Manjiro stood on the sidewalk, clutching a plastic bag from a convenience store. He was in no rush to return home.
A white van pulls over. The window rolls down, revealing two rough-looking men sitting in the front.
"Yo! Buddy!" the driver called out, flashing a smile. "You look stranded. Need a lift?"
Manjiro glanced at the van, then back at the sidewalk.
"You guys aren't, by any chance," he said slowly, "running an organ donation… or kidnapping people, are you?"
Driver's heart rate: elevated, Manjiro noted.
"O-Of course not!" the driver sweated.
The passenger laughed nervously. "Heh. Funny guy. We're heading past the city. Need a lift or what?"
Manjiro narrowed his eyes slightly.
[Transparent World: Active]
He glances at the van. Inside apart from the two in the front. There were another two in the back and three unconscious bodies in the cargo hold.
Ah. Human traffickers. Or organ harvesters, Manjiro thought. Finally, some customer service.
"Well, a car is faster than walking." Manjiro stepped forward and slid the side door open. "Thanks. My legs were about to give out."
He climbed in, taking a seat in the middle row right between the two thugs, who immediately tensed up. Manjiro glanced casually at the cargo hold in the back, where the three bodies were stacked like logs under a blanket.
"Wow. A party," Manjiro deadpanned. "You guys must be really popular. They look dead tired."
The thug sitting to Manjiro's left flinched, sweating profusely. "Yeah... uh... heavy drinkers. We're taking them home."
The thug on the left(Thug B) leaned over and frantically whispered to his partner on the right, "Give him the juice to shut him up."
Thug B quickly reached down and hauled up a small blue plastic cooler. "You... uh... you look thirsty, kid. Here. Have a drink. On the house."
He hands Manjiro a can of Soda.
Manjiro popped the tab. He said aloud. "Don't mind if I do."
He tipped his head back and downed the entire can in one gulp. The thugs watched him intently, waiting for his eyes to roll back and pass out.
Manjiro crushed the empty can and let out a satisfied sigh. "Refreshing. Got another?"
Thug B blinked, stunned. "Uh... sure."
He handed over a second can. Manjiro cracked it open and instantly downs it.
"Still thirsty," Manjiro said, holding his hand out. "Another."
What followed was a display of Manjiro knocking back cans like water. Crack. Gulp. Crunch. Crack. Gulp. Crunch.
In the front seat, the driver and the passenger were staring into the rearview mirror, their eyes wide.
That's four cans... the passenger screamed in his mind. That's enough to knock out a horse! Why is he still conscious?!
"You guys really need to stock up better," Manjiro said, tossing the fifth crushed can over his shoulder. "It's been years since I had a soda."
Without asking, Manjiro leaned over and reached into the cooler himself. "Ooh, last two. Don't mind if I do."
He grabs the final two cans. He drinks them both simultaneously, double fisting them.
Beside him, Thug B wasn't having it. Stop! You're drinking our entire inventory!
We can't pick up anyone else tonight! the passenger thought. The cooler is completely empty!
Manjiro wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, counting on his fingers. "One, two... six? Seven?." He looked at Thug B with dead, flat eyes. "You guys are out?"
Thug B's voice cracked. "Y-Yeah. We're out."
Driver's thought. We can't pick up anyone else tonight. This kid drank the whole stash. I'm going to kill him. I'm actually going to kill him.
"Seven cans," Manjiro said, patting his stomach. He let out a loud yawn. "Shame. I was just getting started." He stretched his arms high above his head.
"Is that... so?" the driver hissed through gritted teeth.
"Yeah... weird..." Manjiro said. He looked at the empty cooler, then at the angry faces, and thoughts to himself I should probably give them what they want. It's only polite.
He slumps over dramatically, tongue lolling out. "Bleh."
Manjiro flops sideways onto the seat, letting his head hit the window with a thud. He closes his eyes.
A collective breath left the lungs of everyone else in the van.
"Finally!" Thug A gasped. "What the hell is this kid made of?!"
The Scrappers look at the empty cans, then at the passed-out boy
"...I hate this kid," the passenger whispered.
"Just drive," the driver growled, glaring at the road ahead. "If the Gourmet doesn't eat him, I will."