Here's the next chapter of "Sadaharu". It's way past late; sorry about that. . This chapter is sort of setting up for another "arc" with a new antagonist. I'm planning to put up another chapter soon. Thanks for reading. ^-^
Down in the shadows of Kabuki-cho, something was stirring. Rather, someone was stirring. She stooped over a large bowl of stew, and continued to stir, saying to Gin, "Stir until thoroughly mixed, then add sauce." This woman might have been Sacchan (imagine natto in stew), or it might have been Otae (imagine black puddles of something that is no longer stew), or it might have been someone else; Gin wouldn't remember when he woke. He said,
"See what it's come to? Now I'm dreaming about food every night! We've got to... get... more...food..." And then he fell back onto his pillow. The woman of Gin's dreams continued stirring.
"Oy!" muttered Gin, "Just because I'm dreaming about her doesn't mean you have to call her the woman of my dreams! Anyway, if you're going to ship a pairing, actually pick someone to ship me with!" And then he continued snoring.
Meanwhile, in a small, dark cave, a monster suddenly stopped snoring. Its eyes flicked open, and it unleashed a powerful punch into its pillow.
"Okita, you sadist, I am NOT a monster!" Kagura blinked. "Okita?" And then she fell back asleep.
At the same time, in the depths of a dungeon, Shinpachi was fighting desperately for his life. But he needed to make it through this dungeon. He hadn't seen a save point in hours, but he had to win Chome Chome Revolution, Otsuu-chan's new game. His reddened eyes twitched. Surely this was the last floor. If he couldn't be the first to win, would he even be worthy of being captain of the fanclub? He would wake up an hour later, somehow having gamed his way through the dungeon asleep, with a keyboard imprint on his face.
Simultaneously, deep within a cave, a face etched with permanent hatred melted back into the shadows, taking two steps back from a candle, turning on his heel, a cloak swirling behind him.
"Um, sir?"
"What is it, underling?"
"Your cloak, it's on fire."
"Why didn't you say something sooner? Quick, put it out."
"Yes sir, just first allow me to make a wish."
"A wish?"
"You know, like birthday candles."
"It's no one's birthday."
"But.."
"But it might be the day someone dies..."
"Putting it out right away, sir. Stop, drop, and roll, sir. There is no need to panic. Scorched is in style. All the, um, all the young people are doing it these days."
"You're fired."
"But I'm the supplier's son himself! You can't fire the son of the supplier of Dubious Shipping Inc.!"
"I don't care if you are the goods themselves. I would just as soon dump you into the ocean like the Boston Tea Party."
"Y-yes, sir."
The man with the fashionably singed cloak strode down the cave corridor. He didn't have time for these nuisances.
There was only one thing on his mind. The job he was about to do. He paused in a passageway only to exchange his cloak for a fireproof one. He was perfectly ready, now, to transport Dubious things and execute evil deeds. He was prepared for everything.
Or so he thought.