Chapter 98
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: The Little Prince (4)
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Phew, I'm gonna die.
I stayed up late last night, lost in the dawn vibes after reading The Little Prince.
Because of that, I nearly overslept and barely dragged myself to work on time.
"Damn, that was almost a disaster."
Bern let out a sigh laced with both relief and exhaustion.
As he trudged along, scanning his surroundings through bleary eyes...
"Ugh!"
"Why do you look half-dead?"
Bern's friend, Selton, smacked him hard on the back.
With his fist, no less!
The shock sent him curling up and squatting on the ground.
Selton just shrugged, telling him not to be such a drama queen.
"Get up already. We're gonna be late."
"Ow, you're such a damn jerk."
He rubbed his back and hauled himself to his feet.
Trailing after Selton, who was striding ahead, he asked,
"That Little Prince you mentioned yesterday? I read it."
"What? How the hell did you get your hands on it?"
Selton whipped around to stare at him, wide-eyed in shock.
The disbelief in his gaze made Bern feel a little indignant.
"Hey, come on. How do you think? I went to the bookstore and bought it."
"No way. Huh? If you could just stroll into a bookstore and buy it, it wouldn't be such a big deal!"
Selton fumed, explaining just how rare it was to find one.
You had to pay top dollar at minimum, and even then, good luck—most times, they were nowhere to be found.
On top of that, copies were so scarce that people were lining up to complain at the publisher.
Bern shook his head at the sight.
"That big a deal?"
"Yes! Damn it, you really got one?"
Selton pounded his chest in frustration.
Bern just snorted at the skepticism.
"If you don't believe me, come over after work."
"Uh, going to another guy's place feels kinda weird."
"What'd you say, punk?"
They bantered on about nothing important as they walked.
Before long, they reached the factory and split off to their respective areas.
"Whew, let's power through today."
He'd drawn some solace from The Little Prince.
Bern felt more drained than usual, but he'd regained a spark of motivation.
Meanwhile, Selton shook his head.
"How the heck did he snag one?"
The owner of the factory where Bern worked, Henton, had been wrestling with a problem lately.
"How can I make this place really take off?"
His factory sold finished goods, sure, but parts sales were the real moneymaker.
In other words, he needed to drum up more buyers for those parts.
"Sigh, it's a real headache."
He slumped back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought.
Someone knocked after a while.
He merely glanced over and called out for them to enter.
"Sir, I have something for you."
"What is it?"
It was Henton's secretary who stepped into the office.
She approached the desk slowly and set down a book.
Only then did he swivel his chair around to look.
"The Little Prince?"
"Yes. Prometheus, the author—you know him? This is his latest. I came across it by chance and brought it over."
A glint sparked in Henton's eyes.
Just when his head was throbbing from boredom, something intriguing had landed in his lap.
He snatched up the book and turned it over in his hands.
A satisfied smile crossed his face as he shooed the secretary away.
"Good work. You can go now."
"Yes, sir. Back to my duties."
Once she was gone, Henton ran his fingers slowly over the cover.
It screamed high-end production costs.
He snorted and shook his head.
"No matter how you slice it, dropping this much cash on a book? Might as well skimp on materials and pocket more profit."
He knew paper wasn't cheap, but this was just wasteful.
If you couldn't cut paper costs, trim elsewhere, right?
The first impression wasn't great.
But books were all about the content, so he cracked it open.
"Hm, the opening's a drag."
As a factory owner and businessman, he found the start dull.
He got it, sure—but he'd seen too much of the world's filth.
Scams, backstabbing plots to devour one another.
His soul was too steeped in the muck to chase childish innocence anymore.
He even sided with the adults chiding the starry-eyed kid.
"Yeah. Gotta raise 'em right so they don't wind up slaving away in places like ours later."
He chuckled to himself and flipped the pages.
As he read on calmly, the Little Prince appeared.
Henton summed up the kid's antics in one word.
"Totally immature."
He had a rough sense of the story's intent.
Interpretations varied, of course, but he figured the author was speaking through a child's voice.
"Smart way to slip in the theme easy."
Deep meaning aside, the surface message hit straight on.
Henton kept turning pages.
Then it hit him: an early chat between the Little Prince and some guy spoiled the back half.
"Teasing just enough to hook you for what's next."
He'd pegged the author as going for simple themes and descriptions, but nope.
