We soon arrived in front of the Paisley Company’s Zibil branch office. The large two-story wooden building really was imposing, the fortress of an economic giant. The Company was far more powerful financially than puny me and my meager five gold coins.
But I wouldn’t retreat. I was here to lodge a complaint. My determination would no longer waver. For the futures of young Teru, the gentle old driver, and I’ll even throw in that pitiful balding man for good measure—for them, I would be dauntless in the face of this challenging negotiation.
The Paisley Company was an evil business that committed all sorts of depraved and illegal acts behind the scenes. I was sure they would deny my accusations and might even try to make cowardly threats. But as a proud, cultured man, I would not yield, not by a single step. Right now, I was a negotiator. I focused my mind and pumped myself up.
“Hey, he’s walking straight into the Paisley Company while his golem holds the Four Jester Wielder like—like—augh, I can’t look!”
“Looks like he’s going to fight the Company.”
“Catching the ire of that brutal golem wielder… The branch manager is done for.”
“I don’t care why, but please, I beg of you. Please, avenge my son…”
“I-I…I’ve heard of that shrine golem wielder. The rumors say he’s a bloodthirsty nightmare who annihilated the Swordbreaker and his gang in a gruesome display of vigilante justice merely because they happened to bother him on a stroll. I believe his alias was, um, Something of Tibar… Ah, right. He’s the Nightmare of Tibar!”
The crowd seemed awfully chatty. Unfortunately, I had reached peak mental load, so none of it reached my ears.
I pushed open the branch office’s doors, strode through the entrance hall, and made my way to the lobby.
“I would like to request a meeting with Branch Manager Spero,” I said to the receptionist in as clear a tone as I could muster. I admit I conveyed this in a somewhat loud voice. While I needed to remain formal, I also wouldn’t get anywhere with timidity.
However, for some reason, all the employees stiffened when they saw me. There were numerous other people present—customers, external traders and the like—but they froze, too. Not a single person spoke, not a one moved. Everyone simply stared at me as if caught in ice.
It felt like time had stopped.
“Ah, um…haah…haah…” One of the male personnel who looked like one of those handsome athletic types attempted to say something. In the end, he continued to trip up, nonsensical mumbles dribbling from his trembling mouth.
What is this? Come on, bro, stop that. You’re making me super nervous. Maybe I hadn’t spoken clearly after all? Honestly, my voice might have been hoarse on account of just how nervous I was.
I decided to try again, and I spoke once more, noticeably louder and stronger as I strove for clarity. “I’ll say it one more time: I want you to bring out your branch manager. You’re making people wait, and I don’t have time for this. Please don’t make this any harder.”
If the negotiations took too long, we’d have to spend another night in Zibil. Frankly, we were tight on time. At this rate, it was possible we wouldn’t get back to Tibar until after nightfall. Because the Paisley Company idiots were such selfish time-wasters, Mr. Chotos’s finances would take a hit and might even become strained. The unexpected inn expenses alone would be quite a burden.
As I recalled how Mr. Chotos looked the night before we departed for Zibil, when he despairingly calculated the costs for repaying the debt and travel expenses late into the night, my face unconsciously turned a bit dour.
At that moment, several employees noticed the change in my expression and turned green. They bolted into the depths of the building.
Ah, one of them tripped. Are they okay…? Ugh, I know I’m filing a complaint, but their customer service seems absolutely horrid.
On that topic, I had noticed something about the personnel. There were two types of beautiful people: those whose faces maintained their beauty even when distorted with high emotion, and those whose faces became terrible. I had just learned this fun new fact.
A moment later, I heard voices quarreling in a hallway farther inside. Soon, several employees were pushing a familiar man out of the hallway: Branch Manager Spero.
The dashing, monocle-wearing man with salt-and-pepper hair was frantically shouting. He was unbearably loud, and his cries echoed something along the lines of “How dare you lowlifes sell me out!” and “Why have all the guards run away?!”
