Mastore 100 - Dumpster

Magic Realm Convenience Store – Ch. 99

Business isn’t going well because the car is too big (4)

The orc with the intact shoulder didn’t actually get behind the wheel. He was drunk, after all.

Still, he did comply in moving the car. He used his key to open the driver's seat and release the parking brake, then dragged it by grabbing the rear bumper.

Watching this scene made me think about many things. Like why he made such a fuss when he could move the car without touching the steering wheel, or how this orc must be able to bench press at least 600 people.

And how on earth did the gentleman elder manage to dislocate twelve orcs, twenty-four shoulders, without even getting a speck of dust on him? The orc, who had dragged the forklift for about ten meters, returned and asked the old man.

“Is that enough, Boss?”

His tone was the very embodiment of respect. The elder answered with a silent nod, and then, as if suddenly remembering something, asked the orc,

"Do you frequent this convenience store?"

"I've been here a few times during the day. Why—"

"I come here often myself, you see."

“Oh…”

"We might run into each other again if you happen to return."

To my ears, this translates to: Whatever your intention, don't ever come back here again. The moment you catch my eye again, I'll turn you into an orc 0.5.

And the orc, proving he had at least some survival instincts, quickly lowered his head and mumbled,

"Yes... yes. I'll remember that, sir."

"And... ah. The youngsters resting in the alley should be fine in about 30 minutes, so don't worry."

This sounded like he was telling the orc to take care of them himself after 30 minutes. The orc nodded again at those words and ran towards the alley as if he was half running away.

The orc nodded again, then bolted toward the alley, half running and half fleeing.

“Boss. Are you hurt anywhere?”

"My body's fine, but I think my mind's quite bruised."

I've worked convenience store jobs before, and it's not like I haven't dealt with drunk thugs. 'That's not a 1+1 product,' 'We don't have what you're looking for,' and even tried to strike up a conversation.

But even those thugs had some basic common sense. 'Pick something else,' 'Try looking elsewhere,' they'd at least understand when you answered politely.

And I can't think of asking someone to move their car as an unreasonable or difficult request to understand. Feeling this was an important point to address, I asked the gentleman elder,

"Elder. May I ask you something?"

“Of course.”

"I haven't dealt with many orcs, but is asking them to move a car considered a very rude request to orcs?"

This whole thing happened because I was a clueless newbie in this otherworld convenience store, unaware of how drunk orcs behave.

This conclusion was only half correct.

"Though it might sound prejudiced, orcs tend to be that way."

"Even without alcohol?"

"Yes. Even without alcohol. Young orcs in particular... tend to be especially rude."

In short, the racial characteristics of orcs lean toward aggressiveness.

It starts with them grabbing each other’s tusks and fighting among themselves, then escalates to bloody battles over who gets to be the top dog in kindergarten. Even during their middle school years, their uniforms are never free of bloodstains…

And even after reaching adulthood, their aggression doesn’t just disappear, and immature orcs often pick fights over trivial reasons, trying to start conflicts one way or another.

"And other races tolerate this?"

"They do tolerate it. And it tends to improve with time."

There are two ways this improvement happens, one being paying lots and lots of settlement money.

They say orcs start seriously contemplating their social skills once settlement amounts exceed their monthly income from two jobs. The ones who can’t do that end up starving to death, so I’ll never have to meet or worry about them.

The other way is following orcs' long-standing tradition. Since ancient times, when elements of conflict arose, orcs have used means other than dialogue to resolve them.

“Fist... No. You mean to follow the opinion of the stronger one?”

“Yes.”

The orc's compliance in moving the car seems to be an expression of appreciation for the gentleman elder respecting their tradition. After explaining this, the gentleman elder stroked his chin and added,

"Of course, calling the police is the easiest solution. Or perhaps you'd already reported it?"

"I was about to. But you arrived right before that."

"Oh my. I may have interfered unnecessarily..."

“No? Not at all.”

He looked genuinely apologetic, but I meant what I said.

Even if I had called the police, could I have lasted the few minutes until they arrived? I probably would've been turned into an accordion in the orcs' hands long before then?

He prevented that from happening, so I'm simply grateful. While I prefer dialogue over violence... what else could I do when they wouldn't listen?

I'd like to buy him some stay-awake gum for his chauffeur shifts, but I doubt he'd accept it. He didn't seem to want a long conversation either, so I quickly changed the subject.

"About what you were saying before going out earlier. That your granddaughter already mastered the multiplication tables."

“Ah... yes. That’s right.”

“I didn’t even know what the multiplication table was in kindergarten. Your granddaughter must be gifted?"

To put it into perspective, she’s comparable to the youngest regular customer at this store. Being kindergarten age means they're peers—wouldn't they make good friends if put together with that snow-white little one?

"Hoo, I wasn't particularly bright myself..."

He tried not to show it, but he was clearly beaming with pride. Just as he was about to continue, his phone vibrated.

He took out his phone to check it, then gave me a small bow.

"It seems I need to head out now. I apologize."

“Why are you sorry? You’ve got work to do.”

It’s time for me to get back to work too. Maybe because the metbrained orcs are gone, the customers who were hesitating earlier are now peeking inside.

So, after a slight nod, I stood up along with the elder. I absentmindedly watched the gentleman elder search for the location of his next call, and then a question popped into my head and I voiced it right away.

“Elder, it’s bit of a different topic, but.”

"What is it?"

