Ten Million Mora
The car, which had been gliding smoothly forward, gave a hard jolt.
"Sector 12 is fine overall, but the obstacles scattered on the roads every now and then are a bit annoying."
"Couldn't agree more. If something bursts and gets wedged into the wheels, washing the car is no small ordeal."
Bursts? Wedged? What?
"You wash the car yourself?"
"Of course. I can't leave the car I drive in some other bastard's hands."
I don't know. I don't want to know. I just want to shut my ears and hear nothing.
You fucking pervert! I told you not to do it!!
She'd been content working for him — a man pathologically obsessed with women, whose personality was absolute garbage, but who at least paid on time, every time. Then that lunatic went and caused a massive incident, blinded by some whore from the brothel across the alley.
A truly colossal one!
The car that had been racing along gradually slowed, then came to a stop on a street that was strangely, unnervingly quiet.
"We've arrived."
"Y-yes!!"
Get a grip.
Calm down.
You can do this.
Steady your breathing.
This is actually an opportunity!
Yoko drew a deep breath and stepped out of the car.
"Just follow me."
"Y-yes!"
"Answer once. And keep your voice down."
"...Yes."
"Good."
Even when the handsome man — whose looks so thoroughly outclassed Fuji Junpei that comparing the two felt like a sin — offered her a gentle smile, Yoko's tension didn't ease in the slightest.
Not long after her idiot former boss had gone upstairs, two gunshots had rung out. Considering Fuji Junpei's connections, killing him over a single act of rudeness had seemed like a stretch.
And yet.
"Shall we go?"
"Yes..."
Looking at that smiling man, she had a powerful feeling that he was more than capable of exactly that.
Having spent so long catering to other people's moods, she was confident in her ability to read faces. And the man climbing the stairs ahead of her had smiled any number of times — but not once had his eyes smiled with him.
Every single smile was manufactured.
It was the kind of detail you might miss, dazzled by a face that naturally drew people in. But Yoko, her nerves wound to the breaking point by the gunshots and the kidnapping, saw it with perfect clarity.
Click. Click. Click.
With every step of his dress shoes on the stairs, her heart hammered.
Until now she'd been content as a comfortable salary worker, cleaning up after her former boss and doing only what she was told. And now, suddenly, she was the one in charge.
Damn it! I should've just said I couldn't do it!!
The terror of the gunshots and the murderous aura of the Doberman glaring at her from behind had frozen her brain solid. Before she could even think, she'd already spilled everything honestly.
"This is it."
When he opened the door to the third floor and they stepped inside, Yoko couldn't help a small gasp of admiration — even knowing it was rude.
"It's... ordinary?"
"This part is, yes."
The man went further in and opened a closed door. Only then did Yoko understand why he'd been looking for a master of interior design.
"Uh, um."
"Impressive, right?"
"I-it's, uh, very... maniacal."
This wasn't even a basement. Why on earth had he brought in and installed so many tools for SM play?
And what was with this pink-pink wallpaper?
This wasn't a brothel or a butcher shop — why were the lights red?
"I want to tear it all out. Will that take long?"
"If it's just the demolition, give me a day and I'll strip it clean."
How long had she ground herself down under that bastard Junpei?
And once he'd started mingling with the big players in the deep end, hadn't she been the one handling almost all the physical work?
All that son of a bitch ever did was laugh and chat, wine and dine clients, scribble on blueprints, and then stand around offering unsolicited advice.
As the injustices and humiliations she'd suffered under Fuji Junpei rose one by one to the surface, the self-respect Yoko had lost began flooding back at remarkable speed.
"Do you have a particular feel in mind?"
"Let me think."
The man stroked his chin for a moment, looking around.
"Warm colors, modern feel."
"Warm colors come in many varieties — brighter or darker. Which do you prefer?"
"The streets are gloomy, so match that. Darker side."
"Understood."
With her self-respect restored and her tongue loosened, Yoko's mouth launched into a nonstop stream of questions.
"When you say tear everything out, does that include the floor?"
"Any particular materials you want?"
"Since you said modern, I'll go without any patterns on the wallpaper."
"As for the lighting..."
A continuous barrage of questions.
