The wooden door gave a low groan as it opened, with the brass bell above the frame chiming with a weary tremble— like even it had grown tired of being disturbed.
Goblin Slayer stepped inside first, his armored boots clicking faintly against the old hardwood floor. Behind him, Rimuru lingered a moment beneath the awning, then dipped his head to nod at the armored man, who was holding the door open for him.
"Appreciate it," he said, brushing past with casual familiarity.
Goblin Slayer offered a silent nod and followed him into the shop's quiet interior.
The air inside was thick with the scent of lacquered wood, worn paper, and the faint trace of incense that had long since burned away. It was warm, almost gently oppressive, like a space that hadn't changed in years. The yellowed overhead bulbs gave off a dim, amber glow—soft and sleepy— casting long shadows against the cluttered shelves and cracked linoleum tiles.
The store had the air of a forgotten museum, one curated not by historians but by nostalgia. Every surface was crammed with memory: anime figures still sealed behind cloudy plastic, their corners curled and sun-faded; manga volumes arranged in meticulous order, some wrapped in protective sleeves that had yellowed with time.
Stacks of DVDs and VHS tapes loomed like miniature towers, organized not by genre but by whim. Crates of vinyl records sat beneath the shelves like sleepy dogs, their covers worn, their spines bearing the scars of many owners.
A cracked mannequin in the corner wore a faded hero's tunic and a cracked plastic sword slung loosely at its side. Cosplay accessories leaned against shelving units like tired sentries— folded cloaks, scuffed boots, a broken wand held together by masking tape. And nestled within a glass case at the center of the room, illuminated by a flickering display light, were two cards sealed in rigid plastic: one bore the smoldering artwork of a Charizard mid-roar, the other a Mewtwo suspended in a swirl of psychic violet.
Rimuru came to a halt so abruptly that Goblin Slayer had to sidestep slightly to avoid walking into him. His face was inches from the glass, with eyes wide with quiet reverence.
"No way," he murmured, voice almost childlike. "Back in the day, I used to have three of those Charizards."
Goblin Slayer lingered a few steps behind, drawn to a different case entirely. His gaze had landed on a tall figurine posed elegantly in front of a crescent moon— a blonde girl with twin buns, frozen mid-motion in a silent battle cry. He tilted his head slightly, absorbing the details.
Rimuru reached out and tapped the glass with one finger, leaving behind a faint smudge.
"Ninety-six," he said softly. "First year of college for me. Pocket Monsters had just exploded. Everyone had cards— kids, adults, even our professors were trading behind our backs."
He gave a faint laugh, glancing over his shoulder.
"My brother Ken... He was working at a soba shop part-time. One day he walks in with this huge stack— must've been twenty booster packs— just drops them in my lap like it was nothing."
Goblin Slayer turned his helmet slightly, with a small shift that betrayed his interest.
"… Were they expensive?"
Rimuru gave a loose shrug, one hand brushing his hair back absently.
"Not really, no. Three hundred yen a pack. But at the time? That was a luxury. Ken had to pick up extra shifts just to have any spending money. Him giving me those... It meant something. It was his way of saying he had my back, even if he couldn't always be there."
He then turned back toward the display— his voice quieter.
"… There was this one trade I'll never forget. I brought all my rarest cards to campus that day— a Charizard, a Blastoise, maybe a Venusaur too. Had 'em wrapped in a napkin in my jacket pocket, like they were sacred scrolls or something. Made the trade during lunch, then headed to class like nothing happened."
He then laughed to himself again, with the sound tinged with self-deprecation.
"Got home that night, completely forgot I still had them in my pocket. Tossed the jacket into the laundry basket. Next morning, my mom runs a load— like always. I walk in, open the washer, and there they are... Just disintegrating in the water like paper ghosts. The ink was bleeding into the water. Plastic sleeves all warped. I just stood there, staring at it. Ten minutes, maybe more."
Silence stretched between them, weightless but lingering. Only the quiet hum of the ceiling fan moved the air, circling above like a thought that wouldn't settle.
Goblin Slayer's helmet angled slightly down, his posture unchanged. He didn't look at Rimuru when he asked, "How old are you now?"
The question landed like a pin dropped in an empty room. Rimuru didn't respond at first. His mouth opened on instinct.
"Ten—" He stopped. Brow furrowed. "— Wait..."
He looked off to the side, as if trying to count years he couldn't touch.
"I was thirty-seven. When I died, I mean. That was... Ten years ago…"
There was a long pause. Then, quieter:
"Shit… F-Forty-seven…?!"
The slime blinked— the number hanging there like a mistake he'd accidentally said out loud. "God…?! I'm forty-seven…?!"
