JK Haru is a Sex Worker in Another World: Summer

by Ko Hiratori

  I asked if she would rather have normal tea. But she said that she liked this kind of tea too and politely refused.

  I just remembered.I was baking a cake.

  Today I was practicing for my cooking school, so I felt bad that it was just a plain round cake, but I served it as a “thank you for going along with my practice session.”

  Miss Kiyori politely refused, but I needed the validation, so I stubbornly thrust it at her in silence. I was tenacious. Miss Haru says that pushing is the foundation of both love and sumo. Not that this was love or sumo.

  “All right, if you insist.” When she took a bite of the cake, she pressed her hands to her cheeks with a blissful look on her face and said, “Mmm.” It struck me that a pretty person really is pretty while eating, too.

  “The natural fragrance and sweetness of the ream grass spreads through your mouth like a meadow. And the texture and softness of the cake support and envelope it. That’s because the cake is well-made and the amount of ream grass used is just right. And the berries have been cooked properly to mellow out their acidity. All your work overflows with care and kindness. I feel so floaty and happy, like I’m napping—or maybe gazing at the clouds—on a hill where ream and berries are blooming. It’s so delicious.”

  Wow, though, she was unusually talented at conveying her impressions. If there were a job that was just enjoying lots of food in front of people and giving your impressions, she could definitely make a living doing it. Ifthere were a job like that...

  “And it looks cute, too. That’s important.” It seemed like I had managed to make it instaworthy, too. I’ve really been working on that lately. “A cake is such a mysterious dish. Did you learn this from Miss Haru?”

  I cook more than just the cafe’s menu. Much of it is things I learned from Miss Haru or recipes we came up with together. But I explained how the cake was different. What I heard is that my predecessor’s predecessor recreated it based on an explanation from the boy adventurer (the same one who gave mangameat its name).

  Miss Haru is familiar with lots of evolved forms of cake, so I learned improvements and new techniques, but the base is still from my predecessors’ recipe book. When they put it on the menu, none of the customers were interested in it, so the recipe had been shelved for a long time.

  Miss Kiyori seemed surprised—from about the time I mentioned the boy adventurer.

  “Umm...is something wrong?”

  “No, err...” She wondered if maybe that boy adventurer was from the same town as Miss Haru, her voice shaking. If I looked closely, her hands seemed to be shaking, too.

  “But the demon lord is still alive. Maybe tons of heroes have been coming for ages. Yet no one has been able to defeat the demon lord. Our enemy deep in the forest is so horrible that no hero up to this point has been able to defeat him...” Miss Kiyori was murmuring about something, but I didn’t really get it.

  What’s wrong? Why is she talking about the demon lord while eating cake?Leave it to someone who finds my conversations interesting to change the topic in such an eccentric way. But I don’t know anything about the demon lord or adventurers. I have nothing to do with any of that.

  “Mr. Jaysohlbrother.”

  “Uh, yes?”

  “We want Miss Haru to stay smiling here with us, right? We want her to live a long life, right? We want to change the world with her, right?”

  It was so sudden that I hesitated, but considering it was Miss Haru, I agreed. Wishing her many smiles and a long life, I nodded, sandwiching my neck flesh.

  “Then we can’t leave everything to Miss Haru. This is our problem, so we can’t be so quick to give up. I have to get stronger, too.” She spoke quietly as if talking to herself. I feel like it’s pretty rare for a Sister to want to get strong. Maybe she really is a bit of an odd one.

  I realize I’m an odd cook, and Miss Haru is probably an odd sex worker, so maybe my generation of this cafe is going to be kind of crazy.

  “So, Mr. Jaysohlbrother, do you know any combat techniques?”

  Finally Miss Kiyori lost me. I’m a cook. I’m aiming to be a celebrity chef. Even if I went to the battlefield, it would be to run the kitchen. But when I met her powerful gaze, or rather, gazed into her big eyes, I felt pressured to come up with an answer. I broke into something like a cold sweat.

  “Actually, I am learning something called sumo from Miss Haru.”

  “What? From Miss Haru herself? So your name means ‘warrior’? She must expect great things from you. I’m jealous.”

