HTACS 16

Chapter 16

“Nephti.”

“…Yes, Wolfram-nim.”

“Good work.”

“…Truly, you’ve worked hard as well.”

We survived that hellish battle.

Honestly—I expected a full sellout. That’s how strong, great, and beautiful ballymanju is. The doughnuts and shakes we made produced unbelievable synergy. We sold everything—even scraping together the last scraps and frying them into “Mixed Doughnuts” under any name we could—until not a single ingredient remained.

When I tallied total sales and various expenses, the profit was… not exactly overflowing for the two of us.

“Here. After deducting material costs and your hourly wage from total sales—this is 20% of the net profit.”

“…How much is it?”

“Roughly 800,000 rin or so.”

I gave Nephti about 800,000 rin including her hourly wage—which means I made over 3 million rin in profit.

Of course, it’s not that much money. If you grind in a money-making dungeon for an hour or two, you can touch that amount—but those dungeons don’t open until the middle of Act 7.

Anyway—considering that in the late game, a single weapon easily exceeds 10 million, 3 million was a modest amount to me.

“…O-ohhh.”

Nephti took the money and sat down, gasping in awe.

“Is it that much?”

“Of course. 800,000 rin is what I’d earn working and studying for three months.”

“If Zeppelin’s minimum wage is calculated at 8,720 rin, 800,000 shouldn’t be that hard to earn—”

If you work just three hours a day, wouldn’t you earn that in three months?

Nephti looked at me as if I’d said something ridiculous and gave a faint smile.

“Come to think of it—does Your Highness know? This year’s Zeppelin minimum wage designated by the Lohengrin Imperial Family is 3,540 rin.”

“…What? Wasn’t it 8,720 rin? The Knight Department told me that—and when I first hired you for the eastern forest, you also said it was minimum wage.”

“That’s right. Exactly 3,540 rin goes to me.”

“W-wait. Then what about the remaining 5,180 rin?”

“It goes to the Knight Department as a commission fee.”

“Those crooks!”

Even back in the modern world, they didn’t skim that much off the top!

…Probably.

“But today’s overtime was assigned directly by you, so no fees are deducted. I don’t have to give anything to the Knight Department.”

“Which means…”

“Yes. With the extra 5,180 rin added, I take it all. I’ll take the full 8,720 rin—like a true knight.”

“……”

As I stared at her dumbfounded, Nephti ate the remaining doughnuts and nodded.

“Thank you for the meal. If you have more work, please call me again. If you contact me directly instead of through the Knight Department, I’ll serve you with all my heart and loyalty.”

“……”

The dirt-poor lady knight, having secured her cut, disappeared into the red sunset.

“I see. So you… had it all planned out.”

She probably thought she’d won as she walked away—but it doesn’t matter. Whatever.

‘30%.’

‘Here. After deducting material costs and your hourly wage from total sales—this is 20% of the net profit.’

Did she forget I said I’d give 30% and only gave her 20%?

Nepterian. Nephti.

She’s kind, obedient, and wise—but maybe she’s dumber than she looks.

—

We both probably thought we’d gotten one over on each other—but I planned to hire Nephti again if I got the chance.

Nephti is a commoner, and her mother raises her younger siblings while supporting her—so she tries not to rely on her family; rather, she works hard to send money home.

When people start saving money, they cut back on food, clothing, and entertainment. Nephti ate grass and resin salad precisely to send money home. She’ll probably use that money for her siblings too.

In the original story, if you properly address that point, Nephti’s trust level never wavers from “Bond.” Bond level means that even if I tried to kill Nephti, she would never point her sword at me—that’s how much conviction and loyalty she has.

Of course, Nephti isn’t a heroine and doesn’t have her own ending—but she was that popular, and as someone who trusted her as a comrade and saw endings with her, that level of expense doesn’t feel wasteful at all.

Treat her with sincerity, and she’ll repay you with loyalty. That’s the kind of kid Nephti is.

But the place I’m heading to now—while it has characters like her, it’s a hellish pit filled with many more who are not like her.

That place is the Magic Department—3rd year.

Magical Department 3rd years—surprisingly—have a lot of psychopathic tendencies. To what extent? Our rebellious Black Crystal, Aila Trista, counts as a “normal” character.

