Chapter 69
Chapter 69
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: New Year's Resolution
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The new year dawned. I'd handed over Love Goods Co. to professional managers, so unless I needed to urgently recharge Sarang, I no longer commuted to work. I ended up spending the new year in the office.
"May this year bring fewer encounters with extinction-grade entities than last year."
That was my new year's resolution, but wishes don't come true just because you make them, so I added another one.
"May I live this year helping people as a fixer."
It had started as nothing more than a tool to acquire a perfect identity, but now it was a job I truly cared about. I reflected on how I'd neglected it lately.
"There were just so many incidents."
To focus on fixer work, I decided to live in the office for the time being.
"Fixer, please help me out!"
Strangely enough, from that day on, a stream of visitors showed up.
"It's the new year now, right? I started dieting, but it's so hard! Please help me lose some weight!"
"Ugh, it's the new year, so I tried quitting smoking, but it's killing me. Make me quit smoking."
"I started studying for a certification this time! Help me get the tax accountant cert easily!"
Normally, only clients with mysterious incidents or hopes of otherworld transfer came by. A few with everyday troubles had visited when I had wish-granting tickets, but after using them up, foot traffic had dried up again.
'Could my mindset toward fixer work be influencing the public's perception of the profession?'
When I had the tickets, I'd thought of using them to help others.
That might have shifted the fixer's image from "a profession that solves mysterious incidents" to "a profession that resolves any kind of trouble," drawing in ordinary people seeking help.
'So now, people see it as "a profession that listens to any trouble and solves it," which is why they're coming.'
It wasn't in the wiki, so was it a peculiarity that emerged after prolonged influence? Or one that combined with my enhanced body from the blind girl? I couldn't tell.
My surprise at the unpredictable entity's peculiarity was short-lived. I stepped up to resolve the clients' troubles.
"It's called Wegovy. Get a shot of this and diet—you'll succeed easily."
"This is a smoking cessation aid. Use it whenever you crave a cigarette. And hold out for just three minutes—cravings subside then—so etch that in your mind, and quitting will be a breeze."
"This is a great reference book for certifications. Call this number to talk with someone with over ten years in the field. I've covered the tutoring fees, so just schedule and get the lessons."
I footed the bill myself, but the reactions were lukewarm.
"Ah... thank you."
"Hmm, okay, I'll give it a try."
"Tch, thanks."
My enhanced hearing caught their mutterings outside the office as they left.
"Isn't a fixer supposed to snap their fingers and fix anything?"
"Called herself a fixer, but it's just generic advice?"
"What's the difference from 'study hard in Korean, English, math, and you'll get into Seoul National University'?"
Apparently, clients' expectations for fixers were sky-high.
'If only I had something helpful to offer.'
A few minutes later, a new "client" arrived.
"Delivery!"
Not a client—a package, with no sender listed.
[New Year's Gift for the External Special Advisor.]
The phrasing told me who it was from. I opened the box to find three items nestled in Styrofoam.
"Not your average knickknacks, I bet."
Entities, probably. The enclosed manual confirmed it.
To celebrate the new year, our foundation is gifting you three safe-grade entities from our custody. Your advice and solutions for the otherworld invasion war were the perfect fit for your fixer profession, and...
Flowery language, plus extra compensation for last time and a gesture to strengthen ties from the foundation.
'I suppose I have to accept.'
I checked the entities listed in the manual one by one.
"Mechanical Keyboard Imbued with the Resentment of a Graduate Student."
Using it makes your fingers move on their own, writing papers automatically. It can produce a 100-page paper in an hour, flawlessly, without typos—an entity.
"But it won't include knowledge the user doesn't have, so it's useless if you're lacking in that department."
I thought it might help grad students, but anyone proficient enough to use it properly is probably already a PhD.
"Live Headset for Superfans."
Play a song, and it feels like hearing the artist perform it live at peak condition in a concert hall—entity effect.
"Song timbre and sound quality matter, but so does the venue atmosphere."
Even off performances become cherished memories, unique to that day and irreplaceable. So this didn't seem that great either.
"Blessing of the Toilet God."
Place it in a bathroom: cleans once a day automatically. Use that toilet, and no constipation or diarrhea; post-relief, it auto-cleans to 100% hygiene without effort—a countertop deodorizer entity.
"Cleaning should be done by hand. Skipping it is the first step to depression."
Make it a habit, and you'll stop cleaning rooms too, raising depression risk.
"They're all kinda meh."
The manual noted I seemed to be collecting entities and suggested adding these.
"Well, they do have their uses."