  Really?I was a bit embarrassed.

  “So what kind of moves do you use?”

  “Umm, okay, well, I’ll try to show you.” I felt a bit silly, but moved into an open area.

  Since Miss Haru made it to number three in sales at Blue Cat Nocturne, she moved into a bigger room. So she said, “Well, since I have the space, I’ll teach you sumo,” and that’s how my training began.

  Honestly, I thought she was going to do some new kind of thing that would feel good, but instead she threw my lecherous butt without breaking a sweat. The fact that Miss Haru, who was so thin and small, could pick me up was surprising, but I was also surprised by how insistent she was about doing sumo every time we went up to the second floor.

  She said, “It’s fun, like an after-school club.” I don’t know what an afters choolclub is, but she seems to enjoy it, so I do, too. It makes quite a racket, though, so I think her boss scolds her.

  Now I was doing it in front of someone else for the first time. I was worried I might scare Miss Kiyori. Still, I was eager to show off the fruits of my daily training.

  I planted both my feet and then lifted one leg up high. I stomped that foot, then did the other side. I scooted forward, dragging my heels. Then I opened both palms toward the heavens, and after that I moved one hand to my belly button.

  “...What are you doing?” Miss Kiyori cocked her head in confusion.

  I had a bad feeling that maybe I had done something wrong, but I answered, “Sumo.”

  “Huh? That was sumo? I guess I don’t really get it. That is, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “Miss Haru says that this is the basic sumo greeting...so when I go upstairs, this is the first thing we do.”

  “To each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean, with a straight face?”

  “With a straight face.”

  “Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Uh, sorry. But when I imagine it, I can’t help but—sorry. Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!” She apologized over and over but nonetheless kept laughing. I must have really tickled her funny bone.

  Maybe it’s not for combat after all? But I was happy I got Miss Kiyori to laugh.

  “You two really are a lot of fun, huh?” she said, wiping the corners of her eyes.

  If both Miss Haru and Miss Kiyori think it’s fun, that’s a reason to continue. I think I’ll keep working on my sumo for a bit longer.

  “Mr. Sumo...err, sorry. Mr. Jaysohlbrother.”

  “Umm, you can call me Sumo. I’m used to it.”

  “No, please let me call you Mr. Jaysohlbrother. Otherwise there was no point to me learning your real name.” She said it over again, looking straight at me.

  Miss Kiyori has such a beautiful face. (Of course, Miss Haru does, too. Oh, and Miss Lupe.) I used to be a total stranger to anything to do with women, so it hit me again how much my life has changed in the past few months after meeting these girls. It all started when I fell in love with Miss Haru at first sight and shamelessly followed her to the brothel.

  “Mr. Jaysohlbrother.” Oh right, Miss Kiyori was talking.She called my real name again and then stopped for some reason, smiling as if to gloss it over. “You really love Miss Haru, don’t you, Mr. Jaysohlbrother?”

  The only thing I don’t like about Miss Kiyori is how she sometimes hits the nail right on the head and stabs you with it.

  “Huh? Uh, umm.” I had no idea how to answer, so all I could do was wipe away the waterfall of sw
eat pouring down my face. But no matter how much I wiped, my temperature kept rising. It was as if I’d turned into a big mangameat.

  “...I like that about you,” Miss Kiyori said softly. She hit the nail on the head again, but for some reason, it seemed like this time she stabbed herself, and she pressed her hands to her heart. “You’re so single-minded and pure. The emotions you show are always so clean and fresh. For the longest time I’ve been trying to be more like Miss Haru, but maybe I should be aiming to be more like you.”

  She looked up at me bashfully, biting her lip as she smiled. She was bright red. “I love you, Mr. Jaysohlbrother.”

  Then she cast a spell that stopped time. Even my breathing and heartbeat stopped, so I rushed to inhale.

  I had no idea how to react. That wasn’t a stabbing at all. Or rather, it was such an impossible blow that my head turned to mush.

  “Sorry to say something so weird out of nowhere like that. What I love about you is how serious you are about Miss Haru. I just want to watch you, with that passion, cook; it’s not as if I want you to turn my way.”

