Otaku Translation: I! Anomaly Cleansing Agent! C52

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He instinctively reached for the scalding badge on his chest, its heat almost burning through his shirt. After quickly checking the status of his tools—the goat’s head and the enchanted broom—he sighed in relief when he confirmed they were still functional. Then, without wasting a second, he tried to move his legs.

No luck. His feet wouldn’t budge.

Looking down, Leon froze. A grotesque frog-like hand had sprouted from the floor, gripping his calves tightly with suction-cup fingers. On the back of the monstrous appendage, there were strange lumps resembling embedded copper coins—twenty-three or twenty-four of them, all a deep bluish-green color.

Realizing escape was impossible for now, Leon scanned the others around him. To his dismay, everyone else was similarly trapped by identical frog-hands rooted firmly to the ground. Panic rippled through the crowd as people screamed and thrashed against their restraints.

But something caught Leon’s attention. Unlike his own captor, which bore only greenish-blue lumps, some of the other frog-hands sported silvery-white ones, while a rare few gleamed faintly with gold.

Gold, silver, copper… It seemed tied to some kind of monetary rule.

Frowning thoughtfully, Leon glanced at the shopping bags dangling from his broom. Inside were two sets of children’s clothes and a knitted sweater—items he’d purchased earlier. The Char Department Store had been offering deals far cheaper than market prices, and Leon, wanting to save a bit of money for his family, couldn’t resist picking up gifts for his younger siblings.

The total savings? About twenty-something copper coins—a figure eerily close to the number of green lumps on the frog-hand holding him hostage.

So, greed triggered this trap? And the more you coveted, the stronger the grip?

Testing his theory, Leon dropped the shopping bags. But even then, the frog-hand didn’t release him. Crouching down, he cautiously touched the bizarre limb but felt nothing solid beneath his fingers. No prompts from [Materialist Soul], either. Whatever these hands were, they weren’t physical entities—they were manifestations of some sort of rule, likely tied to the giant toad itself. Defeating the source might be the only way out, but the creature was nearly seven hundred meters away. How could he possibly reach it?

……

“Why won’t anyone answer me?”

As Leon debated whether to test Chief’s fiery red hair, the colossal golden toad atop the money chest blinked slowly, disappointment flickering across its amphibian features. Surveying the panicked masses below, it murmured softly:

“Humans… You worship wealth so fervently, yet when I bring it to your doorstep, fulfilling your deepest desires, you refuse to look at it. Why?”

“Because…” One man, surrounded by fallen shopping bags, mustered the courage to respond. “Money may be valuable, but it can’t compare to life. Life is priceless.”

“No,” the toad replied, tilting its head slightly. A sly smile stretched across its wide mouth. “From what I know of your species, life can be measured in money—and quite cheaply, too.”

At the sound of its voice, the man instinctively tried to flee, but the frog-hand clamped around his leg held him fast. Trapped, he let out a shrill scream.

“You’re too noisy,” the toad said lazily, dipping one webbed foot into the mountain of gold before it. With a deft motion, it scooped up a glittering pile of coins, which vanished instantly, reappearing thirty meters away at the man’s feet.

“Sell me your voice,” the toad suggested sweetly. “That way, you’ll learn to stay quiet.”

Before the man could react, his screams cut off abruptly, as though someone had flipped a switch. He clawed desperately at his throat, but no sound emerged—not even a rasp. The once-vocal man fell silent, reduced to trembling helplessly.

Satisfied, the golden toad turned its gaze to the next closest victims: a young couple huddled together, shaking uncontrollably.

“And you two?” it purred. “Will you sell me your lives?”

“No… no!” The husband stammered, paralyzed with fear, while the wife clung to his arm, shaking her head violently. “Our lives… We only have one each! If we sell them to you, we’ll cease to exist!”

“Really?” The toad tilted its head again, feigning confusion. “But aren’t you already selling your lives every day?”

“We… we haven’t!” the wife protested weakly. “We’ve never sold our lives!”

“Oh, but you have.” The toad extended a webbed finger, plucking two shiny coins from the pile. Blinking its fly-like compound eyes, it continued matter-of-factly:

“These two little treasures require seven days of labor in the cotton mill for you, controlling machines that process thousands of pounds of raw material. Meanwhile, your husband must endure five grueling days submerged in chemical vats, wearing suffocating rubber boots. So, according to my calculations, your seven days of life equal his five days, and those five days equate to these two coins. Over the past four years, you’ve consistently made this trade—and clearly intend to keep doing so.”

The toad paused, letting its words sink in. Then, with deliberate slowness, it began scooping up handfuls of gold coins, placing them gently at the couple’s feet.

As the pile grew, the couple’s appearance changed dramatically. Their hair grayed, their skin sagged, and deep lines etched themselves into their faces. In mere moments, they aged decades, transforming into middle-aged figures—and the process showed no signs of stopping.

But the horror wasn’t limited to them alone. Across the plaza, over fifty thousand people suddenly found piles of gold coins appearing beneath their feet. As the metallic clinking filled the air, the entire crowd began aging uncontrollably, their lifespans draining away with every passing second.

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