His voice barely carried. He didn't repeat it.
Goblin Slayer didn't move. Didn't answer.
Rimuru exhaled through his nose and turned, pushing a thin smile onto his face— more habit than feeling. "I-I mean, it's not that bad, right?! Age is— uh…?! R-Relative!" He insisted, before making a vague circling gesture with one hand. "I-I've met plenty of people— PLENTY of people— who were old as hell, and still acted like teenagers! Or worse!"
He exclaimed with a half-laugh, before then jabbing a thumb toward himself. "C-Case in point!"
Goblin Slayer still didn't respond, but something behind the visor shifted. Not visibly. Just present. Watching. Thinking.
"I-I mean, I-I don't really FEEL forty-seven," Rimuru went on. "But when you add up the timelines... Y-Yeah. It tracks…" He murmured, before rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly, I wasn't keeping track until now… Talk about a mid-life crisis, huh?"
Another pause.
"… Technically post-life crisis, but whatever."
Goblin Slayer remained silent still— helmet unmoving. But something in Rimuru's words turned over a memory buried beneath sun and sand.
A desert, wide and pale as bone. Heat shimmered off the dunes, and sweat clung to skin like a second layer. High Elf Archer stood with one hand shading her eyes, her long ears twitching with irritation.
"This heat is unbearable. Why are humans so obsessed with deserts?"
Dwarf Shaman chuckled, trudging up beside her, beard soaked with sweat.
"Didn't know pointy-ears could even sweat."
High Elf Archer spun on him. "Watch it, beard-fossil, or I'll shoot an arrow through your water canteen."
"Pfft, like I'm even gonna touch it!"
Their laughter was distant now— memories not forgotten, just tucked somewhere safe.
Then, after a beat:
"… It's fine."
Rimuru looked up. "Y-Yeah?"
A nod. Subtle, but definite.
Rimuru let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Right. Thanks."
He glanced toward the counter. "Alright, enough of that. Let's see what we can get for those coins."
The half-door gave a stubborn creak as Rimuru pushed it open with the side of his boot.
The appraisal counter looked like it hadn't been touched since the turn of the millennium. Its wide, glass-topped surface bore the subtle haze of time, dulled from countless palms and idle elbows.
Beneath the glass, faded price tags clung to the corners of dusty velvet shelves, curling inwards like autumn leaves long past their prime. Flickering fluorescent lights hummed weakly overhead, casting a jaundiced sheen on the off-white walls and worn hardwood floor.
A plastic bowl of unwrapped strawberry candies sat beside an old register— their wrappers bleached to near translucence. Behind the counter, slouched in a battered office chair with her feet propped on the edge, a woman sat glued to the screen of her phone.
She looked to be in her early thirties— hair a tangled reddish-brown, scraped into a half-hearted ponytail. Her button-down shirt was loosely tucked into her slacks, as if she'd dressed herself in the dark and dared someone to comment on it.
The chime of her gacha game rang softly, bright flashes of color bouncing off her glasses. Her thumb moved with mechanical precision— flying across the screen as the chair gave a soft squeak with each subtle shift of weight.
Rimuru and Goblin Slayer stood patiently at the counter. Or, at least, one of them did.
"Hello! Uh— hi there. We're here to— uh, to sell… Coins."
No response.
The woman behind the counter didn't even look up at them. Her fingers moved with surgical precision across her phone screen, the tiny speaker emitting the bubbly jingle of a gacha pull.
Rimuru winced slightly and corrected himself. "Ah— sumimasen… Eeto… K-Koko wa… Coin no... Hanbai dekimasu ka?"
Still no reaction.
The only sound was the soft squeak of her chair as she shifted her weight, entirely absorbed in the luminous swirl of the game.
Rimuru leaned in closer, unsure whether to speak again or throw something.
Then, without looking up, she finally spoke. Flat, almost bored. "I speak English just fine."
Rimuru blinked. "Oh. Well— that's good. You know, I wasn't sure. I mean, this place has a vibe, y'know?"
After several seconds of silence, Rimuru leaned forward slightly, clearing his throat with diplomatic volume. "Uh, excuse me-"
"-Just a minute," she replied, with her eyes never leaving her screen.
He blinked once, then gave a thin, tight-lipped smile. "Naturally… Wouldn't dream of rushing greatness…"
Without waiting for acknowledgment, the slime slid a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of silver coins. One by one, he placed them on the counter— each clink more deliberate than the last.
The coins caught the light as they stacked, gleaming against the dusty glass like polished teeth. From his other pocket, he retrieved a small coin purse— floral embroidery and all— and set it down beside them with a muted thump.
