Chapter 4: The brain Washer is too kind(4)

Teresa of Motherhood.

It’s been a week since she was given a name that twisted her insides just to hear.

Today, too, Teresa dragged her kids to work.

The jobs were always the dirtiest, most troublesome tasks.

But they were also the ones that paid.

Normally, a party of four was recommended.

Taking on a four-person job alone was, of course, no easy feat.

But even a rotten fish has its uses, and the skills she’d built up before hadn’t entirely vanished.

‘Before I met that man, it was always like this.’

Full of confidence, bold in every way.

A promising young woman with a bright future.

But two betrayals from a lover she thought would last forever were enough to send her plummeting to a back-alley child abuser.

Die.

Just die.

With murderous intent to tear that despicable man in half, she split a shelled insect in two.

Green bodily fluids splattered, seeping into her boots and gloves, but she didn’t care.

Nothing dulled the throbbing headache from sobriety like the thrill of blood-soaked slaughter.

But the joy was fleeting.

The sense of escape from reality vanished quickly.

Her youngest’s frail sobs yanked her back to reality.

Eldest son, Ian.

Youngest daughter, Anna.

Children too young to leave the village.

The cursed fruit of a misguided love, the symbol of her failed life.

The blood of that man she loathed to madness.

Yet, she could never abandon them.

The fearless eldest, holding the timid youngest’s hand, patting her back to comfort her.

Those calm eyes of the eldest, weathered like a knight who’d seen it all.

Those eyes irritated her.

The sapphire hue resembled her husband’s, but the deep cynicism and exhaustion in them were all hers.

“You love your children more than anyone.”

Always spouting impudent nonsense.

That cheeky brat.

She couldn’t even blame him for bad manners since she’d taught him nothing.

‘Where did he learn that?’

Without being taught, he carved a wooden knife himself, cutting through thick leaves or thorns to clear a path for himself and his sister.

During breaks, he wove thick plant stems into gloves to remove obstacles.

‘Was that how he earned a living while I neglected him?’

She knew.

For the past year, with the family’s money gone, Ian had taken odd jobs to earn cash and support the household.

That made her even angrier.

Every time she felt his resilience, it reminded her of her own pathetic nature.

Her foolish past kept resurfacing.

“Tch.”

She grew irritated.

Teresa no longer relieved her anger by hurting herself.

Nor by abusing her children.

Monsters.

The targets of her assigned extermination.

Crunch, crack, pop!

Again.

The splattered fluids made a mess of her gloves and boots.

“Anna, cover your ears and close your eyes.”

“No way.”

Was she taking after her brazen brother?

Teresa snorted at the youngest, who stared back unfazed, no longer crying in fear.

Scrub, scrub, scrub.

This hunt dragged on, and the mess wouldn’t wash off with water.

Even rinsing in cold water until her hands turned red didn’t help.

It was infuriating.

When her hands lost all feeling, the eldest ground some leaves he’d gathered and mixed them with water in a small bowl.

He offered it to her.

“What’s this?”

“Grind this, mix it with water, and rub it on. It stops the stickiness.”

“Who taught you that?”

“A lady from the neighborhood.”

Fairy Lilac.

She knew of it.

A common ingredient in the underworld, often used for sexual purposes.

It neutralizes sticky substances, including post-coital cleanup.

Knowledge too mature for a child.

Yet, the woman who taught him didn’t hesitate to share it.

Her intentions were infuriatingly clear.

Grip.

She grabbed the eldest by the collar, and he looked up with an indifferent face.

A clueless expression, unaware of what he’d been dragged into.

Even seeming a bit pleased to be helpful, which made her angrier.

“Don’t ever get involved in that kind of thing again.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t talk to strange women.”

“That’s a problem.”

“Want a beating?”

“If they’re strangers, they won’t give me food.”

“I’ll earn it.”

Teresa glared like a ferocious beast, warning him.

“Never. Never take money from those kinds of people again.”

“Got it.”

His shirt rode up as she grabbed his collar, revealing his scrawny stomach, which fueled her rage.

“Eat.”

Tasteless preserved food.

The eldest cut it in half, gave some to his sister, and only then ate his share without a single complaint.

She didn’t like it.

Not the eldest acting like an adult.

Nor herself for making him this way.

