Takayuki Yamano, 87 years old, was the founder of Himawari Mart.

Originally running a small antique shop, he expanded his business into a beloved local supermarket. However, as soon as the store stabilized, he stepped down from his managerial position. After quickly passing the reins to his son, he immersed himself in his hobby of collecting antiques. Now, he’s a lively old man who travels the world, saying, “I’m off to see a wonderful world!” His smooth, glossy face looks far too youthful for a man nearing ninety.

Mika had assumed that the frequent changes in Warehouse No. 4’s inventory were due to Takayuki storing his antiques there. But according to what Dada and the others told her today, the products she knew in Warehouse No. 4 were actually… well, something like dungeon excrement.

In other words, Takayuki must have been storing his antiques in the regular warehouse—the one she had entered with the store manager.

Led into the dining area, Mika sat across from Takayuki at the table and unpacked her lunch.

“Oh my, that looks delicious.”

“Thank you. Your meal looks wonderful too, Grand Elder. Did the store manager make it?”

“Aye, she did. Yukiko takes such good care of me, even when she’s busy.”

“The store manager is very kind. She takes after you, Grand Elder.”

“Now, now, Mika. ‘Grand Elder’ is too formal. My name’s Takayuki—call me Tacky!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, so I’ll call you Mr. Yamano.”

Her instant, unyielding reply made him falter for a moment before he burst into laughter. Since “Mr. Yamano” would overlap with the store manager—his granddaughter, Yukiko Yamano—he spent the next ten minutes persuading Mika to just call him “Takayuki.”

“By the way, Takayuki… about this key…”

Mika pulled out the key to Warehouse No. 4 from her pocket.

According to Zurah, the lizardman she met in the warehouse, this key—tied with a green ribbon—was a teleportation artifact.

Takayuki took the key from Mika and smiled warmly.

“Hmm. This key seems to have taken quite a liking to you, Mika. So, how’s it going? I’ve entrusted you with exterminating the pests in the warehouse—managing alright?”

“Pests is one way to put it… They’re bigger than cockroaches.”

“Now, Mika, that word is N.G. here. In a supermarket, the G-word—cockroach—is taboo. We don’t even speak its name.”

“Huh?”

“I thought I’d wiped out all the G’s in that warehouse, but they’re still appearing?”

“Well, it’s not G’s so much as… giant bat-like things, fireballs, rats…”

“Ah, N-rats are also N.G.-words. And those would be ‘rats’—monster ones. As for the fireballs, those are ‘Flames,’ and the bat-like creatures are called ‘Evilises.’”

Mika found it odd that “rats” (the larger, sewer-dwelling kind) were more forbidden than cute little mice, but since this was coming from a supermarket professional, she simply nodded in silence.