Potions and VIP Escort Duty

In the A dorm bed, Zien lay scrolling through his phone with a grin.

"This feels really satisfying."

It was because the pay from catching the snails had just deposited.

Six point three million coins was about two months' salary for an average office worker. For a student on a daily gig, it was an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠absurd amount. Of course, compared to the 4,000 cosmetics a company or guild could process from those 40 field snails, it was a bargain.

"Now I've got some savings."

Zien booted up his computer and logged into a website.

CUZone.

The largest mail-order site around, from used goods to corporate products. Their slogan was "Everything in the world!"—and they pretty much meant it, with an incredibly diverse selection.

"Moon Rabbit fur. Nepenthes seeds. Earth Turtle shell... Pond Whale tendon—hmm, not enough cash for that one."

Moon Rabbit fur for high-end coats.

Nepenthes seeds and Earth Turtle shells were crafting materials for workshops, but Zien planned to use them all for food.

'This much should make about 300 potions. That'll last me a while.'

Zien's gaze drifted to the window.

The balcony view from A dorm was luxurious. An artificially perfect garden like something out of a painting, and beyond the school, the glittering city nightscape.

'I'll store the seeds out here...'

It was a balcony view that could rival Sky Lounge, but in the hands of training-obsessed Zien, it became an outdoor drying rack.

'Get the shells ground up and shipped—that'll cost extra, but I can't spend all day pounding them with a hammer.'

"No potion worries for a while."

"I won't eat it. No, I can't eat it!"

No matter that he'd boiled it down for ages and emptied his wallet to make it—the potion clearly didn't suit Chris's palate.

"Chris, picky eating at your age? Aren't you ashamed? Potions aren't about taste!"

As Zien advanced with the flask, Chris backed into the corner, waving both hands wildly.

"Hey! You think I'm throwing a tantrum for strawberry syrup or something?"

Chris dodged with quick footwork, but Zien's hand was faster. He grabbed Chris by the scruff, and the boy flailed desperately.

"That potion's taste is on another level of weird..."

Remembering the flavor, Chris's face paled. Considering the ingredients—seeds, fur, shell—it'd be weirder if it did taste good.

"Yeah! I'd rather drink laxative!"

"I don't wanna know about your tastes. Potions are key to getting stronger..."

Chris thrashed and reacted violently to the green flask in Zien's hand.

"Gaaaaah! Kill me instead! If you wanna force-feed potion, dump it on my corpse!"

Normal potions included flavor neutralizers, but efficiency-focused Zien had skipped them. Adding those would've cost at least three million more coins.

'To upgrade Chris's magic tool, he needs more mana in his body first.'

Chris's magic tool was his eyes.

Officially auxiliary-type, but body-related tools were so rare they defied easy classification.

'Now...'

Zien eyed Chris.

He only had one magic tool right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now.

But what if he boosted his internal mana assimilation for more tools? And Zien taught him combat with his know-how? Like a wildcard Joker, Chris could fill any role as a versatile Saber.

'Our party's biggest variable.'

In raw gem terms, Chris's potential was diamond. Zien was the master jeweler to polish it.

"Even with that look, no way. It's not just gross."

The problem? The gem was bucking wildly. Zien wanted to strap a funnel in his mouth and pour, but he pocketed the flask instead.

"Eh, what? Giving up?"

Chris's eyes went wide.

"If you say you'd die first, what can I do? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'll make more. Stick to the training schedule."

"...For real?"

Chris looked guilty, mumbling awkwardly.

"S-sorry! I have no face to show!"

He bowed at a perfect ninety degrees. Zien chuckled and ruffled his hair.

"Yeah. Guard the dorm well."

Creeee-! Chirp-

Creeee-! Chiiirp-

Cicadas blared at high noon in the sweltering summer. Zien sighed.

'Should've just taken that blank check...'

He never imagined he'd be gigging again for cash after just a few days. Off-campus activities, exam rewards—the schedule was brutally packed.

'Well... this off-campus one's easy anyway.'

In front of the endless Twin Towers stood six students, including Zien with his outing pass, even on a weekday.

"Welcome, students. I'm Arman, head of Mage Tower security."

Mage Tower.

Household goods to Saber gear, new materials, national defense weapons... They had tentacles in nearly every industry—a mega-corp.

These Twin Towers were just a fraction of it. Their wealth rivaled a national bank like Stelth.