Then, with theatrical casualness, he began to tap his fingers against the counter. Not quite impatient. Not quite passive-aggressive. Just enough to be noticed.
The woman finally glanced up, the game still flashing in her periphery. With a resigned sigh, she locked her phone and tucked it into her pocket. Rising to her feet, she adjusted her slacks with one hand and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with the other.
Approaching the counter, she surveyed the coins with a flat expression, as though Rimuru had just handed her a bowl of rocks. "… What is this?"
Rimuru straightened, offering a restrained smile and a faint flourish of his fingers. "Authentic silver coins. Fine craftsmanship. Excellent condition. Each piece is— uh…"
He hesitated for the briefest second, eyes flicking to the ceiling in thought. 'Raphael, mind giving me a hand?'
(Reminder: Silver purity is 99.3%.)
"— ninety-nine point three percent pure," he finished smoothly, before snapping his fingers like the answer had always been right there.
She gave a quiet hum, expression unreadable. "You have paperwork to back that up?"
Rimuru's smile stiffened. "We, uh… We don't."
She nodded once, unsurprised, already shifting her attention to the coin purse. "May I?"
"Be my guest." His tone was polite, but his jaw tightened slightly. He didn't trust her, not with the way her eyes had sharpened just a little.
She then untied the purse and turned it over. A clatter of coins spilled out, but one caught the light differently— its luster deeper, richer. A gold coin, its polished surface gleaming even in the shop's sickly light.
Her gaze lingered.
Without a word, she picked it up and brought it closer to her face. "This one. Any idea on the purity?"
Rimuru tapped a finger against his chin. 'Raphael?'
(Analyzing… Purity: 99.99%.)
"Twenty-four karats," he said at last, voice tinged with satisfaction. "It's pure."
She didn't comment. Her expression didn't shift— not even slightly.
She then proceeded to place the coin back down with care. "I'll need to test them in the back. XRF analyzer in the metal lab."
"Of course," Rimuru said, then paused. "How long will that take?"
"Few minutes per coin." She replied, while having already begun gathering them up— her movements practiced, and indifferent. "You're welcome to browse while I check them."
Goblin Slayer's voice, calm and even, broke the silence for the first time. "That's acceptable."
The woman gave a half-nod, cinched the purse closed, and without another word turned and disappeared through the faded wooden door behind the counter.
For a moment, the shop fell silent again, the hum of the ceiling fan returning to prominence.
Then Rimuru turned toward Goblin Slayer with a grin, already animated. "Wanna check out the anime section?"
Goblin Slayer's helmet tilted a fraction. "What is "anime?""
The slime blinked, then his expression lit up like someone discovering an untouched spring. He clapped a hand on the armored man's shoulder.
"Oh, my friend. You're gonna learn today."
They stepped back onto the shop floor, where the dim overhead lights and long shadows cloaked the narrow aisles in a subdued, amber calm.
Rimuru walked ahead with a kind of quiet ceremony, pausing in front of a modest but well-kept display titled "STUDIO GHIBLI – CLASSICS." In contrast to the chaotic sprawl of the surrounding shelves, this one had been arranged with deliberate care. Every DVD was upright, covers facing outward in neat symmetry. It felt almost sacred— like a shrine tucked into the corner of a weathered temple.
"Alright," Rimuru said, his voice dropping to a reverent hush as he rubbed his hands together. "Anime 101. First lesson: not all anime's made equal. But if you're going to start anywhere— start here."
He then plucked a DVD from the center of the display. The cover art was tranquil, almost pastoral: two children waiting beside a rain-slicked country road, a hulking creature with a leafy hat looming behind them, smiling as though the world had never given it a reason not to.
"This is "My Neighbor Totoro,"" he said, before offering the case like a gift. "No fights. No fan service. Just quiet, gentle storytelling. If anime were a cup of tea, this would be chamomile."
Goblin Slayer then accepted the case gingerly, before turning it over in his hands with the same wariness he might apply to an unfamiliar weapon. Though the text was illegible to him, the artwork caught his eye. His helmet tilted slightly.
"It appears… Peaceful."
"Exactly," Rimuru replied, a trace of pride in his voice. "I usually show this to people who think anime's just screaming and explosions and—" he paused, then gestured vaguely, "— physics-defying boobs." The slime explained, while leaning his shoulder against the shelf— before then growing a touch more serious.
"Truth is, though… A lot of anime isn't great."
Hearing that, Goblin Slayer looked over at him— silent, and attentive.
"I grew up with it," Rimuru went on. "And I still love it, don't get me wrong. But after a while, you start noticing patterns. Bad ones. Shows where the writing takes a backseat to… Well, marketing. Half the time, the characters— especially the women— aren't even written like people. They're built like mascots. Over-designed. Over-sexualized. And not in any way that feels real. Just disposable."
