"Here's the situation, Mr. Moretti," I say, gently setting my cane beside me as I address Benson. "I own a winery in Backlund. The economy there is thriving, and workers can produce affordable liquor to earn their wages—but that's where the problem lies."
I draw on the memories of this Abraham's mind, weaving them into my explanation for Benson.
With a sigh, I continue, "The goods from my winery aren't exactly popular in Backlund. The grand nobles in their estates turn their noses up at my 'mass-produced' products, and the number of people who can afford my liquor falls far short of what I produce. This leaves me no choice but to find a new path for my winery. Heh, you understand, even a merchant like me has a conscience and a sense of compassion. The workers in my factory depend on this business to survive."
The Abraham family, spared annihilation by the Seven Gods thanks to Mr. Door, has dwindled since the betrayal of their apprentices. Yet, as a former angelic family, even a "lean camel is bigger than a horse." Most direct descendants, blessed by their ancestors' legacy, live comfortably. The original owner of this body secretly operated a winery and a lead-product factory in Backlund, making me, the current Adrian, quite wealthy.
"It just so happens I'm in Tingen for a while and won't be returning to Backlund anytime soon—but the issue needs resolving. So, I'm counting on your company to arrange some trade activities to the South Continent. I hope your business expertise lives up to my expectations."
"Few factory owners care about their workers' livelihoods. You're a model merchant," Benson says, smoothly praising me. "Cases like yours aren't uncommon in Backlund. From what I know, the South Continent's people can't produce such goods cheaply. Through our company, we can provide you with trade channels to the South Continent."
"However," he adds gravely, "I'll need to consult my superiors. I'm just a junior employee and can't make decisions like this. If you're not in a rush, I can wait with you for the senior manager to arrive. I understand your intent—if it's about dumping goods on the South Continent, few companies are as professional as ours."
"Fair enough," I nod, studying Benson. "But… is something troubling you? You don't look well."
I eye him suspiciously, noting the dark circles ringing his eyes. Benson's face betrays fatigue, yet despite his weariness, this not-so-young man wields his conversational skills with finesse. Caught off guard by my observation, he offers an awkward smile. "Today's not actually my shift. I just returned from a business trip and happened to meet you… Ha, I didn't want the company to lose a client, so I stepped in as a receptionist."
"You're a commendable employee. I'm almost jealous of your employer," I say with a light chuckle. "If you were my factory's business manager, my winery might already be thriving in the South Continent."
"You're too kind," Benson says with a wry smile, clearly not taking my words seriously. "I'm just an ordinary worker, good for some smooth talk and little else."
But I'm serious. Benson's competence and his connection to Klein make him worth my attention. Even setting aside his unbreakable familial tie to Klein, Benson's eloquence—honed without formal education—sparks my interest.
As an outlier among outer gods, I, the High-Dimensional Overseer, relish observing humans and cataloging their knowledge. This is evident whenever I sneak into the Celestial Worthy's domain, much to its apparent displeasure—though I've never understood why it's so annoyed.
"Mr. Moretti, if I may ask," I say, "you don't seem formally educated, yet your command of language is impressive. Pardon my curiosity—no offense intended."
"Oh, no offense taken," Benson says, rubbing his eyes and rallying his energy. He smiles. "Actually, I have a younger brother studying at university…"
I never expected a casual question to open the floodgates. It seems the age-old tactic of breaking the ice by talking about family works even in this world.
"…and that's how it is. He's preparing for a university interview now. Oh, sorry, Mr. Abraham, have I rambled too much?" Benson takes a sip of tea, realizing nearly two hours have passed, nearing the company's official opening time.
I shake my head, setting down my teacup. "Not at all. Chatting with you has been a pleasant way to pass the time. Waiting is always tedious, you know." I glance at the door swinging open across the room. "Looks like your colleagues have arrived, right on time. Your company's discipline is as strict as you claimed."
"Colleagues?" Benson follows my gaze. "Oh, the manager's here. Mr. Abraham, would you like to…?"
"No need," I say calmly. "You're an excellent employee, Benson. If possible, I'd like you,watermark the South Continent Trading Company to handle my future dealings—Benson Moretti, specifically."
Benson stiffens, caught off guard. He catches the implication in my words but hesitates to believe it. No novice to workplace dynamics, he knows the unspoken rules. "Well, Mr. Abraham, our manager handles business negotiations. Let me introduce your situation to him first."
"Very well," I nod, turning to the manager, a well-groomed man in a sharp black suit, his hair meticulously combed—an image of elite professionalism. He pauses, startled, upon seeing Benson and me seated together.
"Manager, this is Mr. Adrian Abraham," Benson says quietly. "He wants to use our company to export goods from his Backlund factory to the South Continent. I was back from a trip today and received him here."
The manager, quick to recover, smiles and strides over. "Good day. I'm Charlie Elliott, the manager here. How can the South Continent Trading Company assist you? I understand you wish to export your winery's liquor to the South Continent. We can offer three plans…"
I listen as Charlie speaks confidently, letting his words filter through my mind while my outer god intellect dissects the pros and cons. The cheapest option involves the company providing routes and contacts, with me handling production, transport, and sales. It's the most profitable but the most taxing—though the low intermediary fee makes it popular among merchants.
The simplest route is to let the South Continent Trading Company handle everything, with me only supplying goods. The company takes the lion's share of profits, but it spares me the effort.
"I'll entrust the supply to you," I say, glancing at the documents Charlie presents. "But, Manager Elliott, you must have access to more sales routes, yes? If I supply a large volume at once or sign a multi-year contract, the profit split should improve, shouldn't it?"
"Of course, of course," Charlie says, adjusting his glasses. "If you commit to a steady supply, we can increase your share by three percent… no, five percent!"
"Done, then," I say, standing and gripping my cane. "I'll visit your company next week, same day, at three in the afternoon. I expect a draft contract by then. Oh, and for future correspondence, I'd prefer to work through Mr. Moretti here."
Benson tenses. Charlie, caught off guard by my request, frowns and says earnestly, "We have more specialized staff who could handle…"
I smile, giving Charlie a knowing look. "Benson's a fine employee—at least by my judgment. For the two hours before you arrived, it was Benson who secured this contract for you."
They watch me leave in silence. After a long pause, Charlie turns to Benson. "You're… Benson, right? What's your weekly salary?"
"Er?" Benson, unprepared for the question, answers reflexively, "One pound, ten sous."
"One pound, ten sous… a bit low," Charlie muses, rubbing his temple. "Starting next week, your salary rises to two pounds. If the Abraham contract goes through, I'll add a bonus. Who'd have thought… a deal this big in Tingen? Thanks to you, we didn't lose this to another company."
Benson's face lights up with joy. "Thank you, sir!"
In his heart, he sends a quiet thanks to the Mr. Abraham he received.
(End of Chapter)