Otaku Translation: I Really Must Control You Now C57

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Everyone from Otaku Translation

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decided it was a good day. In fact, if one loosened their grip on expectations, every day could feel like a good day. He no longer cared about the or when followers of the might catch up to him. After all, everyone—himself included—was destined to die sooner rather than later.

"Hmm-hmm-hmm—" he hummed a jaunty tune, sipping his drink as the fiery burn slid down his throat. The sensation sent a thrill through this traitor of the Esoteric Sect. With a slap on the table, Grayson turned to a nearby couple locked in an intimate embrace and shouted:

"Hey, you there! Yes, I’m talking to you! Do you have any idea how filthy that woman’s mouth is? She was probably entertaining someone else just yesterday."

The man beside him stiffened instantly, his face darkening with anger. His fists clenched, but only for a moment before they relaxed again. Bars like these were notorious not only for fleeting romances but also for attracting street thugs and gang members. People living at society's bottom didn’t value their lives too highly; throwing away their future over petty insults simply wasn’t worth it.

Resigned, the man tugged his partner along and left without another word.

"Oh ho, looks like I popped his fragile little ego," Grayson sneered loudly, paying no heed to the hostile glares from those around him.

In this world where savagery devoured civilization, which in turn bred more savagery, Grayson had once been a polite gentleman. But shedding the constraints of etiquette had shown him how liberating it felt to be a "barbarian."

"And you, officer!" Grayson called out toward a shadowy corner, addressing a young man wearing a dark vest. "Don’t you have work to do today?"

"How did you know I’m an officer?" the young man asked curiously.

"Because…" Grayson drew out the word dramatically, "your face is so insufferable that it practically screams sanctimonious hypocrisy."

He erupted into laughter, ignoring the growing scowl on the young officer’s face. Rising from his seat, the officer approached Grayson and reached for his wrist.

"If you keep causing trouble, I’ll arrest you for disturbing public order."

Smack! The hand was swatted away before it could make contact.

"You!" The officer winced, cradling his stinging hand, glaring daggers at the vagrant before him. Yet, he hesitated to retaliate further. That single blow confirmed what he already suspected: Grayson was an . This matter was now far beyond his jurisdiction.

"I suggest you watch your step," the young officer spat coldly, turning on his heel and leaving the bar much like the disgruntled couple earlier.

"Run along, go cry to your mommy," Grayson taunted, pounding the table with exaggerated force. His eyes lingered on the departing figure, specifically the faint, shimmering bubble hovering above the officer’s shoulder.

The bubble gleamed with rainbow hues, marred only by faint black spots that gave it a slightly dirty appearance. It was thanks to such bubbles that Grayson had managed to evade both the Esoteric Sect and the Judicature. Not long ago, he’d broken sect rules by praying to the for healing. The ritual had ended in disaster—dozens of altar shards piercing his body—but instead of dying, fate granted him a second chance at life. Alongside this miracle came the ability to perceive sin.

Each life taken added a bubble to the perpetrator’s aura. The guiltier they felt after killing, the murkier the bubble became.

"Tsk, young people these days," Grayson muttered, casting a disdainful glance at the onlookers who quickly averted their curious gazes. Satisfied, he returned his attention to the room.

He’d identified the young officer based on the clarity of his bubble. A clear bubble indicated someone who wasn’t reckless—a likely member of law enforcement whose sole blemish stemmed from a natural reverence for life itself. Only one bubble meant the man was relatively inexperienced, making verbal provocation harmless enough.

The wooden door creaked open, and three figures entered the tavern. Their youthful appearances stood in stark contrast to the hardened patrons inside. Clearly students, they carried themselves with an air of naive confidence.

"Curiosity killed the cat," Grayson mused aloud, easily discerning their motivations. To them, visiting a place like this and drinking a few rounds equated to stepping into adulthood—a false sense of maturity.

His gaze fell first on the gray-haired woman leading the group. No bubble. Then he shifted to the next.