Goblin Slayer's eyes lingered on the cover. "This is… The exception?"
"Very," Rimuru said. "Ghibli's different. They don't treat their characters like tools. It's all about small moments, atmosphere, empathy. They don't talk down to you."
There was a beat of quiet before Rimuru let out a short breath and continued, "And then there's the other end of the spectrum— stuff that's flashy, hollow, made for the algorithm. Especially isekai anime. You remember that term?"
Goblin Slayer nodded. "A genre in which one is sent to another world."
"Exactly," Rimuru said, then gave a short laugh. "It used to be fantasy. Now it's just… Escapism in bulk. Copy-paste heroes, overpowered from the start, surrounded by girls who exist solely to orbit him. No stakes. No grit. Just endless wish fulfillment."
Goblin Slayer was quiet for a moment. "But… Is that not what happened to you?"
The question landed with more weight than Rimuru seemed prepared for. He opened his mouth, blinked, and looked briefly down at his hands. A rueful smile tugged at his mouth.
"Y-Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I guess it did… Like I said, I used to think that kind of thing was just fiction. Then I ended up in a new world looking like a blue gelatin mold, and here we are."
Goblin Slayer turned the DVD case over again, slowly. "Then… This world makes stories about ours?"
Rimuru's expression faltered. "... Yeah. And, uh… Not always in the most respectful way."
The slime then reached past him to slide the Totoro case back into its slot. His fingers hovered for a moment before selecting another: a lighter-toned cover featuring a young girl soaring over a European-inspired seaside town on a broom, her black cat perched behind her.
"This one's called "Kiki's Delivery Service,"" he said. "Another classic. It's about growing up. Learning who you are without anyone telling you. She's a witch who delivers pastries for a living. No gimmicks, no melodrama. Just beautifully told."
Goblin Slayer studied the artwork. "She uses… A broom to travel?"
"Only short distances. It's more like a delivery scooter, but cuter." Rimuru explained, before hesitating for a beat, and then adding, "Originally, I thought you'd like fantasy anime. Magic, monsters, sword fights. That kind of thing."
Goblin Slayer turned toward him. "But?"
"The good ones are rare," Rimuru said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Most of them waste their potential, though… Ya see, they have all this rich worldbuilding, and then they throw in a bathhouse episode for no reason, or turn the elf girl into a joke. It's exhausting, but it sells. So they keep doing it."
He paused, his voice dropping to something almost bitter. "Sometimes… It feels like no one wants to tell a real story anymore."
Goblin Slayer absorbed the words quietly.
"That's why I think you'd be better off with mecha anime," Rimuru said, straightening up. "At least at first. It's where the writing still holds some weight."
Goblin Slayer looked to him. "What is it about?"
Rimuru's eyes lit up. "Start with "Mobile Suit Gundam." The original one, from nineteen-seventy nine. It's not just big robots punching each other— though there's plenty of that. It's about war. About what happens when power falls into the hands of teenagers. Colonies rebelling against Earth. Families divided. There's weight to it. When people die, it means something."
He then pulled a box from the nearby case, with its cover illustrated with a towering metal figure and a young pilot standing in shadow beside it. "The protagonist— Amuro Ray— he's just a civilian. No training. One day, he's forced to pilot the Gundam, and suddenly he's in the middle of a war. It's raw. Messy. Political."
Goblin Slayer regarded the box with a faint tilt of his head. "So then… This would be considered a classic?"
"For anyone serious about anime, yeah," Rimuru said. "This is your rite of passage. Everything after it references this in some way."
The slime then set the box down carefully, before reaching for another. Its cover was darker, more abstract: organic-looking machines, a single pale-faced boy, strange runes etched faintly into the background. The atmosphere alone radiated unease.
"And this," Rimuru said, "is "Neon Genesis Evangelion." Same basic setup— kid gets thrown into a war— but this time, the war's existential. The enemies aren't just aliens. They're… Concepts. Symbols. You'll question whether anything is even literal."
Goblin Slayer took the case and stared at it for a moment. "That one sounds… Unsettling."
Rimuru gave a small, tired laugh. "It is. But it's also honest. Messy, human, uncomfortable. That's why it's stuck with people for decades."
Before the armored man could respond, a quiet cough interrupted them.
They both turned.
The shopkeeper— arms crossed, her gaze heavy with the weight of hours spent surrounded by other people's memories— stood at the edge of the aisle. Her tone wasn't impatient, but it carried a kind of practiced finality.
