The Delivery Department (3)
“The People of the Wind... Is there a particular reason you went with a name like that?”
At Hagore's question, Oscar gave a small smile. There was, after all, a reason he'd deliberately chosen “People of the Wind” as the name for his new venture.
“Yes, there is. It's a form of advertising, you see. Every time people use the service, the word wind will subconsciously remind them that it's the White Tower running the show.”
“Hmm. Brand imprinting, eh? I'll grant you this much—so long as the service satisfies them, the White Tower's image will start feeling friendlier.”
Buttapju, who had been listening in on the conversation, nodded along.
“That's a trick the Yellow Tower has been using to great effect.”
“Exactly. I don't know about anything else, but those guys are genuinely good at that sort of thing.”
Modern daily life was saturated with magic engineering products. The refrigerator that kept drinks chilled, the heater that warmed a freezing room, the automobile that carried people across vast distances—down to the humble lightbulb and the streetlamps that lit the night, everything was a product of magic engineering.
“Whenever they unveil a new product, they put the words Yellow Tower front and center.”
But while the effect was undeniable, the technique was bound to divide opinion. The intent to hammer the Yellow Tower name into people's heads was just a little too naked.
That's why we'll do it differently—slowly, but naturally, seeping into their daily lives and their minds.
People of the Wind. He liked how neatly it rolled off the tongue.
“Two months, then. That's a tighter deadline than I expected. The first order of business would be building the vehicles, I take it?”
“That's right.”
Only once the vehicles were ready could they start recruiting and training new staff.
“Hmm. Oscar, in your estimation, roughly how many units will we need?”
“Since this is the launch of the business, we'll start modestly—service limited to Shilin and a few neighboring territories for now...”
Oscar spread out five fingers. Hagore, seeing this, nodded.
“Fifty units? Fastest I could manage would be three days or so.”
“No. I mean five thousand.”
“...What!?”
Confronted with an utterly absurd quantity, Hagore heaved a deep sigh.
“Haah, look here. Crafty as our hands may be, it's precisely because we take such pride in our craftsmanship that our production speed is nowhere near that fast—we fuss over quality too much. In other words, building five thousand units in two months is flatly impossible. And don't you still need time to hire and train the civilians on top of that?”
Not a single word of it was wrong. Except for one thing Hagore had overlooked.
Oh, but I know.
He knew exactly how fast the White Anvil Tribe worked—and just how much efficiency could be wrung out of them if they were pushed to their absolute limits. In fact, he was probably the only person on the continent who knew it better than anyone.
“It would be, if we were building every single piece from scratch. But didn't I mention this earlier? Modification.”
“You don't mean...?”
“I do. We'll buy up the bikes flooding the market secondhand and retrofit them. That cuts the production timeline down dramatically.”
He'd run the numbers in his head: a single dwarf could modify about ten bikes a day. Which meant that if all thirty-seven dwarves threw themselves into it, the whole job would be done in fourteen days.
Hagore must have run the same calculation, because he cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking.
“Ahem. Well, if that's the approach... give me exactly one month. I'll have your five thousand units ready by then.”
“I'm sorry—one month?”
Oscar would have been happy to let most things slide, but letting his very first job get away with such laziness was out of the question. Unable to let it pass, he slashed the deadline in an instant.
“I'll give you ten days. If each of your craftsmen modifies just fourteen bikes a day, that'll be more than enough.”
“F-fourteen a day! That's insane!”
Hagore let out a strangled shriek. Wasn't that the level where, after devoting three hours apiece to eating, sleeping, and answering nature's call, you'd have to churn out one modified bike every ninety minutes?
“At that pace it wouldn't be work anymore, it'd be torture! Torture! And driving the whole tribe that hard for ten days straight, there's bound to be injuries!”
“Hm. Is that so?”
Wearing a guileless, wide-eyed expression as if he truly hadn't known, Oscar continued.
“Then let's extend it—fourteen days. I'll grant you two weeks. Ten units a day. Surely that much is manageable?”
“Ten a day...”
At that rate, even with a generous seven hours of rest carved out, they'd only need to finish one bike every hundred minutes. It would still be a forced march, to be sure, but compared to the previous terms, the workload was downright comfortable.
More than anything, it's a pace our dwarves can comfortably sustain...
Realizing this, Hagore narrowed his eyes and stared hard at Oscar. Could it be—did this human know their exact work capacity all along, and set his terms accordingly?
“Have you, by chance, ever watched dwarves at work?”
“How could I have? This is actually the first time I've ever met dwarves in person. Before now, I only ever encountered you in documents.”
“Documents, you say...”
Well, he supposed a fellow this clever could have extrapolated a rough working pace from the numbers on paper.
...But is that actually possible?
While Hagore floundered, Oscar offered his gentlest voice.
“Think of this as a rehearsal for building the airship. There's bound to be fresh data we gain from it.”
“Well, yes, but...”
“Six days, generously, to set up the workshop. Two weeks to modify the bikes. That's twenty days in total, and I'll give you every one of them.”