  She told me not to think too hard about it. I don’t think I can think very well in this state, anyway.

  “I don’t want to interfere in your emotions, and my ideal relationship with you is the one we have right now. I just really wanted to tell you how I felt. I’ll probably be defiled again, so at least before that happens, I just...”

  I didn’t really understand her confession. But between wondering what she meant by “defiled” and the fact that, come to think of it, she had said she wanted to get stronger, I got the feeling she was trying to do something different from normal Sister work, something totally unexpected, and it made me strangely nervous.

  But it didn’t seem like a subject I could broach. As I was hesitating, she finally clapped her hands in front of her chest as if to close the conversation.

  “Anyhow, sorry to be weird. It’s hard to put your own feelings into words, isn’t it? Even though you should be the closest to them, they’re so easy to lose sight of. Hee-hee.”

  I completely agreed. I often lose track of what I’m trying to say. Even then, my heart was pounding and my brain wasn’t working right.

  “Huh?” Miss Kiyori cocked her head and then sniffed the air. “Mr. Sumo—err, Mr. Jaysohlbrother! Your meat!”

  “Ack.” I forgot I was still grilling the meat. Hurrying to take the burned lump off the heat, I touched it with my bare hands and dropped it. I nearly turned my hands into mangameat. “Ow, that burns...”

  “Are you okay, Mr. Jaysohlbrother?”

  Miss Kiyori cast healing magic on me. I’ve heard it’s pretty expensive if you request it in the usual way, but she turned down my offer to pay. “You always give us a discount, so this is the least I can do. More importantly, I guess that meat has gone to waste, huh?”

  I picked the charred mangameat up off the floor. I couldn’t very well serve it anymore. But I couldn’t imagine throwing it away, either.

  “If I scrape off the outer layer, I think it can still be eaten.” I put a knife into the meat. From beneath the burned crust appeared juicy flesh of the right color.

  “Oh, looks great. I’m glad you could save it.”

  Yes, for the two of us to eat, it was just fine. It didn’t matter that it got a little dirty. “I can transform anything into a tasty dish. Even if the food is dirty or damaged, it doesn’t mean you have to give up on it.”

  “You’re right. Under the charred exterior the meat is grilled brilliantly.”

  “The important part is what’s inside. And cooking can be a metaphor for all sorts of things. A little issue is actually no problem. Yeah.”

  “It might actually improve the aroma. And all that juice looks delicious.”

  I was trying to say in a roundabout way, in response to Miss Kiyori’s mention of being defiled, that no matter how defiled she was, she was still beautiful, but either because I didn’t express myself well enough or because she was really hungry, she interpreted it as just more commentary on the meat.

  But whatever, that’s fine. I’m sure the meat was happy to be called delicious-looking.

  “Would you like to have some before you go? I can’t serve it to a customer, so you don’t need to pay anything.”

  “What? Really? I just might...”

  “Yes. I’ll season it now.”

  I performed the seasoning-from-high-above technique I learned from Miss Haru.

  “Does that have some special meaning?” Miss Kiyori asked with a straight face, and once again, I wasn’t sure how to answer.

  The Muck Always Sinks to the Bottom

  I’ve been hanging around with Widgecraft for going on thirty years now.

  We all went gray going along with his ridiculous dream to defeat the demon lord. Everyone had different colored skin and eyes, different upbringings, different languages; but we stuck together till we all had the same hair color. It was quite a long journey. Frankly, I’m impressed we survived.

  Widge is a dumbass who loves a good festival, but once he’s in the forest, he’s cautious and stronger than anyone else. That’s why I teamed up with him, of course, but there were more than a couple times I thought,Oh shit, we’re doomed.

  I’ve been punched so hard by a demon I flew up into the trees. I’ve been surrounded by a swarm of poisonous ants. I was tormented by a horrible fever, cause unknown, for three days and nights.

  It was a life of coming out of the forest crying,I don’t wanna diiiie!and then going right back in because if you’re going to die, the forest is the only place to do it. I’m a bit of a dummy myself—I just have to breathe that forest air. It’s basically my hometown.

