The old hag had obviously caught on to my original intention, to hold back some of the loot, but I still stubbornly tried to talk my way out of this new predicament, however hopeless it seemed.
"I can't sell those other things, they aren't even mine to sell," I quickly lied, tryin' to keep an indifferent, bored expression on my face.
But even I knew my right eye twitched a little in pure, unadulterated annoyance, a tell-tale sign which he definitely might have fuckin' noticed.
"Now, now, boy, don't you lie to old Kiba-san. I will definitely give you a fair price for them too. And if they aren't truly yours to sell, well then, you can just give the rightful owner their own proper share later, can't you?" he said softly.
"Kiba-san, he isn't lyin' to you, sir. He actually promised Hanzo, from the UnDerGrounD, that he'd sell some of these particular elixirs directly to him," Daigo tried to butt in again, quickly tryin' to give a better, more believable excuse than I had managed.
But the old sack of shit didn't even fuckin' shake, his resolve firm.
"Then you just tell that Hanzo fella back in Sumiyoshi, that you unfortunately found a much better, more profitable deal for yourselves right here in Abeno. Trust me on this, boys, no one, and I mean no one, will give you a better fuckin' deal than old Kiba-san," the old fucker said with a wide, shit-eating, fuckin' smile now plastered all over his wrinkled, evil face.
"I don't want to sell everythin'; I don't even have any proper arcane-weapon of my own right now. I really need at least two of those short-swords for myself," I said desperately, tryin' to make one last, probably futile, stand for at least somethin'.
The old man didn't answer me immediately, not until he was completely done meticulously analyzin' all my remainin', precious fuckin' elixirs from the bag.
"You are really, really lucky you happened to meet me today, boy. Don't you worry your little head about it. I will graciously give you an additional 16,200 yen for this remaining lot, makin' it a grand total of 29,640 yen for everythin'. Fair enough, right?" he finally said rhetorically, his smile even wider now, if that was possible.
All I felt now was a cold, seethin' rage.
I looked him dead in the eyes, my own filled with pure, unadulterated hatred.
But I don't even know if he can see anythin' clearly at all with his fucked-up, wandering eyes, which somehow made me flinch just a little as I stared intently at him, the unfairness of it all burnin' me up inside.
"You know what, just because I like you boys, I will even throw in two of my surplus E-Grade arcane-throwing axes, just to help sweeten the deal a little bit more for ya. That's just to show my good will, of course," he then said, his voice practically oozin' with false grace and magnanimity.
All these fuckin' elaborate acts, all this bullshit.
It all just meant that he, this thievin' old bastard, will make a small goddamn fortune off of my hard-won, life-risked elixir, and I, in return, get basically fuckin' shit coins out of the whole damn deal.
He gave another almost imperceptible side-head nod to another one of his hulking sons, who responded with a curt nod of his own and then quickly ran into a back room, one that was situated a bit closer to the heavily fortified counter where the old hag hid his worthless carcass behind.
The son came back out a moment later carryin' two rough-lookin' axes.
And even from where I stood, I could immediately notice that their crudely fashioned wooden handles were very old and splintered, though they did have some faint, almost obliterated arcane markings still visible on them.
The blades themselves looked a bit dull, chipped even, and since they were only shitty E-Grade weapons to begin with, it also meant that these axes were almost, or most definitely, completely out of any residual mana – basically, those axes are complete and utter shit.
Which meant, of course, that I will have to somehow sharpen their sorry-ass blades and then try to fill them back up with my own precious mana again before they're even remotely useful.
The heavily tattooed punk then contemptuously threw the axes onto the filthy floor, right in front of my feet, with a clatter.
I just closed my eyes for a brief second, swallowed my rage, and then quickly picked up the shitty axes, my now much lighter backpack, and the insultingly small pile of money.
Then, I stormed out of that cursed shop without another word.
As I was angrily pullin' the shop door closed behind me, I clearly heard everyone still left in there erupt in loud, derisive laughter at what had just transpired.
They were all fuckin' laughin' at me.
I turned my head back for a second, to glare at that damn 'Sweet Sake' sign as I finally stepped out of the shop and into the relative anonymity of the crowded street.
I was very, very fuckin' pissed off.
The humiliation, the acute, galling feelin' of utter powerlessness, and the grindin' poverty that always comes with it; all of these goddamn things made me incredibly fuckin' angry, but with no exact, single point to effectively focus all that rage on, or any one single person to truly blame for my shitty lot in life.
Daigo came hurryin' outside a moment later, and quickly said, "Let's get far, far away from here, man, before you do somethin' really fuckin' stupid," as he started to firmly pull me along with him, away from that den of thieves.
No matter how incredibly fuckin' angry I am right now, I'm not that stupid.
I'm not about to start a fight that will most certainly result in my own messy, pointless death, with absolutely no conceivable benefit to show for it whatsoever.
Well… that might actually be a goddamn lie, now that I think about it.
Because the only real benefit I can possibly think of from such a suicidal act would be the final, blessed release from this Hell-prison that everyone else calls 'life.'
After like 20 long minutes of quick, silent walkin', and puttin' a good, safe distance between us and that damn Sweet Sake shop, we were now walkin' through some particularly shitty, narrow back alley that was filled with the usual assortment of completely inactive, zoned-out junkies.
They were just sittin' or layin' limply on their backs in the filth, while they quietly murmured and mumbled incomprehensibly to themselves, lost in their own lonely hells.