Perks and Penalties
The sixty-second commercial break drew to a close, and the vibrant logo of Imperial Men and Women illuminated the crystal screens once more.
Sweat beaded heavily on Aaron’s brow as he stood frozen in the confession room, his gaze darting frantically between the two items retrieved from his locker: an intricately embroidered floral handkerchief and a weathered, hand-worn wooden flute.
“Now then, Male One. Have you reached a decision?”
Prompted by the modulated voice of the producer crackling through the magical speaker, Aaron swallowed dryly and nodded with solemn resolve.
“Whew… Yes. I have decided.”
With theatrical gravity, Aaron hoisted the delicate floral handkerchief high into the air.
“This floral handkerchief belongs without question to Female Six, Lady Marie! I observed her delicate touch firsthand while she prepared our meals in the kitchen. No one else could possess the exquisite dexterity required to hand-embroider such breathtaking flowers!”
Back in the commentary studio, Countess Verna snapped her ornate folding fan open with a sharp, crisp clatter, her eyes narrowing in deadpan exasperation.
“How utterly infuriating,” she remarked coldly. “His conclusion is entirely incorrect, yet his rationale is shockingly sound… But tell me, who on earth said the owner embroidered it herself?”
“Ah! Male One’s wild leaps of logic strike again!” Aedus bellowed, throwing his hands into the air.
“Nobody claimed it was handmade, yet he’s already concocted an entire narrative about her stitching every petal!” Damon agreed, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Understood,” the speaker chimed in calmly. “And what of the wooden flute?”
Aaron’s misguided investigative crusade had only just begun. Picking up the modest, scuffed flute, he squared his shoulders and declared with unshakeable conviction:
“And this flute… must unquestionably belong to Female Two, Lady Seria! It aligns seamlessly with her rugged, active disposition. I can easily envision her playing this very instrument under the open sky, savoring the romance of wandering freely!”
“Male One swings and misses by a continent!!” Damon roared, clutching his head.
“He got them completely, perfectly backward!” Aedus shouted over him, slamming the table with a hearty laugh. “Is he trolling us? Is this an intentional parody?”
“Wait, look at the bright side!” Damon countered, leaning forward in theatrical awe. “He correctly identified the two women who sent him gifts! That alone is a remarkable feat!”
On the blood-soaked battlefields of the far north, this peerless warrior could pinpoint a monster’s exact coordinates by the faint vibration of its breathing alone. Yet here, dropped into the labyrinth of romance, the Empire’s greatest knight was gleefully hurling his blade directly into his own vanguard.
Once Male One’s comedy of errors concluded, the subsequent deductions from the remaining male contestants proved nearly as disastrous.
Edgar, clutching the luxurious perfume bottle left by Vivian, inexplicably named Rosalyn as its owner.
“W-What do you mean?!” Edgar stammered through the transmission crystal, adjusting his askew spectacles. “This bottle doesn’t belong to Female One?! What happens if our guess is incorrect?!”
“All will be explained shortly,” the director’s voice replied smoothly.
“B-But that’s impossible! The scent lingering in her wake was identical!”
Lucas met a similar fate. Holding Chloe’s scholarly quill, he confidently attributed it to the poised, sophisticated Vivian, missing the mark by a mile.
Out of all the contestants, only two men managed to strike the truth.
Julius, who had received Cecilia’s romantic fantasy novel, correctly guessed her identity and pumped his fist in sheer exuberance.
“Ha! See that?! It truly belonged to Lady Cecilia, didn’t it? I knew it from the start!”
“Oh? Male Six seems genuinely thrilled!” Damon noted with an approving grin. “I thought he was just a silver-tongued charmer, but that boyish joy is quite endearing.”
“Indeed!” Aedus concurred vigorously. “Honest enthusiasm is undeniably attractive. This is precisely why one must never judge a book by its cover!”
Meanwhile, Derikkan, who held the crimson ribbon left by Rosalyn, offered a cool, knowing smirk as he effortlessly delivered the correct answer.
“It matches the ribbon adornment on the travelling dress she wore when she arrived,” Derikkan stated, turning the silk between his fingers. “Anyone with a pair of working eyes would have noticed.”
“Male Two doesn’t look the type, but he is remarkably perceptive!”
“Quite an unexpected charm,” Countess Verna observed, fluttering her fan in mild approval. “He has the air of a dangerous scoundrel, yet his attention to detail is immaculate.”
With all deductions logged, my synthesized, modulated voice resonated through the speakers across the mansion.
“The results are in. Regrettably, only two contestants have answered correctly: Male Two and Male Six.”
Upon hearing the verdict, Aaron’s face shattered into an expression of catastrophic disbelief.
My voice returned through the intercom, commanding absolute silence.
“With this, the first impression gift exchange has officially concluded. As promised, exclusive privileges await those who deduced correctly, while those who failed must face their penalties.”
The contestants swallowed in unison.
“Before unveiling the rewards and penalties, allow me to announce tomorrow’s itinerary: tomorrow will be a full day of dates!”
“D-Dates?” several contestants echoed.
“Your date partner will be the female contestant who placed an item into your locker.”
“Oh! A date!” Aedus cheered from the studio. “This entire game was designed to pair them off!”
“Wait, hold on!” Damon gasped, eyes widening in realization. “What about Male One? He received two items!”
Inside the confession booth, Aaron leaned toward the speaker in a fluster.
“W-Wait a moment! What happens in my case?”
My voice responded with breezy nonchalance.
“Indeed. Male One, having received tokens from two separate ladies, will embark on an all-day, two-on-one date accompanied by both Female Two and Female Six. Our heartfelt congratulations.”
