In the end, I let them in.
On the condition, of course, that all the girls in the annoying group show me their bras. While they were still wearing them, obviously.
Did I really want to see the schoolgirls' chests that badly?
Hell no.
But their flushed faces of humiliation, reluctantly lifting their shirts, were a work of art. The hatred in their eyes was worth gold. And the cherry on top: the glares from the guys behind them, gritting their teeth with a mix of jealousy and rage.
An exhibition of human emotions, free of charge, courtesy of the rat kid.
Seeing boobs was just a bonus track.
"Scum." That's what their faces said as they watched me.
GYAJAJAJAJAJA. I'm beginning to understand the importance of human relationships.
["We want to take a shower."]
["Good, you stink."]
["You little…"]
I settle onto my throne: a crate full of discount bras. The fabric smells of dampness mixed with cheap perfume, as if the warehouse had been closed for months.
A perfect silk throne for the great and powerful rat kid to watch over his vixens.
And as I enjoyed some snacks, the five girls return, loaded with clothes and toiletries.
["We need a place to wash up and change."]
["I understand your objective. I wish you good luck."]
["…The lingerie section is at the back. If we hang up a sheet, it'll be closed off on three sides. Privacy guaranteed."]
This supermarket is like any other, many aisles with products everywhere, but the women's underwear aisle at the very back creates something like an impassable private space with walls on three of its four sides.
["I see no flaw in that logic."]
["Get off the underwear crate and wait outside, you bastard."]
["As comfortable as I am? Over my dead body."]
Louise trembles with fury, red as a traffic light. Then she smiles. A bad sign.
["Fine, you asked for it."]
Louise signals to the girls, and they follow her behind the lingerie display table.
What trick is this bitch trying to pull? …
["Is the table moving?"]
["Idiooooot, these tables have wheels."]
["You daaaaaaaaaamn—!"]
["Now stand guard, HUMPH."]
Along with the table, I'm dragged into the aisle. Louise and the others hang up a makeshift curtain. My lingerie kingdom turned into a female fortress.
["Is this okay? He can still get past the curtain."]
["He won't. He's too comfortable on that pile of bras. He won't move."]
["That doesn't make me feel any better."]
["I'm telling you now: that idiot is an egomaniac. The only way to negotiate with him is to give him exactly what he wants in that moment."]
Damn vixen. Error 405 discovered.
Tsk.
...
["I can't believe you're really not peeking."]
["Oh, for the love of…"]
["It's useless, his priority is sleeping."]
["A real man is never too tired to peep."]
A while later, the vixens come out, complaining.
["To hell with it, just wheel me back inside. I want a nap."]
["Are you really going to make a few delicate ladies move a table?"]
["Since there's no such thing here, we'll never know."]
[[What did you say?!]]
After a pointless argument, they reluctantly moved my makeshift bed inside the lingerie section. With the curtain, it almost looks like a private room.
["I like it when my vixens are obedient."]
[[SHUT UP!]]
["Alright, who's sleeping with this handsome devil? Don't fight, you'll all get a turn."]
["Ha, I'd offer, but I'm looking for something a little… bigger."]
["My dear, I understand. I'm also looking for something a little… bigger. What are you looking at?"]
["Jerk."]
["Wench."]
["Narcissistic egomaniac."]
["If being better than everyone else makes me one, then so be it. It's my curse."]
["I don't know if that pair hates each other or is having fun."]
["Both."]
["Shouldn't we be inflating the air mattresses instead of listening to this idiocy?"]
[[Well…]]
........
I woke up at dawn with five girls on top of me, like some ancient tribal sacrifice.
When I tried to complain with my numb hands, they told me…
["You seem like the type of person who would abandon us if we took our eyes off you."]
Damn witches. They're too good at reading people.
......….
(Note: The following monster profile is a version from this chapter and may differ from updated entries.)
JOURNAL ENTRY NO: 199
SCIENTIFIC NAME: Homo caprinus saltus
REGIONAL ALIASES:
Greek and Roman Mythology: Satyr, Faun
Anthropological Hypothesis: The Whistling People, Goat-Men of Arcadia
The Network's Nickname (Theoretical): The Euphoric Thief
NICKNAME (ASTRAD): The DJ of Oblivion
📊 THREAT ASSESSMENT
CLASSIFICATION: PARASITUS / TERRITORIALIS
Its conduct is that of a territorial guardian, but its method is that of a parasite. It doesn't attack you to defend its home; it "infects" you with its music so that you leave of your own free will, stripping you of your memories and possessions in the process. It is a parasite of memory and will, not of the body.