"Long time no see."
"Indeed."
I visited the shady dealer after a while. Her six arms still gave her a monstrous look, but her curves evoked femininity.
'If before was 90% monster, now it's down to 80%.'
Keep satisfying her with deals, and the monster factor might keep dropping?
"What are you thinking so deeply about?"
"Wondering how to make good deals."
"Simple. Just keep bringing those coupons from last time. They'll bump your rank up another level."
She nodded. Her pinhole pupils briefly ballooned to baseball size, then shrank back.
"Some guests here find life dull, and the challenge coupons provide fine entertainment."
"Despite the hellish difficulty? Life must be truly boring."
"Those who've exhausted all pleasures develop self-destructive tendencies. Arrogance in their exceptionalism comes standard."
I wondered if they'd succeeded, but no info—derivative entities don't link to otherworld transfer logs, apparently.
"Got more today?"
"Yes, here."
"Excellent."
I handed over two pre-made otherworld coupons, plus the three safe-grade entities from the foundation.
"Not the best, but I'll take them."
"I want to trade, but not sure if you have what I'm after."
"Name it."
"I can't specify an item, but lately, ordinary folks keep visiting my office with everyday woes..."
I explained, and her six hands reached under the shelf.
"We have something for those clients."
"A ticket."
"Yes, just in case. Twenty sheets total. Shall we end this trade with them?"
They could help twenty ordinary people—but another thought struck.
"Just regular tickets? No gold or platinum?"
"We do. Two gold, one platinum. Gold for two sheets, or platinum for one to close the deal."
"Platinum, please."
She handed over the platinum ticket.
"Not quite Monkey's Paw level, but it'll grant some impressive wishes. For helping normals, though, aren't twenty regulars more efficient?"
"I've got an experiment in mind."
"Don't wish to multiply wishes or create a wish-granting entity. Just don't."
"No plans to—I've got prior experience like that."
My mirror-dimension clone used a duplicated ticket and got a warning, so related wishes probably get denied or just burn the ticket.
"What I have in mind is different."
'The invitation's appearance hasn't changed.'
Deal with the shady dealer done. As I left, she gave the next invitation.
'Just a fancy invite, but now with a single rose engraved.'
The change? What form would greet me next time?
"More importantly, will this even work?"
I pulled out the platinum ticket from our deal. Not Monkey's Paw tier, but it'd work miracles just shy of that. My goal wasn't using it, though.
"Forgotten Alchemist's Potion Belt."
I was curious what happens if I enhance or weaken it.
'Three possible outcomes.'
Like the otherworld transfer book, it spawns derivatives.
Original stays, endlessly producing enhanced or weakened versions.
'Best-case for me.'
Second: no change.
Exceptional item immune to potions—still usable as original.
'Not ideal, but acceptable.'
Third: ticket itself enhances or weakens.
Experiment ends with boosted ticket; power probably rivals my remaining Monkey's Paw.
"Alright, here goes."
I dripped enhancement potion on the ticket atop my desk.
Instantly, the platinum ticket vanished.
'Where'd it go?'
I scanned the office. Spotted a mid-sized vending machine plastered to the wall.
"Ticket dispenser?"
The movie-theater style auto-ticketer—no plug, yet the screen lit up.
[Enter the desired reward.]
I input via the Hangul qwerty touchscreen below.
[Info on platinum wish-granting ticket enhanced via enhancement potion]
Hit confirm, and it printed with a whir.
[Reward: Info on platinum wish-granting ticket enhanced via enhancement potion]
[Mission: Hold breath for 3 minutes]
[Deadline: 24 hours]
[(Signature)]
I just held my breath. Enhanced body handled three minutes easily, but nothing happened.
"Activates on signature, huh."
Signature works, but what about fingerprints? Tried that, held breath three minutes.
"It works."
Ticket gone; A4 sheet with info in my hand.
[Reverse Quest Ticket Dispenser]
[Grade: Safe]
[Info: Input a reward, get a ticket for a random mission of equivalent difficulty. Reward value and mission difficulty follow absolute standards.]
[Deadline set by mission difficulty; miss it, ticket destroys itself.]
[Complete mission: reward auto-issues safely to completer.]
[Mission doesn't start until signature; deadline doesn't tick.]
[Fail mission: penalty proportional to reward value.]
[One failure: no missions for a month.]
[Harsh penalties may tank life quality or take lives—choose rewards matching your ability, think thrice before signing.]
"Quite the entertaining entity."
With new year's resolvers pouring in anyway.
"Time to test it out."