🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 40
“So, when a pretty young lady from a rich family walking down the street shows interest in you, use me.”
Bastian didn’t respond again.
Judging by his serious expression, it seemed he was silently checking whether he had ever saved my life without realizing it.
“Ugh. Just think of it simply. You lived a good life, so luck came your way.”
“…Me?”
Bastian’s face twisted in disbelief, as if he had just heard the world’s most unfunny joke.
I, too, felt awkward and coughed nervously, staring up at the sky for no reason.
Considering Bastian’s track record that I had witnessed so far—stealing bread, pickpocketing handkerchiefs, daily abusive language, and now even assault—…it was a relief that he still had some semblance of conscience.
“You’re working honestly, aren’t you? I could’ve ignored it, and no one promised compensation either.”
“So, you’re saying you’re my luck?”
“Don’t like it?”
I stared at Bastian intently, my gaze laced with warning.
He didn’t fully agree—but he didn’t deny it either.
“…Then let me ask one thing.”
“Ask anything.”
“How far does this ‘luck’ of yours go? Would you use your surplus money to open a shop if I asked?”
“You want me to?”
I looked straight into Bastian’s eyes. He didn’t avoid mine either.
A thin, flickering flame danced endlessly in his red eyes.
If you want it, anything is possible.
Even if the start or process differed slightly, there was no doubt in my mind that he would build a department store, so it was a question that didn’t require much thought.
But Bastian seemed to think differently.
“No. I’ll do it on my own.”
“What?”
He gave a faint, almost casual chuckle and shrugged.
The tense air deflated instantly like a balloon losing air.
“Whether I suffer or enjoy luxury, it’s my life. The results are what I create and take into my own hands. Anyone who tries to interfere—helping or hindering—won’t get away with it.”
His serious, almost chilling expression gave me goosebumps.
Yet despite my frozen body, a smile crept across my lips that I couldn’t hide.
Of course—this is the Bastian Velour I know.
“Knew you’d say that.”
“Of course. Did you think being poor meant I had no pride?”
“That’s not it. I wasn’t trying to insult you. Sorry. But… you really don’t regret it?”
“Nope.”
His firm answer was followed by a subtle pause. He scanned me once more from head to toe and added, like driving a nail in.
“It’s enough, even now.”
“Really?”
As a completely ordinary modern citizen and a former fallen noble, I couldn’t understand Bastian at all.
He knew better than anyone that an opportunity like this wouldn’t come twice. Even if it was a matter of pride, bending just once here could change his life.
Yet he chose to cultivate the rocky field himself, and all I could do was respect that.
“Alright. You won’t regret it?”
“Well… if you insist, you could buy me a pair of shoes or something.”
The serious look from a moment ago softened as he scratched his cheek and looked away.
I smiled and happily took him to a shoe store. I offered him a ride in the carriage, but he refused with his usual brusque attitude.
“No need. Don’t want to get the cushions dirty.”
He promptly took the seat next to the coachman.
When we arrived, Bastian examined the shoes carefully and picked out a single pair—the most basic pair of shoes, not even a brogue decoration in sight.
“Really, this one’s enough?”
“Definitely. Imagine your clothes are worn out, but your shoes shine like mirrors. Nothing would look more out of place than that.”
True enough.
Yet I insisted on buying another pair of the same size, plain Oxfords without brogue.
“Keep them well.”
“No need…”
“You’ll definitely need them soon. Clean clothes and shoes invite the owner to the places they deserve.”
“You trying to be some fairy godmother from a story?”
Bastian looked bewildered, hugging the shoebox tightly to his chest.
I’d bet he’d be hugging it instead of a teddy bear tonight.
Near the port of Nanterre, the Guillaume Trading Company building towered majestically, boasting a height and grandeur comparable to any cathedral.
Unlike the cathedral that never answered prayers or responded to donations, the Guillaume Trading Company guaranteed definite results with contracts and investments, making it a kind of sanctuary for merchants.
Damien Rivers walked to the conference room where his colleagues were waiting, with the reverence of a priest about to conduct a service.
Under his arm was a thick report, replacing a holy scripture.
The vast profits and figures recorded inside were the gospel of today’s meeting.
Today’s meeting was meant to report on the progress of the Passage construction and to discuss the allocation of trade goods for the next Eastern expedition.
“Oh, you’re here.”
“Sorry for being late.”
Charles greeted Damien warmly.
When Charles personally brought him a chair, Damien bowed repeatedly in embarrassment before sitting.
Though Damien had known the Marquis de Charmoise for a long time, he had never grown accustomed to the marquis’ informal manner.
Already, the conference room was filled with prominent figures from various fields: textiles, steel, construction, food…
Damien stuck out his tongue, marveling at the influence of the Guillaume Trading Company.
“If a bomb went off in this room, Rouarre would starve starting tomorrow.”
“Marquis…!”
Unlike Charles, who chuckled, Damien fell silent, surveying the room.
Fortunately, everyone was busy greeting each other and didn’t seem to notice.
At that moment, the door opened and the final figure, Guillaume himself, entered.
“Then we’ll begin the regular general meeting.”
Skipping any grandiose greeting, he went straight to the main topic. The audience seemed accustomed to his style.
“First, a report on the progress of the Passage construction.”
Damien cleared his throat and stood.
Even in front of so many eyes, he didn’t shrink back; instead, his confident smile let the audience anticipate the report before he spoke.
“Contrary to concerns that distributing meals would make the workers lazy, they’ve been more dedicated than ever. We should be able to finish much earlier than expected.”
“That’s good news. But I noticed the workers’ meal budget has been shrinking. Did something happen?”
“Oh, nothing major. There’s a kid delivering lunchboxes, and the workers prefer those to the meals provided. From our side, it actually saves budget, so it’s a good thing.”
Finally, the merchant who raised the concern nodded, seemingly satisfied.
