Chapter 9: The New Currency for Survival Part 2

The documents were dense—pages of stipulations, clauses, and footnotes. Minami’s legalese was a labyrinth. Every comma felt like a trap. Every paragraph was a magical contract written in legal ink that bound them more thoroughly than any ancient spell. They read like survivors, not students.

No one spoke.

They just read.

Line by line. Breath by breath.

Then—Renji exploded.

“Chiba?! We’re from Chiba?!”

He slammed his tablet on the table. The sound echoed like a spell misfired.

“You dare assign us in a prefecture known for Disneyland, lukewarm beaches, and being a convenient location for Tokyo overflows?!”

Sebastian stood motionless, a human barrier of polite indifference, demonstrating that high-energy emotion was unacceptable and unchargeable in this new world. Minami didn’t blink.

Kyle used the moment of distraction to pivot to the logic.

“Wait… is it okay that we’re all listed as Japanese? I mean, Luna doesn’t exactly look local.”

It was one thing for Kyle but Luna’s features—pale skin, flaxen hair, aristocratic cheekbones—read more like a foreign princess than a Tokyo native.

Minami leaned forward, her smile polished to perfection.

“An excellent question, Kyle.”

She tapped her tablet. The screen flipped to a new page.

“Luna’s documents state her parents were foreign diplomats who fell in love with Japan and became permanent residents. It’s a charming story. Believable enough.”

She paused.

“The truth is, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have an alibi. We provide the script. The state provides the ink. The public provides the faith. You only need to provide silence”

The room fell quiet again.

Just the slow, sinking weight of understanding.

Minami’s tone didn’t change.

“These documents carry certain stipulations. While staying here, each adult may choose to pursue work, study, or an independent project.”

She smiled sweetly.

“Therefore, the monthly contribution is ¥100,000.”

Kyle felt it press against his ribs. A price tag on every breath.

“Anything extra you earn,” Minami added, her voice a cruel challenge, “is yours to keep—to pay down your principal debt, or for your own discretion. Though I imagine survival will be expensive enough.”

No one spoke.

The numbers didn’t shout.

It settled—like a weight on the chest. Kyle felt it press against his ribs. A price tag on every breath.

Minami turned to the younger members.

“As for Masayuki, Kokoro, and Kotaro—listed as ten years old—you’ll need to attend a prestigious local school. Your monthly contribution is reduced to ¥50,000.”

Kokoro’s voice was small. Measured. Careful.

“Thank you for considering our situation… But how can we work? We’re still underage.”

A beat of silence.

No hesitation. Calculation.

Sebastian stepped forward. His tone was gentle but rehearsed.

“Now that it is agreed that the private chefs, cleaners, and maintenance staff will no longer be working here, we will need new replacements.”

He turned to the children.

“In addition to your education, you’ll contribute as house cleaners—weekends and one hour after school.” He smiled faintly. “The Kurogane standard is absolute: dust and dirt are not permitted to exist in the same dimensional space as our assets.”

Kotaro stared at his tablet.

His fingers trembled slightly. The words blurred.

He wasn’t sure if it was fear, or fury, or the quiet ache of being seen only as a ten-year-old female dependent. No acknowledgement of the man trapped inside. The apron represented the final, bureaucratic seal on his identity swap.

Kokoro glanced at him. Then at Kyle.

Her eyes didn’t ask for rescue. They asked for reassurance.

But Kyle had none to give.

Masayuki stood slowly.

His voice was tight. Formal. Controlled.

“How dare you. I was the Daimyo’s loyal aide. I negotiated treaties and yet I am being sent back to school, to clean floors? Is this but a game—”

Minami clapped her hands.

The sound was soft.

But final.

“But look on the bright side!” she said, her smile dazzling and dangerous. “Working here includes your boarding, your education, and a generous weekly allowance of ¥10,000.”

Masayuki froze. He was considering to get a new katana.

“Your physical labor is simply the new currency for survival,” she added.

She said it like it was a gift. Like she was offering them a second chance.

Sebastian stepped forward, gesturing politely for Masayuki, Kokoro, and Kotaro to follow. They obeyed—grudgingly—disappearing into the back to prepare tea. The room felt colder without them.