This guy had real fundamentals.
"Shame this is my first from him."
He'd known the name for years, of course.
Trouble was, back then he was drowning in debt from bad investments.
Only now, with debts eased and profits rolling in, could he indulge.
Regrettable, but what could he do?
He pushed it aside and read on.
When the Little Prince's planet showed up, he let out a sigh.
"A kid and a flower throwing tantrums at him."
Happened sometimes, sure.
He'd seen it with orphans who'd lost their parents—siblings acting up.
Brother and brother, brother and sister, whatever.
The younger ones knew deep down how rough things were.
But kids whined anyway.
And just like the flower coming around too late when the Little Prince left...
Real life threw those moments at you all the time.
"Is the author painting pictures of all sorts of lives?"
As he turned pages, his hunch proved spot-on.
And he started grasping the core message too.
"Pushing pure hearts and human connections."
He nailed it for sure on the businessman's planet.
The fourth star was the businessman's star.
He was so buried in work that he didn't even glance up when the Little Prince arrived.
The Little Prince spoke up.
"Hello? Your cigarette went out."
But the businessman just kept counting numbers, tossing out a quick greeting without looking.
"Phew, 501,622,731."
The Little Prince peered at him curiously.
"What's five hundred one million?"
"What? You've been standing there the whole time?"
The businessman startled but didn't stop counting.
Then, a bit annoyed, he waved him off, griping about his workload and how busy he was.
But the Little Prince, who never gave up once hooked, asked again.
"What's five hundred one million?"
Finally, the businessman looked up.
He stared at the Little Prince and rattled off his woes: in 54 years on this star, he'd been interrupted exactly three times—and this was one of them.
But the persistent Little Prince pressed on.
Only then did the businessman realize brushing him off wouldn't fly.
"The little things you see twinkling in the sky now and then."
"A swarm of flies?"
"No, the shiny, sparkling ones."
"Bees?"
He shook his head at the clueless Little Prince.
Once he spelled it out clearer, the boy got it: stars.
"Right, stars."
The Little Prince asked what good owning five hundred one million stars was.
The businessman echoed the question, as if confirming.
The Little Prince nodded.
"Nothing. I just own them."
"You own them, mister?"
The businessman nodded, so the Little Prince brought up the king.
The businessman countered that kings ruled—totally different from owning.
The debate bounced back and forth between the Little Prince, who couldn't grasp ownership, and the businessman.
The businessman insisted writing them down on paper and filing it away was enough.
The Little Prince just cocked his head.
He tended his volcano and watered his flower, he said.
Actions that actually helped them.
"But nothing you do helps the stars."
The businessman fumbled for a comeback but came up empty.
With that, the Little Prince left the star behind.
"Adults are definitely strange."
The Little Prince unwittingly delivers a sharp jab at the businessman obsessed with numbers.
The businessman views others through figures alone, ignoring their hearts.
The Little Prince, meanwhile, finds it bizarre that he spares no thought for feelings.
"It's like looking in a mirror."
Not benefiting the ones reduced to numbers? Yeah, that rang true too.
If money alone fixed everything, war would be the height of inefficiency.
Still, Henton shook his head.
What was so wrong with that?
"As long as they don't drop dead."
Even he nodded, convinced it made sense.
He pressed on to the fox—the latter half.
He mulled over the fox's lesson on taming.
It drove home what he'd glimpsed on the businessman's planet, straight-up.
"...Sigh, it matters. Really matters."
He knew it deep down.
Couldn't keep running the factory like this.
It was grinding people to dust, barely keeping them alive.
Numbers only, like the businessman—no bonds, as the fox preached.
Cold-blooded? Trash? He had no defense.
But Henton had no choice.
What if he saw his workers as people, built real ties?
Commanders didn't eyeball soldiers as faceless counts in war for nothing.
The second you humanized them, you cracked—mentally, materially, whatever.
"But..."
A face flashed through his mind: Edn Rerangbur and his factories.
"Gave 'em two days off a week, right?"
He knew it too.
This couldn't last.
He'd agonized, read the book, pictured Edn's setups.
After wrestling with it, he made up his mind.
"Let's give it a shot."
Not across the board.
Test it in a factory or two, gauge the ripple effects—easy.
With his decision set, Henton rose and got moving.
In the end, he was human too.
And so, winds of change began stirring in a few of his factories.