Chapter 163

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Episode 163

New Business

163? New Business #3

Baron Fleur’s private soldiers swiftly took control of the tavern.

Just moving a glass or speaking to the person beside you—everything felt restricted, leaving us all flustered.

“Don’t even think about doing anything suspicious.”

“Make way for His Lordship!”

Swish.

Just then, Baron Fleur lifted a hand clad in black leather gloves.

“No need for such hostility. We’ve come as guests for the evening, after all.”

At his words, the tense, spear-like vigilance of the surrounding soldiers softened slightly. Still, the discomfort lingered—nobody dared so much as sip their drink.

Ruining a peaceful evening with such an oppressive atmosphere—my mood soured slightly, feeling like my date with Luna had been disrupted.

Of course, I couldn’t protest.

I was Hassan, a lowborn. I had to watch my tongue in front of nobles. d*mn it. As a citizen raised in a free democracy, why was I bowing to this caste system?

Then again, back in Korea, I’d also kept my head down in front of higher-ups.

Thinking about it that way, things weren’t so different here after all—just mildly ironic.

“Hassan, we’ve been running into nobles a lot lately!”

Luna, however, whispered excitedly, as if amused by the situation. Rare encounters with nobility were something to marvel at.

It’s like eating barbecue when a congressman walks in—you’d be startled at first, but eventually, you’d brag about it to friends.

That’s exactly how Luna seemed to feel right now.

Baron Fleur, his body tightly wrapped in black fabric, spoke.

“My daughter is ill. Marriage talks with Viscount Clementor of Kolkata may begin soon, so time is of the essence.”

“…Ill, you say?”

The Tavern Owner asked, as if he’d misheard.

At his question, murmurs rose around us: “Ill?” “His Lordship’s daughter is sick?”

I was surprised too. Who’d have thought a noble would openly admit such a flaw?

A noble’s daughter, raised in luxury and destined for a political marriage—rumors of illness could tarnish her image.

That’s how nobles had been in the two years I’d lived here.

But exceptions existed, it seemed.

Was the illness so dire that he’d rush into a slum tavern like this?

Then, someone in the tavern raised a hand.

Clank, clatter.

The soldiers moved as if aiming swords and spears at him, but the man ignored them and spoke.

“Baron Fleur, I am Puerazong, an apprentice alchemist from the South Gate Alchemist Guild. Since the topic’s come up—may I ask what illness your daughter suffers from?”

The room fell silent.

A noble’s daughter, raised on the finest—what illness could she have?

Even I was curious.

A regional disease? Or a curse?

Then, the Baron cut through the murmurs like a dagger.

“Her chest keeps shrinking.”

“Oh, no.”

“That’s horrifying.”

Deep sighs erupted, mostly from the female adventurers drinking inside. Luna was among the most dramatic.

“Such a terrible illness! How awful!”

I’d been expecting bone tumors or leukemia, so that left me underwhelmed.

A shrinking chest? I vaguely recalled hearing about something like that back on Earth.

For men, would it be like… that shrinking? Now that would be nightmare fuel—no wonder they’re desperate for a healer.

Baron Fleur then asked the alchemist,

“Do you have a potion to enlarge the chest?”

“…Probably not. If such a thing existed, someone would’ve made a fortune already.”

“True. Anyway—Vargo.”

The focus returned to the Tavern Owner—ah, so his name was Vargo. Fitting enough, but it didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

The Tavern Owner hesitated.

“That’s… certainly unfortunate, but…”

“Your wife, Echo—she’s a nymph, isn’t she? If anyone could stimulate growth through healing—”

Vargo cut him off hastily, as if his hair stood on end.

“Y-Your Lordship! I’ll do my best, but that healer is extremely busy and doesn’t just… show up whenever. I can’t even predict their visits. They’re very… secretive.”

“I see. Then take this—if they come this week, ensure they visit us.”

Swish.

With an exaggerated nod, the black-hatted Baron signaled his soldiers to withdraw.

As they emptied the tavern, the space—though still full of patrons—felt eerily quiet, like a frozen winter lake.

What the hell was that?

As I chatted with Luna about whether cats or dogs were cuter—

Clink.

The Tavern Owner placed a plate of steaming hot potatoes before us—something we hadn’t ordered.