"Your offer's ready," she said, before turning on her heel and disappearing around the corner— leaving only the low creak of her footsteps in her wake.
Rimuru glanced at Goblin Slayer, then nudged him lightly with an elbow. "Moment of truth."
The armored man gave him a small nod, before replacing the Evangelion case with the same careful deliberation he'd seen the slime give to everything else.
They proceeded to then walk down the aisle in silence, with the shelves watching like sentinels of stories long past, until Rimuru muttered, with a crooked smile, "Let's go find out how many zeroes she thinks our time's worth."
The coin purse hit the glass with a soft, unimpressive thump. It wasn't the kind of sound that invited attention— no cinematic echo or dramatic flair. Just the sad, familiar thud of something that had already lost.
Coins spilled across the countertop with muted clinks, silver pieces scattering like confetti from a party no one wanted to attend. Twenty-four in total, all roughly the same size. One gold coin landed in the middle, gleaming with a quiet arrogance, as if aware it was the only one worth mentioning.
She didn't flinch. Didn't even lift her head. Her fingers moved across the iPad screen in her hands with the detached rhythm of someone checking train schedules they didn't care about.
"Each of the silver coins weighs seven grams," she said, her tone as flat as the lighting in the shop. She turned the screen toward them, revealing a browser window already loaded: "Current Silver Price in Japan – 100 Yen per gram."
Rimuru leaned in, brow furrowed slightly. "Okay, twenty-four coins, seven grams each-"
"-One hundred sixty-eight grams," she cut in, not bothering to glance up. "At one-hundred yen per gram, that's sixteen-thousand, eight-hundred yen."
His eyes lit up. "Alright. Not bad. So— what's your offer?"
She then tapped the screen again, with the motion deliberate and unhurried. Her expression didn't change, though something flickered behind her eyes when she noticed the faint uptick in his voice.
"I'll give you four thousand two hundred."
There was a pause, just long enough for the air to feel heavier.
Rimuru blinked. "Wait— four thousand two hundred what? Dollars?"
She finally looked at him. The glance was brief and clinical, like a pharmacist assessing a customer who'd misread the dosage label. "Yen."
"… Excuse me?" Rimuru asked, with his jaw slackened. "That's… That's a quarter of the value! I've spent more than that on gacha pulls for crap that I didn't even want!"
"I'm not a charity," she replied, with the matter-of-fact chill of a bureaucrat about to reject a visa application. "Recyclers won't pay full price. I'd be lucky to get half. That leaves me with a twenty-five percent margin. Less, if I breathe wrong."
"Who exactly are you selling to?" Rimuru snapped. "Some underground silver ring operated out of a red light district alley?!"
"A recycling plant," she said, voice still even. "They don't take walk-ins. And they definitely don't take... Novelty cosplay coins with questionable metallurgy."
Rimuru scoffed. "Cosplay coins?! Nah, these coins are legit! Look at them— shiny, intricate etching, weird runes. This one's got a lion shanking a dragon in the jugular— that's artisan craftsmanship!"
She then picked up one of the coins and turned it slowly under the shoplight, unimpressed. "Mass-produced. No mint, no weight stamp, no oxidation, no history. Just raw metal with pretensions. They're the crypto of fantasy props— flashy, valueless, and untraceable."
Rimuru gawked. "Lady, they're coins— they don't need a tragic origin story to be worth money!"
She tapped her iPad again and held it up. A new tab was open. "I reverse image searched one of them. Found a match on Etsy— novelty bottle openers. Five for twenty-one thousand yen."
Rimuru dragged a hand down his face. "Oh, come on…! F-Fine. What about the gold one? This has to be worth something, right?! It's gold! That's literally its whole job!"
She sighed as if he'd asked her to recite the entire tax code. Then, a few more taps— "Gold price per gram in Japan: 6,000 Yen."
"Seven grams. That's forty-two thousand yen in raw value."
Rimuru straightened up like someone had just played his theme music. "Now that's what I'm talking about! Alright, so hit me with the offer!"
She continued to stare at him— the silence loud enough to cut through the air.
"… Five percent."
There was a full beat of stunned silence before Rimuru inhaled sharply and choked on his own spit. "F-Five percent?! That's… That's two thousand, and one-hundred yen! For a solid gold coin?! That's not an offer, that's bullshit!"
She didn't blink. "Call it a convenience fee. You came here for fast cash. Not fair cash."
Rimuru immediately turned, wide-eyed, to the man beside him. "Are you hearing this shit?!"
The armored man said nothing. His arms remained folded, his eyes unmoving from the coins. He looked like he was waiting for them to bite.
Impatiently, the slime turned back to the shopkeeper. He then leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something acidic, as he asked, "Do you get off on this? Is lowballing people your idea of fun?"