"You helped me twice today, and both times you said it was personal business and not to worry about it. But if I don't ask this, I don't think I'll be able to sleep."

Parking disputes are probably happening all over the world at this very moment. The same goes for fights. Do you usually get involved in those kinds of things?

It just feels like I’ve been on the receiving end of too much help. I want to repay him in kind, but I’m not as skilled in hand-to-hand combat as he is, nor am I as wealthy.

“…Boss. There’s one thing I’ve been feeling very keenly lately.”

"What's that?"

"That receiving respectful treatment becomes increasingly difficult as one ages. The same goes for being remembered."

I can understand that. In the past, if you listened to and followed the advice of older people, you’d often be rewarded. There was a reason and value in listening to them.

But times have changed, and a lot of things have faded. If you're curious about something, you can just quickly search the internet, right? Even for simple chat, it's rare to find people who connect with you.

He seems to have experienced this firsthand. Whether it’s picking up a customer or situations like today, it’s probably not the first time he’s been called an old geezer. I can try to understand it this way, but still…

“That’s just part of my job. Convenience stores are in the service industry, and customer service is part of the job…”

"Is remembering cigarette brands also included in those jobs?"

"That’s... No."

“You’re looking at an old man who cherishes even those small things. Even if you call it a whim, I won’t argue.”

Just because I remembered a cigarette brand? Does that even make sense?

I don't know. I haven't accumulated as many years of experience as the gentleman elder, and I don't perfectly understand werewolf tendencies either. It didn’t sit well with me, but I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just nodded vaguely.

Perhaps seeing my obvious lack of understanding, the gentleman elder added one more thing before leaving,

"Thanks to you, it was enjoyable. Let's meet again."

Then he left, and I wasn't alone for long. Customers started pouring in as if they’d been waiting. As I returned to the counter and scanned barcodes, one thing kept nagging at me.

Feels like there was one more thing I wanted to ask. But I just couldn't remember what it was.

* * *

The customers abruptly stopped coming around 1 a.m.. After that, it was the usual quiet dawn...

At 8 a.m., the sun rose, and office workers started flooding in, but they looked terrible. Especially the male different species customers. Their eyes were all bloodshot with dark circles underneath.

After about 20 minutes of mindlessly ringing them up, I realized it when the hangover cure stock ran out. They'd all stayed up watching soccer. The ones who looked particularly gloomy probably had their teams lose.

I thought about offering some words of encouragement to make these yangban regulars— but they seemed like they'd already realized others' encouragement wouldn't help.

I just worked the remaining time in silence, and Manager came 10 minutes before the shift change.

“Hi, Chan-ah.”

“Hello, Manager-nim.”

"It's nice that you respond so well. Did something good happen last night?”

“I wish it had…”

To the manager making a 'don't tell me something happened again' face, I explained that yes, something did happen. Twelve orbital fracture specialist orcs tried to fracture my orbital bone.

“...Really?”

Her face turned dead serious. I don’t like this kind of thing, that’s why I want to live a more secretive life.

"Really. But Manager-nim, do I have to report these things in the future?"

"No. We promised to be honest with each other about these things."

"That's true, but still. Nothing actually happened, so could you stop making that face..."

"That's just hindsight. If something happens and Chan-ah suddenly becomes a chestnut with swollen eyes, wouldn’t the biggest fault be mine for not warning Chan-ah?”

I think it's beyond anyone's control. How’s he supposed to give me a heads-up about every single species that might walk in and cause a scene at a convenience store? A twenty-nine-year-old should handle things himself.

“That’s right.”

“But it’s not too late now. If you’ve got any tips, please share them now."

"Yeah. Chan-ah, have you ever seen vampires with good complexions?"

“Not yet, but isn’t good complexions a good thing?”

"It's not that they're healthy, it's blood rushing to their head. They’re short on supply. Those kinds of vampires might stare at your bare skin, so try not to make eye contact…”

Plus don't comment on centaurs' tails, it's rude. If someone asks if you believe in the Demon Lord, say you're non-religious. If goblins bring up money talk, tell them you don't know about such things.

"And about orcs— come to think of it, how did you resolve things with those orcs yesterday?"

"I didn't do anything. Just, um..."

“Yes?”

“A regular customer who’s a chauffeur… Wait, is this the first time I’m mentioning him?”

"Yeah. First I'm hearing of it."

Since the topic had already come up, I decided to explain everything. There had been a couple of incidents where customers got into arguments inside and outside the store, and this chauffeur had resolved them. He’s a werewolf.

He's a former soldier, and he's extremely good at dislocating orc shoulders. At this point, Manager tilted her head significantly.

“He’s good at dislocating shoulders? Is it magic?”

"He specifically said it wasn't magic... though he did mention twisting mana circuits. But why?"

"Something comes to mind. Could that person be from the Knights’ Order?”

I don't know. Do they call chaffer offices 'Knights’ Order' in this otherworld?

“Well, I once worked with someone who served in the Knights’ Order, and the person I collaborated with was also really good at dislocating shoulders. I’m not sure if it’s the same person, but…”

“Assuming it’s someone else, what kind of service did he do to get so good at dislocating shoulders?”

“He was a bodyguard for high-ranking officials.”

I was genuinely curious, so I asked. Specifically, what kind of high-ranking officials did he guard?

I asked thinking of military generals or parliament member bodyguards, but Manager gave a three-syllable answer.

“President.”

“Who?”

"The President. That person guarded the President."




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