San Francisco has a lot of immigrants.
Even in 1848, when the first gold nugget was discovered in California, sparking the Gold Rush frenzy.
And even now, in the 1870s, when it’s widely known that there’s hardly any gold here.
California, and its central city, San Francisco, has always been full of immigrants.
And as the number of immigrants grew, so did the city.
What was once just a small port city became the largest city in the West, thanks to the countless people migrating westward.
But the city didn’t grow in a good way.
A prime example of that is right here—the Saint Michel Slum.
“…….”
“…….”
As I, a perfectly clean-dressed white man, stepped into the alley, wary glances flew at me from all directions.
The Saint Michel Slum, named after a French prison island, was a place where only the most pushed-out immigrants in San Francisco ended up. It was considered the most dangerous spot in the city.
‘This place hasn’t changed a bit.’
Seeing the alley looking exactly the same as it did three years ago, it seemed the South Brotherhood had also failed to clean it up.
As I was wandering around the alley, lost in old memories, it happened.
*Thud.*
“Ah, sorry!”
“It’s fine.”
A black kid, shorter than Emma, Redbeard’s daughter, bumped into me and…
“…….”
…with a look of disappointment, ran off like he was fleeing.
Can’t blame him for being disappointed.
“This place really hasn’t changed at all.”
That little brat just tried to pickpocket me and failed.
If it weren’t for me, who’s done everything under the sun since being stuck in this damn Western game at the age of six, my wallet would’ve been gone in a flash.
“Kids these days, not even thinking about earning money honestly.”
I clicked my tongue at the kid’s retreating figure and then…
“…Let’s see how much he’s got.”
…opened the small pouch I’d been holding for a while.
By the way, this was the kid’s wallet, which I had secretly swiped when he tried to pickpocket me earlier.
An eye for an eye.
A pickpocket for a pickpocket.
But…
“…Didn’t expect much, but still, this is nothing.”
The kid’s pouch only had $1.67 in it.
Though, for him, that might’ve been a lot of money…
“…Ah!”
From the other end of the alley, the kid’s startled voice rang out.
He turned back with a look of utter despair, like he’d lost his country, and…
“Uh, that’s…!!”
…immediately ran over when he saw his pouch in my hand.
“M-Mister! That’s my money! My money!”
I responded to the kid’s desperate cries with a snort.
“Huh? This money’s in my hand now. Got any proof it’s yours?”
“Eek! Y-You…! You’re the pickpocket! You stole it when we bumped into each other!”
“Me, a pickpocket? Look at us—who looks more like a pickpocket? Wanna go ask the security guards together?”
“…S-Security guards.”
At the mention of security guards, the kid’s face turned pale.
I tossed the pouch back to him, keeping only the $1 bill.
“I don’t take coins. You can have this.”
Out of the $1.67, I only gave him back 67 cents, and the kid cried out in frustration.
“W-Wait, that $1 was mine too!”
But…
“Would you rather lose it all or just that?”
“……Ugh.”
“Or should we go ask the security guards?”
Mentioning the guards again shut the kid up.
“…Damn brat, unlucky bastard.”
“…This little punk.”
*Tap-tap!*
The kid cursed at me and ran off.
I thought about chasing him down and smacking his head but decided to just go on my way.
And then…
“Ugh, why does this smell so gross?”
*Thud.*
I dropped the kid’s $1 bill back on the ground.
That $1 would find its way back to its original owner, who was probably lurking nearby, pretending to run away.
What would I even do with some grubby kid’s filthy dollar?
The whole thing was just a performance for the other pickpockets watching me, pretending not to care.
I’m not an easy target. So don’t mess with me.
The message got across, so no more petty thieves would bother me.
I walked on with peace of mind.
The Saint Michel Slum was like its own little village.
And here, there’s a restaurant I used to visit every week when I lived in San Francisco.
That’s why I came here after running away from Billy.
The slum is familiar to me, but it’s not exactly a tourist spot, and it’s too much for Emma, a country girl.
Not wanting to give up my favorite restaurant, I left Emma to explore the nicer parts of San Francisco with Billy and came here alone.
A considerate move, I’d say.
‘She’s probably having a good time by now.’
With that in mind, I happily headed to my regular spot.
But then…
“Hey, buddy. I’m not asking for much. Just give me a little pocket money, and I’ll let you go, okay?”
“…P-Please, let’s not do this.”
My sharp ears caught the sound of someone being threatened.
“……?”
I turned my gaze toward the noise and saw…
“Judging by your clothes, you’re not from around here… Come on, help a fellow black man out.”
“Just hand over your wallet. $10. That’s all I’m asking, and I’ll let you go.”
Typical slum thugs shaking down a passerby.
The thugs were three rough-looking black men. And the guy being shaken down, though well-dressed, was also black.
Now, as always, and in the future, the majority of America’s poor are black.
And… poor black folks often target other black folks.
Robbing a white person would get the security guards riled up.
But robbing a black person? The guards wouldn’t care as much. So targeting fellow black folks was safer.
“…Please, let’s not do this. We’re both black.”
“Both black? Heh, exactly! Let’s share the wealth, brother.”