“Hm.”
In truth, the workshop wouldn't take six days to set up. Four or five would be plenty. But Hagore didn't say so out loud, only slowly bobbed his head.
“If that's the arrangement... well, all right. You have a deal.”
“But Oscar, won't acquiring the used bikes take considerable time in itself?”
In response to Buttapju's question, Oscar laid out the plan he'd already prepared.
“As I understand it, the bike rental businesses in the western and northern regions have mostly gone bankrupt.”
Looking back now, that outcome had been inevitable. A bike's riding time topped out at two to three hours, and they depended heavily on well-paved roads. In other words, they were simply ill-suited to the western deserts and the northern mountain ranges.
“Exactly. In the east, where the roads are well maintained, or the south, where you can cruise along the coastline, even a short ride lets you take in a dozen different sceneries—so those tours sell well as travel packages. But in the west and north, they got the cold shoulder.”
“All we have to do is buy up the inventory they're sitting on and drowning in.”
Truthfully, if he offered to purchase their entire stock, the other side would throw their hands up in gratitude. A bankrupt seller would leap at the chance to salvage every last coin.
“The price shouldn't be steep either. The southern and eastern markets are already saturated, so there's no need for them to expand production anyway.”
“My, my. You've done your research.”
“I just... read a lot of newspapers, I suppose.”
When you didn't sleep, time was the one thing you had in abundance. In any case, to unload that mountain of inventory, the bankrupt companies would have to sell a few bikes at a time through private resellers—and if he offered to buy everything in one go, he could drive the price all the way down.
“Brilliant!”
Buttapju clapped his hands in admiration.
“Then I'll handle the purchase of the used bikes together with Elder Fidelina.”
“Understood. In that case, I suppose my task is drafting the official notice for the board.”
The magical document that would melt the hearts of every magician in the delivery department.
Trudge, trudge.
Uber Raiden, a Wind Rider just stepping into the White Tower's lobby, let out a long, weary sigh. The customer he'd run into right before clocking out had been a first-class nightmare.
Seriously, you're the one who bought the wrong product—why are you giving me grief about it?
He'd told her time and again that returns and refunds for magic engineering products had to be taken up with the Yellow Tower, but it went in one ear and out the other. Talking to her felt like talking to a wall, and it left his chest tight and his blood boiling.
...At this rate I really will die early of stress. Should I seriously start looking into transferring towers?
To be fair, working in the delivery department had its own small satisfactions. But he hadn't become a magician to do this. Maybe the right move was to transfer to another magic tower before he got any older and finally pursue the research he actually wanted.
Just as Uber was sinking into serious deliberation, a commotion broke out over by the notice board.
“Wait, is this actually real?”
“It's an official notice posted on the board—no way it's a lie.”
“So that means... they've finally decided to shut down the delivery business?”
“Looking at the potion division's numbers lately, I could believe it.”
Drawn by the murmuring crowd, Uber sidled over as well. A fresh notice had been posted on the board.
Notice of Delivery Service Suspension
Huh?
His eyes went wide the moment he read the title, and he hurriedly scanned the rest.
In two months' time, by February 15th, the majority of the Delivery Department's operations will be temporarily suspended. Until that date, all Wind Riders are asked to handle only deliveries of subscription-based nutritional supplements. Afterward, you may transfer to whichever department or duties you prefer. At the same time, we announce that a bonus commensurate with your hard work will be paid out. To all the magicians who have endured so much in the Delivery Department, we extend our sincerest gratitude.
The notice was short, but utterly unprecedented.
Suspending the delivery service... and a transfer?
In a word, it meant they'd be freed from delivery work—free to devote themselves to magical research, take on commissions, or simply train as they pleased. Live freely, it said.
And this was exactly what the riders who'd been grinding away at deliveries had longed most to hear.
For me personally, that's what I've always wanted, so great... but still.
Like it or not, he was a magician under the White Tower, so worry crept in before relief could. The notice read like the delivery business was being shut down entirely.
If they pull out of delivery completely, won't that hurt the supplement business too? The whole thing hinges on its unique door-to-door sales structure...
He was frowning over the problem when—
“Excuse me, step aside please! A new notice has just come down!”
A magician hurried over and pinned a fresh document to the board. One of the delivery department staff watching muttered under his breath.
“D-don't tell me it says the notice they just put up was posted in error...”
“Oh, come on. It's not April Fool's Day...”
Everyone, pretending not to be nervous, checked the new notice with anxious eyes.
Now Hiring
Employment Type: Full-time.
Duties: Delivery and order fulfillment.
Qualifications: Applicants with good athleticism and a strong sense of balance, sound character, and a keen sense of responsibility.
Preferred: Users of mana.
Note: Non-magicians are welcome to apply.
“?”
“Weren't they pulling out of the delivery business entirely? And even beyond that...”
Non-magicians can apply? How was an ordinary person supposed to fly through the sky?
Question marks multiplied wildly above the head of everyone who read the notice.