The floating paper-doll, known as the Informant, hovered level with Hermes's nose, her tiny ink-drawn index finger pointed accusingly at his face.
"Who the hell are you, Hermes Archnemesis?" she demanded, her voice vibrating with a high-pitched authority that didn't match her fragile frame.
Hermes looked at her listlessly, the exhaustion of the day finally settling into his bones. "Me? You just answered your own question, kid. I'm Hermes Archnemesis. Unless there's another guy in this sewer wearing a living slime suit, I'm the only one."
The Informant stomped the empty air twice, her paper face crinkling in fury. "I know your name! I'm asking what you are!"
"I'm just a human being," Hermes replied, his voice calm and respectful, as if he were explaining a simple concept to a confused toddler. "Though, if you're planning on interviewing adults in the future, you might want to work on your opening questions. They're a bit broad."
Her paper face flushed a vivid crimson. Beside him, the Slime girl stepped forward, her liquid form rippling. "Oi, little scrap of paper—pardon me, little sister—were you the one responsible for clearing out the seventeen sinners who were supposed to be guarding this room?"
"Yes, Sis," the Informant replied, her tone turning cold and professional. "I ate them. I needed to clear the 'noise' so I could interrogate this man in private. I don't care about their lives. Ally or foe, it makes no difference to me. They are just fuel for my archives."
The Slime let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Aah, I knew it. I hate it when my younger sisters steal my snacks. You were always a food-grabber."
Hermes watched the two of them, the air between the sisters sparking with a centuries-old grudge.
"Sister," the Informant declared, turning her gaze back to Hermes with a spark of genuine hatred. "I'm going to make this reunion brief. This man is a fraud. He is not the reincarnation of the former Emperor. He is a pretender."
"A fraud?" The Slime laughed, a bubbling sound. "Of what? Being a man? Being a mobster? He's doing a pretty good job at both if you ask me."
"He is a fake Master, Sister! You should distance yourself from him. Seeing you like this... it makes me furious. You were once a deaf, unfeeling creature of pure power. Now you're... you're this!"
The Slime's playful expression vanished. Her face darkened, her eyes glowing with a neon scarlet light that resembled an ancient ogre stalking the night. Her lips retracted, revealing a glimpse of something predatory beneath the girl-like exterior.
The Informant immediately collapsed in mid-air, genuflecting on nothingness as she begged for mercy. Hermes gasped at the sudden shift. Looking at the Informant's tearful, remorseful face, he felt a strange, paternal urge to pinch her paper cheeks—but he kept his hands firmly in his pockets.
Who is she, anyway? Hermes wondered. He searched his memories of the Mafioso game development, but there was nothing. Not even the most obsessed lore-hounds on his team had mentioned sentient letters or slime-sisters.
'Why are they calling me Master?' he mused grimly. 'If the Goddess who set this up is Stump G, then why does he sound like a middle-aged man? This is giving me a migraine.'
In Hermes's mind, a "God" was an omnipotent being, not a petty administrator who kidnapped office managers and dropped them into death-trap stories. He wasn't a hero, and he wasn't some over-eager fanboy who dreamed of an Isekai life. He was just a man who wanted to run a legitimate business and maybe retire with a decent pension.
As he watched the Slime tower over her sister, he couldn't help but compare her to Venom from the old comics—a liquid parasite stuck to his body, beautiful and terrifying all at once.
Then, a sudden, very modern anxiety gripped him. He looked at the two spirit-girls—both appearing no older than children.
Wait... if the FBI saw this, would I be arrested? he thought frantically. I'm a grown man in the middle of a sewer with two little girls who call me 'Master.' This looks terrible. He imagined a SWAT team bursting through the sewer grates. Man, think positive, Aljen. FBI, CIA... none of them exist here. You're fine. Just follow the flow. Play along with their weird spirit-logic for now. He placed a hand on his chest and let out a long breath of relief.
"Something wrong, Master?" the Slime asked, her eyes softening as she clutched her hands over her heart in a gesture of concern.
"I'm fine. Just thinking," Hermes lied. "So, what's the plan for your sister? This is a pretty big family reunion for a Saturday night."
The Slime turned back to the Informant, who was currently looking like a kicked kitten. "No idea," the Slime shrugged, giving up on the intimidation instantly.
Hermes gave her a look of pure disdain. That's it? You scare her half to death and then just shrug? Now she's crying again.
"Oh! I've got it!" The Slime clapped her liquid palms together. "Hey, you little scrap of paper. Why don't you just form a contract with our Master? Then we can all be together." She extended a hand toward her sister.
"E-Eh? T-That's impossible!" the Informant cried, lowering her head until it nearly touched her paper knees. "I'm sorry, Sister. I... I am not allowed."
"Why not?" the Slime demanded, her voice turning low and terrifying again. "Explain yourself."
"I-I've already pledged my loyalty to the rightful Mast—I mean, I'm already taken! I'm so sorry!" she wailed.
Hermes rubbed his chin. Why did she hesitate? 'Rightful Master'? There's someone else?