"I enjoy not taking a net loss," she said plainly. "So you can either take my offer, or take your medieval Monopoly money and leave."
It was then that Rimuru felt something snap inside of him.
"HOW ABOUT I TAKE MY MONOPOLY MONEY AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS FOR FIVE PERCENT?!" He roared, as he slammed his palms against the counter, the sound cracking through the room.
A sharp spiderweb fracture bloomed beneath his hands like frost on a windshield. His expression instantly changed. He recoiled, hands lifted in guilt. "S-Shit…!"
The man beside him shifted only slightly. Not startled. Just noting the damage.
The shopkeeper glanced down at the crack, her eyes as dull as the overcast sky. Without a word, she turned her iPad around again, typed something, and faced them.
"Adjusting for property damage," she said, tone flat, "I'm now offering zero percent for the gold, and ten percent of the silver."
Rimuru stared at her like she'd spoken in tongues.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Static.
"Y-You can't be serious…"
"I'm done being generous," she replied, barely looking at him. "You break my shit, you get ripped."
Desperately, the slime glanced between the cracked counter, the iPad, and her impassive face, as if hoping one of them would offer an explanation that made sense.
The armored man stepped forward slightly, his voice soft and steady. "We'll take the silver deal."
Rimuru spun toward him, incredulous. "WHAT?! You're seriously letting her SCREW US OVER?!"
"She has the money," came the reply, even and unbothered. "And you broke her counter."
"I-I barely touched it though!"
"But you still broke it."
Rimuru scowled, muttering under his breath. "This is such bullshit…"
She didn't flinch. "You brought in fake currency and cracked my glass. I'd say we're both already in the negatives."
The slime leaned over the counter again— brows drawn. "You know what? I want to speak to your manager."
She exhaled slowly through her nose and pointed at the wall behind them, where a small laminated sign was affixed:
"KOBAYASHI'S TREASURE EXCHANGE— ALL SALES FINAL. NO coin. YOU TOUCH IT, YOU KEEP IT."
Rimuru squinted at it. "Wait a second. Are you seriously 'Kobayashi?!' Like, from "Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid?!""
She didn't even blink. Just resumed tapping away at her iPad; with the rhythm of someone who had heard that line far too many times.
"No," she said flatly. "And you're not the first idiot who's asked."
The till then creaked open with a stiff mechanical groan as she opened it— its age betrayed by the fading gold veneer along the corners. Kobayashi then began sifting through the bills methodically— her lacquered fingernails brushing against the paper with a faint rasp, while her eyes narrowed as she double-checked the count.
Once satisfied, she reached over to a slim touchscreen terminal mounted beside the register— sleek, compact, the kind of device that looked like it came bundled with soy lattes and minimalism.
With a few practiced taps, she finalized the sale. A soft chime rang out, and a thin slip of receipt paper slid from the machine with a dry whir.
She tore it free without ceremony and placed it aside. Then, wordlessly, she extended the cash toward the armored man, stacked neatly and held between two fingers.
He accepted it with a quiet nod, cradling the modest sum in both hands as if it were far more than it was.
Rimuru, still hovering a step to the side, let out a quiet, controlled sigh through his nose. His arms folded across his chest, his weight shifting to one foot. "That it?"
Goblin Slayer looked down at the cash again before responding, voice calm. "One thousand… Six-hundred and eighty yen."
The slime stared at him for a beat, with his jaw slightly tense. "That's… Not exactly buying power."
The man beside him didn't react. He turned his head slightly, then asked, "But is it enough to use a computer?"
Rimuru didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted to the counter, then to the doorway, then back again, like he was calculating the odds of salvaging this whole venture.
"… It might get us into a net café," he muttered, finally. "Hour or two, tops. We'd have to be quick."
Goblin Slayer gave a single, measured nod. "Then it will suffice."
The slime then ran a hand through his long silver-blue hair, with his fingers dragging a little slower than usual. "We're really gonna be budgeting by the minute, huh…?" He murmured, while straightening his posture and drumming his knuckles against the counter once— not out of impatience, but to ground himself.
Soon though, his yellow eyes flicked toward the iPad propped against the back wall.
"… Or."
The word hung in the air— soft, but pointed.
He turned back toward Goblin Slayer, posture shifting just slightly. Less casual. More deliberate.
Without looking at Kobayashi, Rimuru's voice dipped low— measured, as if testing the weight of each word before letting it go.
"We could get something permanent," he said, just loud enough for the man in armor to hear. "That way we're not racing the clock every time we need… Access."
Goblin Slayer's helmet didn't move.
