025 Leader's Direct-Controlled No.1 Aquaculture Farm
"It'll be restored in about two weeks, right?"
"Yes, Master."
The restoration of the Second East Sector was finally taking shape. With the bathhouse now open, I was hoping the next building would unlock something good.
Please let it be a production facility. If it wasn't, I'd just build another barn or farm. Residents would be moving in soon, and I wanted to stock up on fresh food. The canned goods from the basement pantry never ran out no matter how much we ate, and on top of that, we were getting massive shipments from trades. Even when I told everyone to eat luxuriously, they refused, saying, "Your Excellency, we haven't earned our keep yet—we can't do that."
They boiled huge pots of stew for communal meals, pairing it with bread, rice, potatoes, and sweet potatoes. That was only because I'd ordered at least one meat dish per meal—canned meat or beef stew loaded with vegetables. These people had come from the outside world where hunger was routine, so their consumption was ridiculously frugal. I wondered if the stew was bad, so I grabbed a bowl during distribution and tried it. It was pretty damn good. Three fine-dining chefs had pooled their expertise to develop that large-batch recipe—what would be weird is if it wasn't tasty.
The chefs didn't waste a single ingredient, squeezing every bit of use out of everything. Then there was that shocking thing I learned recently: when they prepared my late-night snacks, they'd use only the prime cuts of meat or veggies for me, saving the rest for the next day's communal meals. Sure, those "rests" were pricey delicacies outside, but it felt like they were feeding the residents my leftovers, which sat wrong with me.
So I consulted Han Seol and Han Byeol. Han Byeol's advice made me decide to just eat it. She'd said, "Master, last time you mentioned feeling burdened that the residents treat you like the 'God of the New World,' right?"
When I nodded, she got serious. "They already see you as half a god. If you don't indulge a little, you'll end up as the real deal."
I agreed with her. To sum it up: as the head of a wealthy group, I needed to live a bit more lavishly and show some human side to my subordinates. I was already frugal—if I got more frugal, I'd truly become a god. After that, I ate what they served without guilt.
Today, I made a rare visit to the hospital. Lee Kyung-min had been swamped lately.
"Your Excellency! You called for me?"
"Yeah. How's the hospital running? The new doctors behaving?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. Thanks to the Intelligence Chief laying down the law at first..." He trailed off.
"Intelligence Chief? Han Byeol? Why stop there?"
I glanced over—Han Byeol was silently signaling him to shut up.
"What's going on?"
"Well..."
"Don't tell me she beat them into line?"
"She didn't hit anyone!"
"Then?"
Han Byeol avoided my eyes, looking troubled.
"You said she didn't hit them, so it's fine—spill it."
"The director is Your Excellency's man, so defying him is defying Your Excellency—she threatened to cut off their wrists..."
"..."
"Your Excellency! That's what let me take full control of the hospital!"
Lee Kyung-min desperately shielded Han Byeol. He'd probably assumed I knew and was praising her, but my reaction threw him off.
"Good job."
"Master?"
"I've been thinking lately—my mindset differs a lot from outsiders'. These people came from a lawless world, so a verbal warning like that keeps them in line, right?"
"Yes! Exactly! That's why I made it scary on purpose!"
"Yeah, I bet it was terrifying... You didn't show up with a sword on your hip, did you?"
"That was before you granted me my blade..."
Maybe Han Byeol handling discipline was why my territory stayed so peaceful.
Lately, the hospital had been on my mind. It wasn't slow—patients poured in. But I'd expected rumors to spread after crushing the Reconstruction Government, drawing rich groups from afar so I could charge premium rates. Surprisingly, no outsiders came. All patients were Union awakeners. I wasn't stupid—I charged fair prices, no gouging. Scamming the subordinates of the Union's Supreme Commander would erode something essential about being human.
And "fair" wasn't cheap. For tricky surgery plus recovery room stay, it started at 100 bottles of liquor. The top-tier private recovery room? One of these per day: 50 bottles high-proof booze, 250 cans, or 20 unopened cigarette cartons. Demand still outstripped supply. Union warlords saw it as a bargain to heal their powerhouse awakeners.
Two weeks ago, a badly injured awakener checked in, and his boss handed over 180 fresh cigarette cartons without blinking. I had to cure my hangover in bed, sipping Hongcha tea Han Byeol brewed.
