PSW Chapter 52: Premature Balding
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Bastet and the attendant strolled through several streets—one cat, one man. The little black furball, who neither had to pay nor carry anything, finally experienced the joy of being a rich aristocrat.
“Meow—ow!”
That one, that one, that one—wow! That dog statue is so cute! I want that one!
Bastet’s eyes lit up as he fixated on a particular artisan’s stall. His tiny tail swished rapidly, creating a gust of wind, while his paws anxiously patted the attendant’s head.
“Lord Bastet,” the attendant growled through gritted teeth, struggling under the weight of numerous food items and trinkets. Forcing a terrifying smile, he glared up at the little black fluffball perched on his head and hissed, “We already have too many things, and besides—that is not a dog statue! That’s the god Anubis!”
‘Oh.’ The mischievous black fluffball on his head let out a very understanding “meow” and nodded. Just as the attendant thought the cat had finally behaved for once, Bastet smacked his lips with an utterly heartless expression.
‘But I still want it.’
Nephthys’ attendant: “……”
Bastet: ‘If you don’t buy it, I’ll rub my butt on your head.’
“…………”
Nephthys’ attendant: I swear to the gods, this vengeful little black devil is just messing with me!
Taking a deep breath, the attendant turned to the merchant, who was smiling broadly, and inquired about the price. Resigned to his fate, he reached for his small leather pouch, intending to pay with copper coins.
At that moment, someone beside them suddenly stepped on something and lost their balance, stumbling uncontrollably straight toward them.
The attendant, who was in the middle of paying, was caught off guard when someone crashed into his chest and grabbed onto his clothes, causing him to lose his balance.
Fortunately, Nephthys’ attendant had excellent reflexes. The moment he lost his footing, he swiftly recovered—staggering back a few steps, bending his knees, and bracing his body. He even reached up to carefully support Bastet, who had nearly fallen off his head.
However… uh… he may have used just a tiny bit too much strength…
In the process, he accidentally grabbed Bastet’s head. From his angle, he couldn’t see what he was doing, so when his fingers clenched, he ended up yanking out a huge tuft of Bastet’s fur.
“MEOWWWWWW—!”
Holy crap!
MY FURRRRRR—!
Perched on top of the attendant’s head, the black fluffball let out a wretched scream, his tiny paws clutching at his now-balding forehead. His entire body trembled from the pain.
Nephthys’ attendant also heard the agonized yowl from the black fluff on his head. His face changed instantly, and he quickly withdrew his hand. Looking down at his palm, he saw strands of black cat fur caught between his calloused fingers—a lot of fur. So much that just looking at it made his own scalp tingle in sympathy.
Nephthys’ attendant: “…” Oh no.
Bastet also saw the fur in his hand and wailed, “Meowwww!” My hair! My thick, glossy, tragically young hair!
“…” The attendant cleared his throat, awkwardly holding out the fur to Bastet. “Uh… Lord Bastet, my condolences.”
Bastet: “…” Condolences, my furry ass!
A light breeze blew past, carrying the poor, fallen strands of black cat fur away. As they drifted through the air, Bastet’s mournful howls rang through the streets, more sorrowful than the most heart-wrenching ballad.
The attendant’s mouth twitched. Just my luck.
Bastet was the king’s cat.
Everyone in the palace knew just how much the king doted on this little thing. In the king’s eyes, even Nephthys himself probably wasn’t as important as this black furball.
And now, Bastet had a huge bald patch right on his head. Anyone with working eyes could see it. Given the king’s temperament, the attendant was doomed.
A vision of the king’s cold and striking face flashed through his mind. The attendant immediately broke out in a cold sweat. When he turned back to the man who had caused the whole incident, his gaze turned icy.
It was his fault.
“Ugh,” the man who had fallen groaned as he sat on the ground, clutching his hip with a pale face. “Damn it! Who threw trash on the ground?!”
A squashed fruit lay where he had tripped, clearly the cause of his fall.
Still clutching his waist, the man scanned the crowd with a furious glare, as if searching for the culprit to punch them in the face. Then, his gaze landed on Nephthys’ attendant and the black cat on his head. His eyes narrowed.