“Hand over the wallet, or else…”
*Click.*
My sharp ears caught the cold sound of metal.
Seemed like the thugs were pulling out a gun to threaten him.
Of course, it wasn’t my business, so I tried to just ignore it and walk away.
But…
“…I also have a gun, but I don’t want to do this between fellow Black men. I’ll give you $10, let’s end it here.”
“Good! Show me your wallet first!”
Maybe it was because the guy getting robbed sounded so naive and gullible that it was pitiful.
“Hey!”
“……?”
I ended up getting involved in the situation.
“I was just about to go eat, but I realized I don’t have any change. Give me $3 too.”
“…What’s with this guy?”
Come to think of it, I really didn’t have any money.
Sure, I had a few $10 bills, but it felt like a waste to break them at a restaurant.
It’s like using a 50,000-won bill to buy a cup of instant noodles at a convenience store—it just feels wrong.
So, since I ran into these thugs, I figured I’d just take their money and use it to eat.
“…Hey, Yankee. Mind your own business and just leave, huh?”
The slum thugs, seeing I was white, didn’t want to cause too much trouble and started yelling…
*Swoosh.*
They subtly showed the pistol tucked in their waistband.
“Pfft.”
I laughed as soon as I saw that and wiggled my finger.
“You’re ridiculous, idiots.”
“…This guy.”
*Wham.*
Even slum thugs can’t just go around killing people.
Instead of pulling out their pistols, they threw punches at me.
*Wham.*
The [Best Gunslinger in the West] trait recognized this as combat and slowed everything down around me.
And then…
*Whack!*
“Aaargh!”
I charged at the first guy who rushed me and punched him in the jaw.
*Whoosh!*
“Got you, you punk!”
The guy next to him tried to tackle me with his big body, but…
*Duck.*
“……Huh?”
I bent down into a limbo stance and dodged.
My legs bent at almost a right angle, and as I pulled off this acrobatic move, the guy flew over me and face-planted on the ground.
*Crack.*
“…Ugh!”
I knocked him out with a strong hit to the back of his neck.
When I customized my character in this game, I didn’t just pick [Best Gunslinger in the West].
I also had [King of Hand-to-Hand Combat] and [Superhuman Senses].
These traits, as overpowered as [Best Gunslinger in the West], turned even my bare hands into deadly weapons…
*Whack!*
“Aah! Ugh!”
I could easily take down these punks without even needing a gun or a knife.
“Let’s see how much they’ve got.”
After knocking out the thugs, I went through their pockets.
“Looks like these guys robbed quite a few people.”
After searching all three, the total haul was $44.
*Flick.*
I tossed $4 into the alley as a “donation” and pocketed the remaining $40.
‘What a windfall.’
After all that fighting, I was hungry, so I decided to treat myself to a good meal at my usual spot.
“Hey… thank you…!!”
The Black guy who almost got robbed thanked me.
“…If it weren’t for you, I would’ve lost my money. Thank you so much.”
“Ah, yeah, no big deal. Just go on your way.”
I didn’t even know the guy… Honestly, I saved him more to rob the thugs than out of goodwill.
So, I gave a casual wave and tried to leave.
But then…
“…….”
“……?”
The Black guy grabbed my sleeve and wouldn’t let go.
I tilted my head, confused, and he quickly let go, bowing his head apologetically.
“…Oh, sorry. It’s just… I’ve never met someone like you before.”
“…Someone like me? What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. By the way, you said you were going to eat, right? I was about to grab a meal too. Why don’t we go together? My treat, as thanks.”
“…….”
At the mention of free food, my suspicious nature kicked in, and I studied the Black guy’s face.
His clothes were decent, but his skin had a roughness that couldn’t be hidden.
‘Looks like he’s worked long hours under the sun, maybe on a farm…’
His expression was gentle, and his eyes and mouth had an honest look—classic gullible vibes.
‘Doesn’t seem like he’s trying to trick or scam me… What should I do?’
I was debating whether to take him up on his offer when…
‘Nah, I’ll just eat alone.’
I was about to politely decline when…
*Swoosh.*
“Come to think of it, I didn’t properly introduce myself. Call me Django.”
“……Huh?”
The Black guy suddenly revealed his name and offered a handshake.
It wasn’t a particularly special name, but I couldn’t help but pause.
Django, huh?
That name definitely…
‘Ah, right. Django Montague. That’s the name of that Black guy.’
I couldn’t believe it. I kept my expression neutral and asked casually,
“Oh, Django? I had a Black friend named Django Liar when I lived in Utah as a kid. Is your last name…?”
And then…
“Haha! What a coincidence! I was living in Utah until a few weeks ago. But unfortunately, my last name isn’t Liar.”
“…Then?”
“Montague. My full name is Django Montague.”
I don’t believe in coincidences.
There’s no such thing as coincidence in this world—it’s just a delusion for fools.
But when a real coincidence happened right in front of me, I couldn’t help but feel like a fool.
“Huh…? Seriously?”
In the slums of Montmichelle, on my way to my usual diner, I ran into a $10,000 NPC.
It felt like stumbling upon a legendary monster in the wild while just minding my own business.
