Chapter 53
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: No Place for the Fake
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They crossed the street toward the Rainbow Pastry Shop.
But another obstacle arose.
"Sorry, customer. The only item we can serve right now is apple pie."
"...Only apple pie? Not even a small cookie?"
"We're truly sorry. We're short on ingredients."
Of course, a shop buzzing with flies wouldn't have ample ingredients. They'd spoil fast if they didn't sell anyway.
With no other choice, they ordered apple pie and took a seat at an empty table.
"Apple pie's fine."
Philomel gave a faint smile at Jeremiah's consoling tone, but her stomach still twisted.
Apple pie wasn't a bad dessert, but it felt too ordinary to serve Jeremiah after dragging him all the way to the central square.
At least there was some relief: with no other customers, nothing would irk Jeremiah's mood...
'Way too empty.'
The only patrons were Philomel and Jeremiah.
Suddenly, she dreaded the pie's taste.
'Please be delicious. Otherwise, Jeremiah's favor is lost forever!'
Philomel squeezed her eyes shut and prayed desperately inside.
Soon, a sweet apple scent tickled her nose.
"Your ordered apple pie!"
Seeing the golden latticed pie, Philomel swallowed hard. Come to think of it, as a princess, she'd rarely tasted such a common dessert.
"Shall we dig in?"
Philomel neatly sliced a piece onto Jeremiah's plate, then hers.
"I can do it myself."
The overly cloying sweetness made Jeremiah hesitate, fork hovering.
'Apple pie is sweet. I'll taste it first and tell him.'
The moment she bit in, her yellow eyes flew wide.
'Better than expected!'
The crisp apple texture was superb, like fresh fruit. Its sweetness harmonized perfectly with the accompanying black tea.
"It's good. Jeremiah, try it quick!"
"...Yeah?"
Just as Jeremiah reached out with quiet anticipation,
A loud crash shattered the silence.
Three men burst in, slamming the rickety door nearly off its hinges.
"Hey! When the hell are you paying protection? Know how much you owe?"
The burly leader bellowed.
The baker who'd served them trembled as he replied.
"S-Sorry! Could you give me just a bit more time? I don't have the money yet..."
"When will you? Keep dodging like this, and it gets ugly, you know?"
Crash! He kicked a nearby display case; dishes shattered on the floor.
"Agh! Please, mercy just this once!"
The owner wailed, but the kicks didn't stop. His cronies snickered and watched.
"We overlooked your illegal shop, and you don't even pay up!"
Philomel pieced it together from their words.
They were local thugs collecting protection from merchants. They'd exploited the shop's unlicensed status for rampant shakedowns.
'No official protection for unlicensed buildings.'
Unbearable at the sight of ruined furnishings, the owner clung to the man's leg.
"Agh! If you smash everything, how can I do business?!"
"Tch, annoying! Get off!"
As the kick aimed at the elderly owner, Philomel instinctively rose.
"Stop."
Jeremiah's icy tone halted her.
"But...!"
"What can you even do?"
"Even for an unlicensed building, private protection rackets and violence are crimes. Report to authorities and..."
"Think they don't know? They're all in on it."
He was right. Thug rampages thrived under official indifference.
Jeremiah slowly crushed pie with his fork.
"You can't handle them anyway. Best not meddle in others' business. Even if you somehow save the owner here, think they won't come back?"
"..."
"It's inevitable eventually. If you can't see it through, stay out."
Philomel bit her lip, speechless.
His view was brutally cynical, yet pinpoint accurate.
No longer princess or anything, Philomel had no moves. Laws meant nothing to them; dodging harm would be luck.
Crucially, she wasn't saintly enough to help without a plan.
But was aiding meaningless just because she couldn't commit fully?
Somehow compelled to retort, she murmured weakly.
"...You helped me when I nearly got pickpocketed."
"Just cleaning trash off my doorstep."
Jeremiah stabbed a pie chunk.
"Anyway, not the mood for talk. Eat up and go."
His sky-blue eyes betrayed undisguised anticipation. The pie looked tasty to him too.
That was when it happened.
Thud!
A flying shoe landed squarely on Jeremiah's plate.
"Gasp."
The pie was ruined.
Glancing ahead, Philomel saw one thug shoeless. Must've slipped off mid-kick.
One crony swaggered over.
"Oops, sorry 'bout that. He dodged, so... Aw, pie's trashed! No refunds, though—our turf, our rules."
Jeremiah's fork creaked and bent.
"...Wanna die?"
"Huh? You little shit dare..."
Bang!
The man slammed into the opposite wall, words cut short by Jeremiah.
After that, it was swift.
"You punk! Who the hell are you? Whose crew...?"
Jeremiah dispatched the owner-beater in a blur—pure fists and kicks, no magic.
His flying kick was flawlessly clean, bordering on art.
"...Know who you're messing with? Ack!"
The last fell easily; Jeremiah dusted his clothes.
"Philomel, you hurt?"
She emerged from under the table.
"No, I'm fine."
By the time the pie splattered and murder filled his eyes, she'd already ducked.
Surveying the wreckage, Philomel smiled faintly.
"What is it, Jeremiah? Told me not to meddle."
"...Personal payback."
"Fine. Call it that."
"It's not..."
Then the final thug staggered up.
Skinny and jittery.
"Assaulting innocent citizens! I'll report you!"
Jeremiah scoffed.
"Empire calls shop thugs 'innocent,' huh."
"Not thuggery! Illegal operation—we were just enforcing properly. Ask the authorities!"
"Not beat enough."
"Eek!"
Philomel stopped Jeremiah's advance.
"Hold on."
"Why?"
"He has something to say."
Jeremiah scowled but stepped back.
She fixed on the quivering man slumped on the floor, mouth flapping.
"W-We just followed the law. Empire Commercial Code Article 34, Section 3—unlicensed buildings are..."
Unlike the bruisers, this one was the brains.
Philomel nodded calmly.
"Yes, correct. Code 34-3 clearly states operating in unlicensed buildings is illegal."
"R-Right! Knowing that, you still..."
"But there are exceptions."
Her small, resolute voice echoed softly.