Sealed Bids and Miracle Prices

They must all be watching me pretty closely by now.

Just to note, bidding works differently from an auction—you write down your price once and submit it.

"Hand this over to Captain Bern and Master Sergeant Kailan."

"Yes, sir. They're probably wrapping it up right now."

"Okay."

So far, everything was going perfectly.

If this keeps up, I might even get off work early today.

Of course, he wasn't getting his hopes up too high.

He hadn't made it home on time once in the past week, except for the very first day.

With the winter gloves handled this smoothly, what's next?

In order of urgency: undergarments, cotton quilts, scabbards, and so on.

It was a total mess.

"Whatever. It'll work out somehow."

For now, the only thing that mattered was the winter gloves.

"Sir, here's the second-half combat uniform supply plan and the bidding summary report. Please review and approve."

"Leave it there, and I'll sign off after checking."

"Understood."

Master Sergeant Kailan handed over the combat uniform supply plan and bidding documents to Palan, who was already nursing a headache from the winter gloves.

Combat uniforms? They've got that under control.

Everyone wore the same ones, after all—if there were issues, they'd have blown up long ago.

"Oh, and Captain Bern wants to hit up that new restaurant for lunch today. What do you say?"

"A new place opened?"

"Yes, sir. A noodle shop popped up right in front of the headquarters gate the day before yesterday."

Noodles sound delicious.

It was a tempting offer, but unfortunately, he had plans.

"I'll pass and go next time. I promised to grab lunch with a buddy from training today."

"Your classmate must be stationed here."

"Yeah, not in the support unit, though—he's over at the Quartermaster Corps."

"Wait... is it Captain Ion Belburn?"

"Huh? You know him? Did he cause some trouble?"

He wasn't even in their chain of command, and headquarters was a whole different world—knowing him was a stretch.

"No trouble. He was famous when he first arrived. The Belburn Ducal heir, after all."

"Ah, yeah, that makes sense."

The eldest son of a ducal house.

Thinking about it, his mere presence was enough to make him noteworthy.

Hell, even a celebrity showing up at base would turn heads—how could anyone miss the heir to a ducal family?

In Korean terms, it was like the successor to one of the top market-cap conglomerates strolling in.

"Picked a spot yet?"

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"Nah, he's handling it. I'm just showing up."

"I was going to recommend one. Too bad."

"Haha, next time we can all go."

Kailan had been posted here for nine years, so he probably knew every hole-in-the-wall gem around.

"Sounds good. Back to work."

With that short exchange done, he returned to his seat.

What time is it now?

Lunch had come up, so Palan glanced up at the clock.

9 o'clock... no time to spare.

Conference at 10, so he had to review the finalized docs by 9:40 at the latest.

"Eh, it'll be fine."

He shoved the combat uniform plan aside and opened the bidding summary report.

Impressive production volumes all around.

No machines like back in Korea, yet somehow churning out this many gloves?

Prices dropped too—competition really is king.

Of course, from the factories' side, it must suck.

What could they do? That was the world.

"Cambedia, though? How are they this cheap?"

Not just the price—they claimed they could deliver 7,000 pairs a month.

Quantity might be doable if they went all-in on gloves, but that price is unbeatable.

17 silver per pair.

Revolutionary.

"Master Sergeant Kailan."

"Yes, sir?"

Kailan, seated a bit away, turned to look at him.

"This Cambedia Factory—ever heard of it?"

"You spotted it too, huh? First time for me."

"So they have no experience making winter gloves?"

"Correct. But they sent a prototype, so they must've crunched the costs. I know the factory owners around here, though... and at 17 silver a pair, there's nothing left for profit."

Palan figured as much himself.

Even if sheepskin is cheap out west, labor on gloves ain't free.

And wartime? Papers said production wages jumped 20% in a year.

How the hell do they pull off this miracle price?

Of course, if the goods were solid at that rate, jackpot.

It'd slash winter glove costs dramatically.

The issue? If they turned out to be a fly-by-night operation...

Crack down with the full force of the law, sure—but that's still wasted time.

A whole month down the drain meant contracts demanded caution.

"Guess I'll have to check it out in person."

"Same thought here. Set up a visit today?"

"Nah, not today—schedule another time. Too packed."

Factory trips took hours, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he wasn't that free.

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"Got it."

"Whew, how do I even present this?"

He marked it for review, finished prepping, and right on cue—10 a.m.

His first weekly staff meeting, and it hit like a chokehold.

"Even yesterday, His Majesty called out supply shortages repeatedly. Overbuying and inventory management were the big ones..."

With heads rolling any second, the tension was suffocating.

The real terror? Empty seats dotted around.

Far-off assignments, probably.

Likely one-way trips.

"Colonel Cotton, status on inventory?"

Lt. Colonel Cotton, the logistics chief, stood at Brigadier General Berom's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠question. Western Support Command's deputy commander.

"Yes, sir. We're auditing essential items and battalion-level stocks, correcting deficiencies."

"Many shortfalls?"

"Wartime chaos makes it... challenging, sir."

Fair enough.

Perfectly managed in war? That'd be the weird part.

But from high command's view? Unacceptable.

"Fix the critical gaps immediately. One slip-up, and we're done."

"I'll inspect personally."

"Route reports straight to me."

"Yes, sir!"

"Sigh."

Berom removed his glasses and rubbed his face.

Looks beat.

Palan would be too.

Purged tomorrow? Sleep would be a luxury.

"Next: purchase costs and shortage fixes. Major Palan, update?"

"Yes, sir. Refer to the materials I distributed."

He stood and headed to the podium.

"Planning Section is prioritizing contracts for winter gloves, as flagged by His Majesty."

Early slides were scripted—no hitches.

"Short-term: 20,000 sheepskin pairs needed. Long-term: up to 50,000 more."

50,000 pairs of gloves.

Dizzying just to think about.

And that's conservative.

Troops were shifting west post-southern ops.

Normally fine, but battle-worn units mean glove attrition.

Having seen the front lines, he knew their gear was trashed.

"50,000 pairs out of nowhere? And cowhide too?"

"Yes, sir, but cowhide has minimal defects, so some buffer."

Stockpiles remained; one solid factory contract would smooth it.

"Good. But 50,000 sheepskin... budget killer."

"Yes. At old rates, 13,000 gold just for those."

The sums he juggled daily seemed routine, but this was serious coin.

"Over 10,000 gold torched on gloves alone?"

"Precisely, sir. So Planning introduced bidding to minimize—down to 10,000 gold now."

He'd padded it slightly, pending Cambedia verification.

"Bidding...? Explain."

Berom looked puzzled.

Expected—so Palan walked through the prepared intro.

"We post notices; interested factories compete like this, driving prices down."

"Oh, clever."

Berom's eyes widened post-explanation.

"Apply this everywhere... massive savings."

Palan could almost hear the calculator whirring in his head.

Perfect, right?

He thought it'd win everyone over—but no.

"Major, doesn't this just hand all work to the lowest bidders?"

Personnel chief Lt. Colonel Gavil scowled.

"We inspect, but yes—price wins."

Beautifully simple, but Gavil's tastes differed.

"Inexperienced makers could end up supplying us. No thoughts on that risk?"

What the actual fuck?

The nonsense short-circuited his brain for a second.