Chapter 08
Village Petty Criminal (3)
For three days, I had been “farming” fruits and vegetables from other people’s houses.
Now, inside the chapel, I stared at the fruits that came from someone else’s home and raised my knife. Carefully, I gripped the blade and brought it down in precise 3mm intervals.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
At the sound, the eyeballs of Chef Bear Plushie Kim Poko flickered. He tossed a stone into the center of the stove, blocked the air vent to regulate the flame, and his gaze kept following me.
It was extremely piercing. Honestly, I felt a little guilty.
I hunched my shoulders and muttered.
“Y-you said I was good at cutting… right?”
Not good.
“…You said I was at least passable.”
Trash level isn’t it.
“…What about cooking?”
Trash.
The blunt voice stung, but I kept my mouth shut. A strip of fabric covering one side of Poko’s head kept drawing my attention.
Thanks to building some familiarity through recent “burrow infiltration exchanges,” I had reached a level where I could show small acts of resistance, but that was it.
The emotional distance required to stand up to that massive bear-like doll had not been bridged. I was still afraid.
Partly because the hook hanging from the ceiling was still twitching.
‘Now that I think about it…’
A question rose in my mind, followed by a strange sense of dread.
A myth came to mind about a woman who opened a box out of curiosity and unleashed calamity upon the world, but I quickly shook my head.
‘…This is one of those things it’s better not to know.’
Still, it was something I needed to understand in order to safely eat Poko’s food in the future.
After a brief pause, I asked.
“Um… is that meat hanging from the ceiling… an ingredient?”
Yes.
“I’ve never seen it used.”
So far, Poko had used ingredients I brought in as well as items stocked in his kitchen. There was quite a variety—spices and vegetables, fruits and sausages & bacon, even fish with a strangely unique aesthetic.
But raw meat had never been used.
When I mentioned this, the bear doll chef’s eyes seemed to narrow.
Even though he had no visible eyelids, I somehow felt that his eyes had narrowed.
After a moment, the ladle in his hand was gently set down into the pot.
His round black eyes—typical of a plush bear—looked at the hanging meat once, then at me…
Plop.
He spoke as if tossing the words away.
Ingredient.
But—
Humans can’t eat it.
That short answer overwhelmed me into silence. I obediently resumed cutting the fruit. My hands trembled, and the fruit pieces became increasingly uneven, but I pretended not to notice.
It felt safer not to ask further.
After finishing all the apples and placing them on a plate, I handed them over to Chef Poko.
With sharp eyes, he sorted through them, picking out uneven or poorly cut pieces and placing them into my mouth one by one before taking the rest and turning them into syrup.
Crisp.
The apples were delicious.
The apple pie he made—topped with candied apples—was also delicious.
After packing most of the finished pies into my inventory bag, I took the remaining two and left the kitchen.
Crossing the mountain path back down to the village, I observed the scenery.
People were scattered here and there.
But…
‘That place… there’s no one?’
Near the houses where I had recently been stealing apples, there were few people.
Staring quietly, I lowered my gaze to the pies in my hands.
Warm steam rose from the freshly baked pastries. Food I, in principle, had no right to possess.
My conscience was slightly scratched.
Even my life record—where my worst rule violation had been sneaking out during self-study hours in school to eat street food—now felt tarnished.
‘…Still, maybe I should let them taste the apple flavor.’
After thinking for a while, I picked up a nearby basket, dumped it out, placed a sheet of paper inside, and set the pies on top.
‘If they’re still there tomorrow, I’ll throw them away.’
Food left at room temperature for too long causes food poisoning.
In a medieval-leaning, occult-fantasy world like this, there was no doctor or medical insurance. It was better to be careful. I didn’t want to “repay kindness” with accidental poisoning.
After finishing everything, I quickly returned home.
‘I should probably prepare to meet villagers soon…’
But not right now!
And so I spent the day inside.
The next evening.
“Stop.”
“…!”
“That one can’t hear, but it’s sensitive to movement. So move slowly. Got it?”
I unexpectedly found myself entering a new storyline.
* * *
Danger comes from the most unexpected places.
In my case, that was also true.
As the evening grew darker, I was collecting items in the village as usual, holding a candle.
