Kkyuppi!

Marta Bell. A girl more often called by the nickname Mati than by that name.

And she had just been handed a miracle, out of nowhere.

"...Eh?"

Mati, who had never once cried, no matter how lonely or heartbroken she was. In the past, there had been no one at this workshop to shield her from the daily grind—or from the hazing that came with it.

But then, she had gone and acquired a backer more dependable than any person could be.

"So you're telling me you finished all of this in two minutes?"

"Yes. Honestly, I don't quite believe it myself."

Watching Mati recite those words in a rather matter-of-fact tone, the team leader overseeing the workshop's official certification exam could only wear a dumbfounded expression.

He had no other choice. This was, after all, an achievement on par with just about any artisan in the workshop with a decade or more under their belt.

He had confirmed with his own two eyes that no sleight of hand was involved in the process. And that was precisely what made it all the harder to believe.

It wasn't doubt in the results before his eyes—it was the question of how anyone could possibly produce such a feat.

Click.

Saying nothing, the team leader picked up the test piece resting on the workbench. The seams, not yet fitted perfectly flush, and the mana streaming in a clean line along the circuits barely held their output steady. In other words, this was craftsmanship at a level where a second inspection would be a waste of everyone's time.

And there was one more thing.

"Mati."

"Yes, Team Leader."

"This circuit section here doesn't match the blueprint."

Mati blinked for a moment, then went on. "If the circuit were designed that way, there'd be a risk of needless overheating over long-term use..."

"Ha."

It was a precise answer. The problem was that the workshop itself had needed two full years after the prototype's release to arrive at that same conclusion.

And so the team leader lobbed out a question seasoned with equal parts admiration and suspicion. "Did anyone help you prepare for this test?"

At that, Mati hesitated for a moment. She had certainly received help—but she knew full well that wasn't what he was asking.

The trouble was, no one had ever taught Mati how to lie.

"...Yes."

And so she confessed the truth outright. "There is someone who's been helping me, but..."

"Who is it?"

"I, um... don't know that myself."

"I'm sorry, what?"

While the team leader put on his dumbfounded face yet again, Mati scratched her cheek, looking a touch embarrassed. It was the plain and simple truth, and no further explanation was possible.

...Is she giving me attitude already? And so the team leader's face soured, convinced this was some manner of power play. It would take quite a long time indeed for that misunderstanding to be cleared up.

"I love money!"

A line from an American comedy cartoon I watched constantly as a kid—usually bellowed by a certain bright-red crab with the soul of a miser. Looking back on it well past childhood, I had to admit it was a maxim that truly transcends the ages.

People who insist money isn't the whole of happiness are simply the sort who wrap things up in pretty paper after conveniently amputating a few facts. Roughly nine-tenths of happiness is directly or indirectly at the mercy of money. In today's world, the list of things money can't accomplish has only grown shorter. This was, after all, an era when even 'miracles' could be manufactured on demand, courtesy of special player types like priests. Granted, player abilities degrade outside the Tower, so nothing too spectacular.

Cha-ching-cha-ching—!

...Anyway, why am I rambling about all this? Because of the girl currently perched on my desk, making swift, merciless work of some yangnyeom chicken. One look at the creature in question—a body just a shade bigger than my fist—and you'd understand.

"Mmmph— Uuuuum! Mmm-nom-nom!"

Eyes aglitter, humming tunelessly through her nose. The way she slurped up the sauce with such industrious gusto was, admittedly, adorable beyond reason, but—

"Is this really happening."

From where I sat watching her, all I felt was a dull throb behind my eyes. And not merely because the little wailer—who'd been howling moments ago about starving to death—had made off with my drumstick.

The culprit behind it all traced back roughly thirty minutes.

Messages unfurled before my eyes. What came next, riding in on a wave of anticipation, drifted somewhat off course from anything I'd imagined.

"A replica?"

My interest stirred despite myself. A copy of one of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my owned characters—did that mean I could summon one of my regulars into this world?

Naturally, it was never going to be that kind of windfall. If any one of those girls got summoned at full strength, I'd be the strongest being on Earth before dinner. But replica or not, my target had been decided from the very start.

...Seria. And no—not simply because she happened to be my best girl.