“It was YOU!”
As if he had found the answer, he scrambled to his feet and pointed at the attendant, roaring, “Damn it, you’re even glaring at me?! Do you know who I am, you bastard? I’m going to split your head open today!”
With that, he charged forward, fist raised.
The gathered onlookers gasped and quickly moved aside.
Bastet, who had been grieving his lost fur, froze for a moment. Then, every hair on his body—well, the ones he had left—stood on end.
“MEOW!” This guy’s insane! He nearly knocked us over, made me lose a chunk of fur, and now he wants to pick a fight?! What kind of road rage is this?!
The worried attendant, already frustrated with nowhere to vent his anger, let out a cold chuckle and remained still. He carefully supported Bastet on his head with one hand, while the other easily caught the man's swinging fist. His grip tightened, muscles bulging beneath his sleeves, veins protruding as he squeezed the man's fist until it cracked audibly.
"I don’t know who you are," the attendant said icily, "but I can tell you this—you’re the one who’s doomed today."
"AH—MY HAND!"
The man let out a pained scream. Noticing that the attendant was preoccupied holding the cat and had only one hand free, he gritted his teeth and lunged forward, hoping to use his body weight to knock the attendant down.
Bastet frantically smacked the attendant’s head with his paw, yowling in warning: "Move, move, move! This bastard is playing dirty!"
With his sharp reflexes, Nephthys’ attendant frowned and delivered a swift kick, sending the man stumbling back.
Now sporting a clear boot print on his thigh, the man staggered several steps before stopping. This time, he didn’t charge again immediately but instead fixed the attendant and Bastet with a sinister, unrelenting glare.
This was ridiculous.
Bastet, furious, bared his sharp teeth at the man, his tail flicking powerfully from side to side as he arched his back and hissed.
Meanwhile, the attendant’s expression darkened further—he had already suffered the guilt of pulling out the king’s beloved pet’s fur, and now he was being harassed by some thug?
"Hmph," the man sneered, his voice venomous. "Don’t think that just because you know a few measly moves, you can act all high and mighty. In a moment, you and that cat on your head will be groveling at my feet, licking my boots!"
After spewing his threats, several nearby merchants and spectators exchanged wary, hesitant glances. Some even looked like they wanted to say something but held back. Bastet, on the other hand, was so outraged he let out a sharp laugh.
Unbelievable.
This guy was the one who started everything, yet now he's acting like we’re the ones being unreasonable?!
After finishing his threats, the thug suddenly turned around and shouted into the crowd, "Big bro—where are you guys?! Hurry up, some bastard dares to mess with me!"
"What?! What’s going on?!"
As soon as he yelled, several tall, burly men practically materialized out of nowhere, shoving through the bystanders. Their loud curses and aggressive posturing made them seem like a gang of thugs, quickly encircling the attendant and Bastet.
Bastet’s eyes widened in shock. What the—? Are these guys Doraemon?! Did they just pop out of a magic portal or something?!
"Lord Bastet," the attendant muttered, his brows furrowing as his right hand slowly reached for his sword. "Something’s wrong. I think we just ran into a gang of professional scammers."
"Meow?"
No way… this unlucky? This was supposed to be his first time going out!
Then Bastet thought about his lost fur… and about the ominous silence Yofar had given him before they left.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Nephthys’ attendant was right after all—they really were that unlucky.
The gang of thugs eyed the man and cat with malicious intent, loudly claiming that their “brother” had broken his bones in the fall and demanded compensation for medical expenses.
The tallest of them, clearly the leader, even glanced at Bastet and sneered, “That’s a fine-looking cat. Looks like an ancient breed. If you can’t afford the gold, you’ll have to hand over the cat as payment!”
Bastet, an innocent bystander in all this, fell silent for a moment before his eyes suddenly lit up. He turned to the attendant excitedly: ‘Wait, I’m worth that much? I can be exchanged for gold?!’
The attendant twitched. “...And what good does that do? Are you going to sell yourself?”
