Is the Favorability System Meaningless?

Maybe the favorability system was pointless after all. It had been that way in the game, too. What made Jenia special?

"Next up, then..."

"Nya..."

Even as I dismissed it as nonsense, I couldn't quite let it go—there was still a sliver of hope lingering. The drop table for the three final bosses, as released by the developers, was packed with absurd items. Each one powerful enough to upend the entire world. Sure, the favorability rewards wouldn't be that extreme, but there was a chance they'd cough up something decent.

And hey, a guy like me could use that right now. I was flat broke.

"What if..."

"Nyaaang..."

Beyond the favorability gauge still stubbornly stuck at 0, I could see Jenia's face, her eyes half-closed. She looked on the verge of sleep, yet she'd snap them open every now and then. She was trying her best, in her own way.

Hmm.

"Forget it. Go to sleep."

"N-no, I'm fine...!"

"I'm telling you to sleep. What's there to argue about?"

"B-but...!"

"Huh? Disobeying an order?"

"Uh, nyii..."

I gently pressed down on Jenia's head, leaning her back against the headrest. Before long, her breathing evened out into soft, steady snores.

She probably hadn't slept properly since the mercenaries kidnapped her. Anyone who could snooze soundly in that situation would be the weird one. Especially a 14-year-old kid...

Poor thing.

It wasn't just the baggage from the game—I felt genuinely sorry for her when I thought about it. Orphaned young, scraping by in the back alleys until 14, and this was the result. In the original story, she'd even been tortured by a mad black mage and turned into a plague-spewing monster.

Of course, the last part wouldn't happen. Not after I'd shelled out a whopping 120 gold coins for her.

Saving her life, basically. But how would this kid ever know that? It was all hypothetical anyway. If I went around ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yelling, Hey, I'm your lifesaver! she'd just think I was nuts.

So yeah, I'd have to swallow the injustice.

But that's as far as it goes.

Too bad. Still, no real problem. I might not be her benefactor, but I was her owner.

Jenia would be doing a lot from here on out. At least until I recouped my investment—she'd roll and tumble for that long. I wasn't some philanthropist dumping 120 gold into freeing slaves.

Investment rule number one: recover principal.

Now, how to make her earn it...

Screw it. I'll figure it out tomorrow.

Getting Jenia had taken all my focus. I hadn't slept much because of it. What a headache-inducing kid.

The next time I opened my eyes, the sun had been up for hours. Perks of being a jobless bum with no home.

"..."

"..."

I perched on the edge of the nearly collapsed bed, spotting the thin blanket spread on the floor. And on it sat someone looking uncomfortable—Jenia, my new family member as of yesterday.

Why was a slave like her sharing a room with me? First, no extra rooms left in the house. Second, my room was the biggest, with space for her. Third, better me than handing her off to Luton.

How could I trust that old schemer eyeing the family head spot? He'd set me up and stab me in the back. Might as well leave fish with a cat.

Anyway, that's how we ended up roomies. I wouldn't keep her on the floor forever—would get a bed soon.

But why the total silence? Had staring contests become trendy while I slept?

"..."

"..."

Couldn't fall behind on trends, so I obliged. But something felt off. The match was decided, yet Jenia just stared blankly.

Wait, was this even a staring contest? Had I been shadowboxing solo?

Sigh.

I let out a short breath, clearing my head. Embarrassing first thing in the morning.

"Sleep well?"

"Yes..."

Sniiiif—

Was this right? Shouldn't the slave greet first? Even after I did, her reply was just one word.

Any other master would've exploded and grabbed a switch. But I was different. And right now, I was feeling pretty chill and happy.

Most urgent fire handled: snagged Jenia at auction.

Time for a leisurely breakfast...

—Young master, we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have no money for eggs.

The thought hit, tanking my mood straight to the basement.

Did it show? Jenia glanced around, then whispered,

"Wh-what should I call you...?"

Oh, right—no proper intros. Too fixated on favorability, skipped basics.

"Ryd Blanc, head of the Blanc Barony." I dropped my voice low. Wanted to try it once—cringe city. Never again.

"I'm Jenia Lü Drvan..."

"I'll call you Jenia. You do the same, casually."

Of course, I didn't mean too casual. Master, young master, that sort. Awkward to demand it outright.

"Th-then... Master...?"

"Yeah, that works."

Street-smart 14-year-old's instincts? She nailed the itch spot. No need for me to bark orders like Assemble above you, below me!

"Master, a question."

"Shoot."

"What happens to me now...?"

"Nothing special. Obey orders, work hard. I'll handle food, bed, clothes."

Realized post-say: sounded like a scam labor exploiter. You're Chun-sik now—sleep here, we'll feed you, blah blah.

But I was no thug. Slavery was legal here anyway.

"For today, Luton—the old guy from yesterday..."

Grrrooowl—

Jenia's stomach roared, rudely cutting me off. She clutched it, flattening herself in panic.

"S-sorry...!"

Quick and precise. Her survival smarts killed any urge to scold. In the army, I'd pat her shoulder and hit the PX.

Not that I was gonna say anything. Wasn't petty enough to chew out biology.

"Let's head out and eat first."

"Y-yes...!"

She perked up, brightest expression yet.

No way this actually worked...? So our whole chat last night was worth less than one meal promise...?

"Young master, did you cough?"

"Yeah, good morning."

In the living room, Luton greeted us. He bowed politely to me, then shot Jenia a dissatisfied glare.

He'd opposed selling the estate. No way he'd warm to the slave bought with that money.

Of course, time would soften it... but a preemptive word couldn't hurt. Better safe than sorry.

...Or so I'd thought, just ten minutes ago.

"Wow—it's, it's so good...!"

Jenia devoured the food like someone was chasing her.

"Sir, you cook amazingly...!"

"H-hm, well, yes. Have more."

Luton hid his delight, scooping more stew into her bowl. Hard to believe this was the same grump from before. And taking "old man" without a peep? Game over. Next thing, he'd be president of the Jenia fan club.

Whatever—good development. One less worry for me.

Scraaape.

I pushed back my chair and stood.

"Gotta run an errand. While I'm out, teach Jenia her tasks."

"May I ask where to, young master?"

"Guild for a bit."

"Surely not entering the Labyrinth...?"

The Labyrinth. One of the world's top spec-up methods. Endless magic beasts to hunt for growth, plus valuable byproducts. Rare treasure chests spat out priceless loot.

But risky as hell. Get trapped, and revival was near impossible—reroll city. Named beasts were newbie shredders.

High risk, high return.

"Eh, mulling it over. Got this, at least."

I flaunted the blue ring on my left hand—the magic tool that one-shotted the black mage's familiar.

"But young master, you've always preferred indoors since childhood. When the master gave you a sword, you tossed it for gold coins."

Luton politely implied, You? In the Labyrinth? Sweet, he cared.

I knew it, too. My odds of dying in there were sky-high. Fine later with growth, but now? Yeah.

But who was I? Died a thousand times here. Tried every experiment imaginable.

The Labyrinth? Just a honey pot.

I knew how to turn it no-risk, high-return.