First, I had no idea what form the summoned character would actually take. Since the copy inherited the original's looks and personality, I needed a hero with a relatively docile disposition. Seria was the type who swore absolute submission and loyalty to her 'Master.' Canon-wise, her personality was sweet as pie, which meant the odds of her turning on me were slim. That was the calculus.

Second, Seria ranked among the stronger members of my regular roster anyway. In the game ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠proper she got cold-shouldered—apparently a nuker wasting one of her main skill slots on a buff was unforgivable—but out here, in reality beyond the screen, that might well count as a point in her favor.

And so, I chose Seria.

"Huh?"

Wait—does this thing copy the skin, too?

For a moment I could only swallow, hard, staring at the message. "Ahem—!"

...Which is to say, Seria—dressed in an event costume steeped rather thoroughly in my personal tastes—was about to manifest right in front of me. So I spent a little while steadying my hammering heart as I waited for that apparition to arrive.

But the instant the summon completed, every last one of those expectations lay in pieces.

"Kkyuppi! Kkyupya!"

"..."

The Seria standing before me matched, in no small measure, the appearance I remembered—those unmistakable eyes, that dangerously alluring smile, even the event costume's scandalously cut school-swimsuit getup and the bunny ears to boot. The sight of her zipping to and fro, chirping and brimming with energy, was every bit as adorable as advertised, and yet—

"Woopya! Wottya!"

—her behavior made it clear that functional speech was, alas, beyond her. And as I took in the body shrunken small enough to scoop up in one hand, a single thought rose to the surface of my skull.

"Ah."

Should've leveled her stats instead.

Going by the messages floating in front of me alone, one thing was abundantly clear: I had just been thoroughly fleeced. The miniature Seria who had plundered four pieces of my yangnyeom chicken—two drumsticks, two wings—was now gleefully drumming on her bulging little belly. She even capped it off with a faint, satisfied urp.

Setting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠aside the mystery of how a creature barely the size of her own stomach managed to put away that much food, one thing was certain from every angle: this thing was a money-gobbling hippo.

In other words, raising this little tyke meant shoveling money into her by the fistful. And there she sat, sauce smeared all over her face, eyelids drooping as the food coma set in.

"...Aigoo."

I heaved a sigh, pulled a wet wipe from the pack, and cleaned around her mouth.

"Wooboop—! Woobooboop—!"

She wriggled in protest while I wiped away the caked-on sauce, then looked up at me and broke into a sweet, bashful smile.

"Ppyuyaa!"

"..."

Then she came pitter-pattering straight over, threw both arms tight around my hand, and beamed. Watching that, my poor brain grew another shade dizzier.

...And it wasn't as if I could simply not raise her now. To put it crudely, the little tyke had me well and truly by the nose.

When I stroked the top of her head once with my index finger, Seria's long ears gave a contented little shiver. I was starting to understand why people dote on their puppies and kittens the way they do.

Of course, I had no intention of stopping there.

"...Seems like you understand every word I say."

"Kkyuyat!"

Her ears flopped as she bobbed her head, as if to say, that's right! She seemed to have gone beyond merely catching my drift—she understood the words themselves. Well, all she could produce at the moment was an endless stream of kkyuppi.

The original, after all, was a perfectly articulate Seria.

"Hey, can you fight?"

"Kkyuaa—! Hup-hup!"

As if the answer were obvious. She struck a pose that plainly declared, It's me! Seria!—then set about whooshing her little fists through the air.

...Of course, Seria was a mage, not some martial-arts hero. What on earth was I supposed to do with her?

And so, face buried in my hands, I sat for a good while.

"Kkyu?"

The Tower, first floor. Goblins, which I'd grown thoroughly sick of hunting, and slimes—the floor where one of the two spawned at random.

"Kkyui, Kkyat!"

Fwoooosh—!

And there, I bore witness to a sight I genuinely had not seen coming.

Kueeeegh—!

A goblin shrieking, claws clamped over its face. Vivid flames roared merrily across it. And the one who had conjured them was, unmistakably, this palm-sized mini-Seria.

"Ppyui!"

She turned my way, chest puffed out, preening with the smuggest little expression imaginable.

"Huh."

...Well, what do you know. This might actually be useful?