Grid, Is This Really Okay?
“Huwat hahaha! So we don't need to head to the scene today after all!”
Hercules showed up in the morning instead of the carriage, bringing news that the case was solved.
The viscount was still dazed from having to pay up to the count's family, and Kill had turned himself in.
Something about getting scared after seeing the viscount toy with a noble or whatever.
Anyway, all's well that ends well. Namuamidabul, namuamidabul.
“Glad to hear it. Here, take this back.”
“Isn't this the fee for the investigation tools? And this?”
I handed back the pouch of money I'd received, along with the Fingerprint Kit.
“This is what's left after deducting the tool costs. Consider the kit my gift.”
This guy's sure to put it to good use. With some luck, he might even regain his title.
Hercules alternated between looking at the items in his hands and me. If I were him, I'd be thrilled—why the hell does he look so conflicted?
“Feels like too much, but I'm not one to turn down a gift! See you next time! Huwat hahaha!”
With that hearty laugh, I was alone in the room again.
“Haah.”
My whole schedule for the day had gone up in smoke, so I flopped back onto the bed.
“Come to think of it, ever since I sold that bulgogi seasoning, it feels like I've just been getting dragged around.”
Same with the obesity treatment, and this case too.
Even if this is pre-canon in the original story, it bugs me how much I've been pulled along despite my abilities.
I'd been trying to suck some honey from the story without derailing it too much, you know?
But I've already erased Leperi's exit from the plot. And now that Silbi's heading to the Academy too, won't she cross paths with the main cast?
Excuses. All of it. Just rationalizing my incompetence.
I need to take a firm stance. Next week, the story's timeline kicks off for real.
Alright. Decision made.
“Time for one big score, then retire as a NEET.”
Grid's shop doesn't change much over the original's 2500+ chapters.
Beats me how it leveled up enough to buy a railgun, though.
Luckily, I've got some heavy-hitter connections now, so leveling my skill shouldn't be an issue.
Count Arno and Iris alone could land me massive deals.
Skills aside, I'll pour out every ounce of modern wisdom I have.
Three years. Just three years helping the main cast as needed, then retire.
Early retirement FIRE meta, here I come.
Count Arno was choosing his words carefully as he looked down at Viscount Vermin bowing before him.
“You're saying you're on the brink of bankruptcy because of the magic tool I lent you for the investigation?”
“It was my mistake that wasted the paper for the magic tool Your Excellency researched! It's only right I compensate, but I can't afford it—please show mercy!”
I never made anything like that. What the hell is this guy babbling about?
“I heard the report. I was about to send someone to collect today, but you came on your own—saves me the trouble.”
The viscount, who'd been trembling in his arms and legs, started shaking all over.
That should do it.
“I can't decide based on one side's story alone, Viscount.”
He placed a hand on the man's pitifully quivering shoulder.
“Calm down first and have a seat. I'll hear your side.”
“Th-thank you! Truly, thank you!”
“But if what you say contradicts what I've heard, I won't be able to fully trust you.”
“How dare I lie on my honor! Only the truth!”
With those words, the viscount's desperate struggle to erase his 280-gold debt began.
After the explanation of the three-day incident at the Vermin estate wrapped up...
“The debt from the so-called magic tool? Consider it gone. You're dismissed.”
“Thank you! Thank you, Count!”
Sensing the man would grovel forever if left alone, the count beckoned his butler to escort him out.
Once the footsteps fully faded, the count finally burst into the laughter he'd been holding back.
“Hahaha! You're one hell of a guy, Grid!”
A mere commoner he'd crossed paths with over his daughter's gluttony, but a miracle worker who'd fixed her.
He wouldn't mind if the guy sold him out once or twice. The whole family already saw him as a benefactor anyway.
But now he was more than that.
Every time his name came up, he shattered common sense.
Until yesterday, it was thanks to those Eastern goods. But this time? Solved with just powder and paper.
“Ignorance breeds illusion. The key wasn't some magic tool.”
The count stared at his fingertip. A swirling pattern everyone had, but no one had noticed until now.
Does the Sword Saint know its value and protect him for it?
If so, she's one sly fox.
“A man whose knowledge and possessions I can't even guess at. Already beyond norms, yet I can only call him entry-level.”
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The count walked to the window and peered out. In the training grounds, his daughter was honing herself ahead of the semester.
“He'll be trapped for life if he marries in. Guess even I should treat him well.”
The count smiled at his daughter, shattering dozens of boulders without a drop of sweat.
“So you're saying I didn't get off scot-free by selling you out?”
“Of course not! Is Grid some product of mine I can buy and sell at will!?”
That evening, after a good long rest, Iris returned from her outing and vented her grievances.
“I even got tea out of the security chief! He sent me back saying there was no issue from the start!”
“Then why'd the security chief ask me to join the investigation...”
Iris clapped as if struck by a sudden realization.
“Oh! I did mention you. The stuff from that day was the main topic, though!”
What the hell? So there was no deal between them from the beginning?
Did Hercules hear her story and decide to use me on his own?
Or maybe not. He could've lied to Iris and proposed a judicial deal to me.
Knowing Hercules, probably the latter. That's what I'd go with.
“I'll ask him again later. Anyway!”
Iris suddenly closed in, snatching my hand.
What? What? Seriously, what? A ring proposal?