DANGER LEVEL: GREEN (4 stars)
A 4-star Green. It's one of the most dangerous creatures that can't actually kill you. Its threat is purely strategic: it can disarm, disorient, and rob an entire squad without a single act of violence. A failed encounter doesn't leave you dead; it leaves you naked, without gear, and with no idea how you got there. For a supply run, that's a critical failure.
AGGRESSIVENESS LEVEL: REACTIVE
They do not seek conflict. Their sonic "attack" is a defensive reaction to intrusion into their mountainous domains. If you hear their music, it's not a declaration of war; it's an incredibly persuasive eviction notice. They are politely asking you to get lost, and their music makes sure you do.
🧬 COMBAT FILE (TL;DR)
TYPE: Humanoid (?)
AFFINITY: Psychic (Sonic) / Earth
🎯 PRIMARY WEAKNESSES (Theoretical):
High-end auditory protection, White noise generators (interfere with their music), Long-range attacks (they are not fighters).
📌 KEY STRENGTHS:
Mind control through music, Superhuman agility on mountainous terrain, Extreme stealth, Pass unnoticed as "locals."
📚 ORIGINS AND COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY
The Mythical Hypothesis (The Fantasy): Ancient texts, from Hesiod to Ovid, are clear: Satyrs are a real, non-human species. Beings that are half-man, half-goat, nature spirits with an innate connection to the wild. According to this theory, they never went extinct; they simply retreated to the most inaccessible places in the world, and their sonic abilities are a biological quality, as natural to them as venom is to a snake.
The Rational Hypothesis (The Logic): Revisionist anthropologists propose that the "Satyr" is a misinterpretation of an isolated human tribe (Homo caprinus saltus). According to them, the "goat legs" were simply uncured goatskin pants. The "magic music" was an incredibly complex whistling language used to communicate across mountains. Their apparent hedonism was the tribal culture of a society living in harmony with nature, something incomprehensible to the expansionist and militarized civilizations of the time.
Astrad's Analysis: What's the truth? A human tribe that was demonized by history, or a fantasy race that hid from it? Perhaps the truth is a mix. Maybe the human tribe learned from the true fauns, and after their extinction, continued their traditions, becoming the only echo of a lost magic. Or maybe, in this new silent world, both versions are starting to become true again.
📝 DETAILED ANALYSIS
PHYSICAL AND SENSORY DESCRIPTION:
The reports are the heart of the controversy. Some historical accounts and modern sightings describe a short, incredibly muscular and agile human, dressed in furs and carrying a series of bone flutes. Other accounts, often dismissed as folklore or hallucinations, insist on the hybrid morphology: a human torso and the lower limbs of a goat, with small horns sprouting from their forehead. The only thing all reports agree on is their movement: an inhuman ability to jump, climb, and move through rugged terrain without making a sound.
BEHAVIOR AND ECOLOGY:
They inhabit the most remote and inaccessible mountain ranges. They are extremely elusive and avoid contact. Their main interaction with the outside world is through their music. When an intruder enters their territory, they begin to play. The melodies, described as strangely beautiful and dissonant at the same time, have a psychoactive effect. The lower frequencies induce a primal terror, while the more complex ones cause a sense of euphoria, disorientation, and amnesia. The victim, in a state of happy confusion, abandons their gear, their mission, and their direction, and simply wanders away from the territory. The clan then collects the abandoned "gifts."
☣️ PROTOCOLS
RECOMMENDED ENCOUNTER PROTOCOL (Theoretical):
DO:
Use military-grade hearing protection or white noise generators when entering their potential territory.
Observe from the maximum possible distance.
If the music is heard, immediate retreat is the only known countermeasure.
DON'T:
Underestimate the "music."
Try to "enjoy" the melody.
Follow the sound.
Assume they are friendly just because they aren't violent.
FIELD REPORT (Fragment recovered from the diary of a Roman Centurion, Legio IX Hispana, mountains of Caledonia, circa 117 AD):
"...the music began at dusk. It was not of this world. It was not a war trumpet nor a celebratory lyre. It was... joyful and terrible. Centurion Varro began to laugh. He said the hills were singing for us. Then he took off his helmet and left it on the ground. Others followed him. I plugged my ears with wax; the pain was unbearable, but the urge to join their dance was worse. When I awoke, I was alone. My comrades, their weapons, the standards... all had vanished. Only the echo of laughter remained on the wind."
🎤 ASTRAD'S NOTES (THE ONLY SHIT THAT MATTERS):
Okay, let me get this straight. There's a critter out there whose superpower is playing the flute until you have a fit of happiness and give it your +5 sword? Fuck, that's the most fucking broken and toxic bard build I've ever heard of in my life. It doesn't kill you, it 'just' applies a permanent amnesia debuff and empties your inventory. It's the ultimate troll move.
