TVBDS 33

 Chapter 33

Most workers brought lunchboxes from home.

But by lunchtime, the food they packed early in the morning was usually cold.

Going to a restaurant wasn’t an option either—not just because of distance, but because they couldn’t afford it.

So if meals were provided right at the worksite—earning money and getting food—there was no reason not to work.

It seemed everyone thought the same, because a long line had already formed.

Sebastian was about to join the line, but suddenly stopped as an idea flashed in his mind.

Would free food really taste good? At best, it would be hard black bread, a piece of cheese, and watered-down wine.

Of course, most people would still eat it gratefully. It was free, after all.

But what about skilled stonemasons from guilds and their apprentices?

After thinking deeply, Sebastian snapped his fingers and grinned.

He had come up with a much better way to make money than working at the construction site.

* * *

One month later.

“Good morning, sir. What would you like today? I recommend the crab sandwich from Bistro Crab Crustian.”

Sebastian spoke politely as he entered the temporary command tent at the site.

“I’ll take that.”

The apprentice, standing in place of his master, didn’t even look up from the blueprints as he tossed a coin.

“Thank you.”

Sebastian bowed slightly and left the tent.

Then he headed toward the workers.

“Hey, mister!”

Back to his usual casual tone, the workers greeted him familiarly.

“Oh, kid. You’re here.”

“What’s with you this morning? Looks like you drank again yesterday. When that happens, you need something hot and greasy to settle your stomach. Luckily, the sardine place is making bouillabaisse today.”

“Ugh… then I’ll take that.”

“Got it. Thanks as always!”

After taking the order smoothly, Sebastian left the site with a satisfied expression.

By now, his presence had become part of the construction site’s daily routine.

“That kid’s pretty good at business.”

“Did you see how he acts in front of the stonemasons? That’s real skill. And he remembers all those orders too—smart kid.”

“He’s got brains, guts, and diligence… just one problem—he was born into the wrong family.”

Not that we should talk, though.

One worker shrugged after spitting phlegm.

Instead of working as a laborer, Sebastian had started a lunch delivery business.

It wasn’t anything grand.

Every morning, he took orders from workers and delivered them at lunchtime.

At first, one basket was enough—but now, restaurants had to lend him carts.

Some adults tried copying him later, but the shop owners and workers—who had already benefited from Sebastian—naturally sided with him.

“Go do your work. Who knows? Maybe when the market is finished, he’ll show up as a proper shop owner.”

There were many pitiful people from the back alleys, but Sebastian stood out even more because of his shining talent.

* * *

A considerable amount of time had passed since the first digging for the passage construction.

At least two seasons had changed.

During that time, I turned eleven, and Antoine also grew a year older.

At first, the street vendors protested, asking what they were supposed to do after being driven out.

But later, they scattered, found their own ways to survive, and gathered again.

There was a small hill not far from the port and streets, and they settled there completely.

Even shop owners affected by the construction opened temporary stalls there, and now it had become a proper market.

‘That definitely didn’t exist in my past life…’

Now, even traveling performers regularly visited the place.

A letter Polly sent a few days ago described, in her neat and pretty handwriting, how wonderful the music was and how fun the puppet show had been.

She asked if I wanted to go next time, and I gladly wrote back accepting.

That wasn’t the only letter I had to reply to.

After officially registering the canned food patent with Father’s help, letters flooded in asking for permission to use it.

Unfortunately, most of them were blinded by the fact that the patent owner was “a ten-year-old girl,” and offered shameless, unfair terms without even knowing who stood behind me.

Those letters were being used as firewood in the kitchen.

The chef laughed, saying high-quality paper made soft ash.

On the other hand, letters from proper businessmen who treated me seriously were immediately passed to my agent.

And currently, my agent is my father.

Since his voyage was canceled and he had nothing to do at home, he might as well handle this!

“Mr. Rivers sent another letter?”

After just a few words during the redevelopment discussion, the way Mr. Rivers looked at me had clearly changed.

I was happy about the benefits added to my account, but honestly, it was also a bit burdensome.

I wanted to live quietly.

Rather than being swept away by an unknown future, constantly anxious, I wanted to slightly improve the future I did know and live a long, steady life like a thin silk thread.

For now, it would be better to avoid meeting Mr. Rivers.

With that conclusion, I opened the unusually stiff and luxurious envelope.

[We heard that you recently acquired a new means of transportation called a “bicycle” for your estate. I would like to buy one for Hyppolite as well. If it’s alright, could you introduce me?]

What? I was worried for nothing—it was just a typical request from a doting father.

Monsieur Michaud had finally succeeded in inventing a bicycle I was familiar with.

It was the kind with the enormous front wheel—the one you often see on T-shirts.

Mother, elegant but equally curious, had quickly taken a liking to it. Even now, she was riding it around the garden under the summer sun without concern.

“Madam! It’s dangerous! Please get down now!”

“Just one more lap!”

“I want to ride too!”

Leaning my forehead against the warm glass, I could hear Mother’s girlish laughter, Camille’s panicked voice, and Antoine stomping his feet, begging for a turn.

At this rate, would Uncle Guillaume’s ginseng even be needed? She might become too healthy.

‘Then what should we do with it? Give it to Antoine?’

“Our precious child, build your immunity with ginseng.”

Muttering the advertisement line I used to hear endlessly during exam season, I flipped the calendar.

[The day Uncle Guillaume returns!]

That date was circled in red ink, with stars and heavy underlines.

“Time really flies…”

It felt like he had just left, yet so much time had already passed.

Ginseng—no, Uncle.

The thought of seeing him soon made my heart race with excitement.