Dragon's Tail: Joey Noi #3
In the opulent penthouse of the Temple of Darkness, the executives' meeting dragged on.
"Charon, Geras—this Helmice event, no matter what, our Dark Executive faction has to post the top sales figures. Budget? I'll give you as much as you need. Mobilize every possible method."
Executive VP Erebos. His black-hole head gleamed even darker.
In response, Charon and Geras reached out with their amassed capital to buy off every freelance creator who might exhibit goods at Helmice.
Still, they couldn't relax.
"Geras, we have to watch out for Director Jo. Who knows what he'll pull."
"Charon, an employee's duties differ from an executive's. Even if that man's exceptional, can he stand out when we've bought most creators and booths?"
Geras was the god of old age. An ancient deity among the oldest in the mortal world, underworld, and oceans combined. He'd seen countless heroes and gods flare briefly before crumbling.
Achievements and fame? Maintaining the peak was far harder than reaching it.
Thus, Director Jo—without any backers—would struggle to nurture and protect his ventures in this cutthroat business.
"But as a sacrifice to announce the revival of Erebos's lineage, he's useful. Shall we lay a scheme?"
Geras looked like a gaunt sage, but inside lurked a vicious schemer. He figured targeting Director Jo would spotlight him and Erebos's bloodline in the new era they'd usher in.
For example:
"Dangle bait for Director Jo. The booth with higher sales at this event cedes 1% shares. What do you think, Charon? Brilliant strategy, no?"
"Excellent. 1% is dust to us, but his entire stake to him—irresistible. But... will that cunning man accept?"
The old god of senescence worried about that too.
But—
Jo accepted the obvious trap without hesitation.
This was a blatant challenge.
"Insolent fool!"
Geras bristled at a mere mortal daring to share his stage. The man who'd skipped executive meetings and shareholder assemblies until now was fired up—and it irked him. All because Soul Society had gone topsy-turvy.
Executives as executives. Employees as employees. Gods as gods. Mortals as mortals.
That was the order Geras craved.
Even post-Business Renewal, some lines couldn't be crossed. To Geras, Jo's executive ascension was one.
"I'll crush him thoroughly. Utterly."
Sometimes life throws you a day so lucky it unnerves you.
That was my mood now.
"Geras making the first move on me? Didn't see that coming."
This Helmice was the perfect chance for newbie executive me to flop spectacularly.
But I needed a decisive blow. And Geras handed it over.
Share showdown!
An executive battle wagering shares. Like the Shadow Games in Yu-Gi-Oh!.
Dark gods and their cronies. A dark game. Fateful.
Perfect.
I can't just toss the shares Charybdis gave me willy-nilly—it'd disrespect the gods. Kicking away a rare gift.
I needed an excuse to forfeit them.
Lose this dark game? Oops, sorry Charybdis—my skills fell short, lost the shares. I'll take full responsibility and step down.
Drool-worthy.
This was my shot. Unmissable.
So, time to unleash my hidden prowess.
"Hedone, you reach out to Storyol?"
"Yeah. Confirming stuff, but... still feels off. This Storyol guy's work lacks dopamine. Bland as hell."
Entertainment Dept. Honestly, I had no clue its purpose or duties.
But the name screamed dopamine central.
Hiring a collaborator who churns out flavorless slop? Even better.
"Hedone, I say leave it entirely to Storyol. No advice. Full trust in our artist."
"Agreed! My brother Director Jo scouted 'em himself! They'll nail it! Meanwhile, this Crowzer'll check stocks. Ahem, how's the market...?"
Bam!—Crowzer slamming the table over stocks during work hours.
"...I'm dying here!"
Crowzer was rock-solid reliable just by existing. Teaming with him made failure feel inevitable.
My good-luck charm, my jinx talisman.
Effects were meh till now, but as executive? Game-changer.
Time ticked steadily in that vibe.
Storyol suffered nightmares nightly.
Dreams where no one remembered or cared about them.
Waking from another, Storyol hit the creator site.
Everyone buzzed about today's Helmice.
With faint hope, Storyol slowly searched their name.
"S...t...o...r...y...o...l..."
