by Hirukuma,
Copyright
Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon, Volume 1
Hirukuma
Translation by Andrew Prowse
Cover art by Ituwa Kato
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
JIDOU HANBAIKI NI UMAREKAWATTA ORE HA MEIKYUU WO SAMAYOU, Vol. 1
©2016 Hirukuma, Ituwa Kato
First published in Japan in 2016 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo.
English translation © 2018 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Hirukuma, author. | Kato, Ituwa, illustrator. | Prowse, Andrew (Andrew R.), translator.
Title: Reborn as a vending machine, I now wander the dungeon / Hirukuma ; illustration by Ituwa Kato ; translation by Andrew Prowse.
Other titles: Jidou hanbaiki ni umarekawatta ore wa meikyuu wo samayou. English
Description: First Yen On edition. | New York, NY : Yen On, April 2018–
Identifiers: LCCN 2018004692 | ISBN 9780316479110 (v. 1 : pbk.)
Classification: LCC PL871.I77 J5313 2018 | DDC 895.63/6–dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018004692
ISBNs: 978-0-316-47911-0 (paperback)
978-0-316-47912-7 (ebook)
E3-20180404-JV-PC
Contents
Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
A Maniac’s Death
Vending Machine Body
A Buyer
Vending Machine on the Move
Stratum Settlement Gatekeepers
Making Money
A Day in the Life of a Vending Machine
The Director
The Hunting Team
Raid
The Machine and the Girl
Altercation
The King Frog Fiend
Out of the Frying Pan
Defense
Reconstruction Work
Gold and Silver Coins
Vending Machine for Adults
The Public Baths
The Slot Machine
Hidden Vending Machine
The Kidnapping
The Kidnappers
The Magic-Item Engineer Hulemy
A Way to Fulfill Your Desires
A Place to Belong
As a Vending Machine Maniac
Epilogue
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
Illustration: Ituwa Kato
Design Work: Yuuko Mukadeya + Kabuto Tanigome
(Mushikago Graphics)
Prologue
My face grows pale with fear as a couple of menacing brutes threaten to drag me down a back alley. In the next breath, something appears before me, kicking up a wind in its wake.
“Gugahhhh!!”
One ruffian’s scream is accompanied by a crashing noise, but it’s hard to focus on him right now.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
“Scary old men trying to drag a weak little girl into the dark is considered a crime, you know.”
Despite the two imposing thugs’ attempts at intimidation, a petite-framed girl stands between us, calmly confronting them. She boasts leather armor, shorts, and blond hair tied into a side ponytail.
I think to myself that she’s probably in her midteens. She appears to be a hunter judging by her leather armor, but facing off against such frightening men is more than reckless. And besides—
“Oh, so now some freak show is running her mouth at us? You just laid hands on my buddy, so I hope you’re ready for the consequences.”
They’re right—she’s unusual. Weird even. There’s nothing wrong with her clothes, mind you, but for some reason, she’s carrying a giant metal box on her back.
She’s in front of me, shielding me from them, so I have a full view of her back, with the metal box right before my eyes.
What is it? It’s mostly white, but the upper half has been fitted with glass, behind which lies all manner of things I’ve never seen before… Wait, seriously, what is this thing? I’ve seen rare magic items from past and present, from around the world, all thanks to my father’s job—but this is a first for me.
One of the oddities is a see-through bottle with a painting of a mountain on it, and another looks like a small cylinder with a picture of yellow soup drawn on it. Others have fruits, but— Oh! Are these really paintings? They look just like the real things. The artist who painted these must be incredibly skilled.
The more I look at this box, the less I understand it, but suddenly, I can’t see it at all. The girl carrying it moves abruptly, vanishing from sight.
As though the metal trunk isn’t even a consideration for this charming girl, she zips right up to one of my assailants and throws a punch.
It looked like she only tapped him on the shoulder, but he flies into the sky, spinning like a drill!
Wait, she didn’t hit him that hard, did she? Besides, that wisp of a girl couldn’t possibly knock such a brawny man off his feet.
As I put the thought from my mind, unable to process what I just witnessed, I hear someone unfamiliar.
“Get one free with a winner.”
Wait, whose voice was that? And what did it mean, Get one free with a winner?
“Oh, behind me!”
One of the ruffians’ friends had snuck up behind the girl, but she spins around and roundhouse kicks him.
“Thanks, Boxxo.”
“Welcome.”
Who’s Boxxo?! And who just said Welcome—and why?!
I feel like it was coming from the metal box, but that can’t be. Anyone in there while it was jerking around like that would be in a sorry state.