"Haha, I see some nervous faces. No need. Only ten active pros are here for this event. Even some 4th-rank Sabers."

Arman joked in a voice that didn't match his muscular build.

"If a villain shows, everyone just run. The pros—not me—will handle it!"

A student chuckled at the humor. Arman beamed, pleased.

"No lunatic would hit the Mage Tower, so relax. We recruited you for VIP safety."

He kept up the stand-up routine, all grins.

"Incidents love crowds, so they crash events like this. Can't let a VIP get caught up."

Arman winced dramatically.

"I'd get reassigned—from security to janitor."

Zien smiled inwardly at Arman's words.

'As expected. Escort duty was the right call.'

Sure enough, the students' job was simple: bodyguards for Arman's "VIP" guests. Rescue them from harassment, that level.

Nail it, and 2.5 million coins deposited. Considering average escort pay was 500k, it was Mage Tower generosity.

"Alright, enough chit-chat! Time to deploy."

Arman clapped backs encouragingly. When Zien instinctively dodged, Arman scratched his head and offered his left hand.

'Lefty?'

Zien shook it, and Arman boomed heartily.

"Stay safe! Good luck!"

"Yes, sir."

"Managers'll guide you to changing rooms—uniforms on, ear mics too. No reply in emergencies? Slacking, pay docked. Got it?"

True to the Mage Tower event, the venue inside was opulent. Guests in flashy attire made it feel more like a social gala than a presentation.

"Familiar face."

Even in that splendor, Zien's VIP stood out. Not just her red hair.

"Yeah."

"Skip intros."

Year ranking #5.

Isabel Blitz.

She wore a plain black velvet dress—minimalist, just like her.

"Heard you're swamped, but off-campus gig? Taking it easy?"

"Securing funds, too."

She was a big deal outside school. Celebs kept approaching.

"Isabel! Salad bar fan?" "You're stunning, Miss Isabel—dance with me till the presentation ends?"

"I'm in military goods!"

"How's your father, Miss Isabel?"

Ages, jobs—diverse. Called every three minutes. They ignored bodyguard Zien like furniture, fawning over her. People changed, but Isabel was always top dog—Zien could tell.

"Famous, huh?"

"Me?"

"Mage Tower treats you like VIP. Politicians, execs, celebs—all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sucking up."

Isabel's face hardened at Zien's question. She pondered long.

"Those people aren't trying to impress me."

Her gaze went to a massive frame in the hall. Bitterly, she spat:

"It's my father."

The photo was familiar—a media staple.

"You don't mean... your dad's name is—"

"Right there."

Golden plate below: Owner of Mage Tower, living embodiment of wealth.

Yubel B.

'So that B is Blitz.'

Context made her my-pace vibe and hot temper click. Talent, looks, background—Isabel lacked nothing. A life never tailored to anyone. Zien eyed her profile, thinking:

'The guy who saved the world in his past life is gigging...'

...what the hell have you saved?

Twin Towers rooftop.

The view from sky-high was breathtaking— the world sprawled below. Off-limits to civilians, of course. But.

Shaaaah.

The two facing the chill night breeze weren't civilians.

Stigma bearers.

If Sabers were humanity's light, these two were the shadow.

Affiliation: Desire.

Goals unknown, but the nation branded them anti-government terrorists, villains.

The masked man spoke at his subordinate's report.

"Heard that?"

"Heard it, but I'm still against it~. Blackmailing that Iron Blood?"

A coquettish beauty.

Her curves were so voluptuous, even a big jacket couldn't hide them.

"Even if it fails, the op succeeds. Useless hostage? Dispose. It's a manifesto to the Mage Tower."

The masked man's tone was calm, but madness flickered in his eyes.

"Opening salvo for utopia."

The beauty smirked.

"Well, half-success already. Don't care. Thanks to you, we hit Stelth Bank."

Her black orb exuded eerie mana—an artifact, clearly. She stroked it, then said:

"Guards are lighter than expected. Why not grab the Tower Lord?"

"Pointless. He'd martyr, they'd slot in a new cog. Clock keeps ticking."

"You talk fancy. Whatever—orders are orders. What choice do I have?"

Flutter.

She tossed her cape magic tool; her stigma glowed. Curves vanished under it.

Writhing.

When the cape lifted, the beauty was a musclebound man. He grinned seductively, just like her.

"Remember~—30 minutes!"