Rimuru kept going, tone calm, almost offhanded. "I just think if we want answers, we'll need time. Space. Something that won't log us out the moment we start putting things together."
A long pause. The armored man seemed to consider it— head tilted slightly, like he was replaying the words in his mind.
The slime's eyes flicked toward the iPad in Kobayashi's hands, but only for a second.
"I'm not saying we blow everything," he added, gentler now. "Just… If we had something that stays with us, it'd keep things from getting messy. No strangers hovering, no timed sessions, no risk of losing our place."
He shrugged a little, casual again— but the intent behind it stayed sharp. "I'd rather not rely on borrowed minutes when we're trying to figure out where we even are."
Goblin Slayer finally turned his head, just enough to meet Rimuru's gaze beneath the visor.
"You believe we're in the wrong place…?" The armored man quietly asked.
"I believe we won't know anything if we're stuck fumbling around for money to rent Internet access," Rimuru rebutted, while still keeping his voice low. "Besides, we're going to need something like it for directions, so… Might as well get it now, while we can…"
The slime let that sit a second, before looking back at the appraiser, and pointing at the tablet in her hands. "Hey, so… Do you sell any of those?"
Without missing a beat, the woman behind the counter replied in the same dry tone as before. "Seventeenth-gen iPad Pro. Battery's good, screen's intact, only mildly cursed by whatever background app refuses to die. Seventeen thousand yen."
Growing desperate, Rimuru pressed both palms to the glass— leaning forward like a man bargaining with a toll gate. "Come on. Just knock a little off the top and we'll take whatever spooky Apple slab you get rid of off your hands."
"No."
"P-Pretty please?"
"No."
He gestured at the dismal spread of leftover coins like they were the ruins of his pride. "Fine, fine. Is there anything else you'd buy from us? Some... Barter item? A treasured antique, perhaps?"
She looked up from her screen, eyes sweeping over the pair of them. "That depends. Got anything actually worth something?"
Rimuru snapped his fingers and spun around like the idea had just struck him with divine clarity. "Hey, what about his sword?"
The armored man didn't move at first. Then slowly— very slowly— his eyes narrowed behind the helm. "… But I need my sword."
"No, no, I get that," Rimuru said, holding up both hands. "Believe me, I get it. But listen— this isn't the old world. You're not going to run into anything here. You're walking around Tokyo with a weapon that would get most people arrested on sight. It's not practical."
The swordsman didn't budge. "If someone attacks us?"
Rimuru exhaled, before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who?! An irate barista?! A malfunctioning ticket gate?! Hell, the biggest threat we've seen so far is a price tag!"
Still, the armored man remained exactly where he was— motionless and unreadable, as if he hadn't heard a word.
The slime leaned in toward him, voice low, but not sharp— meant for the man beside him and no one else. "Come on… We already agreed to see this through, didn't we…? We need to start making sense of this place… And walking around with a blade on your hip like it's the feudal era isn't going to help…"
The armored figure gave no reply. Not a shake of the head. Not even a glance.
Rimuru didn't sigh, didn't press.
He simply adjusted his posture, hands folded lightly in front of him, his tone quieting. "We're not giving it up for nothing… We're making a trade… One thing for another… And if we're going to get a grip on what this world is, then we're going to need access… Devices, information, currency… We can't get by with silence and steel…"
Still, the armored man didn't move. His visor tilted slightly downward— not in refusal, but as if turning the thought over slowly, like weighing a blade in his hand. The silence was not tense, but deliberate.
Rimuru then spoke again, softer this time. "You're not leaving anything behind… You're just letting it do something else for once…"
The pause that followed was brief, but it lingered like held breath.
"… When we know what this place really is," Rimuru added, "you'll have your clarity… And I'll have mine…"
There was no nod. No reply.
But then, wordlessly, Goblin Slayer's gloved hand moved.
It hovered over the hilt— not with resistance, but with a quiet pause that spoke of memory.
Of use. Of weight, not just in steel, but in what it had meant, over and over again, through years no one had counted.
Then, in a single practiced motion, he drew the blade.
No theatrics. No effort wasted. Just the clean, controlled motion of someone who had done this far too many times to count.
The sword gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the shop, edge flashing with a dull, honest luster. Not polished to impress. Sharpened to survive.
He held it there for a second— silent— then gently placed it on the counter. Not discarded. Set down with care.
Rimuru didn't speak at first. He watched the gesture, and something in his usual energy quieted.
"… Hey," he said eventually, his voice calm, but fuller than before. The kind of tone reserved for moments that didn't need to be rushed.
The helmet turned just slightly.
