felt like an ancient branch, thrumming with a faint, dormant magic.

  His posture radiated the specific energy of a man who had never once in his life accepted an apology.

  Behind the counter, Igora caught my eye.

  He mouthed two words: help me.

  "Oi. You the shopkeeper? Kutani?"

  "...Yes, that's me."

  Damn. I should have pretended not to know him.

  "You took forever! You just opened and you're already leaving a child alone in the shop? Are you out of your mind?"

  "I beg your pardon. He is a fully grown adult. The kind of adult who winds down every evening with a glass of wine and a hundred chapters of web novels. Daily."

  "A hundred— A HUNDRED?!"

  The old man staggered back in genuine shock.

  (That's what gets you?)

  "So. What do you want?"

  ***

  "Moon-Evening Grass! Used to grow all around here—turnip-shaped, yellow, beautiful. Harvest it on a full moon night, eat it before dawn, and it cures everything. Used to be everywhere. Now it's rare. I want some."

  "If it grows nearby, it'll end up on our shelves eventually—"

  "The full moon is TONIGHT, boy!"

  He slammed his cane on the ground. Several of my pottery pieces rattled sympathetically.

  A silence settled between us.

  "...You said it was beautiful. Just now."

  "Hm?"

  "That word. Beautiful. You used it."

  The old man narrowed his eyes. Not angry. Not answering. Just—looking at something far away that wasn't in this room.

  "...My wife. She loved them."

  That was all. He didn't say more.

  — His hand was trembling. Just slightly.

  "I'll find it."

  I said it before I'd even thought to ask about payment.

  （There's something more to this.）

  I didn't ask. I took the job, sent Igora home, and headed into the forest.

  —Not knowing that, at that very moment, Lurdona was in serious trouble somewhere else entirely.

  ***

  Lurdona, who had been lying in her Haniwa "coffin," had been discarded in a scrap heap without knowing it. She had been mistaken for trash.

  (Did he get angry because I made him stay up all night? ...No, that can't be.)

  Doubt flickered in her mind. But she knew the Kutani from before his reincarnation. (No. He isn't the kind of person who treats things like that. He isn't the kind of person—who treats me like that.)

  (Because his life was such that he would never do something like that.)

  She was born from his tears. Even as the darkness deepened and the wind shook the trees, she chose to believe in him and began to move. In that moment, she sensed it. He was about to be in danger.

  (I have to get to him...!)

  She struggled to roll her body and escape the scrap heap. Perhaps due to the impact of being thrown away, fine cracks ran all over her body. As she moved slowly, a voice called out.

  "It's useless. We’ve been abandoned." A chair with a broken leg spoke to her. "No, we haven't."

  Then, a cracked mirror spoke. "Face reality. You were thrown away." "I don't believe you."

  Next, a broken table. "Give up." A torn stuffed animal. "You shouldn't bother." Finally, a soot-stained wooden doll. "Why do you move? Why not just live here in peace? It’s dark and dirty, but it's quiet."

  Lurdona glared at the wooden doll and spoke. "I possess the memories of my master from his original world. Kutani was always alone. He could never find a job, his friends left him, he had no lover... even when he finally got a job at a convenience store, he was fired in a single day."

  Crack. A fissure ran from her cheek to her head. "Haha! What an incompetent master!"

  "And then, even after coming to this world, he immediately fell ten billion in debt." Snap. A crack formed in her shoulder. "That’s beyond incompetent. That’s just pathetic..."

  "Even so, he didn't give up. He pretended everything was fine and opened a shop." Cr-cr-crack. The cracks in her arms grew larger. "For a guy like that to open a shop? That's just reckless."

  She dragged her legs forward. "Yes. He is incompetent, pathetic, and reckless. He has no confidence."

  Snap, crack. Her body broke further, and small fragments scattered. The furniture and dolls looked on in disbelief. "That’s exactly the type of person you should never follow..."

  "But—" Lurdona continued toward the moonlit path, away from the dark scrap heap. "He is kind."

  CRASH. Finally, her right hand fell off from the wrist down. The residents of the scrap heap fell silent. "...I have to... get back to Kutani...!"