Time slipped by, and before anyone realized it, another leisurely day of campus life had passed.
The light in the kitchen shifted between dawn and dusk, flickering across the stove as Phaga moved about. Finally, on Wednesday morning, he poured vegetable oil into the pan.
"Hum~ hum~~"
Phaga hummed softly, waiting for the oil to heat. Once it did, he poured in the beaten eggs, stirring them while listening to the voice coming from his earphones.
[New Eridu Morning News bringing you the latest updates.]
[Dear citizens, do you remember the recent Vision Industries explosion case?]
[That's right—Vision Industries' representative, Perlman, has finally recovered from his gunshot wounds. But what awaits him is not freedom... but justice's verdict!]
[As per procedure, the suspect, Mr. Perlman, will board the Court's airship a day in advance to await trial at New Eridu's Supreme Tribunal!]
As the morning news played, Phaga flipped the fried rice in the pan, the sound of the spatula ringing softly. Suddenly, something came to mind, and he spoke into the air.
"Ellen, if I'm not mistaken, the Cunning Hares are attending the trial to represent Canvas Street's rights, right?"
The faint morning light filtered through the kitchen. The exhaust fan hummed quietly, and the rhythmic clang of metal echoed between stove and pan.
But when Ellen's sleepy voice came through the earphones, it drowned everything else out—her drowsy tone soft and lazy as she tried to keep herself awake by patting her cheeks while chatting with Phaga.
"I think so... but why are you asking? The Cunning Hares' legal fees have nothing to do with us, right?"
"True, they don't."
Phaga nodded slightly. But since Ellen was on another floor, she couldn't see the sly grin forming on his face.
"I just remembered—during the Dead End Hollow Gold Rush, Canvas Street owed us three percent of their profits. I've never asked for it before, but now that I think about it... maybe it's time to collect rent!"
"I wonder how Canvas Street's doing these days... Hey, Ellen, do you think I could take three percent from all their other profits too, not just the gold rush?"
At the time, Nicole had already been hospitalized, and only Nekomata and Anby had negotiated with Phaga.
Those two youngsters didn't understand much about legal wordplay, and Phaga had intentionally left a loophole in the contract—stating that three percent of Canvas Street's profits belonged to Victoria Housekeeping.
Looked fine, right?
Actually, it was a massive problem.
Normally, it should have said three percent of Canvas Street's direct profits from the Dead End Hollow Gold Rush.
Removing those qualifiers gave Phaga plenty of leeway to play with.
For instance, if Canvas Street used the gold rush profits to start other businesses and made money from them...
That money? Phaga could still collect three percent—if he wanted to.
Ahem... not "collect."
He was upholding the spirit of the contract and protecting his rightful interests.
When Phaga finished, silence filled the line. No one could guess how speechless Ellen must have felt.
Time stretched until Phaga unconsciously turned off the stove and scooped the fried rice into a bowl.
Finally, Ellen's resigned voice came through the headset. "Phaga, do we really need to fuss over such a small amount?"
"Uh..."
Phaga's eyes darted aside. Wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead, he forced a casual laugh.
"Just trying to make you smile! Think about it—our clients are all high-net-worth types. Instead of scheming for a few coins from Canvas Street, we'd be better off taking on more commissions."
"Is that so?"
A skeptical tone came through. Ellen knew Phaga far too well—he was a vampire, through and through!
She narrowed her eyes teasingly. "If that's true, then why did you leave loopholes in their contract?"
"Ahem... racial instinct!"
Phaga, of course, couldn't admit fault.
He'd never spent a single day among his kind and had no sense of belonging or pride in his race.
So he tossed the blame without hesitation.
"Vampires' fault! A naturally wicked species, constantly corrupting my kind and honest soul."
"Especially after spending time around that other vampire—Bern must've awakened the greedy part of my bloodline."
"Ah, what a sinful race!"
Ellen: "..."
...
Meanwhile, in a certain meeting room—
Bern Kunmutu, who had lost Sacrifice No. 2, was being interrogated.
"Achoo!"
Bern pulled down the mask covering his face, revealing pale skin. Wrinkling his nose, he muttered, "Who's cursing me behind my back?"
"Phaga? No way. I literally gave him a Sacrifice No. 2."
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The man at the podium slammed the table, shouting, "Bern! Don't think being a vampire means you can do whatever you want! We're discussing your punishment—show some respect!"
Bern instantly stood at attention, his expression firm. "Apologies, Chief Executive Officer. I accept my punishment."
"My position as TOPS Alliance's Chief Scientist makes things difficult for you. If I'm removed, many projects will grind to a halt."
"I'm deeply sorry. Please forgive me!"
Then, with perfect seriousness, he added, "I've committed an unforgivable mistake. Please, Chief Executive, expel me from the research institute!"
"You—!"
The Chief Executive's eyes bulged. His finger trembled as he pointed at Bern, his beard quivering with rage until he could barely speak.
Bern didn't like to laugh, nor did he seem to enjoy jokes.
But God—being ever so fond of balance—made sure that when someone lacked in one area, He made up for it elsewhere.
For example, if someone was born bad at math, God might make them equally bad at language. That way, they stayed "balanced."
Bern, however, was the exception. He looked stoic and humorless... but was, in fact, a walking joke.
"I fire you, and you dare say that? Then what about my other research facilities—should I shut them all down too?"
The Chief Executive's face turned red as his heart throbbed painfully. Frightened, he scrambled for his medication and swallowed it.
"Your bonus for this year—gone! The next ten years' bonuses—gone too! Now get out!"
Massaging his temples, the Chief Executive waved him away.
There was nothing he could do. Bern was the company's prized asset—too valuable, too connected, too dangerous to truly punish.
So, as always, the so-called punishment was just thunder without rain.
"Oh, understood."
Bern straightened his back and headed toward the exit. Before even stepping out the door, he pulled out his phone and made a call.
"Hey, Elder, they withheld my bonus. Send me some money."
"...No, no, that's unnecessary. It's fine. I'm still working under them—they wouldn't dare take the night roads."
...
By eight in the morning, Victoria Housekeeping's car had already pulled up near the Ballet Tower. Everyone stepped out.
Corin stood on tiptoe, leaning forward slightly to get a better look. Her soft voice murmured, "That hollow... it's shrinking."
"Mhm."
Phaga lowered his phone and looked into the distance.
The purple void loomed like a massive dome over the land. Though it should have swallowed everything beneath it, one corner now jutted outward—exactly where their mission lay.
Phaga explained, "Because the hollow is contracting, the Ballet Tower will eventually break free."
"Our employer saw its commercial potential, so we're here to clean it up."
Of course, "clean up" didn't mean sweeping floors—it meant eliminating the Ethereal inside to accelerate the hollow's contraction.
That way, the Ballet Tower would be freed sooner.
"But this area's been desolate for years," Phaga added. "Even the last time Hollow Raiders visited in force was ages ago."
He turned to Lycaon. "Mr. Lycaon, were we able to get any real-time carrot updates?"
"Unfortunately, no."
Lycaon shook his head. "I searched the Inter-Knot thoroughly but only found outdated ones."
"But it doesn't matter. Navigating unfamiliar hollows with old data is just part of Victoria Housekeeping's job."
He lifted the pocket watch hanging at his chest, checked it briefly, then tucked it away and spoke gravely.
"It's getting late. Let's move out."