I approach the girl who so easily thrashed the thugs, put a hand to my hat—pulled down over my eyes so it doesn’t slip—and bow. “Thank you very much.”
“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“Yes, I’m fit as a fiddle. Might I, um, ask your name?”
She looks strange, but I can’t let this chance to make the acquaintance of such a skilled lady slide. She must be a hunter of considerable renown.
“Oh, um. My name’s Lammis.”
“Lady Lammis? I will make sure to remem—”
“And this is Boxxo.”
Hmm? Who? I’m fairly certain the only ones here are myself, Lady Lammis, and the hooligans at our feet, right? No one else is around.
“I, um, beg your pardon, but I don’t see a Boxxo anywhere.”
“Oops, sorry! I guess that didn’t make sense. Here we go!”
She sets the metal box down next to her and promptly extends her hand.
“This magic item is Boxxo.”
“Welcome.”
“What?”
Wait, what’s she talking about? H-hang on. Just calm down. Plenty of hunters give names to their favorite battle gear. She must be one of them… I definitely heard a voice, though.
“I, ah, so this is Sir Boxxo. I do believe he spoke just now.”
“Yup, he did! Boxxo’s a talking magic item. But he can only say certain things.”
“I—I see. That is amazing!”
If that’s true, this prize would fetch an absurd price on the market. My encounter with those thugs put a significant damper on my sneaky afternoon stroll, but this discovery could more than make up for it.
“It is! But that’s not all. Boxxo can give you delicious food and drinks, too!”
“Um…”
“Oh, I bet you don’t believe me. Here, let me prove it. I’ll go first. See the numbers below each item? Those are prices. Now I’ll put a silver coin in here.”
They do look a lot like prices, but a whole silver coin to purchase one of them is rather exorbitant. But wait. How can a metal container like this sell things?
“And then you push the bumpy thing under the one you want to buy. And then…”
Hearing the clatter of something falling, Lammis squats, then reaches into the lower part of her odd luggage and fishes around for something.
“That’s how you get the item.”
Wow! The exact same thing displayed behind the glass is now in Lady Lammis’s hand. Wait, is this for real? This magical contraption would be worth a fortune.
“Can I—? Ah, would you mind at all if I bought something as well?”
“Yup, sure. Go ahead!”
Lammis steps away from the metal box. When I move toward it in her place, it says, “Welcome.”
“Let’s see— I’ll put the money in. Which should I choose? Hmm. I will pick this one with the fruit painting on it.”
I’ve decided on an item emblazoned with a brilliant citrus fruit. Then I hear a sound from the long, thin hole near the bottom of the box, so I nervously reach for it.
“Eek! It’s cold!”
“Yup, all the cold ones are really cold, and all the warm ones are nice and hot.”
It can even cool drinks for you? What in the world is this thing? This canteen I bought is hard, but if I give it a real push, the material warps. Maybe the metal is stretched really thin.
This part on top must be where you drink. It’s long like a bottle, after all. And if it’s anything like a bottle, I just have to twist this part on the end.
With a click, the lid opens, and a refreshing scent tickles my nostrils.
“Oh, it smells good!”
Aware of the possibility that I was about to imbibe a suspicious brew, I sample only a bit with my tongue.
“Ahhh, i-it’s delicious!”
Both the natural acidity of the citrus and the perfect amount of sweetness spread across my taste buds. And the coolness feels refreshing. I gulp down more of it, feeling the chill wash through my body. Then, without thinking, I exhale noisily.
“I guess you liked it.”
Oh, I drank it all. This magic item stores things that taste great, and it can even speak. Plus, it probably has a trove of coins inside from the people who purchased items. This is a gold mine. I would very much like to have it.
“Yes, I’m truly astounded. Oh—but look at me, I haven’t yet thanked you for helping me. My house is right up this road, so would you like to stop by for a short while?”
“You don’t need to worry about it.”
“No, I insist. If I don’t thank you, my parents will be quite cross with me. Please?”
And so I try my best to keep her from leaving. She refuses, though, saying she is in the middle of work.
“Mistress, Mistress! Where have you gone?”
It would seem as though my time is up. Lady Lammis the hunter and her magic item, Boxxo. I will remember those names.
A Maniac’s Death
I love vending machines. How much, you ask?
Even when the only money left in my pocket is a thousand yen, and I need to keep eating for another week, if I see an unfamiliar item in a vending machine, I will buy it without a second thought.
But then, wouldn’t that mean I like what’s inside vending machines rather than vending machines themselves?
No, no—it’s both. I like both. I adore the designs of vending machines, boxes packed full of a myriad of attractive products for sale. They’re like treasure chests to me.
