Chapter 183
Chapter 183
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 183
Chapter Title: Mega Tower Interviews
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'I might even meet them today.'
The reason I'd come to Mega Tower was for these one-on-ones.
I'd chosen this place specifically because I had no idea how many people would show up.
I'd spread the word that anyone who had something to say to me should come today, but it was hard to gauge the turnout.
"Is Sia coming home much these days?"
"It's hard to even catch a glimpse of her. She might drop by once a month at best, and even then, she usually just sleeps and leaves."
"Ah, I see..."
It felt awkward to ask why she was so busy.
After all, I was Sia's boss.
On top of that, this former family head was like an ancestor to her—old enough to be her grandfather.
"I wish she'd take it easy. Should I cut back her workload?"
"It wouldn't help. The young lady finds work to do even if she has to make it herself."
The former family head had Sia pegged perfectly.
By the time we'd finished chatting, we'd reached the top floor.
Floor 333.
I had to wonder if they'd picked that number just to sound impressive.
"This way. Do you need the attendee list?"
"No, that's fine."
Anyone whose face I didn't recognize wasn't important anyway.
And if I got confused, I could always borrow R3D3.
I strode forward and flung open the doors.
The interior was decked out like a banquet hall, with four- to six-person tables arranged at regular intervals.
The attendees, who had been sitting or chatting in groups, all fell silent the moment I appeared, as if on cue.
I walked in slowly.
Their eyes locked onto me and wouldn't let go.
"Looks like everyone's here who was coming. Who should I start with?"
"The senior councilor Borneo and the regular councilors are waiting over here."
"Ah, right, Councilor Borneo is here."
The former family head pointed to the nearest table.
The seating wasn't random, it seemed.
"Councilor. It's been too long."
"Haha, indeed. What trouble could I have in a safe place like Raplasia? It's all thanks to you shedding blood and sweat on the front lines that I can rest easy."
"I'm sorry I haven't visited more often."
"Just setting aside time like this and not forgetting me is gratitude enough."
Borneo, the senior councilor, had a silver tongue.
But he wasn't all talk.
He'd been hailed as a genius early on and had served as a top administrator in the Center until old age.
Around seventy, he started dipping into politics here and there, and that experience propelled him to senior councilor.
A capable man in many ways.
Sure, he'd come to the Raplasia system to coast through his later years only to run into trouble, but now that he'd survived the danger, it was turning into a stroke of luck. Time would tell for his future.
"...You're building a factory?!"
"Yes. I'll need a lot of help from you, Councilor."
Our small talk soon turned to the space fortress block factory.
Borneo welcomed it, of course.
A new factory meant jobs.
Another boon for him.
"So, partnering with the Union to build it?"
"It's a partnership, but the factory setup will all come from my personal funds."
"Then..."
"That doesn't mean it'll be small-scale. We'll need about 200,000 to start."
"Ooh...!"
Even the regular councilors cheered in unison.
I fielded all their eager questions as they crowded around.
What I had planned for them later made this a bargain.
"Please find a suitable site. Yes, and make it spacious since it'll expand."
I offered fitting rewards and chatted a few more minutes before parting satisfied.
From now on, Borneo and the councilors would move for me.
The same pattern continued for a while after.
I'd identify who they were, offer appropriate incentives to those who could help, and reel them in.
If they showed excessive greed or seemed irrelevant, I'd brush them off.
I'd been making the rounds like that for some time when I spotted someone who seemed to have come for a different purpose.
"Hello, Captain. I'm Charshu."
The man greeted me with precise, disciplined movements.
Even at a glance, he was a martial arts master of the highest caliber.
Beyond instructor level.
'Strong.'
In pure martial arts, he outclassed me.
I'd win in a fight thanks to my body's durability, but it wouldn't be by much.
As wariness kicked in, my senses sharpened naturally.
But he carried no core weapon.
Which meant he was a pure martial artist.
"I came to this gathering today to see you, Captain."
"Me?"
What business would a master like this have with me?
I pondered, then realized who he was.
"The Instructor Corps. You're from the Instructor Corps."
"Yes, that's right."
Instructor Corps.
It referred to martial arts masters who'd reached instructor level and felt the need for real combat, throwing themselves into war.
They had a captain and vice-captain in name only—no strict hierarchy like the Superhuman Corps. Mostly, they'd team up with fellow martial artists they clicked with.
Each team numbered roughly ten to twenty.
They didn't travel as one big group but in squads of four, and a single squad's firepower outmatched a mediocre regular-grade superhuman.
'I saw one back at the academy.'
I'd crossed paths with a squad.
It hadn't ended at just crossing paths—we'd fought.
In a class called Practical Martial Arts.
Back then, the instructors had seemed like monsters too tough for one person.
It took a hundred cadets, including the vice-captain, ganging up on three instructors to barely win.
Of course, after my core weapon implant, no one thought they'd lose one-on-one to an instructor. Still, their strength lingered in my memory.
"I've heard a lot about the Instructor Corps from Battalion Commander Amorf."
