Ever since opening the Yorozuya (Odd Jobs Shop), Hikigaya felt that the purchasing power of Tokyoites was really lackluster. Otherwise, why would his stock be moving so slowly?
Most importantly, of the custors who actually bought his products, not a single one had beco a repeat custor. That was just crossing the line. Recently, Hikigaya had been considering whether he should lower the difficulty level for entering the Yorozuya.
This Ginzo Nakamori wasn't a bad person. His eyesight was terrible, but he had the advantage of being willing to do anything to catch his son-in-law. Hikigaya decided to develop him into a client.
While Hikigaya was busy adding a na to his custor list without permission, Ginzo Nakamori was staring at the scene before him with shock and uncertainty.
Having cald down slightly, Nakamori instinctively realized that the thing in front of him was bad news. A shadow flickering like a fla was abnormal no matter how you looked at it. Despite all the lights in the vicinity being on, this person was just a mass of pitch black—it looked like a humanoid shape constructed out of shadows. This wasn't an effect any uniform could produce, nor was there any way to use shadow play in this lighting environnt.
As absurd as it was, Nakamori's reason told him that since this was a museum, he might have encountered sothing "unclean."
Sweat broke out on his head. Having been a policeman for over twenty years, Nakamori was used to doubting everything, including things ordinary people considered re ghost stories. Were they really just stories? In his long career, he had encountered eerie incidents before, but never anything as direct as this.
'Why does this thing in front of look so... non-human?'
"Inspector! Inspector Nakamori!"
The voices of more and more people echoed from the corridor. Ginzo Nakamori shuddered, finally rembering that he had a gun. No matter what you are, are you afraid of bullets? He quickly drew his pistol and aid it at Hikigaya.
Simultaneously, a group of officers rushed around the corner behind Nakamori. Seeing the shadow of darkness standing under the bright lights of the corridor, the crowd cried out in alarm, and everyone instinctively drew their weapons.
Hikigaya let out a cold snort. Like most dark martial artists, he internally referred to firearms as "filthy lumps of iron."
Chunibyo and literary angst have always been close partners. For instance, Hikigaya playfully adjusted his vocal cords to sound exactly like Orochimaru from Naruto.
"Dear guest, for the sake of your own safety, it would be better not to point those filthy lumps of iron at ."
Amidst the raspy voice, starting from Ginzo Nakamori, the guns disintegrated into powder, slipping from their owners' hands. Wrapped in wind, they flew toward Hikigaya and gathered in front of him.
"Guest, you are very lucky. Because you possess an honest and pure soul, you are eligible to purchase a product from this shop."
Hikigaya, delivering these lines with feigned solemnity, felt like he was about to break character and burst out laughing. It made his stomach hurt from the restraint.
But Ginzo Nakamori and the other officers in front of him didn't feel the sa way.
Under their shocked and terrified gazes, the iron powder gathered before Hikigaya lted into two pools of molten iron—one large, one small—under intense heat. With a sizzling sound, the molten iron twisting in mid-air gradually solidified into distinct shapes.
Before long, the heat dissipated, and what appeared before everyone was... a gong and a hamr.
The crowd: "..."
'Mr. Ghost, did you confiscate our lovely little guns just to make this? If I go to a shop and buy a dozen of those right now, will you give us our little guns back?
Otherwise, we won't be able to report back to the station! If I turn this thing in when I'm supposed to surrender my weapon, the Chief will beat to death!'
"Heh heh heh..." Seeing that the police didn't recognize the value of his work, Hikigaya beca unhappy.
Having gotten addicted to playing Orochimaru, he imdiately let out a wave of demonic, mocking laughter.
"Fools. My rchandise cannot be compared to that scrap iron from before," he said.
"Write a person's na on this gong and strike it at the stroke of midnight. From then on, you can obtain that person's location and even teleport yourself to them."
The others aside, Ginzo Nakamori's eyes lit up.
"Does a fake na work too?" he asked hopefully.
"There is no such thing as a true or false na. A na represents the existence of the one who holds it. As long as there is a person or object that fits everything that na represents, it will work."
Hikigaya chuckled inwardly.
'Go catch your son-in-law, Uncle. You guys are going to have a lot of fun.'
Although, if he wrote the title "Kaito Kid," he would only be able to teleport to "Kaito Kid's" side.
"So, are you willing to accept this rchandise and beco my guest?"
Hikigaya waved his hand, and the gong and hamr floated toward Ginzo Nakamori.
"Very good, very good. You won't regret it. Thank you for your patronage. Let's say... one hour."
"Huh?" Ginzo Nakamori, who was instinctively reaching for his wallet, froze. What the hell did "one hour" an?
"Inspector!" One of the quickest-reacting officers turned pale and warned, "This guy... he wants your life!"
"He... he... he wants my... life?" Nakamori realized it too.
'This guy is a ghost! There's no way he'd accept Japanese Yen!'
Even though he usually feared nothing in heaven or earth, his heart was now trembling. It was true that he'd never feared ghosts since childhood—because he had never actually seen one. Now that he finally had, it wanted his life?
Beading with sweat, Nakamori began desperately trying to recall the ghost stories his late grandmother told him—specifically, how the protagonists dealt with a ghost's deadly demands. However, after a quick ntal search, he realized those protagonists usually ended up dead...
The sweat on his head increased.
"Ga ga ga..." Hikigaya, now deep in his role, let out a few more eerie laughs at an unfortunate timing, causing the officers present to shudder. A few unlucky souls who hadn't been to the restroom all day almost wet themselves.
"How could I possibly want your life, guest?" Hikigaya, having thoroughly enjoyed the results of his wicked sense of humor, decided to stop playing with them. After all, he was a good cop. "I am rely taking a negligible bit from your long life. Guest, you won't default on your debt, will you?"
"R-Right! Of course! Hahahaha! My motto, Ginzo Nakamori's motto, is to never default on a debt!" Perhaps having resigned himself to his fate, Nakamori's face wasn't exactly rosy, but he puffed out his chest and laughed with hands on his hips. Unfortunately, his voice lacked volu, betraying how terrified he actually was.
To this, Hikigaya gave a dark chuckle. His shadow-form shifted slightly, and a tiny glimr of light erged from Nakamori's chest.
"Sss—!"
The sound of sharp intakes of breath echoed through the hall. Though it was called a "glimr" and was very faint, the mont this light appeared, the corridor lights seed to pale in comparison. It felt as if everyone had been plunged into gloom, and in their eyes, only this tiny spark existed.
The glimr suddenly dove into the iron gong and vanished.
"Guest, please keep your items safe. We shall et again."
When the crowd regained their sense of light, they discovered to their astonishnt that the terrifying Ghost Gentleman—who had scared them to death and erased their guns—was gone.
Only that sentence continued to echo in their ears.
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