Working Overtime Without a Pay Cut, and You Still Want Overtime Pay?

"Boss?"

The bar wasn't small, but it hadn't opened yet, so it felt rather empty.

As an employee of Penguin Logistics, Croissant often heard strange ideas from her boss, some of which were practically suicidal, but she had long since stopped being surprised.

This time was no different.

"Doesn't Texas have a laser sword? Just put the laser sword in your mouth, and you'll find out what cherry blossoms taste like."

She had wanted to say that.

But her salary was entirely in her willful boss's hands, so Croissant didn't dare speak up.

"Why do you look unhappy?"

The penguin in sunglasses turned around and glanced at Croissant. She was absentmindedly playing billiards alone. No matter which side won, it was Croissant's victory.

"This was a sudden idea of mine, which means you have extra work. And extra work means..."

"Extra pay?"

Croissant stopped moving, her ears practically perking up.

But Emperor shook his head.

"No extra pay, but if you fail to finish it, your pay will definitely be docked. Understand?"

"Huh?!"

Croissant wondered if she should just quit. That way, whenever her boss needed her for work, it would count as an outside assignment, and she could make him choose the [Lungmen Local 3-Day Attendance Service—Package A (Accident Insurance Included)].

She couldn't miss even a single cent of the money she deserved.

Penguin Logistics had originally been full of talented people. It wasn't as though Emperor and Croissant were its only two members.

Texas, an exceptionally skilled veteran driver, had gone out on a delivery assignment with the combat escort Exusiai. Sora was probably attending some idol event somewhere. Only Croissant remained, carrying out Emperor's orders, and failure meant a pay cut.

Life was truly difficult.

In the world of Terra, messengers were divided into two kinds. One delivered letters or simple intelligence, and they were the coolest kind of messenger.

Croissant, on the other hand, was much more down-to-earth.

She was a Forte, blessed with great strength and endurance. At Penguin Logistics, she was generally responsible for transporting goods, work that didn't sound much like a messenger's job.

"Go already, or get ready for a pay cut."

The penguin flapped his wings, his thick gold chain swinging back and forth with the jingling sound of capitalism.

He urged her on impatiently, as if he had some unspeakable secret.

"Fine, fine. There's nothing I can do with you. I'm leaving now, Boss."

Croissant set off helplessly. Just before reaching the door, she suddenly turned around. "Boss, if you suddenly decide to give me a raise right now, I'll be very moved."

"Go!"

Even after the door closed, Croissant never received that long-awaited awakening of her boss's conscience.

With no one else left in the bar, Emperor suddenly deflated. He tore off his thick gold chain and tossed it onto the billiard table. His narrow penguin wings stroked its links, while behind his sunglasses, his penguin face was filled with an imperceptible sorrow.

Emperor, Monster Siren Records' king-tier rap artist, couldn't write songs anymore.

Nothing major had happened. It was simply that one day, when he woke up at a midnight party, his once-endless stream of inspiration had quietly slipped away. His inspirationless shell was like a sponge squeezed dry. Emperor became a walking corpse, constantly searching for inspiration for new songs.

As for how he searched for inspiration...

Of course, by drinking.

From the wildest salt lemonade and tequila of the western Gobi to the gentlest yet most passionate citrus mead of Victoria's countryside, even Yan Kingdom-style erguotou, Emperor's mind flashed with wild, tender, proud, dreamlike visions, all vanishing through his grasp. It was like scooping up a handful of fine sand by the sea, except penguins didn't even have fingers. He could only watch helplessly as inspiration rose and fell, while he remained a sponge squeezed dry.

That feeling was terribly painful.

So when Emperor heard that there was a kind of petal in the world, given form by blades, beautiful yet capable of bringing torment, inspiration flared up in him almost instantly. He had to taste one or two, to enjoy the sensation of his throat dancing on a blade's edge, before he would rest.

If Texas were here, she would definitely treat Emperor to Pop Rocks.

"Don't let me down... I'm just a small business, and a vulnerable singer at that. What if I get fooled by fake news?"

Emperor rubbed his two wings together. Though it sounded like a helpless complaint, it also sounded like some kind of threat.

"One little bun, two little buns..."

Croissant wandered boredly down the street. Work without pay truly couldn't interest her, so she could only slack off and slowly kill time on the clock.

She passed through the brightly lit streets and considered buying something, but ultimately decided against it.

There was no pay, after all.

And this time, she was going to invite someone from a shrine. If she bought bags and bags of things, then had them accepted as gifts when she arrived, wouldn't that be a huge loss?

She arrived at the foot of the mountain gate.

She walked upward and passed through a torii gate. There were quite a few visitors here, and Croissant obediently joined the queue.

Wait a second?

What was she seeing?

Croissant stared at the person in front of her. He pressed his palms together as if silently praying. Three minutes later, he opened his eyes, tossed a handful of blue banknotes into the offering box, and left with a satisfied expression.

Uh...

You could make money without doing anything???

In the blink of an eye, Croissant was standing before the shrine statue. She was a little dumbfounded. It wasn't that she couldn't bear to spend money. In a sense, Croissant was even a simple hedonist, someone who loved spending heavily to improve her quality of life. But giving money to a figurine?

Sorry, she couldn't do it.

Not only did she not want to give it money, she began to yearn for a life where people came to give her money instead.

Croissant pressed her palms together before the enormous figurine of a fox-eared girl and silently prayed that she, too, could live such a good life.

"A prayer reeking of money won't receive a god's response, Miss Croissant."

"Huh?"

Croissant looked up and saw only a faint pink, drifting figure. A subtle fragrance lingered at the tip of her nose, deepening her confusion.

What a scammy mystic.

Hoshino had piled many mystical, charlatan-like elements onto Yae Sakura. This had been her policy, because the more mystic she seemed, the more people would come to the shrine with offerings. If she appeared too approachable, on the other hand, people would lose their sense of reverence, which clearly wasn't worth it.

Lungmen Dollars really did smell good.

Hoshino walked ahead, and Croissant followed behind her step by step like a monkey enlightened by Patriarch Bodhi. Hoshino led her all the way to the Tenshukaku.

"Stop there."

Hoshino pulled out two cushions and poured two cups of flower tea. The salted cherry blossom petals used their saltiness to bring out their fragrance, making the flavor very light.

"Miss Croissant, I see you came empty-handed, so you aren't here to deliver a package. And relaying intelligence and information isn't your regular job either, so I suppose..."

She paused.

She first took a sip of tea, letting the floral fragrance bloom across her teeth and tongue.

"You guessed it? I came on behalf of my boss to invite you to the bar... uh... to take care of something."

"What is it?"

Hoshino had eliminated two obviously wrong possibilities. There might still have been five or six possibilities left, but she deliberately paused first, making the other party think she had guessed the right answer and thus reveal it herself...

This was one kind of charlatan's technique.