Kim Dae-geon said rumors had spread, but most reactions were skeptical: "Yeah, right." But when half-crippled retirees like Lee Seong-guk started returning to action—despite clusters of recovery Special Awakeners barely keeping them alive—people began believing.
Still, no one from outside the Union came. Kim Dae-geon figured, "Even if true, the big shots hesitate—the risk of entering someone else's domain is high."
Fair point. Barriers existed, and only the owner—the Union's Supreme Commander—controlled access. What if they got locked in? I wouldn't, but in a lawless era, it was scary. Kim Dae-geon predicted the ailing elites would crack eventually. I hoped he was right.
Clap clap clap clap.
"Everyone, applaud... ? Your Excellency?"
Today, I started clapping before Han Seol could prompt the residents.
"Finally, something good."
Land, sea, air—and we'd gotten land and sea. That "Fishery" was definitely seafood production.
I kept clapping, and residents joined in one by one, cheering "Your Excellency!" nonstop.
"No time like the present. Fishery."
The restored building glowed and transformed into the fishery. It looked just like the farm and livestock barns.
"Alright, let's go in."
"Yes, Your Excellency!"
The door opened to a briny sea scent, like a fish market.
"The bathhouse too—it's replicating these smells?"
The interior matched other production facilities: ten vending machines—five per wall—with a storage bin in the center. Black icons showed fish I couldn't identify. Each read 10/10, refilling one pack every 48 hours, like livestock.
I pressed the first left machine. A vacuum-sealed pack of pinkish-red flesh dropped into the basket. The counter ticked to 9/10, with 0% below. It gleamed crimson, marbled perfection—could pass for premium beef from afar. Just "650g" on the label, nothing else.
"Hmm... red-fleshed fish, but beyond that... tuna? Anyone know?"
"Your Excellency, no idea."
"Master... I only know tuna and salmon for red fish."
Your Excellency. Sorry. I've never eaten fresh tuna—only canned.
Except Im Jui's teary note, everyone's fish knowledge matched mine.
"Hang on—is this even fish? Looks too much like meat. Ah, our chefs! Get them."
Jeong Su-hwan bowed and fetched them.
"Your Excellency! You called?"
"Your Excellency! Reporting!"
"Your Excellency!"
The trio—Korean, Japanese, Western cuisine specialists—stood before us, eyeing the interior curiously. I'd granted them farm and livestock access, so no huge shock.
"What is this?" I showed the first pack.
"Your Excellency... a tuna cut."
"Same here."
Korean chef Im Jun-gu and Western chef Joo Yong-chul agreed on tuna.
"Fish means Japanese cuisine, right? What's our sushi chef say... huh?"
The Japanese chef, Choi Jang-min, stared blankly, hands trembling.
"You okay?"
"Your Exceelleeeency!"
"Whoa!"
"S-sorry!"
Breathing raggedly in excitement, he gasped, "Th-that's kamatoro—tuna collar meat, Your Excellency!"
"Collar? Heard of it—where?"
"Yes! Between the gills and belly!"
"Oh..."
His hype suggested it was a big deal in Japanese food. Then Joo and Im chimed in.
"Your Excellency! Sashimi for your table at last—truly divine work!"
"We'll pair it with sides from now on!"
Choi smirked at them. "Your Excellency, raw fish... its taste and texture vary wildly by aging, slicing method, and who does it. Rather than entrust it to 'civilians' ignorant of sashimi, let this expert wield the knife for you."
Another pissing contest. Im and Joo glared, stung by "civilians."
"Fine. We'll settle that later—ID these fish first."
"Yes, Your Excellency!"
We dispensed one pack each. Choi nailed species and cut in seconds. Left five: all tuna—kamatoro, big belly, medium belly, akami, navel fat. He dropped to his knees, weeping.
Right five: different white-fleshed fish. Packs dropped skin-on fillets plus separate bone/head packs—unlike red fish. One press, two packs. Halibut, rockfish, flounder, cod, saffron cod. Only saffron cod came whole—five fish per pack.
All three chefs lit up for white fish. Im Jun-gu's spicy stew pitch had my mouth watering.
Fancier than farm or livestock, but a jackpot. Wonder what the second floor held.
"Alright, upstairs? Chefs too—we're clueless otherwise."