Hans rubbed his face dry and let out a deep sigh. The fatigue he couldn’t hide felt like it was pressing down on his shoulders.
“Hey, Aiman.”
Hans spoke up abruptly.
“Do you know what a witch is?”
“A witch?”
That came out of nowhere.
“A woman who uses magic? The kind that rides a broom and brews herbs? Like the grandma from fairy tales?”
At my answer, Hans scratched his head roughly.
“Generally speaking, yeah. That’s the image from fairy tales and folktales.”
He leaned his chair back and stared up at the ceiling.
“But the witches I looked into are a little different. Or maybe the definition is.”
“How different?”
“People who twist the flow using sorcery, or manipulate unseen luck to gain profit—they call those witches.”
Just hearing that sounds like straight-up bullshit cheating. Manipulating luck?
“Did you run into a witch or something? Like the kind that falls in love and hands over a love potion?”
“That’d be nice. I’d actually want one if something like that existed.”
He stood up and pushed a stack of documents across the desk toward me.
“Take a look at this.”
I skimmed through the papers Hans handed me.
The title read [Report on New Eastern Trade Route Development].
It listed exotic goods—porcelain, spices, silk—and their projected profit margins.
“Whoa… this is insane. How’d you pull this off? This is fucking impressive.”
“It’s a new trade route that just opened up from the East recently. The quality’s good and they’re rare, so they sell really well. Even the Bellua family made a decent amount off this lately.”
“Sounds like there’s a problem, judging by how you’re talking.”
“The problem is…”
Hans furrowed his brow.
“The items… they feel off, somehow.”
“With these profit margins, I doubt the designs are ugly. It’s not the appearance that’s bothering you, right?”
“Yeah. They’re actually really pretty. It’s the… vibe. That’s the right word. They give off a slightly ominous feeling.”
That’s pretty vague.
“Have you ever heard the screams of vengeful spirits coming from the items? Obviously I’m joking, but…”
Hans paused, then lowered his voice.
“The owners’ luck gets a little worse, apparently.”
“Luck gets worse. That’s still super vague.”
“You know those tiny things? Tripping over a rock on flat ground, spilling ink and ruining documents, stubbing your toe on the threshold.”
Those are seriously minor.
“So why are you telling me this?”
“On their own, they just look like everyday clumsiness. Everyone messes up sometimes.”
Hans sighed again.
“But when you look at the total volume… it’s different.”
“Hm. I’m not sure I should even be hearing this, but go on anyway.”
“One or two people? Sure, coincidence.”
Hans pulled out another sheet.
It was titled [Internal Safety Incident Report], and he tried to hand it to me.
I raised a hand to stop him.
“Isn’t this company confidential? I probably shouldn’t see it.”
“Who else am I gonna tell? You’re not gonna spread it around, right?”
“True enough.”
Hans took out paper and a pen.
“I ran an experiment.”
“An experiment?”
“I split the employees into two groups. They didn’t know, of course. I just told them it was a work assignment.”
He wrote A and B on the paper.
“Group A was made to carry or handle the Eastern goods. For reference, they look like ordinary teacups or handkerchiefs, so they probably didn’t even realize they were Eastern items. Group B only handled regular stock.”
“You made sure they didn’t know they were test subjects?”
“Completely secret.”
Hans pointed at a graph.
“Here are the results. Number of minor incidents over one week.”
I looked at the graph. Two bar charts side by side—one noticeably taller.
“I collected the data myself, so there’s definitely some margin of error, but…”
He tapped the difference with the tip of his pen.
“Group A had about 1.3 times more incidents than Group B.”
“…1.3 times?”
“1.3 times.”
Hans answered with a grave expression, and I couldn’t help but match it.
“This… isn’t even evidence you could use in court.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem.”
Hans spoke as if a weight had finally lifted off his chest.
“Even you can see it’s too trivial to count as proof, right? And they’re all petty little incidents… haa.”
“No one’s died or anything, right?”
“Yeah. The average is just scraping a knee from falling.”
“What’s the worst one?”
“Maybe getting pinned under cargo during unloading? But they got treatment and were back to work fine. Honestly, stuff like that could happen anytime anyway.”
