Dark Moon
The chicken shop was a smash hit.
Ever since the independent streamer Fisher had come and gone, customers poured in. Those customers, in turn, took to social media raving about how good it was. More than a few called it a revolution in fried chicken and heaped on the praise.
That Fisher guy's influence is insane.
I found out later that Fisher had a notorious reputation as a "shop hunter." His main content was hunting down restaurants, tasting the food, and tearing it apart with scathing reviews. Every so often, though, he left a glowing recommendation—and those places invariably boomed.
Fisher had marked Yuyu Chicken as a target for one of his usual takedowns, only to do the exact opposite and leave a rave review.
Thanks to that, the three hundred chickens we'd prepped sold out before evening even arrived.
Neo London's population density is high for its size. Everyone nearby who watched Fisher's stream must have shown up.
Even accounting for the opening-day rush, three hundred birds gone in eight hours was a bigger hit than I'd expected.
This is a problem. We're running out of chicken.
Back home, with Yuria's help, I handled the brining. Ordering the raw chicken was easy enough—one call and it arrived—but the brining and the sauces were the bottleneck. With sales this strong, I couldn't keep leaning on Yuria alone.
Doing it at the shop is too complicated, though. Just the frying is already brutal. We need a factory.
I packed the chicken into boxes, layered on a heat-retention spell without forgetting, grabbed some beer, and headed for the X-district labor office.
Rose was just getting ready to clock out when she saw me. A sly smile tugged at her lips.
"Well, look who it is. What's the chicken-shop owner doing all the way out here?"
"I brought the chicken, like I said I would."
"Didn't think you'd actually show up with it… Fine. Let's try this famous Korean chicken."
"It's gotten that famous already?"
"The internet's going nuts. People are saying that bland old fried chicken turned into food from heaven. Neo London's been peaceful lately, which helped. Congrats. Your shop just hit the success highway."
She opened the box and let out a small sound of admiration. Half-and-half—plain and sauced.
"The smell, the look… yeah, this is nothing like the chicken I know."
Hiss—crack!
She popped a beer can, took a quick swig, then bit into a piece. Rose's usually calm eyes went wide.
"…Whoa. This is something else. Best thing I've had in ages. Now I get why Fisher went on about Korean chicken."
"Glad you like it."
"Pairs perfectly with beer. I'll be eating this two or three times a month. So. Why are you really here? You didn't come just to hand over free chicken."
"I need money."
"Looking to take a job?"
"No. Don't have the time."
"If you need cash fast, wrong place. Go to a bank. I don't play money games with my clients."
"Banks are out. Too risky with my current identity."
My papers were meticulously forged, but they were still forgeries. If a bank dug hard enough, they might catch it. I'd only just started riding the success wave. I had no interest in taking that kind of risk.
"I can't lend you money. Need cash, take a job. For someone like you, I've got a few simple ones you could wrap up in a couple hours."
"Not interested in investing in Yuyu Chicken?"
"Hmm."
"Truth is, two rich guys who came into the shop today already said they wanted to invest."
She stared down at the Korean chicken for a long moment.
"…Fair. At this level, it's got investment value. If you came asking for capital, you've got a plan. Let's hear it. If I like it, I might put money in."
"I'm aiming for a franchise. For that, I need a factory."
I laid out the plan Yuria and I had worked out together.
"…So the factory takes in chicken, brines it, mass-produces the seasoning sauces, and supplies the franchise stores every day?"
"Basically. All a franchise has to do is fry the chicken at the right time."
"Nice and simple. You understand the core of franchising. But do you really need to build your own factory? Why not just contract an existing one?"
"Short-term, sure. I'm looking long-term. And more than anything… the heart of Yuyu Chicken is the brining and the seasoning. I want to keep those recipes as locked down as possible."
"Hmm. All right. How much capital do you want?"
"Twenty million credits."
"…That's low? That'll barely cover putting up the building. What about the machines?"
"I'm a 5-Class mage."
"Ah. Magitech machines? Didn't know you had a background in that."
"…I'm not that skilled. Plan is to buy decommissioned machines cheap and modify them. Brining chicken and mixing sauces is simple enough."
"Fine. Let's write a contract. Twenty million isn't a painful amount—I can hand it over right away."
"I'd also like three reliable workers."
"For running the factory? What do you think this place is?"
The X Labor Office.
A place that specialized in handling workers.
I built the factory in T-district.
