If It Makes Money, I Could Even Sell Lewd Drawings (4)
The weekend's end, late evening. We'd hauled the haul from Yurha Silverstar's golden carriage into the lounge. The three classmates each grabbed what they needed and headed to their rooms, and I picked up the box of clothes I'd nominally ordered.
"Hm."
I eyed the box. Inspected the clothes. Ran my fingers along the shirt's lining and seams.
No bugs?
Unexpected. I'd half-expected some thin, flattened listening device spread out like a sheet. Silverstar Merchant Group attaches tags to their products like receipts showing details—regular players think they're just info labels. But some have listening magic circuits woven in with mana, letting Silverstar eavesdrop from all over. Not on every piece, but when they want to snoop, they do.
'Skipping me means they skipped the other students too.'
Did they bug Unia's, Rydmila Lionheart's, or Evangeline di Ershi's outfits? Or did they hold back because Gale is Gale, and those three are hypersensitive to mana—any device would get spotted instantly?
'With the angel fiasco, they're playing it safe. Not Yurha, but Silverstar's other stars.'
'The academy must've issued a warning.'
No matter Silverstar's economic clout, the academy draws a hard line on apocalypse matters. Peddling mana drain lenses to students on the sly? Fine. But messing with the old school building where the first angel appeared—and the students who can counter it? That's a line they won't cross.
'Yurha's in for some grief from the other directors.'
Yurha wants to gobble up the other directors' shares and claim 100% of Silverstar. Pure wishful thinking. To consolidate those scattered stakes, she has to cooperate sometimes, strike decisively at key moments. Right now, she's probably hammering her calculator, weighing options: play coy with the other directors' demands for info, subtly hiding ours? Or double down, solidify ties with us, and oppose them outright from the start?
Either way, Yurha's the better bet. Even if she ties you down and drains your mana by force, she'll provide a bed, three squares, and whatever fun the drainer craves. Flip it around—the other directors don't even bother. Some treat resource-extractees like black slaves on a cotton plantation. Others see them as parts: "Raw materials? We can always get more."
Especially the 'twins,' main villains in the Yurha route—their tendencies are too vile to describe. Of them, the 'boy-lover' one's particularly squicky to me personally. Not as Red Sun Phoenix, not as the Demon King of the demon world, but as plain old me. Because—
"This bread's gonna cause a riot if it hits the market."
"You mean it'll sell out because it's delicious?"
"Nah. Silverstar's gonna threaten us for the recipe, obvious as day."
Just like Instructor Esta said the moment she bit into the fresh egg tart I'd baked using tools and ingredients from the golden carriage.
"No fancy additives, yet it's way tastier than Silverstar's. Mass production the culprit?"
"Bit of everything, really."
Same ingredients. Our setup's crappier. We've got basic ovens, rolling pins; they have mana-powered machines cranking out hundreds at a time.
"To survive against factory tarts pumping out batches by the hundreds, you've gotta hit restaurant-dessert quality, right?"
"...You're serious."
Instructor Esta took another bite.
"Mind if I log this?"
"Log what?"
"Some doubt your special admission for baking. Instructors whisper, but students are buzzing."
"I don't sweat rumors, but if it pads your performance review, knock yourself out in the instructor log."
Esta whipped out her magipad and started tapping away furiously.
"Seriously, sell this in the academy, you'd rake it in. Mana stone rich, though? Pocket change."
"Different beasts."
Worlds apart.
"Mana stones? Snap, and they're out. This? Pure baking skill, sweat-earned cash."
Even trust-fund kids feel different about a month's vagrant earnings versus easy money.
"Money from your own labor, skill, expertise? Versus a single 'snap'? Night and day."
"Snap?"
"Yeah." I shaped a mana stone with my fingers. "Hunting beasts is easier for me than most. Way easier."
"Hmm." Esta paused her logging, looked up. "If it's not loggable, better quit while ahead. Unless you're luring beasts with bread, then poisoning the dough."
"I don't mess with food."
Food, no. "Someone might slander my bread as a 'gimmick' or 'unfit for sale,' but backing down? Nah."
"...Here's hoping it pans out."
Esta polished off her tart.
"Yurha might back you solid. Business-wise, if she sees you as a winner, she won't sabotage."
"You know her that well?"
"Of course. Personal friend, professional ties."
Esta flicked the hilt of her sword at her waist.
"Rest easy. I won't let private feelings override my instructor duty."
Special class instructor. Yurha's acquaintance.
"If Yurha uses our ties to exploit you, I'll shield you first. You're my students."
Which pulls closer to the White Sword Saint Esta's core—her take on Yurha be damned, it's the instructor side.
"One heads-up, though. Planned to mention tomorrow when we meet..."
"But?"
"One week in."
She held up three fingers.
"Three special admits inquired about transferring to the old school building."
"......Ha."
A dry laugh escaped.
"Suddenly?" I swept a hand around. "Right after we scrubbed this place spotless?"
"I get the gripe. Me too."
"...Some extenuating circumstances?"
"Everyone's got 'em. Issue's how the invitees take it."
Esta's tone stayed even.
"More bodies? Great. Not? Whatever."
"Hm..."
Only the timing irked me human-wise; more residents? Fine by me too.
"Who's trying to move in?"
The protagonist, maybe?
"Not my place as undergrad, but as old school resident and cleaner? Kinda irks."
"Other two just floated it, but one was desperate."
"Just to confirm—knowing it's not, but."
Might sound off, but.
"A girl?"
"Girl."
Ah.
"A beauty?"
"Beauty. You'll like her. Word is, countess's daughter, never dated a guy."
Oh. I knew who.
"Begging for a single room, by chance?"
[That moment, Esdinas Academy Dormitory 13-4 Building, Room 602.]
"Hey, Lady Comishness. What do you think?"
"......."
The long-haired girl in pale purple, lying quietly on her bed, sat up rumpled.
"What do I think..." She slipped on her round horn-rimmed glasses, her slightly deeper purple eyes twinkling as she shrugged. "About starting separate classes from the male students tomorrow... what's the issue?"
"No more direct contact with boys!"
"......."
"Ugh, seriously. Lady Comishness, you're not into that stuff?"
"Not really...."
The girl dubbed Comishness shook her head faintly.
"Gah...! No way! I'm off to find my friend!"
Her roommate stormed out in a huff, leaving the room to one.
"......."
The girl removed her glasses again, eyes sharpening as she reached between bed and wall.
Click.
A fairly large magipad lit up. She leaned right into the password-locked home screen.
> Welcome, Shuri Comishness.
"...Hmph."
Shuri—the girl, heir to Viscount Comishness—smothered the magipad under her blanket.
Then, very quietly, she drew the connected magipen.
Click, click.
The pen danced across the magipad, pulling up stored data in a flash.
"...Heh heh."
Shuri let out a low chuckle.
"Heh heh heh... ah."
She puffed her cheeks at the magipad's feast of flesh tones.
"If only I had a comfy spot to work..."
Inside the magipad.
A woman in a distinctly artistic style—not quite real, but human-ish. Clad in barely-there lingerie, teetering on nudity.
"Sigh."
Shuri covered the magipad with her hand, sighing.
"No setup for printing..."