A Movie-Worthy Repayment Plan
As it turned out, the reason Nanoi's people hadn't been able to deal with the space monsters was surprisingly simple.
The monsters had set up their nest about a month ago, on another planet in the same solar system. That planet was supposedly enormously larger than Nanoi, and the space monsters had been laying eggs there, multiplying their numbers before invading other worlds. Nanoi, being the closest, was their first target.
With scant information known about their ecology, one fact stood out as a clear threat to the Nanoians: the monsters stabbed their sharp, drill-like mouths into planets and sucked out the cores.
Yet the poor scientists, researchers, and soldiers of Dimension 0.1 had struggled against these space monsters. It had only been a month since they'd started fighting them, so they hadn't yet figured out any weaknesses.
To someone clueless, it might sound absurd. Why not just open a dimensional gate and call in pest control from another dimension?
But that was the kind of naive idea only someone ignorant of universal gravitation would have. A pest control expert in a spacesuit entering Dimension 0.1—where planets were smaller than dimensional gates—would disrupt the gravitational fields of other celestial bodies simply due to their massive size compared to the sun.
The result? Altered planetary orbits and rotations, potentially triggering an ice age in the worst case. Or tidal waves from shifts in planetary-moon distances during extermination ops. Or endless day-night confusion if sunlight got blocked.
For a risk that endangered the entire planetary population with little gain in return, it wasn't worth it. Plus, the exterminators themselves would face threats like proximity to the sun melting their suits—or worse, becoming monster targets themselves.
Even the smallest sun was scorching hot everywhere. And those drill-mouths could pierce planetary crusts; no spacesuit would protect against that.
That was why insect extermination experts couldn't operate in Dimension 0.1. Space-based pest control came with massive constraints, and the operations themselves harmed the solar system's intelligent lifeforms. The Interdimensional Gate Management Bureau strictly forbade outsiders for exactly these reasons.
But that didn't mean Nanoi's people had no way to wipe out the monsters without help. Their tech was impressive. The only issue was lacking live space monster samples for research.
So what if we provided specimens?
"Doctor, think this could work as a sample?"
Writhing on a tissue was none other than a space monster—its flight capability stripped away. Bishuti had taken it down with impossible precision, shooting off only its wings.
I'd thought he was just messing with Deputy Manager Razma earlier, but he'd planned this far ahead.
"Shot off just the wings. The agency seemed to use drones to laser them to ash. Figured this was better."
He was right. Normal folks swat mosquitoes or chase them off. The more dedicated might smoke them out or zap them in electrified nets. All sorts of methods to kill them.
But nobody kept them alive. Plucking wings off a captured mosquito for torture? That's kid stuff—or deranged adult behavior. These days, even kids are glued to mobile games, not old-school bug-torment hobbies.
Even though space monsters had crossed into other dimensions before, no live samples existed for the same reason. People knew the danger and used laser-armed drones to ensure total annihilation.
"Since their weaknesses aren't well-known, why not research one now?"
Dr. Sau rattled off technical jargon we couldn't follow, then piloted her airship toward the monster.
Its shiny compound eyes tracked the ship, but it posed no threat now. Without wings, it could only twitch its head and legs. The airship slipped easily between its legs to reach its torso.
Dr. Sau's satisfaction bled through her messages, followed by a flurry of commands and responses.
A tiny circular saw blade extended from the airship, spinning furiously as it sliced into the monster's belly...
"Ah, I'm just a non-regular. Do I really have to watch this grotesque stuff? This is a bit... ugh."
Pluto declared it in her flat, textbook-recitation tone and left the conference room. Isaac watched with a queasy expression, barely holding back vomit—like he hated it but had to pretend interest for work.
Of course, this wasn't banker territory. That's why I'd turned away from Dr. Sau's masterful mosquito teardown show, directives flying at breakneck speed.
Honestly, without the magnifier, it was too small to see well anyway. But the vibe was off.
By the time the relentless holographic messages tapered off, Dr. Sau's airship had unplugged the thin cable-like wire from the monster's head.
"Figured out the weakness?"
"...Pardon?"
No—the weakness research is done, so why's the conclusion still the same?
In the end, Dr. Sau didn't get what she wanted from us. No matter how threatened the planet was, 40 trillion gulden was physically and fiscally impossible to lend.
Even if the bank had that sum, the board wouldn't approve. Nanoi was tiny—barely visible to the naked eye. No special products, just a stellar pool of scientists and engineers that had earned interdimensional fame.
But who'd burn 40 trillion gulden to save a mouse-dung speck of a world? Even setting aside the unrealistic repayment plan, the sheer amount was too much.
Banks always factor in worst-case non-repayment when lending. But 40 trillion was too colossal to even imagine defaulting on.
It was a risk on par with the loan size itself. Hell, questionable if Dimensional Credit Vault even had that much.
So we had to reject Dr. Sau's application. But we couldn't send her and her team back through monster-infested space empty-handed.
Instead, we suggested they stay in Dimension 6-2 for now and brainstorm alternatives together. She agreed.
"Here's the key to the signature suite."
Isaac's VIP guests and entourage got the top floor of Rariert Kikiwai, the 5-star hotel run by his family—thanks to his courtesy.
Elama sent me along to ensure the tiny doctor and her crew didn't face issues by this world's standards.
...Officially, anyway.
'Have a realistic compromise ready by morning. 40 trillion is impossible, but letting Nanoi perish means writing off all our prior loans.'
His real goal: Pair me with the budget-blind, money-clueless doctor to craft a viable plan to save her planet.
"Haa."
How do you convince someone dreaming of a super-robot army on a 40-trillion-gulden budget? I'm no engineer—would she even listen?
"Robots, huh..."
While the doctor toured the room on her airship, I muttered to myself at the bathroom mirror, out of earshot.
Is this guy just a robot romantic? Does it have to be robots? Is that really necessary? Why's everyone obsessed with bipedal mechs they can't even build?
"Super Robot Loan Omega, my ass."
Not 40 trillion, but maybe hundreds of billions were doable. Enough for robots, sure. With weaknesses mapped, robots or space fighters could smash the mosquitoes.
But as a banker, robots be damned—I just wanted a solid repayment plan post-crisis. No plan, no loan.
"Too many movies? Or comics, anime—"
Lightning struck my brain.
"Huh?"
Robots. Space monsters. The perfect matchup for this showdown.
"Got it."
The repayment method. This would work.