65

I waited a few minutes until she calmed down—then, gasping for breath, Number 8 looked at me and said one thing.

“Um, could you do something about this?”

It was true the restraints on her arms were in the way, but the sight of her disheveled clothes leaving her exposed was far too enticing, so I bought myself a little more time.

“Calm.”

I wrote only that in a spot she could see, and Number 8 nodded vigorously.

Finally, I wrote “Don’t struggle” and waited for her answer; when she nodded again, time was up.

I pinched the hardened earth restraining her and broke it.

The moment her arms were free, Number 8 scratched at her chest.

So much for the fantasy of femininity—her straight punch exploded beautifully.

“Ahh, that itched.”

She sighed, then tried to fix her outfit, though it didn’t go too well.

“…Guess I’ll just have to make do with this.”

She managed to fix it so that the side of her breasts was still fully visible, but she couldn’t undo the slit torn into the cloth below her waist, so that remained as it was.

She had only folded and tucked the torn parts to cover them, so one good jolt would expose her again.

“I just want to confirm again… You’re not going to eat me, or kill me… right?”

Of course, it was natural for her not to trust me.

So, I decided to play a little prank.

After staring at her for a while, I poked one of those plump mounds with my finger.

She immediately guarded her chest with a fierce look, but when she read the words I wrote in the dirt, her face went pale.

“Edible portion, little.”

“They’re not food! My boobs might be soft, but they’re not food!”

Number 8 retreated backward, so I quickly reassured her with, “I won’t eat you, you don’t look tasty anyway!” That got her to calm down, though she was clearly still trying to escape.

When I wrote “I don’t eat bipeds,” she finally settled down, though she kept her distance.

Which was only natural, but it left me wondering what to do next.

For the moment, I bought time by asking her questions.

“Reason. Chosen.”

I asked why she had ended up with this role—but that was a mistake.

“Because it’s all that bitch’s fault! I want to catch a young, promising man too, you know! I’m already at a marriageable age, so of course I’ll try to seduce one, duh! And that guy they pushed at me? Not even interested! A guy who only stares at boobs? No thanks! How many times do I have to say this! I never intended to interfere with their romance, and I never did! Yet she holds a grudge, calling me some jealous harlot! And don’t you dare talk down to me, you petty, pimply, flat-chested shut-in! Do you know how much effort I’ve put into snagging my ideal man!?”

She really could talk.

This time, the fantasy received a high kick, and I began to resign myself to the fact that this was simply her character.

(She really just spouts complaints nonstop… She’s got a lot bottled up.)

As Number 8 ranted, I thought about what to do next.

The problem of “what to do with her” seemed deceptively simple but was anything but.

Given her circumstances, sending her back to the village was impossible for now.

Even if she did go back, she’d need time.

Otherwise, in the worst case, she’d be killed.

She wasn’t stupid enough not to realize that, so she likely wouldn’t choose to return.

The next option was me taking her with me—but then, where?

My observation outpost was out of the question.

I couldn’t let her know about that place.

If I wasn’t going to kill her, she absolutely could not go near it.

Then what about my main base?

Think about what I had brought back there… Yes, piles of porn magazines.

And data disks in their cases too—not safe.

She could stay in the surface section, but with elven abilities, she’d easily reach the underground. I couldn’t completely stop her.

So should I abandon her?

After saving her, that wasn’t an option.

And depending on her combat ability, she might not even survive on her own, ending up dead in no time.

The immediate issue was figuring out how to calm her down.

(What’s the right move here? If my sister started throwing a hysterical fit, I think I…)

My younger sister, constantly compared to her perfect elder sister, often vented her frustration.

Her own specs were high enough, in my eyes—but when you were stacked against an older sister who not only had top grades, but also modeled, helped with Mom’s work, and still managed housework, you ended up labeled the “leftover sibling.”

And what could I do as her brother?

“Jealousy. Not worth considering.”

I poked Number 8 on the shoulder and showed her the words I wrote in the dirt.

She froze, then looked up at me.

“Right!? That’s what I thought too!”

In situations like this, offering a simple, convenient explanation she could latch onto helped her calm down.

By giving her an outlet for her anger that made sense to her, I could diffuse the situation.

Apparently, this worked for her too—her mood cooled visibly.