Of course, he didn’t expect anyone here to have killed directly, but caution—and boredom—compelled him to check.

"Hmm?"

Grayson frowned. Floating above the chestnut-haired woman were several tattered bubbles. Indirect killings, then. Spotting the emblem of on her uniform, everything clicked. To most people, Rothesia was merely an elite educational institution. But during his time in the Esoteric Sect, Grayson had heard whispers referring to its students as “merciless Void Domain exploration machines.” Training competent explorers required methods far harsher than child’s play.

"And the last one…"

His eyes settled on the blonde-haired woman behind her. Beautiful, with delicate features, half-tied golden hair, and an icy demeanor, she embodied the classical Rothesian beauty. And yet… no bubble.

Just as Grayson prepared to look away, his expression froze. Bubbles began rising—not from her, but from everywhere else. From the floorboards, the cracks in the walls, the gaps between lights—an endless stream of bubbles seeped into existence. Cold sweat trickled down Grayson’s forehead as his mind threatened to shatter. It felt as though bubbles were forming within his own chest, suffocating him.

Every bubble represented a life lost. The sheer number overwhelmed him, triggering waves of nausea. Clutching his head, Grayson staggered to his feet, stumbling toward the exit.

Escape. That was all he could think about.

To others, these iridescent spheres might seem enchanting, even mesmerizing. To Grayson, they were harbingers of death. Bursting through the tavern doors, the fresh air hit his face, snapping him out of the oppressive haze.

"Why would someone like that come here?" he whispered hoarsely. Thousands… no, tens of thousands of bubbles. He couldn’t fathom what kind of power could take so many lives under the ’s nose.

Shaking his head, he waved aside lingering bubbles and started walking away. Or tried to.

Wait… bubbles?

Grayson froze mid-step, staring blankly ahead like a statue. A cascade of translucent rainbows poured down from the sky, mingling with the rising bubbles below. On closer inspection, the deluge was composed entirely of countless tiny spheres. Within moments, the entire city was bathed in an ethereal glow, every inch occupied by these shimmering orbs.

As the influx exceeded his mental threshold, blood vessels burst in Grayson’s eyes, blurring his vision. The taut string holding him together snapped with an audible pop. Darkness claimed him.

---

A few minutes earlier, inside the bar, the bartender stared incredulously at the trio seated at the counter.

"One hot milk."

"Orange juice, if you have it."

"Same as hers."

He couldn’t understand why anyone would come to a bar for such mundane drinks. But when three gold coins clinked onto the counter alongside the words, “Keep the change,” all confusion evaporated. Suddenly, beverages they never served materialized.

While the bartender fetched their orders, leaned toward skeptically. "This is your idea of a ‘restaurant’? A dive like this?"

"I get it!" chimed in excitedly, trailing close behind. “It’s novel!” She added. Associating with high-profile individuals like Viya guaranteed her journalism club success for years to come.

"I’m also looking for someone," Viya said casually.

"Figures," Mithra sighed, resting her chin on folded arms. Knowing Viya’s efficiency-driven personality, she doubted the other girl wasted time indulging in frivolous outings.

"Who are we looking for?" Mithra asked, sipping her warm milk.

"I don’t know." Viya shrugged dismissively.

Mithra rolled her eyes, used to Viya’s cryptic answers. She let her gaze wander aimlessly, lost in thought.

At the same moment, the man sitting in the corner suddenly retched, drawing disgusted looks from nearby patrons. Ignoring them, he stumbled outside, clutching his head as though trying to hold himself together. Once on the street, he froze briefly before doubling over in agony, emitting a guttural scream. Then, like a madman, he bolted into a nearby alleyway.

"Now I know," Viya stated flatly, watching him disappear.

It didn’t take a genius to realize the ’s breakdown signaled the start of a quest event.

"Give me a minute," Viya added, rising from her seat. Considering how unreliable teammates could be, tackling combat-heavy missions solo seemed wiser.