There’s the one born as the ace of an assassination family who always kills her target. There’s the one who spams nothing but AoE magic under the creed that “all magic must be wide-area.” There’s the insane one who specializes in body enhancement magic and fights better in close quarters than the Knight Department.

Anyway—among such classmates, the new semester starts tomorrow. Regular classes, different from the intercession term.

Will I survive in there?

“My heart is really starting to race. This pounding—is it my heart screaming that it wants to live?”

Wolfram, 3rd-year Magic Department.

Now—the thrilling start of the new semester.

—

The classes were quite interesting.

But aside from that, I couldn’t fully enjoy them.

“…Look, it’s Wolfram.”

“He’s attending class?”

“I thought he went back to the Imperial family?”

“What is he doing here? Why is he in class?”

I get stared at more than a zoo monkey, you bastards.

But all I could do was focus on the class. If I got angry and Wolfram’s Endurance-2 gut got torn open, what then? I can’t accept such a terrifying future.

Anyway—I finished my first class. It was about the advancement of magic and key concepts—and it was actually quite an enjoyable lecture. Practicals would be a disaster, but I felt I could handle the theory. If I steadily earn my major credits, graduation isn’t just a dream.

“Wolfram—there you are?”

“…Hmm.”

“Let’s go eat.”

Why are you deciding that?

If I said that out loud, I’d probably get a Maximum-Enhanced Black Crystal single shot to the face. I reluctantly stood up, and Aila smiled and led the way.

“Today’s another rebellious meal!”

“……”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

—

Let’s eat in the cafeteria.

When I said that, Aila’s reaction was peculiar.

“Oh—didn’t you pack a lunch?”

“I did. Milk shake and doughnuts.”

“Then wouldn’t it be better to eat together in the garden?”

“Sometimes you have to eat the school meal.”

“And when exactly is that?”

There’s a reason for everything.

The thing I need to watch most closely while running a convenience store is the cafeteria food.

Simply put—on the day the class president gets their parents to buy burgers and Coke for everyone, will the kids from that class buy burgers from the store? Of course not. The store burgers are just store burgers—doomed to never beat even Kroleria’s Deiburger.

So I need to gauge the average quality of the Academy’s cafeteria food and prepare to counter.

“That’s a lot of menu items.”

“It’s a la carte.”

“Must be a hassle.”

I shrugged.

At a construction site cafeteria, they usually have a meat dish like pork bulgogi or beef bulgogi as the base, served buffet-style. In large factories, it’s divided into sets A, B, and C—you take a meal ticket and choose one. But here, it’s set up like a regular restaurant where you can choose.

“Salad black bread. Oil pasta. Cheese hamburg… Hmm. Simple stuff.”

“Would you rather have your packed lunch?”

It was a bit sad that everything was just low-grade recovery items from the game—but I shook my head. I still needed to taste it.

“What will you have? I’ve tried most of them, so I can recommend something.”

“Is that so. Then—”

Let’s see—lately I’ve been eating too much sweet stuff, and my soul is still Korean, plus I’ve been pretty stressed…

“Aila.”

“Yes?”

“What’s the spiciest thing here?”

“…Pardon?”

—

Aila, flustered, pointed to the Red Hot Chili Spice Soup. The name alone makes my heart race…

If you’re Korean, you gotta go spicy, right? A bowl of spicy ramen with cheongyang peppers, or at least a pack of nuclear fire chicken stir-fried noodles, and I’m more than satisfied.

Even before entering the game, I absolutely loved spicy food.

Once you start filling your stomach with discards from convenience stores, you end up eating spicy, stimulating stuff. Throw in a Dying Fire Hot Bar and one pack of fire chicken noodles with my own money, and that day’s a wrap.

But after becoming Wolfram, I hadn’t eaten anything spicy. Ah—I miss that Scoville burn.

The moment I went to the counter and mentioned the meal ticket, the clerk stared at me.

“You’re going to eat this?”

“Hmm. One ticket, please.”

“Y-yes. One Red Hot Chili Spice Soup coming up.”

I took the ticket and handed it to the kitchen staff—who also stared at me blankly.

“You’re going to eat this? It’s very spicy.”

“Hah. ‘Very’ isn’t enough.”

“Pardon?”

“Make it even spicier.”

“…Understood. I accept your resolve.”

“Hmm.”

With that, I turned around.

