"...Sweet. No, too sweet. Actually, it tastes like medicine."
I grimaced as I bit into a "Sugar-Flavored Carbohydrate Bar" I’d picked up at a street stall on the way back.
It had the gritty texture of raw sugar mixed into a dry, crumbly dough. Worse was the chemical aftertaste—reminiscent of burnt plastic—and a film of unnatural oil that clung to my tongue. There was no other flavor to speak of.
Compared to this, those unseasoned slabs of cultured meat I’d seen at the factory outlet had more dignity as "food."
"Master, while sugar intake is effective for maintaining peak cognitive function, I believe it is time we discussed realistic 'earnings.'"
"I know, I know. I need to make back what we dropped on these clothes."
I wrapped the half-eaten bar back up and shoved it into my pocket, then straightened the collar of my new jacket.
Beside me, Lucia elegantly smoothed the hem of her tailored dress, her posture and poise the very picture of a perfect attendant.
We were ready. Time to head to the Chamber of Commerce.
◇
The Asteria System Chamber of Commerce was buzzing with activity.
Countless transport requests flickered across the monitors while merchants and mercenaries barked at one another.
The last time I’d been here, the receptionist had given me the cold shoulder, dismissively pointing me toward the self-service terminals for Iron Ranks. This time, things were different.
"W-welcome! You must be Akito-sama, of the Bronze Rank! Right this way, I'll escort you to a private room!"
The moment we stepped up to the counter, the receptionist’s face went pale. She practically tripped over herself to usher us into a back reception room.
It turned out that first impressions really were everything. The 500,000-credit investment was already paying off.
Of course, there was another reason for the sudden hospitality.
As we walked, I stole a quick glance at my handheld terminal.
My standing within the Mercenary Management Organization had officially jumped from "Iron" to "Bronze."
To me, I’d only handled a few jobs. However, according to the organization’s system, my last haul had been logged as thirty-two separate, perfectly executed interstellar contracts completed simultaneously.
To the guys who had been smoldering in Iron Rank for years, my rise must have looked meteoric.
That said, there was a massive wall between Bronze and the "Silver" rank above it. Silver required more than just raw numbers; it required "advanced security clearance" from the organization—essentially a mark of institutional trust that allowed access to high-priority bases.
For now, I was just a fresh Bronze who had brute-forced my way up through volume.
But combined with our high-class appearance and the bluff of having a bespoke maid-android like Lucia in tow, it created a powerful misconception. To everyone else, I looked like a "seasoned veteran with complicated circumstances."
Still, Bronze Rank was a mixed bag of talent and trash. It wasn't normally enough to get you a private audience.
Waiting for us in the room was a nervous-looking branch manager from one of the trading companies. He looked back and forth between my reinforced jacket and Lucia’s stoic presence, then audibly gulped.
"...I'll get straight to the point. I have been looking for a veteran of your caliber."
"Oh?"
I crossed my legs and did my best to look haughty. Inwardly, I was sweating, wondering if he’d see through the act, but Lucia’s perfect poker face provided a strange sense of legitimacy to the room.
"What's the job?"
"An emergency transport to the Ignis System."
The branch manager activated a holographic map.
The Ignis System was a mining hub about four days away via Hyperdrive. On the map, however, the system was flashing with red warning icons.
"A civil war led by anti-government factions has intensified in the Ignis System. The primary trade routes are blockaded, and the region is facing a severe food crisis."
"I see. You want me to run relief supplies?"
"Precisely. Compressed Food Blocks, medical kits, and water purification units. Fifty containers in total. We need you to break through the blockade and deliver them to the refugee camps on-site."
Fifty containers. Normally, that was a load for a medium-scale transport fleet. But for the Sperm Whale, it was a payload we could handle in a single trip.
"And the pay?"
"Three million credits, hazard pay included. Upon success, we will also grant you local refueling rights and a Special Preferential Pass for our trading company."
Three million.
That wasn't just pocket change; it was enough to cover our clothes and jump-start the ship’s refitting.
As for the risk—the opponents were insurgents. Unlike a regular military, a ragtag fleet of armed ships would have gaps I could exploit with the Sperm Whale’s mobility and a good bit of bravado.
"...Breaking a blockade means combat is a given, right?"
"Yes. However, I took the liberty of reviewing your ship's registry."
The manager tapped his tablet, bringing up the Sperm Whale’s spec sheet.
"Sturdy armor based on an Assault Landing Ship. A military-grade shield generator. And... your registered armament list is magnificent. Anti-ship pulse lasers, twin plasma machine guns, a Gauss cannon, and multiple missile pods..."
The man let out a breath of genuine admiration.
Yeah, on paper, maybe.
In reality, my ammo shortage hadn't gone away. I was still forced to rely almost entirely on my energy weapons to save costs.
"With this much firepower, you could hold your own against a destroyer-class vessel. It’s practically a 'mobile fortress'."
If I showed any hesitation now, he’d lowball me. I flashed a fearless, predatory grin.
"You certainly talk a big game. But my ship doesn't move for cheap."
"I-I understand! I can provide one million credits as an immediate down payment!"
"We have a deal."
The moment I stepped out of the Chamber of Commerce, I pulled out my terminal.
One million credits had already hit my account. Now, I had to spend it.
I had plenty of energy for the lasers and I’d secured enough ammo for the small-caliber Gauss cannon. Now that my rank had increased, several restricted ammunition types were finally available for purchase.
However, the empty missile pods were still bothering me.
"...Still, I can't afford guided missiles that cost a fortune with every trigger pull."
I scrolled through the catalog until I found what I was looking for: cheap, defensive utility munitions.
Jamming Missiles, decoys, and chaff/flare rounds.
The cost per unit for these was dirt cheap. I decided to pack the missile pods with these instead. It would give me more tactical options than just trying to outgun everyone head-on.
◇
An hour later.
The Sperm Whale’s cargo blocks were being stacked with containers. Watching that vast, empty space fill up with supplies felt good.
...Granted, it was a bit depressing knowing most of it was "disgusting compressed food," but people have to eat to survive. No matter how foul it tasted, this stuff was the only thing keeping those refugees alive.
"Master."
Lucia spoke softly as we began departure preparations in the cockpit.
"Your heart rate is 1.5 times its resting state. Was the stress of maintaining that bluff perhaps too high?"
"Quiet, you. It worked out in the end."
I wiped the sweat from my brow.
"Nevertheless, this is a significant gamble. Our ammunition deficit is not fully resolved. If we are surrounded by a superior force, we will be forced into a war of attrition."
"Then I'll just make sure we don't get surrounded. I’ve expanded our tactical options, and besides, we still have a weapon that hasn't been field-tested yet, right?"
I tapped the console, bringing the ship’s Multi-purpose Mass Driver online. I looked at the status of the pile of Scrap Metal Rounds I’d bought recently.
"...Now, I just have to calibrate my instincts to the actual data."
I’d spent thousands of hours in my gaming days mastering deflection shots. Now I had to adjust those ingrained reflexes to the Sperm Whale’s actual handling and sensor lag. It was a race to see how much of that friction I could smooth out before we were in the thick of it.
"...Understood. I will optimize the fire control system to maximize our accuracy."
The main thrusters roared to life.
The dock’s magnetic gantry arms released their hold, and the Sperm Whale drifted away from the port.
Our destination was a war zone.
The ship’s bow turned toward the infinite black, as if the vacuum itself were pulling us in.
Time to charge into the fray. Next stop: the Ignis System.