Beverages I’ve never tried before—carbonated drinks with ingredients that come together to create a land mine of flavor. Hot beverages that simply must be enjoyed while they’re piping hot. I just know that if I don’t buy them, they’ll be gone in a month. So I have no choice, right?
Not only beverages, either. Vending machines have snacks, sweets, and bread, and some will even heat up frozen food for you.
It goes beyond edible things, too. Vending machines can be filled to the brim with stationery, clothing, socks, and even adult items. Anyone who says they’re not interested is a liar.
Vending machines, from past and present, from all around the world—I love them so much that I’ve gone on trips to see rare ones that I find on the Internet. Those are the best trips. My computer is filled with the cherished files from my travels, including all the spectacular pictures I’ve taken.
In a way, it was probably inevitable that I died from being crushed under a vending machine.
There was one specimen, you see, loaded on a light truck meant for placing vending machines down. The truck crashed into a car that came speeding around a turn, and the vending machine flew right at me.
Now that I think about it, if I had tried my best to dodge it, I probably would have lived. But the vending machine entranced me with its brand-new design, its exquisite form. I had to save that vending machine. And so I tried to catch it before it hit the ground.
Even without anything inside it, a vending machine weighs around 880 pounds—fully stocked, it’s said they can exceed 1,700 pounds. Could a human being possibly catch such a heavy piece of metal flying at them?
As for the answer—well, seeing as how it crushed me and I died, you probably know it already.
And so a vending machine maniac died—just as he should have, in a way.
Normally, that’s where the tale would have ended. But my story has a sequel.
After falling into an endless sleep, embracing the cold touch of metal, I abruptly wake up.
While I’m relieved I’m not dead, I’m also worried whether the vending machine I caught was safe. That turns out to be a groundless fear.
Why, you ask? That will become painfully clear in a little bit.
For some reason, I’m standing near a lake I’ve never seen before. I’m not moving, I’m not talking, I can’t feel anything. I’m just here.
I want to shout, proclaim my confusion, but what comes out of my mouth is…
“Welcome.”
That was unexpected. Unable to help doubting my sanity, I imagine for a moment that somebody else had spoken, but it felt like it was me.
I calm myself down and try speaking again.
“Thank you.”
Both the tone of voice and the manner of speech are crisp and easy to understand. It’s my voice, but it doesn’t seem right. For starters, that wasn’t what I was trying to say. But when I tried to talk, those were the words that naturally came out.
I focus my mind, determined to get it this time for sure, and speak.
“Please come again.”
And then:
“Get one free with a winner.”
Furthermore:
“Too bad.”
Finally:
“You’re a winner.”
I’ve heard these phrases before. Many times. There’s no doubt. It’s the voice I hear when I buy something at my favorite manufacturer’s vending machine.
No, it can’t be. That’s utterly preposterous. Sure, maybe I love vending machines more than anything, but there’s no way I’d ever die and be reborn as one, is there…?
I mean, I can see this vast scenery in front of me.
Small, scattered clouds floating along in the sky, a giant lake before me. I seem to be on a lakeside. And after all, if I look down, I can see my reflection in the lake.
A body completely white, perfectly straight, and rectangular, the ideal blend of elegance and functional beauty. Behind the immaculately polished glass, plastic bottles of mineral water and small cans of corn soup are lined up in order. The golden ratio and nothing less—the arrangement exudes a calculated style. A double-layered gentleness, one that goes beyond “hot” and “cold” to grant “cool” and “warm.”
On top of that, the prices have been set magnanimously—the cans 100 yen, the bottles 130. No matter where I look, it’s spectacular… But this is a vending machine!
Whaaaaaat?! You’ve got to be kidding me! This is impossible! I can’t have been reborn as a vending machine. That would be the worst…or would it? Maybe God had actually been merciful to me, allowing me to be reborn as something I love.
B-but still, I mean, car enthusiasts don’t want to become cars. Oh, but back in kindergarten, I remember a friend saying he wanted to be a police car when he grew up. I wonder if his dream came true.
I’ll just have to accept that I’m a vending machine now and there’s nothing I can do about it. And if I’m being honest, it doesn’t even feel bad—that’s the sad thing about maniacs.
Anyway, crying and wailing won’t get me anywhere. I don’t like this, but I have to accept it. I exhale, trying to vent all the murk and haze pent up in my chest.
“You’re a winner.”
Shut up, me.
It seems like whenever I try to talk, a canned line comes out. After experimenting for a while, I’ve learned all of my available phrases.