Hans smacked his lips.
“Don’t tell me it’s already reached the nobles too? Those items.”
“Yeah. That’s the biggest problem.”
“We’re fucked.”
“Fucked indeed.”
Hans tapped the desk rhythmically as he spoke.
“Honestly, just owning them isn’t that big a deal. But if this really is… I don’t know, a curse or something tied to them? And word gets out that the Bellua family knew and still sold them?”
He sighed.
“You think the nobles are gonna sit quiet? They’ll scream that every spilled ink and stubbed toe is the Bellua family’s fault and demand compensation.”
I could picture it perfectly. Something like: “The Bellua family sold cursed items and ruined our house’s fortune!”
The moment that kind of framing takes hold, the Bellua family would be buried.
They might survive if they were a powerful house, but they’re just a baronial family.
“If it were me, I’d have reported it to the young lady the second I found out.”
“I thought about it, but if I report it and the situation blows up? Then we’re screwed. We’d have to recall everything, pay massive penalties, and the company’s credibility would tank.”
By the time Hans realized what was happening, the items had already spread everywhere.
“Want help?”
“Help with what? How could you even help?”
“This asshole—here I am offering and you’re still bitching.”
I’m not sure I should be helping an ungrateful prick… but for Lady Logina’s sake, I guess I have to.
“If you can’t prove it, make them prove it themselves.”
“What are you planning?”
“Nothing big.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pendant, placing it on the table.
“In times like this, you’ve gotta blow the whole board wide open.”
“…What the hell is that?”
Hans looked at the pendant with suspicious eyes.
“What does this look like to you?”
“Just… an antique?”
“Look closer. The emblem engraved here.”
Hans adjusted his glasses and peered at it closely. Obviously, he didn’t recognize it.
“Yeah, figures you wouldn’t know. This is the pendant of the Imperial Academy’s Chancellor. Fucking badass, right?”
“…!”
He nearly fell backward out of his chair in shock.
“Holy shit… you’ve finally lost it?”
“What kind of bullshit are you spouting?”
“You forged this, didn’t you?”
“Like I’d do that?”
“You totally seem like the type who would.”
Is this mutual disdain between kindred spirits? Hans is disgusting.
“Shut up and listen.”
I spun the pendant on my finger.
“To you, it doesn’t look particularly special, right?”
“Yeah… it doesn’t. Still doesn’t.”
Of course Hans wouldn’t sense the aura that even Serika couldn’t.
“The Eastern merchants obviously won’t know either. But it looks like it has something, doesn’t it? Old-fashioned, aristocratic emblem and all.”
“I feel like I shouldn’t hear the rest of this.”
“Roughly forge it and slip it to them through a secret deal.”
Hans sighed as if he understood.
“Just bullshit that it’s some kind of secret pass only shared among the Empire’s high nobility.”
“And then spread rumors about it?”
“Yeah. That some merchant is forging the Academy Chancellor’s seal for backdoor deals.”
Hans thought it over before speaking.
“…But is it really okay to forge something like that? If we get caught, aren’t we dead too?”
“Honestly, everyone thinks of forging stuff at some point. With a little incitement and fabrication, it’s not impossible.”
Doesn’t everyone at least consider forging? And if the forgery is too good, it’s indistinguishable from the real thing anyway.
“I can kind of see the picture now. But if this fails, the whole family goes down, doesn’t it?”
“What were we just talking about?”
When I snapped back to reality, I was already here. I don’t remember anything. Do I have early-onset dementia?
Hans shook his head at my attitude.
“…Yeah, never mind. This is insane.”
“What were we talking about again?”
“Uh… I don’t know. Why’d you even come here, Aiman?”
Ah. I remember now. Bersha’s ideal type is this guy Hans!
“I was gonna introduce you to a woman. Her name’s Bersha—she’s about 190 cm tall? Pink hair, sharp features.”
“Oh… just hearing that, she sounds like an incredible person.”
***
Not long after, I heard news about Hans.
A witch from the East was supposedly going to prove her innocence to the Academy herself… and demanded to meet Hans!
I couldn’t help but be shocked! What the hell had Hans done?
Wait—no. Who’s Hans? I don’t know him! Never heard the name before!