Earth Dungeon 51.1

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Chapter 51.1. Market

The bustling black market of the outer streets. A cutthroat world where even live horses are commodities. That's the black market. First, you must pay your "shoba" to the controlling forces that oversee this domain. It's a substantial sum, but unless you set up shop in a prime location, your sales will suffer.

Even sourcing goods isn't free. The inhabitants of the abandoned town bring clothing and goods from the former department store, and the inner town residents discreetly provide food supplies, which are then sold.

If you manage your sales well and make significant profits, you might attract avaricious scoundrels seeking easy money. The world can be cruel like that.

Lately, something has changed in this black market. The grimy inhabitants of the abandoned town who used to quietly peddle smoked meats of uncertain origin or odds and ends have transformed.

"Welcome! Freshly harvested corn here! Only 250 yen a piece."

"Any takers for potatoes? They're cheap and fresh! 1 kilo for 1000 yen!"

"We also have boiled corn."

"We've got coppepan!"

Even in the black market, those who occupy the prime locations raise their voices, holding vegetables and engaging in sales.

Freshly harvested corn, and potatoes larger than an adult's fist – none of it comes cheap, but these are goods not readily available in the outer streets.

Day by day, he appears energetically to sell his wares. His clothes are worn out but clean, and his hair is washed and tidy. He's cleaner than the other shopkeepers in the abandoned town.

Seeing this clean person, and trustworthy vendors offering fresh and affordable items, more and more people are drawn to visit.

"What's going on? Seriously. How did they manage to bring in so much corn and potatoes?"

He's one of the men running a stall in the black market. He's the one who buys worn clothing from the abandoned town with a distribution coupon and then resells them. He eyes the transformed vendors with irritation.

Lately, the people from the abandoned town haven't sold him clothes. Something strange is happening. He's frustrated that those who used to be his source of sustenance are changing.

People who had been content looking down at those beneath them and stopped trying to climb up now find themselves envious of these impeccably clean vendors, resentful of their apparent prosperity.

As he watches the begrudging gathering of the abandoned town's inhabitants, he notices newcomers with large bags walking over to an empty spot nearby. They're also clean. Could they be from the outer streets? He awkwardly runs his greasy hand through his hair and approaches with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Hey. Are you heading to work too?"

"Huh? Yeah. Starting work now."

The man opens his bags and pulls out bundles of cloth. Clean cloth. About the size of a furoshiki. Browns and greens, the quality doesn't seem top-notch, but it'll sell if the price is right.

The observing man frowns as he notices the overlap in merchandise. Selling the same goods isn't allowed. There's an unspoken rule in the black market.

The man is the subordinate of the new boss in charge of this area, a familiar tough guy named Numata, who is now overseeing this place. He gets up and walks toward the cloth vendors, ready to voice his complaint.

Whether he's naive or unconcerned, the cloth vendors shrug his shoulders and don't seem to pay much attention.

"Hey, you! Yeah, you!"

With heavy footsteps echoing boldly, the man walks amidst the diverse stalls, raising his voice. The cloth shopkeeper notices here, arches an eyebrow, and furrows his brow. He probably expected to be confronted.

"Hey there, business booming?"

"To make it boom, you gotta know how to sell. You get that, right?"

He leans in, shouting. You have to do this much, or you'll be seen as weak, making future business difficult. He won't resort to violence to silence the complaining shopkeeper. He's more confident that he matters more to them than the small-time thugs who'd just snatch their money.

"Oh, I see. It's tough, huh? Sorry about that. But it's decided now, so there's nothing you can do, right?"

"Don't mess with me! We spend money to source our goods. You expect us to cover your share, huh?"

He raises an eyebrow and glares. If he does this much, they'll probably rearrange the stall. He sneers inwardly.

"No covering. How many distribution coupons do you need to pay to cover your share? Could you let me know?"

The shopkeeper shudders at the voice from behind. For some reason, that voice fills him with fear. He turns around slowly and sees a man dressed in black exuding a cold aura.

The shopkeeper narrows his eyes and looks at the man in black, feeling intimidated and stepping back.

"Shopkeeper, you're quite skilled. Taking worn-out, practically worthless rags and fixing them up to create impressive clothes with a vintage feel."

The man in black steps closer, leaning in, and drapes his arm over the shopkeeper's shoulder. He instinctively understands. This man in black is dangerous. 

The shopkeeper even sold his stuff in the chaotic black market. No one emits such a dangerous aura. A glance at the shopkeeper reveals him standing still, head lowered slightly, his body trembling ever so slightly.

"Hey, could you tell me how much the 'share' costs?"

The man in black leans in too close for comfort, and the shopkeeper hurriedly shakes his head.

"Oh no, th-these clothes here... they're all from those fools in the abandoned town who were hungry. I practically got them for free. No need for any 'share,' hahaha."

The shopkeeper laughs nervously, his hand rubbing the back of his head, as the man in black nods in agreement. He's pointing a finger at his face and smiling warmly.

"I see, I see. So, the cost is practically nothing, huh?"

"That's right. Hahaha."

"I'm from the abandoned town, you know."

The shopkeeper's laughter abruptly fades, and his face turns pale. The man in black smirks dangerously, his grin sending a shiver down the shopkeeper's spine.