Momo, Mongrel, and the Heavy Load
“Mongrel, you’re still doing city cleanup?”
“Huh? Oh, hey, Momo.”
I was picking up trash along the street as usual when a sleepy-eyed girl called my name.
It was Momo, the daughter of Sally, leader of the “Young Wands” guild.
She’d always tied her jet-black hair—inherited from her mother—into twin tails, but her way of speaking felt sharper than I remembered.
She used to be such a polite kid… Guess even Momo’s hit that phase—puberty.
“City cleanup’s important, y’know? Keeping things tidy like this helps people develop a habit of cleanliness. Did you know? Houses with crumbling walls are more likely to be targeted by criminals—”
“That’s not what I meant! I’m asking why you’re still Bronze 3 after three whole years! You’re not that weak of a guildman, are you?”
Whoa, chill. Giving a serious type a short fuse is just exhausting for everyone else.
“Me not ranking up from Bronze? That’s been the case since three years ago. Kinda late to bring it up now, don’tcha think?”
“…So there’s a reason. Even so, staying Bronze…”
“More importantly, this ain’t the kinda talk to have in the middle of the street. I’m working here? Not a fan of people interrupting cheap labor.”
“O-oh, r-right. Sorry.”
Not that I mind chatting or zoning out during cleanup, but still.
“So? You need somethin’? I’ll listen while I work if it’s quick.”
“…Yes. Mother mentioned you’re taking an escort mission to Dryden?”
“Whoa, word travels fast.”
“She heard it from Nastasha. You’re tagging along with Artemis, right?”
Ah, so Sally’s tight with Nastasha, and that’s how it got around…
Didn’t realize they gossiped like that.
“Eh, the escort’s more of a side gig. I’m really goin’ for the lake there. Figured I’d do some fishin’.”
“Oh, the lake! Zahia Lake! Crystal-clear water, barely any dangerous creatures—it’s wonderful!”
“Uh, yeah.”
What’s with her? Did she turn into a lake fanatic when I wasn’t looking?
“Actually, I’ve been developing these shoes lately!”
“…Aah.”
The moment Momo pulled the shoes from her bag, I understood everything—
including what she was about to ask.
“They’re aquatic mobility gear, modeled after merman flippers! Mermen swim effortlessly with these, right? I thought humans could move just as fast if equipped similarly… I designed these myself—Vandale doesn’t know!”
What she showed me were, indeed, flippers.
*Thin, fan-shaped extensions from the toes. Not sure about the material, but they seemed flexible enough.
…Though, the sandal-like straps looked sketchy. Could’ve made ’em more shoe-like. Feels like they’d slip off.
Also, the flippers themselves were kinda short—barely ten centimeters. Doubt they’d add much propulsion.
But damn, Momo made these? Impressive.
She’s only 15, right? At that age, my “research project” was a bug collection with four specimens—two grasshoppers and two cicadas. Compared to that, this is Nobel Prize-worthy.
“You made these? Not bad. Came up with the design yourself?”
“Yes! I had help with the shoe part, but the rest is mine! Didn’t even ask Mother!”
“Damn, you’re a genius.”
“R-really? Oh, I’m nowhere near that. You just think so because you’re dumb, Mongrel.”
“Wait, I did just compliment you, right?”
“Anyway! I want you to test these flippers in the lake! Then report back! Here—a checklist of trials!”
“…Meticulous as ever. Let’s see… side-stroke, front-stroke, diving… Huh. Wants data on different swimming styles.”
*The parchment listed test procedures for the flippers.
READ THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATION AT GADGETIZEDPANDA.COM
But while it mentioned directions like “front” or “side,” it didn’t specify techniques. Then again, only military types get formal swimming lessons. Makes sense.*
“Don’t mind tryin’—looks fun. But Momo, what if I can’t swim?”
“You can’t? Doesn’t matter—the flippers’ll fix that!”
…Wait, does she think these things auto-grant swimming skills?
Eh, I’ll explain after testing.
“And don’t worry—I’m not asking for free. A guildman pays for honest work!”
“Oh, you’re payin’? Guess I’ll take it seriously then.”
“Here. My practice magic ring.”
“…Not money?”
Still, it looked fancy—silver, probably worth a decent sum.
“Miselina said you’ve started magic practice! These rings are expensive, so it’ll help. Consider it an advance.”
“Now my pack’s heavier… Thanks, I guess.”
…Should I admit I quit practicing? But then she’ll laugh at me for being a quitter. I don’t wanna practice, but I don’t wanna look bad either…! Alright, in a month, I’ll say, “Tried for ages, but no luck.” Spin it as effortful failure. Perfect.
“Since you’re taking it, please test thoroughly. And remember—the flippers are prototypes. Don’t break them; bring them back!”
“Demandin’ client… This invention that important?”
“Of course! This is Legol, the City of Invention! I’ll make my name as a mage-inventor here, and these flippers are my first step!”
“Legol’s an invention hub now?”
“That’s what they say in the capital! Lots of jealousy, though.”
So Momo’s into this now. Inventor girl—not bad. That’ll serve her better than weird teenage phases.
“Well then, I’m counting on you, Mongrel. Oh, if you find rare materials like sunken mossrock, bring some back!”
“Sure—for the right price.”
“…I’m kinda broke, so discount?”
“Ask again when you’ve earned your own coin. You’re a proper guildmember, right? Almost an adult—time to act like one.”
“Urk… Mmph… Fine.”
She nodded, chastened. Good kid, all things considered. A miracle she turned out normal with that eccentric mom. Guess the Young Wands raised her right.
Later, I finished guild paperwork and started packing.
The Dryden escort mission was tomorrow. Time to prep for a comfy trip.
First, mission essentials:
“Bastard sword—check! That’s it!”
Next, lake leisure gear:
The flippers, three fishing rods (bulky, but necessary), tackle box… Standard camp set plus extensions. Can’t forget the cookware—small pot, utensils. And the holy grail: seasoning kit. Heavy, but collateral damage. Life’s bleak without it. Pack the yatsude kelp too.
Lookin’ good… but this load’s getting ridiculous. Rods are non-negotiable, but the camp set’s huge. Wanted to hunt waterfowl, but no room for a bow. Wasted effort making those arrows. Oh, chuck the chakram. Why’s that in here? Move—flipper space!
“Hmm…”
My custom backpack was now taut as a drum. Kinda hilarious that almost none of this is mission-related. Just the bastard sword’s for escort duty. But hey, that’s all I ever use anyway.
“Tomorrow’s gonna be fun.”
*I poked the top of the pack—then it toppled over.
Yikes. Can’t risk squashing the delicate stuff. so don’t tip it over.
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