Search results: 0
"......"
Storyol had a booth at today's Helmice. They'd posted promos, run ads...
No interest.
Still, Storyol clung to hope.
"M-maybe... this time it'll be different...!"
Smash success? Everyone would talk about Storyol. Shower attention.
So, hauling all-nighters' worth of books, signed prints, keychains, dolls—Storyol headed to Helmice.
"Get here by 9 sharp."
"Gotta line up quick."
Throngs already waiting. Bigger crowds than usual.
So many people... surely plenty'll find this Storyol...!
Storyol unpacked at their obscure corner booth.
9 AM. Event open.
"Whoa!"
"Rush in! Rush!"
Hordes surged like waves.
Storyol tensed. Long-overdue customer service. Recalled mirror practice.
"Entertainment Dept's Storyol...! Loads of diverse goods...! All limited editions hard to snag anywhere...! Buy before too late...!"
Trembling, but hope bloomed.
Soon, crowds drawn by Storyol's tale.
—Storyol?
—That Isekai Illegal Prince author!
—I preferred Taming the Villain Nymph!
But one hour passed. Two.
Not a single book sold.
"...Plenty of time left...!"
Storyol steeled up. Events often boomed via word-of-mouth.
"Woo! Got SilverRib's autograph!"
"Snagged MoonflowerGreenTea's doll!"
Everyone grabbing faves. Soon browsers would wander—including to Storyol.
Storyol fiddled displays, signs.
But four hours. Five.
Closing neared. Anxiety spiked. Tears welled.
"H-half off...!!!"
"Quarter price...!"
"Free...!"
Discounts failed.
"Entertainment Dept? No thanks on weird merch."
"My bag's stuffed!"
One hour left. Venue quieted. Cleanup time.
Then someone approached.
"Hohoho, Storyol—never thought you'd collab with Entertainment Dept. Director Jo, what a blunder?"
A long white-bearded elder: Geras, god of old age.
Storyol had worked for him before, opened booths—took massive losses, got reamed.
Scouting Entertainment Dept, he spotted Storyol.
Geras sensed victory. No ploy from Jo after all.
"That man's luck runs dry. Such a pathetic end—even I pity him."
Whoosh. Gone.
Storyol's tears finally fell.
"...Knew it'd end like this...!"
Maybe quit writing. Job via Nymph Quota System, live ordinarily like other nymphs.
As Storyol packed...
"One signed item from Storyol, please."
The Entertainment Dept booth was pathetic.
Gaudy signs, hype curators, eye-candy goods elsewhere—ours huddled obscurely, shabby.
Low budget, no track record: crap spot.
But Storyol prepped diligently. Crooked nymph dolls. Hand-drawn illos. Signed books.
All solo? Days of work.
Sincere effort shone.
But—
"Whoa! AI-powered mech squirrel! Olympus tech rules the world!"
"Treasure map marking buried mermaid? Ocean World went hard!"
Dopamine explosions everywhere dwarfed Storyol's amateur handmade stuff.
One, two, three hours...
One hour to close.
"......"
Storyol huddled, sobbing.
Watching, guilt stabbed me—I'd let this happen knowingly.
Seeing it? Couldn't idle.
Buy one as souvenir. Fine.
Post-this, I'd Earth-ascend. Perfect memento.
"One signed item from Storyol, please."
Hooded robe hiding my face, I approached.
Clueless Storyol startled.
"R-really...!?"
"Yes. 100 Charon gold coins."
"Eek...! This Storyol's signature for that much...!?"
100 gold for a sig? Pricey.
But Erebos faction already cleared 10,000+.
100? No ripple. Plus, clears my personal debt to Storyol.
Enough for a Happy World building, coast forever.
Handing coins:
"Failure happens to everyone. But persisting? Not anyone can. Don't quit—stick it out, good things await. Worked for me."
That's how I seized today's chance.
Now, homeward—
Grabbing the crooked-signed paper, I exited.
Suddenly, a hand clapped my shoulder.
"Gasp! That paper! Where'd you get it?! Tell me, please!"
—Wait.
I know this pattern!