Rimuru gave a faint smile— not for show, but to soften the edges of the words that followed. "I know this isn't easy for you. You've probably had that sword with you for a bit. It probably has some sort of value beyond monetary worth… If I had something to sell, I'd give them up instead."
His voice didn't waver, but there was an unusual warmth to it— steady, without performance.
"Whatever happens after this— thank you. Truly. I mean that."
The armored man gave the smallest of nods. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to let it land.
Behind the counter, Kobayashi pushed up her glasses and leaned forward, flipping the magnifier down with a practiced motion. Her voice was low, focused— completely absorbed in the weapon in front of her.
"This isn't decorative," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "No nickel plating. No synthetic wrapping. Tang's full. Tempered edge, good weight. Definitely not factory-made. Hand-forged. Might even be folded steel."
She adjusted the sword's angle slightly and narrowed her eyes. "… Where'd you say this came from?"
"I didn't," came the response, flat but not hostile.
Rimuru stepped in again, grin returning with a touch more charm than before. "Passed down a few generations. Family steel. Probably Edo-era, right?"
Kobayashi ignored the joke, with her eyes still on the blade.
"Carbon steel… Quenched in oil. Not folded. The grain's too clean. Someone made this to be used. The wear on the grip confirms it— this thing wasn't mounted. It was carried. Daily."
Rimuru cleared his throat. "So, how much are we talking?"
She gave him a long look, then turned back to the sword. "If it is actually Edo, and we can trace the lineage, maybe six figures— depending on the buyer. But this?"
She tapped the guard lightly with her knuckle.
"It's newer than that. I'd call it postmodern. Not mass-produced, but not an antique either. Built by someone with experience. Could've been a commission piece. Either way… It's got a story. Which means someone will want it."
Her eyes narrowed, thoughtful. "Are you sure you want to sell this?"
The slime then turned again to the armored figure beside him, before asking him, "Are you still okay with it?"
A long moment passed.
"I… I think so," the man said at last. His voice was even, but distant. "It served its purpose."
It wasn't grief. Not quite. But there was a finality to it, like someone closing a familiar door and knowing it might never open again.
Kobayashi didn't press. But her gaze lingered on him with a kind of quiet scrutiny.
"You don't strike me as sentimental," she said.
"I'm not."
"Still," she added, turning the blade slowly in her hands. "This kind of wear… This comes from real use. Not sparring. Not posturing. You used this. A lot."
He didn't respond. But his fingers twitched— barely perceptible beneath his gauntlets.
Rimuru then stepped in again, casually, like trying to soften the atmosphere. "It's been sitting around for a while. He's not the type to hang stuff on walls."
"No," Kobayashi mused plainly. "He's not, is he?" She then set the sword down with more care this time. "I've had people walk in here with their grandfather's rusted bayonet and act like they're letting go of a limb. You're telling me this is nothing to you?"
Another pause.
"… I didn't say it was nothing."
That was all.
Kobayashi didn't say anything for a while. Then she lifted the blade again with both hands, carefully, almost instinctively respectful.
"… I'll keep it behind glass," she said, voice quieter now. "Not in the front. Somewhere it won't be mishandled."
The armored man gave her a slow nod. "I'd appreciate that."
The line of her mouth softened, if only slightly.
"… Alright then." She pivoted back toward the register. "This'll take a minute. No paperwork on your end means I'm logging it as unregistered. You're not planning to lie about where it actually came from, are you?"
"No."
"Good. Saves me the trouble of calling you out on it."
She then reached beneath the counter, rifled through a drawer, and came up with a gently scuffed iPad Pro. She set it beside the sword with a quiet thunk.
"Here, take this McDonald's gift card," she said, before pulling a red and yellow gift card from the same drawer.
The sticker on it had once been a ribbon— now it looked like a faded regret.
"Leftover from some end-of-year office party, back when I still had my old job at "Jigokumeguri System Engineering"… It should still have a thousand yen on it."
The armored man tilted his head slightly. "What is… "McDonald's?""
Kobayashi blinked once.
Rimuru froze, then slowly pressed his hands against the counter, a look of dawning disbelief curling into a manic grin. "… That's it. I'm taking the deal before he starts asking what a cheeseburger is," he mused half-jokingly, before slapping the already cracked counter— breaking it even more. "We'll take it!"
Kobayashi sighed. "I should probably report both of you."
"You probably will," Rimuru said brightly.
She pushed the items across the counter without another word.
"If you're smart," she said, dry as dust, "you'll download the app. Free fries with any drink."
Rimuru leaned over the counter with solemn intensity. "I'll cherish this card with my life— or at least until I use it!"
She rolled her eyes.
Behind them, the blade lay in its new resting place— silent, gleaming, and, for the first time, at peace.