This world, at its core, is based on a game.

Specifically, an adventurer’s guild management simulation.

Mind Controller Ian.

Using the protagonist’s ability to train obedient adventurers, increase guild revenue, expand clients, recruit new adventurers, and explore high-difficulty dungeons to pursue growth.

Learning recipes and sharing knowledge for useful items is essential sub-content for guild staff, part of the crafting system.

[Fairy Lilac Lubricant]

Description: Used to clean equipment contaminated by monster blood or hide.

Effect: Prevents equipment durability loss and removes equipment efficiency debuffs.

I thought it would help Mother.

Her gloves and boots were soaked with the sticky green fluids of insect monsters, making squelching noises.

I saved two pieces of gear before they were ruined.

But instead of praise, I got scolded.

‘Is she just an irredeemable bad mother?’

Was her pride hurt?

Mother snapped at me angrily.

Told me never to take jobs from those women again.

In a world where gender roles are reversed, without women’s jobs, there are no side gigs.

For the struggling Teresa family, this was bad news.

‘Well… it’s not like I don’t understand.’

I’d had a similar experience before.

Back on Earth, when my family was struggling.

My mother, when I was young, told me she’d make sure I could eat without working.

So I didn’t need to take jobs sewing eyes onto stuffed animals.

A time with a reliable pillar.

Memories of poverty and hardship.

A few years later, my mother took her life, shamed by a factory manager’s offer to trade her body for money.

“…”

That’s what happened, right?

It’s not unreasonable to think this way.

‘If Mother’s struggling alone, I have to help somehow.’

After work.

Back in the alleys.

I’d take on another odd job.

I quietly resolved.

As soon as I got the chance, I went to the alley where I’d made deals with adults.

“You’re here. What info do you have today?”

“Preserved food recipes.”

A food recipe resistant to corrosion from the toxic mana of monster hunting grounds, suitable for long-term storage.

You unlock it by working at an inn or grocery store four or more times.

Valuable and practical knowledge, but since I couldn’t join the Adventurer’s Guild or leave home for long, this was the kind of info I sold.

“Ian, you’re so clever.”

“Thank you.”

“Being an adventurer, I don’t know much and it’s tough, but thanks to you, I’m so grateful.”

The woman kneaded my hand like dough, thanking me.

I was used to tough women like her from Earth, so I let it slide, but then she patted my head too.

“But Ian, how can you go around not eating enough? So skinny. Come to my place, I’ll give you something tasty. Won’t you come?”

“I’m okay.”

“Alright. If you need help, call me anytime. I’ll have food ready for you.”

Her gaze burned as she eyed the holes in my tattered clothes.

She must be angry at Mother for not dressing me properly.

I tucked a few extra coins she gave me as a bonus into the pouch on my necklace.

“Where’ve you been wandering?”

“Found some money.”

“Pointless. Just follow me.”

After finishing her job, Mother headed to the blacksmith.

She’d been set on buying a proper iron sword to replace the rusty one today.

Slap!

In the alley, a burly woman smacked a scrawny girl’s cheek.

“You kidding? This is all you brought, and you’re talking about food? You think I’m a pushover?”

“I’m sorry…”

“If you don’t want to get beaten to a pulp, go out and rob other kids or pick pockets to meet your quota. I took in an orphan, so you’d better earn your keep.”

The girl was shoved toward the main street like she was being chased out.

After she vanished, the thug woman counted the coins she’d brought, chuckling.

“Free beer for me.”

“…”

A common sight in the filthy, dangerous alleys.

Mother’s gaze briefly flicked to my necklace pouch.

I quietly untied it and handed it over.

That burly woman’s slap might knock you down.

Mother’s slap might separate your head from your body.

The tavern.

And the pouch.

Mother glared at both, then turned away.

“Where are you going?”

“The inn.”

“It’s expensive outside the alleys.”

“I know.”

Lingering, Mother glanced at the blacksmith one more time.

Suddenly, my body floated.

Mother scooped up me and Anna with both arms.

“I just hate the stinking alleys, so shut up and stay quiet.”

That day, we bathed in warm water.

A draft-free, warm-floored bed was a bonus.

The next day, Mother still carried the rusty iron sword.

The day after, too.

The first gear to change was our tattered clothing.