After all his clothes were tailored, fitted, critiqued, insulted, upgraded, and finally packed away under my strict supervision, it was ti to leave for Apex.
"Young master," one of the butlers entered the living room and bowed. "The pilot is waiting for you."
I nodded before gesturing for the other servants to load our luggage — hundreds upon hundreds of trunks, cases, and bags — onto the private jet.
Michael glanced at the mountain of gear, then at . "H-Have we packed too much?"
I frowned as we started following the servants toward the courtyard. "No? This much is fine."
He didn’t look convinced. "I... I don’t even know if everything you’ve given will fit into my room."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh my god, Michael, please move out of that tiny dumpster of a dorm room. Just get a bigger apartnt like mine."
Michael shot a deadpan stare. "Wait, you’re saying if I’m poor, I should just get rich? Wow. Why didn’t I think of that!?"
I didn’t rise to the sarcastic jab. "Stop sending everything you earn to charities and just climb the ranks. Once you’re Ranked Three or Two, you’ll get an eighty to ninety percent discount on everything at Apex."
"And I still won’t have enough money! Even after the discount!"
I wanted to facepalm.
"Dude. Dude! We’ll soon enter our second year. Guilds and agencies start recruiting promising Hunters from institutes by the end of their first or start of their second academic years," I continued, as if explaining basic arithtic to a particularly slow child. "You’re literally one of the poster boys for ’promising.’ Especially now that you’re among the few young Cadets who survived a Death Zone. Believe , all those big-na multi-million corporations would throw money at you just to breathe in their direction."
"Aren’t most newbie contracts known to be very predatory?" Michael asked, his brows knitting together as he quickened his pace to keep up with . "Isn’t that the reason most Hunters-in-training refuse affiliation early in their careers?"
I clicked my tongue. "Only if you’re stupid."
He gave a look. "Comforting."
"No, listen," I said, stopping just before the steps leading down to the courtyard. "It’s not like they can force you to sign anything you don’t want. You’re not a child."
Michael opened and closed his mouth a few tis, then squinted at very suspiciously. "That’s exactly what soone trying to trick into signing sothing would say."
I stared back at him in silence. "...You’re getting better at this."
"Don’t praise . I’m scared of what that ans."
I exhaled and continued walking. "Fine. Let’s make it simple. If a guild offers you a contract, you don’t look at the money first."
"Ah, okay. Then what do I look at?"
"The conditions," I replied imdiately. "Look at the service duration and mission quotas, exclusivity and branding rights, punishnt and exit clauses. But most importantly—" I raised a finger. "—you don’t really look at anything."
"...Huh?"
"Yeah. They’ll use legal jargon to fool you and you’ll be none the wiser. So don’t look at it yourself. Make Vince do it. In fact, make him get you a better deal. Most Cadets don’t even try negotiating because they either don’t know how or think signing early is so kind of honor."
Michael stopped and narrowed his eyes even more. "So basically, your advice is... don’t do anything because I’m too dumb. Hand all the work to soone smart like Vince."
I clapped once. "Good! You’re learning."
"I hate that this is my education."
•••
We arrived at the estate’s main backyard, where a long runway stretch opened into a wide circular landing pad.
The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in streaks of amber and gold that almost blended with the architecture behind us.
My mood was off.
While coming here, I took a detour to head to the estate’s vault, thinking I should stock up on a few Cards and artifacts — preferably storage artifacts, now that my robe was gone.
But I was later inford that a few Elders had arrived with an important guest, and because the key to the vault was in their possession, I was politely told to "co back later."
Which, translated from noble language, ant: no.
I was not pleased. Neither was the part of that liked collecting shiny new things.
So, being , I barged into the eting.
...Or tried to, at least.
But one of the Elders flat-out denied my request — both about interrupting the eting and entering the vault — because I still wasn’t technically reinstated into the family yet.
Technically.
Those old bastards were being technical with .
Now, because I know you’re not familiar with noble clan politics, let spell it out in simple terms.
Most of the Elders weren’t in favor of my father participating in the war of Iron Height against the Wayforges.
It also didn’t help that my father was keeping the objective of this war a secret from them. Basically, he had just spat in their faces, telling them to shove their wishes where the sun doesn’t shine.
Naturally, this stunt had made them very angry with him. And by proxy, . Because I was the one (sowhat unwillingly) being sent to that war.
As such, while many Elders were actually in favor of bringing back and naming an heir candidate, they were also hoping for Thalia to beat at the Mock War.
That way, my father would lose any reason to send to help Ezra, because I wouldn’t be the Ace and would be unable to force his requested quest onto the first-years.
And as for Thalia... well, he wouldn’t send her there because of her whole death prophecy thing.
So yeah, they were relying on technicalities to cut off my resources.
Now, I could just go and complain to Father.
And I would’ve done exactly that.
...Unfortunately, the right to distribute the clan’s resources during active deliberations technically falls under the Elders’ jurisdiction.
aning even if I complained, and even if the Golden Duke imdiately took back into the family officially, I still wouldn’t get a solution.
The Elders would hold a legislative session and pretend to ponder over my request like it was so philosophical dilemma.
Then, they would keep postponing that session until it was ti for to fight Thalia.
"Arghh!" I kicked the pavent, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Fine! Whatever. I would just buy the stuff I needed.
Sure, the quality wouldn’t be as good, but it would have to do.
Michael reached over to pat my shoulder in pity. "Don’t worry. I’ll give you my spiderweb Card."
I stopped whatever I was doing, looked over to see him grinning, and held myself back from biting his face off. "I’ll beat your ass into this pavent, I swear to god."
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