“If even a monster thinks so, then I really must have too much charm… No, maybe I’m just too attractive for my own good. A good woman is one who makes other women jealous, right?”

The problem was her interpretation had swung to being a bit too convenient.

At this point, I filed Number 8 under the category of “troublesome woman.”

(Elf—beautiful. Breasts—excellent. But that personality… Well, maybe obvious flaws make her feel more approachable.)

I might need to rethink how to deal with her, but first, I needed to check her intentions and abilities.

“Wow, never thought I’d be lectured by a monster. Such a rare experience only sharpens me further… Oh, I forgot to thank you. You saved me again. And last time too, I’m really grateful.”

If she could thank a monster like me, she couldn’t be all bad.

(A woman’s smile is her strongest weapon, huh…)

At the very least, since she could smile and thank me, maybe I could trust her a little.

So I asked about her “future plans.”

“Obviously, I’m going to crush those idiots’ balls! And then drag that shut-in out and expose all their crimes!”

Yep. Not the brightest.

I told her that if she returned now, there was a high chance she’d be silenced before the issue could spread.

She blinked and said, “Huh? Why?”—forcing me to bury my face in my hands.

It took several explanations—that she was here precisely because that shut-in had resorted to extreme measures, and if she went back, they’d do anything to get rid of her—for her to finally understand.

Her earlier fire gone, she turned pale and flustered.

“Wait, does this mean I can’t go back to the village anymore? Survival in the forest is impossible for me!”

It seemed she had little in the way of survival or combat skills.

To avoid more hysterics, I wrote “Calm down” in the dirt and showed her.

“Calm down? How? I can’t hunt, I don’t know what’s edible in the forest… Ah, you’ll take care of me, right!?”

Starting out dependent on others—that said a lot about her personality.

At least she understood returning was dangerous. So I asked what she wanted to do.

“First, crush their balls. Then drag that shut-in out and denounce him.”

I had asked the wrong question.

“From now on—life. Means of survival?”

When I bluntly asked “How do you plan to live?” her face went pale again.

I asked if she had anyone she could rely on.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have been forced into being a shrine maiden.”

She answered, her eyes dead.

Which meant I couldn’t just abandon her.

I sighed and wrote next to my earlier words, “Shelter available,” offering to take her with me.

She stared at it for a while, then looked up.

“…Safe?”

“Nearby monsters cleared.”

“I demand a roof, a comfortable bed, and proper food.”

As I started to walk off, she clung to my tail.

“Wait! I was joking! Elf humor! Don’t leave me alone, I’ll die!”

I flicked my tail, tossing her into the air, then caught her neatly in my right hand.

It was a skill honed through practice.

“You can praise me, you know?”

She said with a smug face, pressing her breasts forward.

Perched on my hand, she wobbled and spread her arms wide to balance, freezing in place.

Then she quickly adjusted her clothes and looked at me.

“Um… Eventually I can go back to the village, right?”

“Highly likely.”

“Until then, will you take care of me?”

I wanted to ask why I had to do that, but the truth was, without protection, she’d die.

Even she admitted that much.

So unless I protected her for a while, she wouldn’t survive.

Asking Number 6 was technically an option, but the price she’d demand was unknown. If the situation became public and there was some merit in her accepting Number 8, maybe—but otherwise, it could end with Number 8 being eliminated.

I didn’t have enough information on the other side, and my choices were limited.

So I asked her to state what benefit she could offer by coming to my base.

But when I asked, “What can you do?” she stayed silent.

Thinking maybe she had some hidden skill, I gave her some suggestions.

“Cooking?”

She shook her head.

“Cleaning?”

She shook her head again.

Laundry wasn’t needed, so dismantling prey?—No.

When I asked if she had any skills, she thought for a moment, then proudly lifted her chest.

(Nothing but boobs? Could it be they tried to get rid of her because she was useless…?)

From what those men said, I doubted it—but if the higher-ups had decided, “She’s just a waste, do whatever you want with her,” then her return was far from guaranteed.

Not wanting things to get any more troublesome, I looked up at the sky and sighed.

Unhappy with my reaction, she tearfully poked me and said,

“React better than that!”

Seriously, what the hell was I supposed to do with her?