Just as I was about to say so, I noticed a small note tucked underneath.

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“Calling me out here again? What’s this about?”

I excused myself to the restroom and slipped away from Luna. The Tavern Owner led me to the same basement room where I’d massaged his wife.

The place reeked of guilt—just being here felt like taking psychic damage.

I wanted to return to Luna quickly. If this took too long, she might think I was pooping. I didn’t want that misunderstanding.

“Make it quick.”

At my words, the Tavern Owner stopped pacing.

“Samaritan, I can’t delay this anymore. Baron Fleur came in person.”

“Ah.”

“d*mn it, I’ve been swamped with customers—I didn’t think he’d come himself. So, is there no way?”

“Way for what?”

“Can you fix this? Like you did with my wife?”

I recalled what I’d done to his wife—fondling her chest in this cramped basement. I groped another man’s wife.

Honestly, the memory was like a thorn in my palm—sharp and guilt-inducing whenever I recalled it.

“You’re asking me to enlarge his daughter’s chest?”

Was that even possible? With Echo, it was because of some curse stunting her growth—and the solution had been… well, kneading.

Who knew that’d make her grow taller and bustier?

And now nobles were involved—something I never saw coming.

“Look, I’m busy, so let’s cut to the chase. Just try. Here—the Baron left this note.”

Swish.

He handed me a small slip of paper—no, more like an embroidered handkerchief, white silk with red-thread tulips.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“It’s a red tulip—the Fleur family crest. Show it to the guards, and they’ll let you into the mansion.”

A VIP pass to a noble’s estate?

Touching, but worrisome.

Nobles meant danger. As a commoner, I feared high places.

As I stuffed the handkerchief into my pocket, the Tavern Owner added,

“Samaritan, hide your identity. The Baron’s a decent man, but he hates outsiders.”

“A racist, huh?”

“He’s got his reasons. Either way, he’s one of the few hardliners in Sodomora’s council.”

Bigots weren’t rare here. Hell, I disliked undisciplined savages too—hypocritical, sure.

“Still, it’s not all bad. The Baron’s notoriously generous. Fix his daughter, and you might strike gold.”

“How generous are we talking?”

“Rumor says he paid one gold coin to a healer who treated his prized horse. Cure his daughter, and you might get a whole pouch of gold.”

A pouch of gold coins?

A pouch held about fifty coins.

Fifty gold?!

The imaginary clink of coins echoed in my ears, and my vision swam.

That’s enough to pay for three years of Hippolyte’s aura tutoring—upfront—and still have change.

Assuming, of course, I could actually enlarge her chest.

Strangely, confidence bubbled up. Maybe I can do this.

“Fine. I’ll give it a shot. But keep this quiet.”

“Of course. We’re practically partners in crime—I’ll take this to the grave.”

I respected the Tavern Owner’s no-nonsense attitude. I’d have remembered his name by now… if I hadn’t forgotten it.

—

Back at the table, unfamiliar men were bothering Luna.

Men often flirted with her—she was pretty—so it wasn’t surprising, but it still pissed me off.

Maybe it was her petite frame and exotic pink hair?

Like those Indian guys who hassle foreign women, or so I’d heard.

“I’m a rising Bronze Tier adventurer—Beremiz. Ever heard of me? The Twin-Axe Beremiz! Just killed ten goblins in one go.”

He certainly looked the part, with twin axes crossed on his back. A hotshot rookie, maybe.

His face wasn’t anything special, but he had that bravado typical of overconfident adventurers. Probably strong, though.

“I’ve taken a vow of chastity! My party’s waiting—so back off.”

Luna, as usual, had her guard up.

Watching her defend herself made me weirdly emotional—proud that she was mine in some way.

But this rookie was persistent.

“I’ll hit Gold Tier someday. Your vows don’t matter to me.”

“But you do matter to me. Leave. Now. Or I fold you in half.”

I stepped in, radiating irritation.

The men startled.

“sh*t—it’s Samaritan!”

Their bronze necklaces rattled—same as mine, but the difference between us was stark. They knew it, too.

Some men didn’t take hints, ego-first.

But this group was smarter, quickly retreating.

Still, the Twin-Axe guy paused.

“Wait. You’re Hassan of Samaria, right? Can I get an autograph?”

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Author’s Note:

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(End of Episode 163)

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