The Lever of Reality
Larryert Hotel lived up to its reputation, employing staff with exceptional capabilities ready to handle any situation at any time. They had gone to great pains to prepare so that even beings from Dimension 0.1—accustomed to beds made for normal-sized people—wouldn't roll off through the mattress fibers while sleeping.
Impressive. A classic design, but the space and service cater to the user to the absolute limit.
This message, projected into the air, came from Levi Sau remotely piloting her tiny spaceship—which was now recharging fuel inside a drinking glass via her terminal. She and her subordinates were resting inside several ultra-ultra-ultra-ultra-mini suite capsules prepared by the window of the suite room, designed for Dimension 0.1 residents.
This special space, made for the incredibly tiny people of Dimension 0.1, perfectly replicated the Larryert suite room without a millimeter of error. Though calling it a "place" felt off—you could stack those rooms into a hotel and it still wouldn't reach the thickness of a single strand of my hair.
"Glad you like it. Good call choosing this place."
Larryert runs hotel and resort chains on Nanoi too. My family and I stay there occasionally.
"I see."
A massive luxury hotel chain, as expected. Already expanding into Dimension 0.1. Hearing that VVIP Dr. Sau frequented it from her own dimension put my mind at ease. Paying for a VVIP suite on the bank's budget was a strain, but it helped that Isaac—the young master of the Larryert family—was my entry-level colleague.
Room service is top-notch too. They import Nanoi ingredients and grow them here—the flavor has such unique character thanks to the different growth environment. It's fun.
"Dimension 6-2 has so many diverse races that specialized services like this are a given. Especially at the seven-star Larryert The Kikiwai."
I said that, but it was news to me too. I knew high-end rooms offered special perks, but I hadn't expected this level. Seemed like some outfits imported those plants and animals from over there and raised them on-site. Pay enough money, and you could get any service imaginable. Earth or here, some things never changed.
It pains me that only me and my team get to enjoy such luxury while our fellow Nanoians tremble in fear.
But enjoying such luxuries was fleeting. The hologram text was flickering unsteadily. I'd noticed it earlier—it seemed to reflect the speaker's mood in real time.
Sure enough, she was worried about her homeworld's people. Calling for an absurd 40 trillion gulden loan was probably born of desperation to save them ASAP.
"You can rest a day. You crossed space teeming with monsters to get here. Pushing yourself too hard won't bring solutions."
I'd been waiting for her mood to lift to pitch my repayment plan idea, but this was sincere. They—beings whose normal-sized bodies couldn't kill cosmic beasts without guns—had fled here pursued by those monsters. To save their planet and entire solar system, now cornered.
And we—the bank—had rejected their plea. It was a plea we had to reject. You couldn't just say "Sure thing" to 40 trillion gulden. Even knowing the monsters' weakness, it wasn't easy money. Forming a consortium of lenders might barely cover it, but who'd lend against a planet that could vanish any moment?
But there was a world of difference between flat rejection and taking one step further to find ways to help. As a banker, I had a duty to meet my clients' needs. To find ways to fulfill what they required.
If I was sincere about helping—and creative—there had to be a solution. Deriving a realistic amount for beast extermination and smoothing the loan process? Possible. We'd already cleared the hardest part: finding the beasts' weakness.
What remained was that robot of theirs...
Time to bring it up. Lodging curfew was approaching. Better say it now.
"Dr. Sau. I've thought long and hard about this. Straight to the point: The 40 trillion loan isn't happening."
...As expected. I didn't truly hope for instant approval, but hearing it confirmed again hurts.
"......"
Not pleasant for me either. But these were steps we had to take—necessary processes.
"Your original repayment plan relied on mining rights or equity from the rare metal veins unique to Dimension 0.1, right?"
Yes. Only Dimension 0.1 produces the miraculous monatomic gold. Demand surges yearly.
I'd confirmed this on the way to the hotel. The mysterious metal monatomic gold—aka Nanoi gold. A rare metal even in this world of gods, magic, spirits, and undead, absent from Earth. Famous for its atoms existing independently, on Earth it was peddled as fake medicine scamming countless people.
Here, it was real, a dream metal everyone coveted. Like the Holy Grail or Philosopher's Stone. Uses ranged from levitation and space swimming to strengthening telomeres to halt aging—medicine to future tech, endless potential.
Two years ago, a genetics-alchemy authority and oldest member of the Unicorn Club (a singleton noble group) made headlines by transmuting his monitor girlfriend into reality with bulk monatomic gold. Of course, his old heart couldn't handle the joy and gave out right after. Rest in peace.
Objectively, one vein alone is worth over 40 trillion gulden.
"I agree. But banks are conservative organizations."
What does that mean?
"Dimensional Credit Vault won't shoulder massive risk betting on resources from a planet that could perish anytime."
...The opposite of innovative Nanoi. Regrettable.
Dr. Sau's emotions in the text looked profoundly complex. Font amplitude alone couldn't reveal everything, but oddly, I felt her feelings more clearly than usual. Was this conviction okay?
Zing. My eye stung annoyingly. Maybe linked to that World Tree collateral loan. Anyway, not important now. Focus on persuading her.
Some unknown sense guided me—follow the thread.
Should've gone elsewhere from the start. Didn't expect favors just because you're our main bank.
Optical illusion or brain glitch? The text color seemed to shift slightly. Information from it pierced my mind directly: deep frustration. A hint of anger at her pride being challenged.
Not graphology. Like staring close at another's painting, tracing every intent. Maybe no talent for drawing, but I could judge what I saw.
I trusted myself. Trusted my eyes.
"Well, I don't think only new and challenging things matter."
So I shook my head, rejecting Dr. Sau's view. Her emotions roiled in the text, but I wouldn't stop. I could convince her. Drag the lab-bound doctor's loan dreams from desk and mind into reality.
If she'd just listen.
"Banks are conservative. The money we lend is precious funds entrusted by other trusting customers."
...So we're not precious?
"Of course not."
I steadied my breath, focusing every nerve on my tongue.
"Because we guard funds conservatively and scrutinize every risk, customers like you can pursue bold ventures. This time too—to realize your goal of saving Dimension 0.1, to make this loan happen—I'll give my all. And that includes brainstorming a realistic repayment plan."
I never denied the core of Dr. Sau's plan. Didn't question why a fancy robot army was needed to kill the weakness-exposed space beasts.
Key was steering the bank to fund their star-saving, ensuring smooth repayment. On the big picture, not much different from aiding urgent loans for shops or factories. Scale aside, same as my usual work.
Two points to watch: First, get them—tech powerhouses overreaching on amount—to compromise on scale. Second, pitch that tech to the Goddess Examiners and board.
Back at West Podoks Branch, I'd seen clients like this. Like the chicken shop owner who'd perfected insanely tasty frying after years of R&D but wanted a loan for overpriced equipment. Spoiler: He got it, hit it big.
"I'll use simple science to show how to pull a massive loan—not 40 trillion, but big."
I pulled out my fountain pen, uncapped it. Placed cap on desk, pen atop. Done.
"Know how to move heavy things with small force?"
Archimedes said: Give me a fulcrum and long enough lever, and I'll move the Earth.
"Basic basics."
Then this reality? Piece of cake.