Here’s the translation of the provided novel excerpt, adhering strictly to the given glossary terms and maintaining the original tone and style:
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### Episode 257
Hassan Goes to the Auction House #4
“Too bad. You could’ve massaged me a bit longer.”
As I removed my hands from Antiope’s back and shoulders, she clicked her tongue, clearly disappointed.
“I already worked on you for thirty minutes. Any more, and I’ll have to charge extra.”
“What? You’re asking for money after just rubbing me down a little? You should be paying me for the privilege of touching a woman’s body.”
As Antiope zipped up her leather outfit in one swift motion, her argument felt strangely persuasive. If this were anyone else, they might’ve paid just for the experience.
Lost in thought, I barely noticed when Antiope spoke again.
“How much do you charge for a massage?”
Charge?
I hadn’t really thought about it.
If I went by 21st-century Korean standards, thirty minutes to an hour might cost around 50,000 to 100,000 won.
“50 coppers per hour.”
“What? That’s it? Fine, here’s one gold coin—massage me for a hundred hours.”
“d*mn it.”
I knew Antiope made good money, but shelling out a gold coin to rent me for a hundred hours?
Maybe I’d underestimated my rates.
Even at 5 silvers per hour, one gold coin would buy her twenty hours.
“Then, 50 silvers.”
Fifty silvers for an hour of massage. That was roughly 5 million won in Korean currency. Seriously, half a million won just for rubbing someone down? Was this even ethical?
Even I thought it was insane, but seeing Antiope furrow her brows in contemplation made me wonder if I’d still lowballed it.
“Fine. I’ll give you one gold—massage me for two more hours.”
“Are you drowning in money or something?”
“We just made a killing recently. One gold won’t even make a dent.”
Antiope’s sense of money was clearly different from commoners like me or Luna.
Her sister, Hippolyte, was getting scolded by Luna over a measly three silvers. Success really does change the World, huh.
How could Sisters be so different? Maybe they weren’t full siblings.
In the end, I spent another hour massaging Antiope. So much for coming here to train.
Of course, I wasn’t complaining after earning a whole gold coin.
Clink.
The sound of gold was always soothing. d*mn, I love gold coins.
“Mmm… my body’s melting…”
After about an hour, Antiope looked like a snowman left out in summer, limp and boneless.
On the bed, she was sprawled out so lazily that the only untouched parts left were her lower body—hips, thighs, calves, ankles, and feet.
I considered working on those too, but I remembered Hippolyte’s warning: Antiope was still a girl who needed protecting. Better stop here. Besides, I was out of energy.
“What? Done already? I’ll toss in another gold coin.”
“Hell no. I’ve got no time left, and I’m exhausted.”
Massage was like channeling energy from the practitioner into the client.
Even five minutes of shoulder rubs could be tiring, so two hours on a pretty woman’s body—no matter how attractive—was still grueling.
“Too bad.”
Antiope sat up in bed and stretched languidly. As she yawned wide, I noticed her surprisingly sharp canines before she spoke again.
“Your touch feels different now. Did you finally stop hiding your skills?”
“Huh? Different how?”
“Before, I could feel this… unpleasant Magic swirling in you. But now, it’s clean and refined. Is your Aura training paying off? You’re improving fast.”
She mumbled the last part like a passing remark, but I knew she wasn’t the type to sugarcoat.
“Is that so? Must be the training.”
Now that she mentioned it, my hands had felt tingly during the massage.
Had I been emitting Aura unconsciously? If so, that explained why I was exhausted so quickly.
But d*mn, of all things, Aura had to manifest first in massages instead of punches or sparring.
It was ironic, but like I’d said earlier, massages were about exchanging energy between people.
If I translated “Aura” into something like “ki” or “principle,” it wouldn’t sound so strange. The Elf Kalidur from Albrheim had called it “energy,” too.
Just as I’d settled on that explanation, Antiope flicked her fingers—snap, snap—igniting sparks before popping a pipe between her lips.
“I’ll give you another gold tomorrow for two more hours.”
“You spend money that carelessly? Are you rich or something?”
“I’ve got enough.”
“Oh?”
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
“How much? Not tied up in real estate or investments—just liquid assets.”
“About 50 gold. Why? Need me to donate? Paranoi already took her cut.”
“Hmm, 50 gold? Wait, what did Paranoi take?”
“Donations.”
“What donations?”
“Offerings to the Shrine. She said it was tribute for you, Hassan. Didn’t you get it yet?”
I didn’t know the details, but it seemed Paranoi had swindled Antiope in my Name. I’d have to thump her head next time I saw her.
Still, 50 gold?
It wasn’t even close to the 200 gold minimum bid. And borrowing from her felt… off.
Truthfully, I wanted to buy Elpride.