"We've heard plenty about you from him too. He said his alumni brothers received a lot of help from you, Captain. We're always grateful for that."
"Just doing what needed doing."
Even bowing his head, his presence didn't waver.
Like a straight bamboo stalk standing tall.
Then he said something unexpected.
"But what drew even more interest to you was the trauma treatment and the neutralizer."
"How did you...?"
"It came to our attention somehow."
It hit me as he spoke.
The Instructor Corps had figured out I was the real owner of Salmon Labs.
Seemed like every place that mattered now knew.
'The Superhuman Summit leak must've done it.'
Damn that bald bastard.
Bald heads were no help anyway.
"The meds are barely out in limited release—how'd you get them?"
"No martial artist doesn't know about them by now. The effects are outstanding."
"That's good to hear."
"We're hoping for full commercial release soon."
Even a year after development, they were stuck at limited sales due to heavy pushback from pharma companies.
They were busy enough competing among themselves, but they hated any new player muscling in and blocked it fiercely.
Near-collusion levels.
They'd keep it up until one of theirs, like Mutant Medical, took the crown.
My expectation of smooth full release had gone completely off the rails.
"There were other things about you that piqued our curiosity too. With the Styx front stabilized, I decided to come check you out myself."
One common misconception was this:
Instructors fought aliens without regard for their lives to protect humanity.
Wrong.
To martial artists, personal mastery mattered most.
Even those in the Instructor Corps.
They risked their lives in combat, but it was for real-world training to reach new heights. It just looked selfless—they didn't prioritize humanity's welfare.
Sure, some did, but they were the minority.
In other words, they avoided ultra-dangerous fronts like the foremost lines.
That's why Charshu mentioned the Styx stabilization.
They saw the stabilized Styx front as a suitable training ground.
Checking me out fit the same pattern. The Instructor Corps sought patrons who understood them.
They seemed picky, but it was a vetting process to find someone who got their thirst and could provide proper battlefields.
'No need to judge their ways.'
Truth was, we should be grateful they fought aliens at all, as fellow humans.
They avoid the dangerous spots?
In a war with aliens, was there any "safe" battlefield?
Just degrees of danger—everywhere was hazardous, death a constant threat.
"How do you plan to check me out? A spar?"
"...Not planning to fight here."
"Not here, but somewhere else?"
"Martial artists must be ready to fight anytime, anywhere. But I don't think we need to spar just to gauge you, Captain."
Had I jumped the gun?
I'd been geared up, but his words left me itching.
"I'll visit again soon. Next time, I won't be alone."
At least I'd heard the Instructor Corps might join—no need to feel shortchanged.
Opportunities would come anytime.
More importantly, how many would show.
'I want as many as possible.'
Should I tell Amorf to lure them somehow?
Nah.
Once they heard about Roze, rumors might draw them in on their own.
"Those are the last ones."
"This few? Fewer than I expected."
Not my place to say after meeting nearly a hundred over six hours, but so few coming to see me was disappointing.
Scared off by my rep?
I hadn't built any notoriety yet—odd.
Fortunately, before misunderstandings deepened, the former family head explained.
"The rest didn't qualify. Even with your permission, no need to entertain nonsense."
"...Ah."
"Mr. Leonard's time is too precious for the likes of them."
He was really laying on the gold plating.
From Sia onward, I felt how much the Lachesis family had helped me.
As I approached, the final attendees greeted first.
"We're brothers. I'm Gun, and this is my little brother Bullet."
Gun and Bullet.
The last group stood out from the start.
Youngest of everyone I'd met today.
"What we want is investment."
"Investment?"
"Yes. We need help to carry on the family business, so we came to you, Mr. Leonard."
"Family business—what is it?"
The brothers hesitated before speaking.
"...Deep space exploration. Our parents were captains of the Stella Walker expedition."
"Captain Grimwell, who went missing about a year ago?"
"Yes, you know of them."
I got why they'd hesitated.
Expeditions were money pits nowadays.
Ever since aliens appeared, public perception had soured.
Especially the last year, after aliens popped up in the rear—they were treated like a dying industry.
No matter how rich, no one invested with such high failure rates.
Groups with their own capital hung on, but others were bankrupt or disbanding.
I thought that was the right call.
'Exploration can trigger a powder keg if mishandled.'
Stella Walker had sparked the rear incident.
Only I knew that.
'They wouldn't.'
The timing of Stella Walker's disappearance matched the new alien outbreaks.
And it was the only expedition headed that way then.
Pretty clear.
What if I told them outright?
Deny it as nonsense? Vilify me?
Or beg for another way?
I glanced at the former family head.
No idea why he'd let them in, but last slot meant he'd mulled it over.
Expedition knowledge of deep space, built over generations, was invaluable and rare.
Chance to acquire it, even if expeditions were taboo—he'd left the call to me.
'I had to meet them eventually. Them coming to me first puts me in a strong spot.'
I cleared my throat, facing the brothers' anxious gazes.