He wasn't exactly looking to add more magical baggage to his life, but the Slime clearly didn't care about his opinion. As the Informant continued to refuse, the atmosphere in the room began to rot. The million grieving souls trapped inside the Slime's body began to manifest, their whispers filling the room like a physical pressure. The Slime's liquid hair began to float and writhe like the snakes of Medusa, casting long, monstrous shadows against the vaulted ceiling.
The air in the vaulted chamber curdled. The Slime girl's face, previously filled with a twisted sort of sisterly affection, went flat and cold.
"My day is ruined," she whispered, her voice vibrating with a frequency that made the nearby stone floor crack. "My disappointment is immeasurable. To think you would choose a pretender over the true throne... you are a disgrace to our lineage."
Without a second's hesitation, she snapped her fingers. A bolt of pure, condensed mana—blacker than the shadows of the sewer—streaked toward the Informant. The paper-doll reacted with a frantic shriek, throwing up a shimmering shadow barrier just in time to deflect the blast into the ceiling.
"S-Sister! What are you doing?!" the Informant wailed, her paper edges singed by the near-miss.
"You are no longer my sister," the Slime declared, her hands glowing with the harvested souls of the children and the elves. Two spheres of sickly light pulsed in her palms. "You are a disposable familiar and a stain on our history. There's no need for small talk anymore. It was... nostalgic to see you, but this is the end. Farewell."
Hermes stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. This is getting way out of hand, he thought, his lips trembling behind where the mask usually sat. To any outside observer, he looked like a cold, calculating Don watching a subordinate carry out an execution. Inside, he was screaming.
She didn't even blink, Hermes realized, gulping down his saliva. They're related, and she's trying to erase her from existence without a hint of remorse. I need to be so, so careful with what I say to this creature.
"Our Master is the only Master," the Slime continued, her smile widening into something that looked genuine but felt like a death sentence. "The fact that you let yourself be tainted by a fake... I hate people who don't know their place. As your elder, it's my solemn duty to cut out the cancer in this family."
The Informant stared at her sister, her paper body trembling so violently she looked like she might tear herself apart. Realizing she couldn't win, she didn't wait for the next attack. With a soft pop of displaced air, she vanished, leaving only a few white flecks of paper drifting in the stagnant air.
The Slime clicked her tongue in annoyance and crossed her liquid arms. "She escaped. Typical. What a pathetic little sister." She turned to Hermes, her terrifying aura vanishing instantly as she bowed her head in deep apology. "I am so sorry, Master. This was an embarrassing display. Next time, I promise I will kill her for certain."
Hermes scratched his chin, forcing his face into a relaxed, effortless smile. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. Besides," he added, thinking of the Informant's defiant, hateful glare, "your sister is a piece of work, isn't she? To show up and pick a fight even when she knew she was outclassed... she's got spirit."
"Master, we have some time now," the Slime suggested, her eyes sparkling. "How about I explain your former relationships with my other sisters? There are quite a few of us, and—"
"No, I'm good," Hermes interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm sure I'll get a much better 'impression' if I meet them in person. No need for spoilers."
The Slime's face fell, her liquid shoulders drooping in disappointment.
I don't understand any of this, Hermes thought, a drop of cold sweat rolling down his back. I'm not a reincarnation. I'm a guy from Tokyo who liked gaming. I need a strategy to put some distance between me and this 'family.' Once she realizes I'm not her original Master, she'll probably melt me into a puddle.
He closed his eyes, his "business manager" brain beginning to map out an exit strategy. Once I'm clear of this village and this 'Second Root' mess, maybe I should just disappear. I'll migrate to the Unified States, or maybe head to Southeast Asia—somewhere far away from the plot's main centers. I don't need to be the strongest; I just need to be invisible. This Slime is powerful enough to level a city; the moment a bigger Mafia boss sees her, they'll want me dead just to remove the threat.
"Unbelievable," the Slime suddenly puffed her cheeks out, looking at him with a mix of suspicion and awe. "You're scheming something big, aren't you, Master?"
In a flash of liquid motion, she melted from her girl-form back into a sleek, obsidian mask, latching onto his face once more.
"Of course," Hermes cheered, leaning into the lie. "I'm always planning, Slime. I have a grand agenda that no one but me can initiate."
"Master, Master! Can you share it with me? Please?" she pleaded eagerly.
"Sorry, personal agenda only," Hermes demanded, his voice muffled by the mask. "Don't pry into my secrets, okay?"
The Slime let out a muffled, happy cry. "Master, you're truly magnificent! Just like the old days—always ten steps ahead, making everyone tremble before you even move a finger. It's wonderful! This Slime will follow you to the ends of the earth. No one will touch you as long as I have a 'dead sexy' body to shield you!"
Dead sexy? Where is she learning these phrases? Hermes huffed, shaking his head. "My legs are starting to stiffen up. Let's get out of this hole."
As he climbed the stairs, the weight of the mission returned to him. The dead children in the bags, the missing villagers, and Venus...
Crap, I still have to find the survivors and make sure Venus is okay, he thought, his gaze hardening as he reached for the double doors. Let's just hope my luck hasn't run out yet.