“Whaaaat?!” Damon shouted, bolting upright from his chair.
“An unprecedented twist for Male One! A two-on-one date?! Is such a thing even permitted by imperial propriety?!”
“In high society, doing this in broad daylight would see you stoned in the plaza!” Aedus cackled. “Only on Imperial Men and Women could you witness such magnificent chaos!”
The Forest of the Empire erupted into pandemonium.
Amid the swelling celebration, a meek, trembling voice drifted from the dimmest corner of the hall. Male Four, Drexler, raised a pale hand.
“Then… what becomes of me tomorrow? Having received not a single vote?”
A collective, sorrowful hush swept through the commentary studio.
“Ah…” Damon breathed.
“Ah…” Aedus sighed, clutching his chest.
“Ah…” Countess Verna murmured, fluttering her fan in solemn pity.
Every pitying gaze locked onto the zero-vote man. The brash merchant heir who had swaggered in with supreme confidence only hours prior was now completely deflated.
“Male Four has no scheduled date for tomorrow,” my cheerful voice announced through the speakers. “You may remain in the villa alone, savor your meals in tranquil solitude, and enjoy ample time for personal reflection and meditation. Fear not—your meals will be provided entirely on the house!”
“…Understood,” Drexler whispered hollowly, staring at the floorboards.
As Drexler slumped into a stupor of melancholy, I cleared my throat to deliver the core mechanics governing the dates.
“We will now distribute date stipends and arrange transportation according to your performance. The currency utilized will adhere to the imperial central standard: the krima.”
The air tightened as every contestant leaned in, hanging on my words.
“For those who deduced correctly—Male Two and Male Six—along with their respective partners, each individual will receive an extraordinary date allowance of one million krima in cold, hard cash. Furthermore, the premier luxury four-wheeled mana carriage sponsored by the renowned Golden Crest Merchant Troupe awaits you as your dedicated transit.”
One million krima per person for a single day’s outing!
Between a gentleman and his lady, that amounted to a staggering two million krima per couple.
To an ordinary imperial citizen, it was an unimaginable fortune—enough to dine endlessly on gourmet delicacies, buy lavish gifts, and still leave heavy gold in their pockets. Triumphant grins broke across the faces of Julius and Derikkan.
“However!”
The speaker’s pitch took on a sly, devilish cadence.
“For the contestants who guessed incorrectly, your date allowance will be strictly limited to… exactly ten thousand krima per person.”
A suffocating silence descended upon the room.
“…Pardon?” someone croaked. “Ten thousand krima?”
Ten thousand krima. It was pocket change—barely enough to buy a skewer of street meat or a bowl of thin broth in a dingy tavern back alley. Considering that proud scions of high nobility were mingled among the cast, ten thousand krima was practically an insult.
“Indeed. You and your partner must navigate your entire day within a combined budget of twenty thousand krima. Oh, and Male One?”
“Y-Yes, sir?!” Aaron snapped to attention like a recruit on drill.
“Since your party consists of three people, your allowance shall be thirty thousand krima.”
“What on earth is this?!” Damon shrieked, doubling over in laughter. “Ten thousand krima per person for an entire day’s courtship?!”
“Thirty thousand krima for three people?!” Aedus bellowed, pounding the commentary desk with both fists. “What kind of date can you possibly have on that budget?! Order three bowls of soup and your wallet is empty!!”
“They’ll finish their cheap soup and have to part ways immediately! It’s over before it begins!”
Damon wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, while Countess Verna smirked behind her fan, deeply amused by the impending social disaster. Yet the true depths of the penalty had still not been plumbed.
“Additionally, as transport for those who answered incorrectly, carriages will not be provided. Instead, you shall travel to your dating destinations aboard a rustic donkey cart.”
“A… donkey cart?”
“See for yourselves!”
At my bidding, the heavy double doors of the villa were swung wide, and the contestants stepped out into the crisp evening courtyard.
Awaiting them on the pristine stone driveway was the magnificent mana carriage of the Golden Crest Merchant Troupe. Its lacquered wooden chassis gleamed beneath enchanted lanterns, its velvet upholstery and brass-rimmed wheels radiating sheer nobility.
And parked directly beside it was a scrawny, ancient donkey, idly swatting flies with its threadbare tail. Nailed behind it was a crude wooden cart piled with prickly straw, groaning under its own weight.
Hee-hawww—
The creature let out a mournful, wheezing bray that echoed pathetically across the terrace.
“…We are supposed to ride in that…?”
Confronted by the stark, brutal chasm of wealth, the faces of the failed male contestants soured into absolute despair.
Up in the high-security IBS master control booth, I watched the live feeds and burst into quiet laughter.
“Heh, romance between handsome men and lovely women is all well and good, but you need a taste of gritty misery to make great variety television.”
I leaned back comfortably, taking a warm sip of coffee while watching the live viewing monitor. The continent-wide broadcast ratings had smashed through ninety-nine percent and were still climbing.
Sylvia, standing beside my chair with a clipboard full of sponsor tallies, clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“Director… aren’t you being a bit excessive? A straw cart? I’d rather walk on foot.”
“Nonsense,” I replied smoothly. “When two people are dead broke, bumping shoulders and freezing their tails off together, romantic affection develops twice as fast. Mutual suffering breeds fond memories, Sylvia. Those are the ones they’ll talk about for the rest of their lives.”
The haves and the have-nots. A polarized clash of luxury and destitution.
Across the length and breadth of the Empire, the citizens’ craving for dopamine had only just begun to be satisfied.