"I've got it all. I'll start as soon as possible, but it'll still take a little over a month. Is that all right?"
"Of course."
"Understood. Then the estimate would be roughly about this..."
Yoko was about to hold up her fingers as usual without thinking, then flinched and stopped. She held up four fingers — one less than the original estimate.
"Just four hundred thousand Mora."
"A discount?"
"A-a little...?"
"And originally?"
At the man's question, Yoko unfolded the thumb she'd been holding down.
"Five hundred thousand Mora. Fine. Let's do that."
"Then—"
"Ah, wait. Having just one room with a completely different design wouldn't look very good."
The man smiled and gestured for her to come out, so Yoko left the room for now. He spread his arms lightly and said,
"I really liked how thorough your questions were. So I'm thinking of giving you the entire third floor."
"Uh, th-that kind of scale..."
Yoko quickly scanned the surroundings, starting to calculate a rough estimate. But the man finished speaking far faster than she could produce a number.
"Ten million Mora."
"What?"
Yoko momentarily doubted her ears.
"We'll contract for ten million Mora. And if I'm satisfied, I'll throw another ten on top—"
"I'll do it! One month — no! Fifteen days! I'll transform this into a completely new space within fifteen days! Yes!"
The backlash if she failed to satisfy him?
That was a problem for future her.
Twenty million Mora was worth that much.
Leaving the woman named Yoko on the third floor, eyes glazed with money and burning with passion, we relocated to the second floor.
"Jamie."
"Yes."
"Should I give you a bonus too, Jamie?"
"I'll pass. Something tells me that if I accept anything from you, Priest, I'll inevitably end up having to do something of equal value sooner or later."
The completely unhesitating refusal put me in a good mood.
"That's the Doberman for you. Animal instinct?"
"...Just a deduction based on what I've observed from the sidelines..."
Jamie trailed off, closed her mouth, and looked toward the entrance.
Not long after, the door opened and a welcome face appeared.
"Ms. Secretary."
"It's been a while."
Ms. Secretary, her hair neatly tied back in a ponytail, gave a slight bow, the black coat that suited her cool features swaying gently.
"Do you have time?"
"I'm free for now."
"The Boss has invited you to dinner."
"Sounds good."
Fine dining was always welcome.
Of course, that wasn't the real purpose.
"Jamie, stay here and escort the person upstairs down when she's done. Help her out with anything she needs while you're at it."
"Understood."
Jamie belonged to Mad Dog, and Ms. Secretary was her superior. But for as long as Jamie was assigned to my personal security, her chain of command ran through me — and both of them accepted this as perfectly natural, as if to prove the point.
"Allow me to escort you."
When I rose from the sofa, Ms. Secretary personally opened the door and fell in beside me as she had before, assisting me.
As we approached the parked car, Ms. Secretary opened the rear door herself, and I climbed in and settled back comfortably. Outside the glass, the scenery began to drift slowly past.
"I've been receiving the reports, but I'd still like to hear it directly from you, Priest. How is Sector 12?"
"A bit more boring than I expected."
"..."
In the rearview mirror, Ms. Secretary's face was just barely visible — lips pursed, as if holding back a laugh.
"Ahem. You'd be the only person who'd put it that way, Priest."
"If that's the case, I feel like I'm getting the short end of the stick."
"The short end, sir?"
I didn't answer the gaze that met mine in the rearview mirror. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.
"I have a few business ventures in mind."
"May I exercise my right not to know?"
"They're things I'll be discussing with Benjamin at dinner today."
"Then I'll listen."
If it had been Jamie sitting in that seat, what would she have said?
I cracked open my closed eyes and offered a light smile toward Ms. Secretary, who was focused on driving.
"Hear it from Benjamin himself later."
"To be honest, I wasn't particularly curious."
"Is that so?"
When I put on an even more manufactured smile, Ms. Secretary — who'd been glancing this way through the rearview mirror — shook her head with a bitter smile.
"I lose. So please, forgive me for asking the Boss to keep it a secret from me."
I kept the smile in place, withheld any reply, and closed my eyes.
In the pleasant quiet, the sound of the car rolling along continued for some time.