I personally overhauled every machine that went into it.
Magitech.
It sounded like the kind of field that would make your head explode, but at its core it was still just magic—binding spells to machinery so they could run continuously.
Complex magitech is beyond me right now, but the simple stuff? Fully doable.
Wash the chicken, load the set ingredients for brining, then feed prepped materials into the sauce mixers at fixed ratios. Those three processes were straightforward. No need for extreme complexity or precision.
The critical part was the ratios, and those were a pain to fine-tune, so I ordered custom units from a major corporation. They must have built plenty of similar gear before—the machines arrived in three days.
Big corporations, all right.
The factory went up in ten days and started running.
Daily brining capacity: twelve hundred birds. More than enough for the time being.
The booming chicken shop was relentlessly busy.
Customers rolled in like waves. Barely any time to breathe. Karel, who ran the floor, started complaining, so I hired another part-timer. He brought a friend, and just like that we had one more set of hands.
The kitchen's fine.
Ten fryers, plus four auxiliary units I'd bought later. Fourteen fryers running full tilt.
Could one person handle that?
Maybe not anyone else—but I could.
I had magic.
I used telekinesis. At my will, chicken left the fridge and plunged into the hot oil. Alarm clocks clicked on at the same time. When they rang, the chicken came out and went into bowls. I never forgot to toss the sauced pieces. Even the dishes got handled with telekinesis.
With it, I easily did the work of ten people.
Telekinesis burned little mana, which made it possible. People said the mental strain was heavy, but that never really hit me.
Doesn't mean there's no fatigue, though. I can keep this up for a while, but…
If I kept going forever, even I would hit a wall.
I need to hire kitchen staff.
The shop had to run smoothly without me. Then I'd expand the franchises step by step.
In the end I sit up high and just take the reports. That's the goal… still a long way off, though.
No need to rush.
Business was good. Climb steadily.
The real problem hit a few days later.
A rumor started circulating: Yuyu Chicken uses old oil.
Customers began to thin out.
It was ridiculous. I replaced the oil thoroughly every fifty birds. And I wasn't even using the cheapest stuff—I chose oils that actually suited fried chicken.
The moment I caught wind of the rumor, I posted rebuttals online and inside the shop. I even explained, politely and clearly, that the oil drums were swapped every fifty chickens.
But rumors were stubborn things to kill.
"They're at it again."
A regular muttered while chewing on sauced chicken. He was reading the oil explanation posted on the wall. Since he was the only customer at the moment, I could ask.
"Sir, do you know something? If you fill me in, the next beer's on the house."
"Huh? You still don't know? It's that bastard over there."
He pointed across the street at the fish-and-chips shop.
"About three months ago, another fish-and-chips place nearby got hit with the same kind of rumor and went under. That guy's a local, used to run with thugs, so he's got plenty of connections. He spreads the word through them."
"I don't even sell fish and chips."
"You're both selling fried food. After eating this chicken, who still wants fish and chips? I'd bet his sales got cut in half at least."
"……."
I'd seen the owner of the shop across the street not long ago. Even at a glance, he hadn't looked like a pleasant person.
What do I do? Confronting him won't change anything… Sneak over at night, pretend to be a robber, and just kill him?
"Boss, just ignore it. This place isn't going under because of that rumor. Anyone who matters already knows it's fake. A few fewer customers… is that really enough to sink you?"
"Not enough to sink us… no."
Traffic had dropped, but sales were still thriving.
"The people who want to come keep coming. This place is already a known gem to those in the know. Whoops—speak of the devil, a customer just walked in."
This one was unusual.
A butler in a black suit. Neat, composed. The moment he stepped inside he offered a greeting.
"Good day. I am Hyde, butler of the Platt baronial house. One fried chicken and one sauced chicken to go, please."
The butler carried real dignity.
More than that—I felt power from him. At minimum, he was 3-Class or higher.
It struck me again: in Neo London, butlers and maids were never lower-class.
"I'll prepare them right away."
"Fortunate I arrived while the place is empty. Good luck on my part."
The butler read the oil notice on the wall, then snorted as if he understood exactly what had happened.
"Jealousy and greed sometimes drive people to foolish acts. It seems the proprietor finds himself in an awkward spot."
"It is a bit troublesome."
"Ignore it. Someone of your caliber need not lift a finger. Rumors that stray too far from reality tend to sink on their own."
His manner stayed courteous from start to finish.
I realized he had already gauged my level.