Walking down the dazzling, neon-lit streets, Orsaga took in the sea of pedestrians and the jumble of overlapping voices.
The habits of the locals—their speech patterns, mannerisms, and subtle cultural cues—might seem trivial, but they often held more power than one might expect.
So, after spending so ti observing, he quickly absorbed it all.
At the very least, he managed to shift from a stiff "translator's tone" to a fluent London accent.
At the sa ti…
Passersby all around him couldn't help but steal glances.
Though he now looked completely human—no horns, no claws, no wings—his appearance had reached such an exceptional level that it teetered on the edge of charm-based enchantnt. Pair that with his composed deanor and tasteful attire, and he radiated a refined, inexplicable air of elegance.
One look, and people subconsciously thought: 'Now that's soone important.'
Even among a crowd, he walked like a king in royal robes striding through a gilded palace—causing others to feel quietly self-conscious in comparison.
So pedestrians even assud he was filming a comrcial or movie and started glancing around, trying to spot a cara crew.
But Orsaga, unfazed, walked on as if none of it mattered. This kind of attention was far from new to him.
He felt no discomfort or nervousness.
To him, staying low-profile ant "not causing trouble," not "blending in with the crowd."
He had zero interest in pretending to be ordinary.
Compared to the Earth from his previous life, this version was far more technologically advanced.
Basic-level AI robots were now commonplace. While they weren't flexible enough for complex work, they could easily replace humans in rigid, repetitive tasks.
Life across the board—housing, transport, communication—had seen major upgrades. Automation and digitization perated nearly every sector.
In fact, aerospace tech had already established colonial bases on the Moon and Mars.
And space travel was now a sowhat affordable, civilian-level transport option. Its cost was comparable to that of airplanes back in the old days. For the average citizen, it was a bit pricey, but not out of reach for occasional trips.
He took his ti strolling around, picking up information:
– How to board maglev trains...
– How to call police service bots...
– General market prices for everyday goods...
– Details about cars…
After familiarizing himself with the city's layout and general systems, Orsaga felt a faint hunger creep in.
Without hesitation, he walked into the nearest Fast food.
Expression calm as ever, he ordered a burger, a few drumsticks, and a cola—all while the female cashier stared at him with an entranced look.
If this were his main body eating, it would've been just for the taste. But this current physical vessel—his mortal form—actually needed food.
———
When the food was served by a robot waiter, Orsaga picked up the burger and took a bite.
The taste was neither good nor bad.
The at patty reeked of cheap mass production.
But he didn't complain. It was ant to be fast food—cheap and filling.
That was all it needed to be.
Compared to the als he was used to, this food was nutritionally void and flavorless.
He took a sip of the cola.
The taste was just as he rembered: a watered-down, carbonated sugar bomb. Cheap and artificial.
"Simple and bland, huh."
Clicking his tongue in mild disappointnt, he moved on to the chicken drumsticks.
'Damn it. Not even a dash of chili powder…'
Just then, a burst of perfu wafted into his nose.
He looked up to see a woman—around thirty-five, voluptuous, dressed lavishly and provocatively—swaggering through the restaurant under the jealous stares of the other won.
With practiced elegance, she strutted over to Orsaga and sat down across from him, legs crossed.
Smiling calmly, she asked, "Hey handso, mind if I get to know you?"
Orsaga glanced at her face.
'Hmm, not bad. Upper-tier looks…'
As a firm believer in the power of appearances, he decided to humor her. "Orsaga. That's my na. What do you want?"
The woman, slightly dazed by his calm, striking face, extended her hand and said, "Petra Osborne. Nice to et you."
Without giving it much thought, Orsaga shook her hand casually and responded with a flat, "Oh."
Letting go of his hand, Petra lingered for a mont before asking, "You don't seem too into the food here. Want to go sowhere else for dinner?"
Just like many n desire beautiful won, many won are drawn to striking n.
It's simply biological instinct.
Of course, ugly people can feel attraction, but rarely experience being the object of it.
In Petra's case, she had already been following Orsaga for over ten minutes.
The mont she saw him on the street, she felt her heart skip a beat—as if struck by Cupid's arrow.
It was the first ti in her life she'd felt sothing so intense.
Under normal circumstances, soone like her—who frequented high-end restaurants—would never set foot in a fast-food joint like this.
To put it bluntly, the price of her lipstick touch-up after eating here probably cost more than the entire al.
Hearing her offer, and feeling a bit bored with life, Orsaga perked up.
After all, he never turned down good food.
He asked directly, "You're paying?"
Petra, who had been rehearsing how to react if she got rejected, was caught completely off guard.
She blinked, then chuckled and said, "You're funny. It's just dinner. Doesn't matter who pays. Don't tell … you're broke?"
From her perspective, the outfit Orsaga was wearing had to be custom-tailored with high-end fabrics—easily worth over £10,000 just in material.
Factor in the tailor fees, designer shoes, tie, belt, brooch, cufflinks…
The entire ensemble likely cost at least £200,000.
Enough to buy a mid-range sports car.
He was, essentially, wearing the annual inco of multiple working families on his back.
How could soone like that be poor?
But Orsaga replied with complete sincerity:
"Actually, I am kind of broke.
The clothes—I made them myself.
All I've got is around a thousand pounds.
No bank account, no digital wallet."
"Pfft—"
Petra burst into laughter at his deadpan tone.
"You really are good at this. That outfit alone could buy a car. No way you're broke."
"…Sigh…"
Orsaga let out a helpless sigh. "Every ti I tell the truth, no one believes …"
Seeing his exasperation, Petra teased, "Then maybe it's ti you figured out a way to make money?"
Orsaga nodded. "Sounds about right. I am a bit short on cash—I'll have to co up with sothing soon."
Still thinking he was joking, Petra grew even more amused and asked with a playful smile, "Want to try the easiest way to earn money?"
"Easiest?"
He raised an eyebrow, now genuinely curious.
Originally, Orsaga had planned to hack into the system and siphon funds from various bank accounts.
But in this world, with advanced AI defenses, his current mortal state made that plan highly impractical—it would take at least a week to pull off, assuming no errors.
And he'd have to code everything from scratch.
Any mistake could land him in prison.
Plus, his body simply wasn't efficient enough to handle it—push it too hard, and he'd risk dropping dead.
So when he heard about this so-called "easiest way," he was instantly intrigued.
__
T/N:
Hello everyone! My Patreon is just $3 — a perfect opportunity to access 85 advanced chapters and support.
🔗 patreon/user?u=79514336
Or simply search Translator-Sama on Patreon
User Comments
0 comments from readers