A completely new work in the beloved 2000s light novel series, "Inukkami!" Keita and Yoko continue their chaotic yet cheerful life together, but as spiritual mediums, they have completely become relics of the past and are fading from the world's memory. However, they suddenly find themselves caught up in a battle between a visiting American President and the world's most dangerous spiritualist, who is targeting the President's life. Can Keita, who has become a "person of the past," manage to reg
Shin Inukkami! ~Master of the Highest Edition~ - Perverts
The ones lamenting Keita Kawahira's transformation weren't only the people of the psychic world. Even deeper underground — in the shadowy places where the residents of the true underbelly lurked — his change was discussed with a certain indignation.
"Honestly, that guy's been nothing but a disappointment these past few years."
The one grumbling this as he knocked back a cup of sake was a craftsman-type man in a kimono.
"I went to visit him after ages, and what does he say? 'I don't recall ever being friends with you lot. Be grateful I'm not calling the cops!' Then he chased us off like dogs! Damn him!"
He slammed his emptied glass onto the low table and grabbed the sake bottle beside him, glugging its contents into the empty cup.
"Well, Kawahira-san has his position to think about these days."
The one who answered was a pudgy man in a suit, sitting across the low table from the craftsman. He was slowly sipping stale tea from a chipped teacup. In the underground world, the craftsman-type was called "Oyaji," and the pudgy man was called "Kakaricho."
They were in a hidden room at the very back of a basement in an abandoned building, completely buried under construction materials.
They'd originally had their base closer to the surface, but recent crackdowns on compliance violations and proper police work had driven them down into the darkness, deeper underground.
The place had a kitchen, a shower room, a sofa, and a fridge, with a living area in the center featuring tatami mats, a low table, and stacked futons. But the whole space was steeped in the shabby atmosphere unique to those who live hidden from the surface world. A single bare bulb cast a weak yellow light over the two middle-aged men.
In this secret hideout, Oyaji was once again working himself into a lather. He took a swig of sake.
"Damn it! 'Position,' my ass! 'Rosy campus life,' my ass! All he cares about is fooling around with women! You know what, Kakaricho? In the past five years, that guy hasn't gotten naked in public even once! Not a single time!"
Oyaji denounced this as if it were some heinous crime. Then his tone suddenly turned wistful, and he set his glass down on the table with a soft clink.
"...The title of 'Naked King' is crying, you bastard."
Kakaricho's expression turned solemn too. The mood was like a wake for someone tragically lost. Incidentally, Keita Kawahira had been arrested for streaking several times, but he'd never willingly stripped naked, and he'd never once called himself the Naked King. But such logic was lost on these two.
"That guy's finished."
The Oyaji muttered this with a sorrowful look. He was a notorious underwear thief, and Kakaricho was a hardcore masochist and a total pervert.
In recent years, thanks to the police's proper and legitimate work (as I've emphasized multiple times), Oyaji's range of activity had been severely limited. His once-crisp kimono was now wrinkled and grimy. His unkempt stubble had begun to show flecks of white.
Incidentally, Kakaricho wasn't being pursued by the authorities just for being a masochist — but the scenario of being persecuted was a direct hit on his fetish (plus a tiny bit of friendship), so he tagged along with Oyaji.
Oyaji suddenly raised his voice.
"Hey, Dokutoru! You think so too, don't you?"
About five seconds passed.
Silence.
Just as Oyaji and Kakaricho exchanged worried glances, finally—
"I suppose so. Keita-san has built his own life now."
The voice came from nowhere in particular. Oyaji and Kakaricho let out sighs of relief.
Thank goodness. He's still here.
Still existing in this world.
Neither Oyaji nor Kakaricho had laid eyes on their ally and peeping specialist, Dokutoru, in about half a year. It wasn't that he'd gone somewhere.
He was always in this room.
One day, out of the blue—
"Lately, there are fewer and fewer things I truly want to peek at from the bottom of my heart."
After muttering that flatly, he stopped setting foot outside entirely. But at the same time, his companions stopped catching sight of his distinctive silk hat and tuxedo as well.
He was a master of concealment who had once even outwitted the gods. No matter how carefully Oyaji and Kakaricho searched this room, they would never find even his shadow. Neither of them said it aloud, but a certain anxiety plagued them.
Could it be that Dokutoru had grown bored of this world, weary of it, and was slowly, gradually fading away?
Maybe it was just paranoia.
But still.
The evidence was that his presence seemed to grow fainter by the day. Sometimes, no matter how much they called for him, there'd be days with no answer at all.
Oyaji took another swig of sake, and Kakaricho brought his tea to his lips. An indescribable sense of stagnation had long since taken hold of them.
No one was there to break it.
"Nadeshiko. Do you also think Keita is a 'finished' psychic?"
At the café "Les Arbres," Yoko posed the question to Nadeshiko once more. At first, Nadeshiko hunched her shoulders and stayed silent. But eventually, as if she'd made up her mind, she spoke.
"Honestly, it's out of the question for me to pass judgment on Keita-sama. If he hadn't been there, I would have fallen into somewhere far more horrifying than death or nothingness. He lifted me out of that. So no matter what form he takes, no matter what state he's in, I will simply think only of repaying my debt with the utmost respect. Yoko-san, that goes for you too."
Yoko waved her hand as if to say, yeah, yeah, enough.
She stuck out her tongue in exasperation.
"That kind of thing — Keita and I both find it a total nuisance, honestly. Nadeshiko, you're way too heavy."
Nadeshiko smiled.
"That's why, no matter what the world says about him now—"
"No matter what they say? Is Keita's reputation really that bad right now?"
"Oh, no, no, that's not it! Um..."
Nadeshiko waved her hands and spoke while thinking.
"I think everyone's expectations of Keita-sama were simply too high. There has never been a single time when Keita-sama made a fatal mistake as a psychic. And yet people say all sorts of things — purely because their expectations of him are too high."
Nadeshiko pressed her palms together. With the expression of an older sister worrying over her younger brother, she said:
"I'm worried that those excessive expectations might be causing him terrible pain."
At that moment, Yoko slowly began to laugh. At first it was a soft "fufufu," then it became a "kukuku."
Finally, she let out a loud "ahaha."
"Nadeshiko. So even you don't really understand Keita after all. Now I get it."
Yoko stated it clearly.
"Listen, Nadeshiko. Keita hasn't changed one bit from the old days. Just like five years ago when he saved you. And even further back, when he saved me. Nadeshiko. Keita is—"
She declared it, jabbing her index finger at Nadeshiko.
"—the greatest psychic in this country. Even now."
Her expression held not a trace of doubt.
Unaware of all the expectations, disappointments, and feelings people held for him, Keita Kawahira slept. He was dead asleep, tied to his bed with thick iron chains that looked like they belonged on a large ship's anchor. A kappa that had come to visit was curled up on his stomach.
He still didn't know the many raging futures that awaited him.
On the TV, left on, news of the upcoming meeting between Japan's Prime Minister and the American President played endlessly...
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