Not for the same reasons as others—collecting rare Elves as trophies or brewing them into medicine to cure a Curse.
No, my reason felt bigger, almost cosmic, like some universal force was at play.
I sensed fate in Elpride being shackled by slavery after the arson.
Maybe this was my chance to fully repay the debt I owed her—the Elf who’d saved me from the gallows.
A repeat of that moment.
Hell, the way she’d taken full blame for the fire even felt protective, like she was shielding me.
But that might’ve just been my imagination.
And where would I even get 200 gold?
If bidding escalated like last time, hitting 400 gold, I’d be out of options.
But was this really the End?
Sigh.
As I walked, I stared at my palm.
It wasn’t like I had no way to earn money. The massage skills I’d honed since childhood could bring in a decent sum.
Antiope’s session had confirmed that.
One gold per hour.
The next trial was a week away. 24 times 7 was 168. Even at one gold per hour, that was 168 gold.
But I didn’t have a massage parlor, and working nonstop for a week without rest was impossible. Just wishful thinking.
Besides, one gold per hour was ridiculous.
Well, whatever.
Lost in thought, I barely noticed the hammering noises until they grew loud around the Eastern Gate.
Under the scorching sun, grumpy-looking dwarf workers shouted at each other.
“Hey, d*mn it! That goes over there, you weakling!”
“The hell? Weakling? First fire, then rain, now this heat—I’m dying here, and you’re pissing me off?”
They were probably repairing structures burned in Elpride’s fire.
The humidity was brutal, sweat dripping even if you stood still. Working under this sun with no shade? Torture.
“Enough cursing—let’s move! Too much to fix!”
Beside them stood a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, arms crossed and scowling.
An ordinary face by Gaia Continent standards, but familiar. Then I remembered—he’d been at Elpride’s trial.
The representative of the Victims. A laundromat owner who’d lost his livelihood to the fire.
Now, seeing him in person, the damage seemed limited to the shop’s outer area—mostly clotheslines and a garden.
With time to spare, I approached.
“How’s the recovery going?”
“…Recovery?”
The owner frowned, sizing me up before relaxing slightly at the Adventurer’s badge on my neck.
“Ah, you’re the Samaritan who stopped the City fire! We owe you! What brings you here?”
“Just passing through. Decided to check things out.”
“Ah—on patrol, then! Those cursed flames were Magic-born. Could still be embers even after days of rain.”
Seemed he thought I was patrolling. Weird, but then I remembered Hippolyte often did rounds here. Must be normal for Adventurers to keep the peace in the Eastern Gate.
The wealth gap between this and the Western Gate was staggering.
“Come inside. I’ll get you some iced water. No need to suffer out here.”
The owner—probably named Gallard—clapped my shoulder and led me away.
Iced water sounded heavenly. But as I relished the thought, I caught the envious stares of the dwarf workers slaving under the sun.
Felt guilty flaunting my break, but my throat was parched.
Gallard guided me into a spacious building—easily several dozen pyeong—where aproned women bustled about with laundry.
“Big place.”
“The largest in Sodomora! Took me twenty years to grow from a South Gate seamstress to this. Now I earn ten gold a month—rivaling merchants.”
His proud laugh made his success obvious. Self-made man, clearly.
Ten gold a month? d*mn, that’s rich.
Though massaging for two hours and earning one gold had already warped my sense of money.
Still, ten gold monthly—120 a year—put him in the top 1% of the City.
Clink.
A maid brought two glasses of iced water. As I eyed the condensation, I asked:
“Is recovery progressing well?”
“Aside from the heat slowing workers, it’s manageable. Thanks to you, I only lost about thirty gold.”
“Thirty’s a lot.”
“I got hit hardest. Others lost five, maybe three. The clinic burned worst, but few were hurt. Still, repairs will take a month.”
A month.
Plenty of time.
Knowing so many suffered because of Elpride’s fire made me itch with guilt. Sitting here, treated like a hero, felt wrong.
If not for Elpride staying silent, I’d be complicit too.
How many were suffering in this heat because of my childish recklessness?
And here I was, hailed as the fire-quenching hero, sipping iced water in comfort.
Gallard spent a while praising me—typical networking with a rising Adventurer. Normally, I’d be flattered.
But right now, I couldn’t help but question—did I deserve this?
People called me a hero for stopping the fire and defeating the Witch. But was I really worthy?
With Silver Tier promotion nearing, even Gold Tier someday, I wondered—what kind of hero do I even want to be?*
Right now, I’m just a clumsy villain.
Like Venus said, I’m still just a reckless brat.
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(Note: Translated with glossary adherence, preserving tone and cultural context. Some stylistic choices reflect the original’s casual, introspective narration.)