Of course not.
“That fingerprint thing! Teach me too!”
“What's to teach? You have them on your hands too, Iris.”
“Not like that! Show me how you used it in the investigation!”
Her eyes sparkling, she pressed right up against me.
......
Our chests ended up touching, unintentionally.
Why the hell does the Sword Saint wear cloth armor instead of plate? Thank you, thank you, thank you.
“O-okay! I'll show you! Just... back off a bit!”
“Yay!”
She bounced around like a kid, her ears twitching up and down in sync.
How is this a 200-year-old elf?
What even are elves...?
“Press your finger here, then stamp it on the paper.”
“Like this? Yap!”
I wondered if it'd work, but instead of the paper, she jabbed her index finger at my forehead.
What the actual hell are elves?
“Not me—the paper, so it preserves.”
“Hold still.”
The distance between us shrank again. Not full body contact this time, but our faces were even closer.
My brain froze, but my senses kept flooding it with data: flawless skin, fresh scent, red lips mere centimeters away.
Damn it! What! The hell! Are elves!?
Can't gauge distance properly without the paper.
Get it together, Doohan!
She's 200 years old!
Do long-lived races just not care about personal space?
Iris, on tiptoes peering at my forehead, finally stepped back with a satisfied nod.
“Amazing.”
“What is?”
“Never realized my fingerprints before. Knowing each one's unique in the world makes me hyper-aware now.”
I smiled warmly at her childlike curiosity, then reined myself in.
“So why stamp mine instead of the paper?”
“Hmm~? No idea?”
No clue.
She tilted her head, waiting for me to guess, but I really didn't know.
“I've marked my claim.”
“Pardon?”
“The bulgogi sauce-selling lucky charm at the inn! Can't let anyone else take you—left my print to stake my territory!”
She spun away after blurting it out. Her ears were beet red, twitching helplessly.
Oh, that kinda thing. Got it.
“No need to worry. Even if better offers come, I won't break our contract.”
Yeah, yeah. A customer once is a customer forever.
“...Idiot.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing! I've experienced enough—time to work! Out you go!”
And just like that, I was unceremoniously booted from the office.
“Went and got ink on her hands just to fake a deal like that.”
Business really isn't for just anyone.
Time had flown to dinner. I headed to Silbi's room as usual.
Her rough days should be ending soon, so she'd be less sensitive, right?
Nope.
“...Not eating.”
Silbi, emerging from her room, looked less exhausted than last time but still hollow-eyed and worn.
“Why?”
“Not thinking about it.”
Do you even eat if I don't suggest it?
“Hey, at your age, four meals a day would all go to growth, not fat.”
Doesn't the magic day usually end in three days or so?
“Not that. Anyway, no dinner thoughts today.”
“No, you need to eat more after being sick.”
“After being sick?”
“Hm?”
We both realized we were just talking past each other.
“Weren't you sick since two days ago?”
Shake shake.
“Then what? If not that day from a few days back, why were you off then?”
“That day?”
“That day.”
“What day?”
“Well, it's awkward for a guy to say, but figure it out. I thought you were having that girl thing nonstop...”
Slam!
Silbi darted back into her room and shut the door before I finished.
“Go. Don't come till I call.”
“Hey, why? Did I mess up?”
“I said go.”
Her voice grew flatter. She's pissed...
“Got it. Must've said something wrong. Come when you're over it. Eat something at least!”
I thought I was being considerate, but it backfired somehow.
Would've known if I'd had a little sis or raised a daughter.
“Guess I'll eat alone.”
Nothing more to do. I headed to the dining hall solo.
Sitting by the window, I savored my stew while people-watching.
“Never tasted such a harmonious sweet-salty flavor in my life!”
“Bulgogi! Who made this? It drives you mad! Uwaaaah!”
“Worth staying at the hotel a week for the lottery win!”
“Devilish! Devil's taste! Uwaaaah!”
Over-the-top mukbang reactions are fun no matter how many times I see 'em.
Once Silbi's mood lifts, I'll treat her as a makeup gift.
If she reacts like that, I could tease her for five years.
Watch and eat, watch and eat.
As I nearly polished off the special veal heart stew, an elderly gentleman appeared before me.
Pale skin, pointed fangs. I could guess who sent him.
“If it's not too rude, may I join you?”
“If it's just for a meal, sure. But if it's other business, that's a problem.”
I replied politely, channeling elder-respect from my homeland.
The old man pondered briefly, then sat.
“Not sure if you've tried it here, but everything's delicious. Personally, today's special ranks top three. Recommend it to you, sir.”
“Heh heh, my business is a meal, so joining fits. But I'm not here for the menu.”
Yeah, yeah, food's not your staple anyway.
“Once you're done eating, you'll need to come with m...”
“Tell the chairman I'll visit after the Academy term starts.”
The old man showed surprise at my words, but quickly regained his poker face.
“Heh. Not an ordinary man after all. Fine. Can't cause a scene with the Sword Saint watching anyway.”
He rose as if business concluded. Stick around longer, man. You've barely sat.
“I'll visit before two weeks after term starts.”
“I'll count the days. Mr. Grid.”
The old man walked away.
“Hm. Better stock up on garlic and crosses.”
Something told me the semester start would make things hectic.
Makes sense—the chairman he serves is...
The last vampire of this era.