Book 1
Chapter 22: Reputation Inflation: The Guild's Exploitation
News of the Temple incident spread with the speed and accuracy of a sneeze in a crowded market. By the time the party returned to the roads, taverns were already reciting the tale of the "Golden Chosen," the hero who walked into sacred halls and came out untouched by divine wrath.
Priests called it proof of blessing, merchants called it proof of fortune. The common folk just called it enough. Ken's name, once a local oddity whispered in Kokoro's guild halls, had swollen into a continent-wide proclamation: destiny had arrived, and it wore his face.
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The moon had barely set over the town shrine when the party shouldered their packs and continued onward. It took them half a day to reach the market of Kokoro Village, a place where, even from a distance, the air felt thick with commerce and frantic cheer.
The village had changed overnight. Where once vendors hawked simple talismans, dried fish, and hand-stitched charms, now every stall screamed Ken.
"Ken-Proof Armor! Guaranteed to keep you alive, just like the Hero!"
"Ken-Flavored Jerky! A bite of greatness in every chew!"
"Delicious Ken-Takoyaki skewers! An adventure of flavor!"
"Authentic Ken-Signed Receipts! Only five Quid each!"
A child held up a toy wooden sword with Ken's likeness carved into the hilt. Even the rice cakes bore his smiling face, steamed into their dough.
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The Hero, Commoditized
Ichiban stood perfectly still, a silent island in a sea of noise. A vendor's banner with Ken's face on it had come slightly loose, twisting in the wind. Without a word, Ichiban reached up and, with a single, precise movement, straightened the banner until it was perfectly aligned with the stall's frame. The vendor, busy haggling, didn't even notice. Ichiban then returned to his patient observation, his quiet presence a silent rebuke to the chaotic marketplace.
Ken, oblivious to the tidal wave of absurdity, beamed as he was escorted through the gaudy bazaar by the Adventura Guild. He waved and posed as merchants scrambled to shove their products into his hands.
"Look at that!" Ken bellowed, thrusting up a roll of gaudy parchment labeled Mone Insurance – Official Hero Plan. He ripped open the scroll. His face fell.
"It says here the premium is ten thousand Quid, and the deductible is my firstborn memory."
He shrugged and tossed it aside. "A small price for peace of mind!"
Pigaro trudged beside him, the tiny pegasus's wings drooping as if each step were a burden. His voice was pitched loud enough for all to hear, yet delivered with the weariness of a philosopher long resigned to his fate.
"This isn't heroism. It's all a transaction. Every cheer and handshake, every overpriced piece of junk with his face on it… it all has a price tag."
Laluna lagged behind, barely listening to the crowd. Her attention was fixed on her rune-etched nails. Each time Ken waved, each time his face appeared on a banner, her glyphs pulsed faintly. Tiny spikes of Mone readings etched themselves into her nails like jagged mountains on parchment. She frowned, tapping one sharp nail against her arm.
"The fluctuations are wrong," she murmured. "Each ovation spikes his account. Each product with his face on it nudges the balance. It's like the system itself is… feeding on him."
Naratuma scowled, his hand resting on his katana as though itching to cut down the garish banners. "You are being sold like soap."
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The Ongoing Accumulation of Interest
Ken, of course, heard none of it. He stood on a makeshift stage, a Guild official holding up his arm as though he had just won a wrestling match.
Ken grinned, his ego glowing brighter than any holy flame. He then confidently tried to recall the name of his first childhood pet, drawing a complete and utterly unnoticed blank—another small withdrawal from his soul's account to pay for the spectacle.
"Thank you, Kokoro Village! Buy my things, love my greatness, and know that Ken Hanzori's destiny is bulletproof!"
The crowd roared. Merchants tallied profits. And somewhere, deep in the invisible gears of Authority's divine machine, Ken's balance ticked upward in strange, unnatural ways.
Pigaro sneezed violently as a merchant forced a free sample of "Ken-Kologne" into his face. Wheezing, he glared at Laluna.
"He doesn't notice the compound interest on this adoration." Pigaro wheezed, glaring at his watery eyes in a nearby puddle.
"My sinuses, however, keep a precise ledger. That fool is using his soul as collateral."
For once, Laluna did not argue. She simply kept scratching glyphs onto her nails, recording evidence of the anomaly.
The parade of transactions lasted until nightfall. Ken was paraded from stall to stall, signing absurd merchandise while guild clerks counted coin with feverish delight.
His "Ken-Brand" toilet paper sold out in minutes, advertised as Soft enough to wipe away debt!
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The Bill Comes Due
When the moon rose, the Adventura Guild finally ushered him into a quiet hall. A clerk bowed, handing over a scroll of scheduled appearances.
"Tomorrow, we'll send you to Akakawa Imperial City. The demand for Ken is limitless."
Ken accepted the scroll like a general receiving battle orders, puffing his chest.
"Ha! My greatness knows no borders!"
But Narutama's jaw tightened as he shouldered his pack. "Enough parades. Our path lies south, not on a stage."
Pigaro flared his wings, shaking off dust.
"Finally. If I have to hear one more slogan about Ken-Flavored Jerky, I will collapse out of principle."
Laluna closed her hand, hiding the faintly glowing glyphs on her nails.
"The anomalies will only grow. The Authority's interest is not bound to Kokoro. Wherever the crowds chant, it will follow him."
Ken trailed after them, still waving as if invisible fans lined the road. "Don't worry! My greatness will carry us all the way south!"
None of them answered. The southern path awaited, a road where even the trees bent under the weight of Mone's corruption.
And far behind them, the guild's banners fluttered one last time. Ken's painted smile grinning wider than the real one, as if mocking the hero who didn't yet understand the cost of his fame.
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