Beside the sports field of the school from earlier, the shabby god in a tracksuit held a can of spray paint. On the blank space behind a corrugated metal storage shed in the corner of the field, he sprayed his name and phone number in bright red, advertising his errand-running services.
Completely ignoring the words on the sign not far behind him—
"Posting and graffiti prohibited."
Of course, it was hard to say whether he had actually broken the rules. This was Schrödinger's cat—a matter whose outcome, whether he lived or died, was unknown. After all, Yato might have been down on his luck, but he was still one of the vast Eight Million Gods.
—Even if he was dead last among them, a bottom-feeder who dragged everyone down, he was still ultimately a form of existence that ordinary people could not easily comprehend.
Not everyone could see him, and not everyone could see his messages. Whether he plastered advertisements everywhere, handed out cheap flyers or business cards, or ignored the ban to spray graffiti here, it was all the same.
If those people could not see his graffiti, then it was equivalent to him not breaking the rules or defacing anything.
Mm, the logic was flawless.
After efficiently finishing his graffiti advertisement, the embarrassing, useless Poor God in a tracksuit sighed and trudged over to a nearby bench. He sat down, slumped over the backrest, and felt utterly drained.
Not long ago, he had spiritedly completed a commission. He had eliminated a monster born from the mounting anxiety in the hearts of people as exam season approached at this school, successfully earning Five Yen Coin in offerings.
Also not long ago, after completing that commission, Tomone—the gentle woman in a kimono from before—had handed in her resignation and run