Chapter 5: Supernova of the Stationery Industry (2)

I'd promised the family head 300 pencils. Thanks to working Estelle to the bone, we'd secured more than enough materials. I activated the skill once more.

The graphite, clay, and wood we'd gathered fell under option B. In terms of acquisition difficulty and quality, it was the most reasonable choice right now. Even pencils made with C were decent enough. They might've been lacking for an artist like me, but for note-taking or paperwork? Zero issues.

'Option B should be about high-grade pencil quality.'

Option A? The difficulty spiked hard, demanding straight-up fantasy materials that screamed "prestige."

Spirit water sap x1

Purified magic core powder x1

Nymph sand x1

World tree branch x2

Who the hell makes pencils with that? It was like boiling fish egg soup with caviar or grilling parrotfish for cheap fried fish. Insane.

Of course, the thought of an SSS-grade pencil had my mouth watering. How ridiculously over-the-top flashy would that useless masterpiece be? One day, when I have the spare time, I'll make one just for me, I thought, selecting option B.

Graphite x1

Clay x1

Wood scrap x1

Slime mucus x1

Perfectly fairy-tale ordinary materials. Except for one.

'Slime mucus? What the actual fuck.'

Goddamn slimes. I shuddered, recalling the circus I'd put on just to get that slime mucus.

Option B's acquisition difficulty was C. And in every game back home, slimes were trash mobs. EXP vending machines. Mindless fodder. The poster children ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for early-game monsters.

So naturally, I figured I could solo one no problem. I grabbed my improvised wooden sword and headed to the slime habitat.

"The young master? For slimes?"

"Yeah. A puny slime's nothing. Just smack it around a bit."

"You'll regret that."

I'd scoffed and brushed off Estelle's warning back then. How naive that judgment was? I'd learn soon enough.

Three seconds after encountering the slime, I was halfway to the afterlife, greeting my ancestors.

"Mmph! Mrrrgh—!"

"Huh? What're you saying?"

"Mrrrrrgh—!"

"Oh dear, what a mess. Too much mining ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠must've clogged my ears—can't hear a thing~?"

No joke. My late grandpa's face was flashing before my eyes. That slime wasn't the slime I knew. Trash mob? Pathetic? Hell no. It was a liquid coffin designed to suffocate humans.

Lucky for me, Estelle swooped in. Otherwise, I'd have been using my pencil-making lumber for my own coffin.

Her mentor clearly wasn't a hack—Estelle cleaved the slime in half with one sword stroke.

"Fhew."

"...I-I lived."

"Pfft. 'Just smack it around,' huh? Looked like you were about to get smacked, young master."

Was she that salty about the mining, logging, and carpentry? Estelle smirked down at me, clearly enjoying herself, with a side of snark.

I unleashed the ultimate employer nuke right then.

"Your pay's getting docked."

"Ah."

That's when the alert popped up—but I dismissed it instantly.

Yeah, go down. Not like it had anywhere lower to go.

Anyway, that near-death embarrassment, my botched slime hunt, and Estelle's pay cut? All for that slime mucus.

I grinned at the piled-up materials and my meticulously sketched pencil designs.

"Alright. Skill, go."

A blue flash erupted, and pencils materialized in an instant. One became two, two became four, filling the temporary workshop the family head had provided.

The glow faded. All 300 sets of materials were gone.

In their place: 300 pencils. Identical in overall shape, but varying slightly in detail due to the S~A quality spread. Some felt subtly sticky—that's where the slime mucus came in, I guessed.

"Oh ho, so that's for the coating and eraser."

Whatever. The point was, we'd hit the quota, and they were plenty sellable.

I grabbed the 300 finished pencils and barged into the study.

"Primo, you brat. Knock befo—"

"Made 'em. Pencils. 300."

"...Huh."

"All handmade by me. So, honor the deal and sell them."

Maybe because of the family name on the line, the baron inspected every single one meticulously. Admiration and a faint smile spread across his face.

"Primo..."

"Yes?"

"Not bad. Better than expected, actually. Way higher quality than the last batch."

"Yeah. Used top-shelf materials. All thanks to Estelle."

Just stating facts.

And ding—alert time.

Heh, nice. Bliss was easier when you had nothing to lose.

Of course, I had zero intention of treating her well just to cling to that measly +1. Favorability of 1 versus living power armor? Duh, the latter wins. Rational choice for the greater good. Unavoidable.

After that, things went smoother than I'd dreamed.

The 300 pencils? The baron went all-in on promotion. His history peddling local specialties made him a pro at distribution and hype... or so Estelle told me.

The golden goose land that I—er, original Primo—had squandered. Its specialties had once kept the barony afloat. Loan sharks snatched it, dooming us to decline.

Maybe that's why the baron hustled harder than expected. The pencils, with their killer performance, sold like hotcakes.

Not just the nobles I'd targeted—artists, scribes, academy scholars all clamored for them. Anyone who wrote or drew wanted one.

"Less mess on the hands, and it's way more convenient."

"Doesn't snap like charcoal, and even if the lead breaks, a knife sharpens it right back to new. Love it."

"Thickness adjusts easily, and it erases without fuss."

"Can I buy just that thing on the end separately?"

"Once you try it, no going back."

Honestly, didn't expect this level of hype. Pencils were invading territory once held sacred by charcoal and quills.

And every last one? Made by me.

Formulas. Structure. Principles. All mine. All proprietary.

'This blew up bigger than I thought.'

The baron talked scaling up production. I nodded eagerly, already scheming the next hustle.

Pencils were step one. Next: erasers. Then sharpeners and cases. Top-shelf paper. Ballpoint pens to eclipse quills.

Korea's evergreen bestseller. The black-and-white pen with history and tradition.

Goal set. Time to execute.

Draw designs. Hunt materials. Refine for higher grades.

And naturally, all the grunt work fell to my living power armor—Estelle.

Mining, logging, foraging, hunting, processing. Every blue-collar job? Hers.

Pure efficiency optimization. Nothing more.

"I'll kill you. For real."

"Hey now, watch the attitude. Don't wanna earn money?"

"Gahhhhh—!"

Truly, no one should be that competent. Like Prime Minister Hwanghee refusing Sejong's resignation pleas till the end.

I worked Estelle relentlessly. Exaggerating a tad? Squeezed her till she was spitting stationery fumes.

The product flood followed: erasers, cases, sharpeners, premium paper, black-and-white pens.

Tied to pencils, they sold themselves. Buy one, crave the set. Impulse bundles galore.

I tossed in one more mass-appeal idea.

"Discount ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for buying all five."

"Ho ho."

"Some'll think they can sub in alternatives. 'The eraser's built-in anyway, sharpen with a knife'—that kinda thing. Bundle deals kill those thoughts dead. No room for second-guessing."

"...Primo, you rascal... Your father's proud."

Yep. Bluff right, and half the battle's won.

My stationery line flipped the barony's fortunes—once propped by specialties alone.

Month one: interest paid.

Three months: principal cleared.

'Couldn't reclaim the golden land... yet.'

But I would. Those specialties looked useful.

Anyway, decline halted. Breathing room secured.

'Time for a proper reward.'

I eyed the fat bonus pouch contentedly.

Whip and carrot. Give and take. Basics of management.

Passion pay? Family vibe? Bullshit I despise.

Does that feed people? Nah. Business suicide.

'Show her hard work pays.'

I had a servant summon Estelle from the workshop mid-task.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

That's what I thought then.

A backwater noble's inventions. Trinkets next to magic tools. Handy, sure—but world-shaking? Nah. Just a modest win.

"All this... from one person?"

I never imagined the ripple reaching the empire's heart.