‘Why not?’ Bastet meowed, his mind whirring with schemes. ‘Think about it—if I team up with someone, they sell me, collect the money, and then I run away and come back. Then they sell me again, collect the money, and I escape again… If I do this less than twenty times, I can afford a house in the Egyptian capital!’
The attendant: “...”
He had never met such a shameless cat in his life.
Surrounded by cursing thugs, already on the verge of losing his temper, the attendant suddenly found his anger fading—how could he stay mad after hearing the ridiculous money-making schemes of the little black cat perched on his head?
No wonder the king adored this cat so much.
The attendant thought to himself—if he had a clever, mischievous, yet loyal pet like this, he’d probably want to carry it around all day too.
“Lord Bastet,” the attendant suddenly spoke.
Bastet, who was still busy calculating his real estate investments, paused and let out a questioning “Meow?”
The attendant’s voice carried a hint of amusement. “Did you forget? You are the king’s cat.”
Bastet: “...”
The attendant continued, “And if you make the king angry...”
Bastet: “...”
The little black furball, who had been gleefully scheming a financial empire, suddenly stiffened. A few seconds later, he hugged his own tail, pretending he had never existed in this cruel world.
Meanwhile, the thugs—feeling thoroughly ignored—finally lost their patience. Cursing, they rolled up their sleeves and rushed forward.
The attendant had originally intended to simply kill them all. After all, they were just common street thugs, and with his status, he could have legally executed them on the spot.
However… he was carrying the king’s beloved cat.
In a full-scale fight, he wouldn’t be able to avoid taking even a single hit, and if he had to put Bastet down for even a moment, in such a crowded marketplace, there was no doubt that someone would snatch the rare breed away—or worse, trample him in the chaos.
In a split second, the attendant made his decision. He let go of his sword, quickly muttered, “Forgive me, Lord Bastet,” then grabbed the lounging cat off his head, cradled him in his arms, and dashed forward.
He rammed his shoulder into the scrawniest thug, sending him flying, and sprinted toward a specific direction—straight for the city’s patrolling guards.
Bastet, knowing he was useless in broad daylight, curled up in the attendant’s arms, holding his breath and making himself as small as possible to avoid being a burden.
But strangely, it was as if the thugs had anticipated this move.
Small groups of them kept emerging from the crowd, blocking every route leading toward the patrol guards. They even menaced passersby who looked like they wanted to call for help.
Before long, Bastet and the attendant were forced into a less populated street.
Something was wrong.
Unlike the bustling main roads, this street had no tightly packed shops—only large wooden cages covered with heavy cloth and towering white tents. A foul stench filled the air, the putrid mix of waste and filth.
"Mrowl~"
Bastet’s sensitive nose recoiled, and he nearly gagged. ‘Where… are we? Why does it stink so much…?’
The attendant’s unease grew. He lowered his voice and said grimly, “This is the ‘dog market’—but they don’t sell hunting hounds here. This is the slave trade district.”
Slaves?!
Bastet’s fur bristled. ‘So these cages…’
“Yes,” the attendant confirmed. “They’re filled with slaves.”
At that moment, several scarred men emerged from behind the tents, grinning as they blocked their escape.
The attendant skidded to a stop, his grip on Bastet tightening as a terrible premonition settled over him.
Behind them, the thugs from earlier had also caught up, forming a complete blockade.
“You—who the hell are you?!” The attendant held Bastet in one arm and shhk!—drew his sword with the other.
The men grinned wider.
“Who are we?” They chuckled as they reached beneath the white tent fabric, pulling out gleaming blades.
Oddly enough, their weapons weren’t aimed at the attendant.
They pointed straight at Bastet.
“We want the cat,” one of them sneered. “Hand it over, and we might just let you die with a full corpse.”
Bastet’s eyes went round in shock.
What the hell?! I don’t even know these guys! Why are they after me?!
The attendant’s expression darkened to a terrifying degree. He exhaled coldly and spat, “In your damn dreams.”
“You’re dead!” the leader roared, his face twisting in fury.
With a snarl, the armed men charged forward, blades flashing in the dim light.
—
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