Monsterholic, Vol. 1 by Ghost Mikawa and Rag Miwano

Author:Ghost Mikawa and Rag Miwano [Mikawa, Ghost and Miwano, Rag]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Yen On
Published: 2024-12-17T00:00:00+00:00

It was a simple demand.

Slip, slip.

With movements so smooth that one could hardly hear any slurping noises, the thin udon noodles were sucked past her lips.

It was as if he were watching some kind of time-lapse video. She brushed her hair back so it wouldn’t get in the soup and occasionally wiped her skin, which was sweaty from the heat of the broth as she downed her order in about three minutes.

“Thanks for the food. You don’t want anything?” asked Kei Kakiba, having devoured the kitsune udon until there was not one drop of broth or piece of green onion left.

Reiji, who was calculating the contents of his old wallet, replied rather sadly, “I have no money. Being a poor student.”

“Me either. You paying helps a lot.”

“Does the udon taste better since I’m paying?”

“Way better. Especially when I think about you sitting there hungry.”

“Don’t season your meal with my frustrations.”

The cold look on his face made it seem like he was joking, but his hunger was real.

His afternoon lunch box was fish sausage and rice balls. That day, it was Getsu’s turn to cook. He could cook decently enough, but it was all the cheapest food possible to save money. The unsalted rice paired well with the taste of fish sausage, but it chilled the heart.

Thinking back on his eating habits made him envious of this hot udon—and that felt a little pathetic.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Kei asked after politely setting down her disposable chopsticks and moving her bowl aside. She had a surprisingly cooperative attitude. “I won’t answer any questions I don’t want to, but I’ll give you a bowl of udon’s worth.”

“Thanks for your cooperation. It’s about the track club first-year girl who passed away the other day. Mai Ikeda.”

Her fingers twitched slightly. She controlled her expression. But she did give away a bit of shock.

He was certain that Kei Kakiba had known the hit-and-run centaur—Mai Ikeda—when she was alive.

“People witnessed you in contact with her when she was alive,” he said. “What did you talk about?”

“I don’t think it’s good to probe into the private lives of the dead.”

“I agree. But I’ve had a request from her friend to investigate her death.”

“…You’re a detective?”

“Sort of, but I’m a cleaner. I don’t have permission to do detective work.”

In other words, this was not legal, but as a Special with limited human rights, that didn’t apply to him in the first place.

He wasn’t bound by the rules—and of course neither was he protected by them. It was an either-or situation: In order to gain protection, you would also be bound.

“So you’re unlicensed. Is this a challenge against a controlled society?”

“It’s part of my profession. I’m not challenging anything. I’m a kept pet, and my taxes are high.”

There was his income tax, municipal tax and other charges for participation in public services.

It was a tight situation, just barely being able to be human via the credit score of Fantastic Sweeper, which he worked for.

“Think of it as, like, a bonus service for clients.

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