Still, this argument between the handsome young men and beautiful older man could have been a most charming painting. I didn’t mind getting to see such a museum-worthy sight. That was, ultimately, a worthwhile new experience.
As the Company personnel scrambled about in the hallway, they began to throw blame at each other. While I watched them argue, I blurted out a sudden thought, “Oh, yeah. Given when the wagon’s Wind flotation box broke, it was definitely you guys, huh? I should demand compensation for the old driver as well.”
At this, the back-and-forth between Spero and the male employees grew more pitched. The nearby female employees raised equally pitched monkey screams. But since everyone was beautiful, visually speaking, it still wasn’t that bad to see, honestly.
In the end, the hallway scuffle resulted in Spero being pushed out into the lobby by several of his subordinates. When he resisted, he ended up scattering all the papers on a desk to the floor as his hands waved about.
Jeez, what a mess. These Paisley folks came off as an overwhelmingly gorgeous group of elites, but now that their true nature and lack of basic morals had been revealed, their stunningly average abilities just made them look ever more pathetic. Did this Paisley Company really unironically hire people solely based on their looks?
In any case, I was surprised the business had done so well thus far, given the quality of their staff. Maybe this discrepancy was a mere side effect of their underhanded elimination of opposing businesses by way of the same tricks they’d employed on us.
While I contemplated the Company’s organizational image, Branch Manager Spero finally tumbled out in front of me. He looked dashing as usual, but his hair was disheveled, his monocle was going to fall off, and sweat streaked his forehead and armpits.
“Hey,” I said.
“No! D-don’t come near me! You damn monster of a golem wielder!” As soon as I spoke, Spero fell into a panic and tried to scramble back, but he slipped on the documents he had scattered before and stumbled straight into the desk.
“Kkh… grgghh.” Spero crumpled to the ground, making a horrible croak and strange breathing sound.
This was bad. He might’ve broken some ribs. I rushed over to Spero and raised him up. “Hey, you okay?” I asked. Naturally, as the model of gentlemanly conduct who held chivalry close to his heart, I tended to Spero with fully good intentions.
Despite that, veins popped out on his bright-red face as he glared at me. “G-guh… I’m…I am the Zibil branch manager…of the Paisley Company. I-I won’t ever accept your damn demands.”
“Ah.” Then I remembered. That was right. I’d come here to negotiate. Everyone had started squabbling and squawking like those wretched monkeys, so my original goal had slipped my mind.
Anyway, it appeared it was at least possible to have a conversation with Spero. Since I finally had my chance, I aimed to start the settlement negotiations. I didn’t really like the idea of grabbing collars, but by now I was well aware that if I carelessly released him, he might try to run away and end up tripping and hurting himself again.
“No, you need to listen to what I have to say.” I stared straight into Spero’s eyes and tightened my grip on the collar of his robe. “I have two demands. They are very simple. The first is that you will no longer involve yourself with miste—with the people from Chotos’s Mana Tool Shop. The other is that you will pay the cost for repairs as well as an inconvenience fee to the elderly driver of the wagon whose Wind flotation box you broke. Of course, you won’t meddle with him again, either.”
Mr. Chotos had droned my ear off, telling me future mutual noninterference was our only demand, but I ignored his overcautious pleas and decided to demand compensation for the wagon grandpa.
I mean, I was pissed. I needed the Company to make full amends for their grave sin of stealing the smile from my grandpa when they involved him in their malicious misbehaviors.
Of course, if I were to be frank, I also wanted to demand compensation for Mr. Chotos and myself. But, well… What if, by bringing up the matter of compensation for the ruckus the assassins caused, I accidentally wrapped back around to the violent incident the other day when Gol abruptly left all those debt collectors in a half-dead state—which could lead to me being the one compelled to pay?
At the time, the matter had been left unaddressed. However, if this story came up, Mr. Chotos might safely receive his due, but I was sure I would end up with the burden of huge medical bills as a consequence for being Gol’s negligent owner.