The man's scowl deepened, lines creasing his weathered face. He set the shotgun down with a heavy clunk and crossed his arms.
"A customer, huh? You look more like trouble waiting to happen. Do you even know what we sell here?"
Nightingale's composed smile didn't falter. After all, he had dealt with worse.
"I wouldn't have come all this way if I didn't."
For a moment, silence filled the shop, heavy as a loaded gun. The man's gaze bore into Nightingale, searching for cracks, but all he found was something unnervingly steady and calm.
The broad-shouldered man nonchalantly shrugged.
"Tch. Fine, but I'll need to see some identification before I sell you anything."
Nightingale tilted his head. "Identification? Ah… because of that government policy, right?"
"Of course, you idiot! You think I'd just hand over a gun to a kid?"
Logically, the man wasn't wrong.
Ever since the emergence of the Black Spire, the government had urged households to keep at least one firearm for protection. Even so, strict licensing laws remained in place. Selling weapons to minors was a crime no matter where you went.
Anyone caught breaking that law faced severe punishment.
Given the times, it was natural for the shopkeeper to be skeptical. Not too long ago, incidents involving school shooters had shaken society, and the government wasn't about to risk history repeating itself.
Identification, was it? I do have my natural ID, and I'm well past the legal age to own a firearm. But to avoid any unnecessary complications… it will be better to use this one.
With that thought, Nightingale slipped the ID card issued by the Awakened Association from his pocket.
He held it out with a smirk.
"Would something like this be sufficient?"
"Hmm."
The man narrowed his eyes, skimming the card with mild interest. But the moment they caught on a single word, his expression shattered.
« Esper »
His eyes widened in horror.
"W–Wait… you're a registered Esper with the Association?"
Nightingale maintained his smug expression, answering with deliberate nonchalance.
"Yes, that's correct. Is there a problem?"
"N–No! None at all, sir! You should've just said so from the start to avoid any… m-misunderstanding."
Is that so? Weren't you the same man who just called me a brat a moment ago? Nightingale thought inwardly with an almost amused smile.
Of course, the shopkeeper couldn't be blamed. How could he have known that this ordinary-looking teenager was a registered Esper? At first glance, Nightingale appeared to be nothing more than that, just another high schooler.
That was indeed the case. Still, he found it amusing how quickly the man's expression, along with his speaking tone, had flipped.
If he were the petty sort, he could have used his status as an Awakened to press the advantage and humiliate the gun seller. But that would only make him look like a sore loser. Better to act composed like a professional, and bury the matter.
Clearing his throat, he spoke with a voice that sounded oddly mature:
"No matter. I suppose you can't be blamed for the misunderstanding. So, are you still willing to sell to me?"
The shopkeeper hesitated for a moment as though thinking about the matter. Then he let out a breath.
"…Fine. If you're with the Association, then there's no issue. Though there are better alternatives if you want to purchase a good weapon, I won't question why you have come here. Surely, you have your reasons and I don't want to intrude, so let's leave it at that."
He turned away and moved behind the counter.
A few seconds later, the man pulled on a long drawer. Inside lay neatly arranged firearms; pistols, revolvers, and compact submachine guns, each resting in perfect order. He gestured toward the selection with a curt nod.
"You said you knew what you wanted. So pick."
Nightingale glanced at the display, shifting his eyes from gun to gun with a contemplative expression.
Then he frowned.
I don't know which one to pick.
The truth was, he didn't know a single thing about firearms beyond what he'd seen in TV shows. And reality, he was realizing fast, was nothing like fiction.
Should he ask for assistance? That would probably be the reasonable thing to do.
But before Nightingale could open his mouth, the broad-shouldered man spoke first.
"…Though I can make a few recommendations for you."
The man reached into the drawer and carefully lifted one of the handguns, weighing it in his palm as though testing its balance.
"This here's a Glock 19. It's quite reliable and easy to handle with low recoil. If you're new to firearms, this is the kind you want to start with. And it doesn't jam easy either."
He set it down gently, then picked up a revolver this time.
"Or this, a Smith & Wesson. It has a total of six shots and produces a heavy kick, but it won't fail you. Old-school, but it'll keep working even when other guns break down. You can fire it in just about any condition."
Nightingale listened carefully. The terms the man used weren't unfamiliar but important nevertheless.
After all, these weren't just props on a movie set.
"And finally…" The shopkeeper reached into the drawer again, this time pulling out something bulkier. A matte-black pistol with an extended magazine. "This is an FN Five-seveN. A military-grade that punches through armor like paper. Though it's not recommended for beginners."
He placed the gun down with deliberate care, then leaned against the counter.
"So... which one will it be?"
Nightingale's gaze lingered on each weapon in turn.
The Glock, the Revolver, and the Five-seveN.
Which one should I choose is indeed the question? The Glock seemed practical but I'm concerned about its power and the revolver cannot shoot multiple rounds in rapid succussion. So the best option is the Five-seveN, yes?
With a bit of consideration, Nightingale decided to ask something first.
"Tell me the price for each of them."
The shopkeeper scratched the back of his neck, then began ticking them off with a raised finger.
"The Glock runs you about 700. Standard, nothing too flashy."
He tapped the revolver with his knuckle.
"This one's a little cheaper; 550. Durable as hell, but not everyone likes the recoil."
Finally, his hand hovered over the matte-black pistol, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
"The Five-seveN? That'll cost you 1,500, and that's me being generous. Ammunition's pricier too, since it's military grade. Definitely not something I keep lying around in bulk."
Nightingale grimaced.
Of course, the Five-seveN had to be the most expensive! A ridiculous $1,500 for a glorified piece of junk!
Sooner or later, he would have to face Chaos Creatures far stronger than mere Fiends, monsters like the Beasts and those beyond. Against enemies of that caliber, guns or any other human-made weapons were nothing more than toys.
In other words, they really were junk.
But what choice did he have? Nightmares were far pricier, and his budget wasn't nearly generous enough to cover even the cheapest one. For now, he would have to settle for these so-called useless scraps of metal.
Nightingale pulled out his smartphone and opened his banking app.
[$3,248.67]
A wry smile tugged at his lips, though his eyes remained cold.
What a joke. If I buy the Five-seveN, half my savings vanish in an instant. Why would I throw away that much for some so-called military-grade toy?
The revolver and Glock together would cost less, and with a little push, maybe he could even wring out a discount.
That thought made him pause.
A discount… why not ask for one?
Nightingale's gaze shifted to the shopkeeper. Slowly, with measured malice, a calculating smile spread across his face, sharp enough to send a chill crawling down the man's spine.
Then the young Esper said shamelessly,
"Good sir, won't you give a discount for this loyal customer of yours?"