“Pardon me, Lady Minami,” Luna said, while raising her hand with a rigid, aristocratic poise. “Would you kindly explain... what is the purchasing power of one Yen?”

The silence that followed wasn’t confusion. It was a realization.

The ¥100,000 monthly contribution—so abstract a moment ago—now translated into something painfully concrete. This small, cold conversion solidified the absolute bankruptcy of their situation: their heroic lives were worth barely a month's rent at a low-tier inn.

Renji bolted upright. Hoodie half-sliding off. Face flushed with disbelief.

“That’s insane! That’s more than I spent on manga and figurines a month before I died!”

Everyone turned back to the screen. The entertainment tab blinked open. 95% of the ¥6,500,000 entertainment debt: Renji.

Minami’s eyes gleamed.

“Oh? But Renji, you and Princess Luna are two distinct souls inhabiting one vessel. Since we’re providing services for two clients—one saint, one gremlin—perhaps we should charge you separately.”

The words hung in the air like perfume—sweet, cloying. Hard to breathe through.

Renji’s jaw snapped shut. His shame was secondary to the terrifying financial reality of being priced out of his own body. The single fee now felt like a desperate, non-negotiable form of mercy.

Kyle didn’t respond.

He stared at his new identity. The glossy cover reflected off his face like a spotlight. The biography inside was clean. Precise. Manufactured. It fit perfectly. Like a glove. Over a severed hand.

Even so, Minami’s gaze shifted, locking onto him like a stage light.

“As for you, Kyle,” she said, voice dipped in velvet, “your appearance is flexible. High school may be the most seamless way to reenter society.”

Kyle didn’t flinch.

He studied her. Not with defiance. With the calculating curiosity of a general assessing a new, unknown type of tactical threat.

“How old are you, Minami?”

Her makeup was flawless. Her posture ageless.

Minami’s laugh was soft. Theatrical.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. A lady never reveals her age,” she said, winking.

She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.

“But if you’d like, I could arrange our documentation so I’m your kohai. Or your senpai. Or even your sensei,” she whispered, her voice a dangerous purr, implying she could rewrite their legal relationship on a whim.

It sounded like a joke.

But Kyle had learned to fear Minami’s antics. Anything she said could be made true—with a tap, a clause, a smile.

Minami’s expression shifted. Her smile sharpened, as if the stale poker match had just turned.

“Actually,” she said, tapping her tablet, “I have a better idea. Given my family’s influence, I could enroll you, Renji, and Luna at Seiwa All-Girls Academy. With me.”

The room froze.

Renji face contorted in horror.

“No! Absolutely not! I’ve already done high school! The trauma! The social pressure! That’s a fate worse than fighting the Demon Lord over again!”

Luna tried to seize control.

The body twitched—one leg rising, the other refusing.

“Compose yourself,” she hissed internally.

Minami tilted her head. Her whisper curled like perfume—sweet, cloying, impossible to ignore.

“But think of it, Renji. Your soul inhabits a woman’s body. You could finally fulfill every protagonist’s dream...” she let the implication hang. “Access to the girls’ changing room.”

The silence cracked.

Renji’s horror fractured into a giggle.

Then another.

His mind flooded with visions. The kind of scenes anime protagonists dream of but never deserve. Bodies smelling of milk and honey. Soft giggles and forbidden glimpses. The gleeful side of his face shone with perverse victory, having sacrificed his dignity for a locker room key.

“Yes, yes! Sign me up to Seiwa All-Girls Academy!” he cried, bouncing in their seat.

The body twitched violently—half the face flushed with glee, the other pale with Luna’s aristocratic fury.

“You are a disgrace,” Luna shrieked internally. “Get your filthy mind out of the gutter!”

“I live there now. Rent-free,” Renji whispered, the surrender absolute. “My shame is the only thing Minami doesn't charge for.”

Kyle watched the chaos unfold.

He just… chuckled.

Quietly.

He knew that Minami’s game was not unfair; it was brutally honest. She forced them to confront their lowest desires and highest debts. She didn't pretend the world was fair. She just offered a way to survive it.

He stood. He placed his hand on the table—firm, deliberate. The sound echoed like a closing door.

He wasn't Kyle anymore.

He wasn't the Hero anymore.

He was just Kaito.

“I’ve decided,” he said, voice clear. “We’ll play your game.”