That was when I noticed something.
The apple pie in the basket was gone.
Whether the homeowner had taken it, or that familiar small beast had stolen it, I couldn’t tell—but the fact that someone had eaten it was what mattered.
If it was the former, then I had at least partially paid for the fruit. If it was the latter…
‘You’re an accomplice too, weasel.’
That thought eased my guilt by 0.01 grams. That was good enough.
I sorted my inventory:
Basic items: one candle holder and one box of matches.
Thirty-four candles.
Fifteen brass syringes.
Twelve pieces of dried meat.
And then:
Twelve servings of “Poko’s Special Meal.”
Three servings of “My Garbage Cooking.”
And three pieces of hidden item: “David’s Doll.”
‘At this point, I could probably go in tomorrow…’
Honestly, just thinking about going inside made my hands tremble, my teeth chatter, my skin crawl, and alarm bells ring in my head like a frantic rhythm.
But the feeling that delaying would make things worse also crept in.
That place was a cursed hellscape. If I prepared endlessly, I could spend 10 years or even 100 years trying. There was no such thing as perfection.
The longer I delayed, the more fear and obsession with “perfect preparation” would grow.
‘…I never thought I’d be thinking like this when my life is on the line.’
But to survive—really survive and return—decision was necessary.
I forced myself to think of everything I missed.
A used car I had bought for commuting. Food delivered with a few taps on a phone. A smartphone that kept me connected to friends anytime. A bakery in front of my office that made the best scones…
The memories were painfully vivid.
I could almost smell it.
The bakery’s freshly baked bread scent during morning commutes.
Sniff sniff.
“Ah… that was really good.”
I even remembered buying five extra on my first visit.
My father ate two and a half, my mother two, and I finished the rest.
Sniff sniff.
I exhaled and shook off the imaginary scent.
Yes. It was time to face reality.
…But then.
‘Was my sniffing always this loud?’
I slowly turned my head.
And—
Found you here!?
KRRAAAACK…!
A violent sound exploded as I immediately threw myself aside.
A noise like a chalkboard being torn apart by claws.
A massive paw tore through the spot where my head had been moments ago, carving deep grooves into the ground.
‘If that had been me…’
I didn’t even want to imagine it.
My heart hammered violently. I felt like my lungs were going to burst out of my mouth.
The only small relief was that I couldn’t even scream properly.
But that thing didn’t rely on sound anyway.
‘Th-there might be more of them…’
BOOOOM!
SKRRRRRRK—!
Violent noises erupted behind me, but I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t.
Looking at attack paths and dodging properly was something brave people did. Someone like me just ran.
I scanned for an escape route.
An alley.
No—too exposed.
A hunter’s house?
‘Too far!’
I had already passed it, and whatever was inside was likely closer to the monster than I was.
Someone else’s house?
No. Buildings weren’t safe zones yet.
Meaning there was no reliable help.
‘I can’t count on anyone.’
We hadn’t even met them. Why expect help?
So the answer was—
‘…Run to my house!’
David’s house was a safe zone.
If I could just get inside, everything would be fine.
Whether I could open the door in time was questionable, but every other option was worse.
- Somehow shake aggro and hide (success rate: 13.1%)
- Hide until morning (success rate: 0.1%)
‘Just run home!’
The moment I turned—
CRACK.
“Oh… damn.”
A tree behind me toppled with a horrifying sound.
I forced strength into my trembling legs.
If I hesitated, I’d meet that fallen tree in the afterlife for a short reunion.
I swallowed tears and sprinted down the path.
Only 30 meters to the house.
Sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff…
Here it is! Here it is!
CRACK—!
I ran across the stone path.
THUD!
Leapt over pits in the ground.
CRASH. THUD THUD THUD!
Ignoring flying debris, I pushed forward.
KRRAAACK.
I ran, and ran, and ran.
Gathering anything I could along the way into my arms.
Forcing my wobbling steps forward.
Finally reaching the end of the path…
‘Five meters!’
I reached out—
Grab.
“…Huh?!”
A wrinkled hand covered my mouth.
Thud!
We both rolled onto the ground.
And then—
KRRAAAACK—!
A massive sound echoed.