I can just imagine the Roman legionary's report: 'General, we lost the eagle standard.' 'How? A barbarian ambush?' 'No, sir. We heard a banger and the vibes were just insane.' Unacceptable.
And here comes the million-dollar question, the one no fucking historian ever asks: what the hell happens to all that loot? Generations of warriors, explorers, and adventurers dropping top-tier gear in the middle of fucking nowhere? Can you imagine these bastards' cave? It must be filled to the ceiling with legendary armor, named swords, and treasure maps. This is the birth of a new character class: the 'Treasure Hunter Rat Kid,' a geek who dedicates himself to finding Satyr nests, not to kill them, but to plunder the loot they've accumulated for centuries. All you need is a good pair of noise-canceling headphones.
So forget the mystery and the magic. If this thing is real, it's not a nature spirit. It's a fucking AFK gear farmer. And I want to know where the fuck their clan bank is.
......…
Interaction on the Rat Kid Network
Subject: Anyone else heard the fucking mountain soundtrack?
RatKid6: [AUDIO attached: mountain_audio_???.mp3] Okay, I need someone to tell me what the fuck this is. I'm on the outskirts of the forest and I've been hearing flutes for an hour. And it's not some hippie who wants to meditate. It sounds... weird.
RatKid8: LOL, 6, you accidentally stumbled into a Celtic music festival. Seen any fairies yet? Did they offer you mead?
RatKid2: Shut up, you moron. Sonic attacks are a real threat. 6, any effects? Dizziness, nausea, the urge to confess your sins?
RatKid6: Worse. I got an inexplicable urge to leave my backpack here and go home dancing. But then I remember it's my precious loot and I get over it. I'm still dancing, though. But with my loot.
RatKid4: Insufficient technical data. Frequency? Amplitude? Is it a constant or variable melody? We need data, not anecdotes about how you came out of the closet. Could be a psychic-sonic parasite. Standard protocol: earplugs and retreat.
RatKid7: Retreat? And miss the party? I'd put on some techno to see if the critter is up for a DJ battle!
RatKid1: [Attachment: Homo_caprinus_saltus_N199.pdf] Must be this piece of shit, 6. Where are you? The treasure hunter rat kid is on his way.
RatKid3: …I'm reading the file. Mind control? Amnesia? Disarmed without combat? This is a logistical nightmare. It invalidates any collection mission in mountainous terrain.
RatKid8: FUCK. The Roman centurion story is epic. "We heard a banger and the vibes were just insane." F for Legio IX.
RatKid4: The Homo caprinus hypothesis is the most likely. An isolated tribe with an advanced sonic language. The goat morphology is obviously a mythological exaggeration.
RatKid1: And who cares if they're goat-men or hippies with bone flutes? You're missing the main point. Read my fucking note.
RatKid7: ...
...
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL. Fuck, it's true. They're not a monster, they're a fucking AFK gear farmer!
RatKid10: Wait a minute... centuries of warriors, explorers, and adventurers dropping premium gear? A cave full of legendary armor and treasure maps?
RatKid2: Sounds like a trap. The amnesic effect is too dangerous.
RatKid3: The risk is high, but the potential reward is... incalculable. And direct combat is nonexistent. It's a stealth and countermeasures operation, not a battle. It's... feasible.
RatKid7: Feasible, he says! It's the best idea in history! We'll get rich! We just need some fucking noise-canceling headphones! Time to gear up!
RatKid4: Where did I put my looting pants? What heist music should I bring?
RatKid1: Test it? I'm going to mount a fucking expedition. No more looting supermarkets. From now on, we're going to loot history.
RatKid8: So... we're going to rob a bard? LOL, that's the most Rat Kid mission I've ever heard in my life.
RatKid3: It's not robbing. It's... a strategic reallocation of unclaimed historical assets.
RatKid7: Whatever! The point is, these guys are one of us! Why fight when you can make the enemy disarm themselves and leave you their loot? They're the pastoral version of a DDoS attack! I WANT TO RECRUIT THEM! IMAGINE A SATYR ON OUR TEAM!
RatKid2: Approved.
RatKid1: GOOOOO.
Rat Kid Network:
GOOOOOOO
RatKid5: Sounds lovely in theory, but how many of you morons are willing to abandon the comfort of your base with power, water, internet, and video games, to go on an excursion for who knows how many weeks in the woods looking for a hippie nudist?
Rat Kid Network:
..........
RatKid1: Expedition canceled, GOOOOOOOOOO.
Rat Kid Network:
GOOOOOOO