I had a brief worry—what if it’s really insanely spicy? But right now, I wanted something so spicy it made the back of my head tingle—so it couldn’t be helped.

“Order up! One Red Hot Chili Spice Soup!”

“Hmm.”

As I confidently strode toward the kitchen, murmurs spread around me.

“Look at that…”

“Yeah—that’s the special menu for *that* guy…”

“There’s actually someone who eats that?”

…At this point, I’m honestly a bit worried. How spicy is it for this much fuss? The pot on the tray had its lid closed, so I couldn’t see the contents. Back at my seat, I opened the lid—whoosh—and glimpsed the bright red soup inside.

This red color. Excellent. Vivid and clean. Color passes.

“U-ugh. You’re really going to eat that?”

Aila was shocked, but—if it’s too hot, I can just throw it away. Thinking that, I scooped up a big spoonful of the crimson soup and put it in my mouth. And then—the flavor that unfolded in my mouth made my eyes go wide.

“…No—this is.”

“Is it too spicy? Should I get you some water?”

“No. It’s fine.”

“Th-then should I call a doctor? Are you okay, Wolfram?”

As I frowned, Aila made a fuss beside me. I stared intently at the soup before me.

This is.

Way too.

Not spicy.

I’d swear Mild with milk, cheese, and butter added would be hotter. I’m no Mild fanatic, but even so—this isn’t spicy at all. It’s actually incredibly mild. Annoying.

“So the red color isn’t from ground chili peppers—it’s tomatoes. You call this spicy…? This is supposed to be hot?”

“Wha—Wolfram, are you okay?”

“I’m just annoyed. This isn’t the least bit spicy.”

A true Korean will eat pork bulgogi with cheongyang peppers while still reaching for kimchi, garlic, and more cheongyang peppers on the side. This sub-Mild spiciness couldn’t satisfy my Scoville cravings.

At my deep sigh, Aila tilted her head.

“I-I’ve never even tried it—is it really not that spicy?”

“…Want to try?”

“Huh? Ah… um, yes. If it’s a rebellious spice, I’ll eat it.”

I scooped up some soup with a spoon and offered it to Aila—she put it in her mouth with a strangely flushed face, and then—

“……!! Ugh! Ugh! Ah! Hooo!!”

She let out an inhuman shriek.

Yeah—that’s the reaction you get when eating an unmanageable level of spiciness.

I looked at the soup, then at Aila, and tilted my head.

“Aila—can you not handle spicy food?”

“…!!”

Aila started pounding me with her fist. Hey—for real. That hurts. It really hurts.

“…Ugh, ugh! Wa-wa-water.”

Seeing Aila nod, I handed her the shake I’d brought separately. She chugged it down, let out a teary sigh, and dabbed at her streaming tears with a tissue.

“H-how can you eat something this spicy? Seriously.”

“It’s not spicy at all, though.”

As I put the Red Hot—no, just Chili Tomato Soup—into my mouth, I frowned.

“Look at that—he’s eating it like it’s nothing.”

“They say if you act like a madman, you become one…”

“Is he crazy? No wonder he was that kind of student council president last year…”

The murmurs around me grew louder, and I let out a deep breath. Let’s just finish eating and get out. Drawing attention never does any good.

I’m Wolfram—many people hold grudges against me, and Zeppelin has some truly dangerous people. Kelter always faces obstacles he can overcome—but I don’t.

“Anyway—this tastes like absolute garbage. You call this spicy? This isn’t spicy at all!”

“Rudika agrees with that sentiment.”

At the voice from right in front of me, my hand froze.

What?

When did she sit down in front of me?

Did I hear a chair move? No. Footsteps? None.

Who on earth?

Judging by her ability, Aila—who’s among the top of the Magic Department’s 3rd year—only noticed her presence after hearing her voice, her eyes wide.

“How long have you been there…”

“Not spicy at all. Rudika thinks so too.”

Who?

What did she just say?

I snapped my head up and met the girl’s eyes.

A slender build. Shorter than me. Brown skin and greyish-white short hair that barely reached her shoulders. Blue, unreadable eyes.

I know this girl. I know her frighteningly well.

Magic Department—3rd year.

Rudika Hassan Shadow.

Occupation—

Assassin.

“Then—can Wolfram make that spicy taste for Rudika?”

It was the moment Zeppelin’s most dangerous reaper took an interest in me.