  So into the pub where this band of dumbasses hangs out comes a woman who looks awfully out of place. She wore a pure white dress with a pure white hat. Even her skin was so pale you wondered if it had ever seen the sun. In contrast, her hair was a glossy black, and her gleaming eyeballs were so big they seemed about to pop out of her head.

  This was a real lady. She was a clever, elegant, city girl. Her parents let her go to school, and now she worked as a fancy-pants Sister.

  I’m from a minority group that lived on the eastern edge of the forest, got mud-colored skin full of tattoos, and no one in town even comes near, but here she was sitting across from me, and with this serious-ass face she says:

  “Can I be your apprentice?”

  At first I didn’t even know what she meant. Then after thinking for a minute, I realized she was teasing me, and I thought it was funny, so I laughed. I laughed up a storm, took my glass of bukaren wine I hadn’t even had a sip of yet, threw it in the Sister’s face, and gave her a thumbs down. I made sure she could see my darkly shining orc fang ring.

  “I’ve got a message for your god. ‘Ifyouwanna be my apprentice, come on by.’”

  The guys at the pub laughed their asses off. The Sister bobbed her head, made a half-asleep nonsense comment, “I’ll try again another day,” and left.

  She had a better ass than I expected, so I made my friends laugh again by making a joke about it.

  *

  I was born, as you know, in the Seigaya region. It’s on the other side of the Demon Lord Forest smack in the middle of this country. I was born in the east, but not in a city there. I was practically raised in the woods. This skin, these tattoos. The food and culture is different, you know. So we’re called the Cursed People.

  Of course, we’re not cursed at all. Not a thing’s wrong with us. The curse is in you all’s eyes and hearts.

  Anyway, we couldn’t stay where there were lots of people. We lived in a little riverside village, crawling around in the dirt with the beasts.

  The river running through the forest is the color of dirt. They say it’s a flow of rainwater, and drinking straight from the source is a recipe for the runs. Besides that, the weather’s much hotter than it is here. The first things I remember are the reek of grass and the smell of mud; the buzzing of the bu
gs and the demon battle cries you hear at night.

  We get a spear right from birth. They’re the short kind you can use as projectiles. When you reach a certain age, you get your own string and feathers to tie to it. That’s so everyone knows who made the kill. By the age of 15, we’re full-fledged hunters. That’s what we’re raised for.

  “Igo, you’re next.”

  Once, when I was eight or nine, the adults ordered us to climb to the top of a cliff and jump into the river. There were a few trials a year like that until we came of age. The guys who died weren’t cut out for living. In other words, they couldn’t be helped.

  I was good at moving my body and showing off my bravery. Nothing ever scared me. I turned around, pointed my thumbs toward the ground, and pulled a stupid face by rolling my eyes and twirling my tongue as I fell. The adults made sour faces while the kids my age clapped.

  People said I would be a hero.A hero. They were idiots, the whole lot of ’em. They believed with a religious faith that a man who would turn the world upside down could be born in that little shit stain of a village.

  After each trial, the men who performed especially well were tattooed. It was a lot of pain for a kid to take, but it was an honor. I drank celebration water and calmly accepted the ink. By that time, I already had a chest full of black. I had more than any of my friends.

  But on rainy days, it itched. The ink was made of demon blood. The adults said it wanted to return to the forest.

  The demons are terrible beings, but to us they’re almost like gods. It was believed that bringing our flesh closer to theirs was one way to grow stronger. As a kid, that logic made no sense to me, and the whole thing was just a big pain. It itched so bad until the blood took to your own.

  One rainy day, I thought I would go to the river and wash. The itching wasn’t quite as bad if you cooled off the skin. But that was where I encountered one for the first time.

  A demon.

  It was watching from the opposite bank—a monster with four legs like a horse and a long neck. But its body was all squishy like it didn’t have any bones, and its eyeballs took up half of its head. When it opened its mouth, I could see packed rows of sharp little teeth, and sticky drool dribbled out. Then it licked its lips at me as I stood there quivering, unable to move, and waded into the river.