Prologue: The Brothel, Papilio Somnium

Dusk.

The lights that had been extinguished flicker to life across the storefronts. Once again, the night in the Royal Capital, Grenkaina, is about to begin.

Well, unless this planet suddenly decides to blow itself up, that’s just how it goes. At this point, I’ve long since stopped caring how far this rock is from Earth, or if it’s technically another world or not.

The one thing I know for certain is that for us, the night is prime time.

We’re in the Kingdom of Gren, the greatest power on the Terra-Vick continent. And this is its capital, Grenkaina.

Poetically, they call it the “Continent’s Utopia.” More bluntly, it’s known as the “Continent’s Greatest Sex Capital” or the “Most Lewd City in the World.” In this very city, I’m the Manager running the establishment regarded as number one: the brothel Papilio Somnium—Butterfly’s Dream.

Naturally, there’s an owner who actually holds the deed, but where they are or what they’re doing is a mystery even to me. I’m lucky if I see them once a year.

Regardless, maintaining the top spot here is quite the ordeal, especially in a place where people say “there isn’t a race of woman you can’t buy.”

A hundred years ago, a certain mercenary group swept across the continent and founded the Kingdom of Gren. Even a century later, those roots run deep. The regular army is boisterous, and the city is a magnet for roughnecks like mercenaries and adventurers who love to settle down here. There are also plenty of wealthy men who arrive seeking the “Continent’s Greatest Sex Capital”—men I suspect have their brains located entirely in their pants. We are never short of customers.

But that also means there are more competing shops than you can shake a stick at. Turnover is brutal. If you don’t gather a massive roster of fine women and provide safe, high-quality service at a reasonable price, you won’t survive.

Calling them “fine women” is easy enough, but actually recruiting them? That’s where the headache starts.

The customers—or as I call them, the horny bastards—who flock here from across the continent to buy women have incredibly diverse tastes in race, body type, age, and playstyle. It’s amusing to watch from the sidelines, but trying to satisfy all those desires is a nightmare. To make matters worse, this world doesn’t stop at standard Humans; we’ve got Cerianthropes (Beastmen) and Demi-humans in the mix too. You’d think demand would be highest among their own kind, but in reality, it’s mostly Humans who turn red in the face and shell out top coin for them.

It makes me realize with a strange sense of clarity why Humans are the most populous race in the world.

Naturally, these “fine women” are in high demand from other shops, and hiring them comes with steep labor costs. To us, a woman is “fine” because she earns back far more than her cost, so I don’t mind the investment. A woman who is just a pretty face but a total bore in bed is a “mood-killer,” and a fool like that can’t make it as a prostitute.

The problem is that these “fine women”—the ladies who can actually pull in serious profit—are in a position to choose their employer. They sell their charm and their bodies for a specific purpose or reason, so they never sell themselves short. A top-tier gem with great looks, excellent “bedside” technique, and an existing loyal following won’t jump ship just because you offer a little more gold.

For them, making money is a given. What matters is what extra conditions the shop can offer on top of that.

While Kingdom law technically guarantees a prostitute’s right to choose her shop, you can’t exactly be flashy about it. Most of the large establishments are directly managed by scary underground organizations. If a best-selling girl moves to another shop, it’s a given that both the girl and her new shop will face all sorts of harassment, both seen and unseen. And as for the reliable authorities? In this city, “looking the other way” is the standard operating procedure. To get them to actually enforce the law, you’d have to send them “manjuu” stuffed with gold coins—and a standalone operation like ours can’t compete with the big houses when it comes to that kind of bribery.

So, how does Papilio Somnium manage to maintain its number-one status?

The reason has everything to do with the ability I possess.

I am what you’d call an “Otherworld Transferee.” I remember vividly being dropped into this world as a kid, suddenly and without context.

In a world filled with monsters and magic—a world where great nations do nothing but repeat the same endless cycles of war—I wasn’t given any “power” that would allow me to live however I pleased. I couldn’t use powerful attack magic, nor was I given a weapon that could cleave through monsters in the hands of an amateur.

I was exactly what I looked like: a weak kid whose only trait was being “Made on Earth.”

If there really is a God out there, I’d love to sit them down and hear exactly why they sent me here.

If the owner of this shop hadn’t happened to pass by, I would have died at the hands of some nameless Orc without ever realizing I possessed a Unique Magic.

Though, that Orc was burned to ash by the owner’s fire magic before it could finish the job.

Dammit. If only I had overwhelming magic like the owner. I could have led a glorious life as an adventurer or a court mage.

Well… I suppose my current life isn’t actually that bad, though.

[End 1]