"...How much did you say?"

  It was one month to the day since the monopoly enterprise had launched.

  Celeste had come to the trading house—now renamed Monopoly Corporation Celeste since receiving its royal purveyor designation, formerly known as Golden Barrel—to hear the monthly sales report. Listening to what company head Daranma Luina had to say, Celeste was left wondering if he'd somehow misheard... and doubting his own ears.

  "Yes. After deducting all operating expenses and the company's dividend share, the net profit to be remitted to Your Excellency is...

  For this month alone—fifty-three million, five hundred thousand Feli."

  "...That's net profit? Not gross revenue?"

  "Yes. Net profit."

  Luina said it again for good measure, his face on the verge of tears.

  Apparently this single month's earnings had easily surpassed the trading house's entire five years of accumulated profits.

  'Even in a world starved for luxury goods, that much—from snacks alone?' Celeste was dumbfounded. But when you considered that nineteenth-century British tea taxes had once accounted for ten percent of that era's GDP... it wasn't, actually, so unreasonable.

  "You've done well.

  As a token of gratitude for your hard work, I'll distribute two hundred thousand Feli in bonuses from my own share."

  "Y-Your Excellency?!"

  "Don't say a word. This is generosity born of good fortune.

  It's a gesture of thanks from me—someone who merely provided the goods.

  And it isn't for you alone, mind you. Divide it among the staff who put in the effort."

  "Y-yes, my lord!"

  Luina, who had been on the verge of tears, could hold back no longer. He broke into open sobbing and bowed his head deeply.

  Celeste rose slowly from the sofa in the company head's office, patted him on the shoulder, and said:

  "It only gets busier from here. Steel yourself."

  "Understood, my lord!"

  Seen off by the entire trading house staff, Celeste emerged from the building to find a Rolls-Royce waiting at the curb—and before the driver's door, hands clasped behind his back, stood Retes.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting. To the palace."

  "Yes, my lord."

  Retes had grown thoroughly accustomed to driving by now. Except for the occasions when Celeste took the wheel of the sports car himself, he'd taken to going about in this classic car with Retes at the helm—and the sight had gradually become something of a landmark in the royal capital.

  "Still... Golden Barrel was a tasteless name, wasn't it..."

  "Pardon?"

  Celeste, sunk deep into the back seat, muttered to himself—and Retes, unsure if he was being addressed, answered.

  "Ah, sorry. I was thinking out loud.

  Don't mind me."

  "Yes, my lord."

  'Golden Barrel—ゴールデン?オーク.'

  Even granting that OAK and ORC were different words in English, it was hardly a fitting name for a people who had been called Orcs by the Humanita and made targets of genocide.

  Never mind that it wasn't so in the Tusita tongue, or that the pronunciation differed in English too.

  'In katakana they're identical. It's revolting.'

  That was his real reason—though he'd kept it to himself, instead persuading Luina to rename the company on the pretext that it would carry the meaning of 'a trading house under the protection of Regis-Basi Celeste.' Luina had agreed with some reluctance at the time, but now he was nothing short of delighted that he'd followed Celeste's lead.

  "Though you've really come a long way in a short time. With the driving.

  That driver's uniform suits you well, too."

  "It is entirely thanks to you, my lord."

  In the space of barely two months, Retes' skills behind the wheel had genuinely improved—no flattery required. He'd started with go-kart practice in the basement, and once Tenger was acquired, he'd had the run of an open expanse with no risk of accidents. Still, that he'd progressed this far was surely down to his own diligence.

  "I wish that muscle-brain of yours would learn even a quarter of that work ethic."

  "...I apologize for having such a useless brother."

  Exchanging that sort of banter, they passed through the merchant district and rolled through the noble quarter—until Celeste's automobile arrived at the gates of the royal palace.

  "Regis Celeste has arrived! Send word to the Finance Minister!

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Welcome, my lord! Please, come right in!"

  He had made an appointment to call at the palace after receiving the sales report from the trading house—but the guards' reaction was rather more spirited than expected. Puzzled, Celeste passed through the gate and made his way inside.

  "Waiting at attention in front of the car—isn't that hard on you?

  You can stand at ease, you know."

  "Not at all, my lord. Compared to my days in the Royal Guard, this is nothing."

  "Is that so?"

  He was a Doberman Caniseid, born with naturally clean lines to his figure—a build that was, frankly, model-worthy. On something of a whim, deciding to make good use of the material, Celeste had put him in a driving uniform to match the car: a double-breasted jacket, fitted riding trousers, and tall boots.

  Standing with that sharp expression and his hands clasped behind his back before the driver's door—it was simply too picturesque. In the streets and at the palace alike, passersby of every description found themselves involuntarily stopping to stare.

  ...Well. Same-sex relationships were perfectly ordinary in Tusita, apparently.

  'Here I am, a rather unremarkable middle-aged man, and look at him. Must be nice, being so handsome.'

  Entertaining that idle thought, Celeste stepped out through the door Retes held open—and had just turned toward the palace entrance when, from across the hall, something like a lion came charging at him with tremendous momentum.

  "Wh—?!"

  "Regis Celesteeeee! I love you!"

  The creature that came barreling over and swept Celeste up in its arms—lifting him off his feet and spinning him around in something resembling a dance—was not, in fact, a lion. It was the Finance Minister, Mahassa Gerie Pearl, a Lionea (lion beastman), in the very enthusiastic flesh.

  "I'm going to have to decline, Comis Gerie! Would you let go of me?!"

  The Ladies of "Fu(joshi)" at court—who had already been eyeing Retes with considerable interest—were now being treated to an entirely unwanted additional spectacle, and Celeste's desperate cry scattered uselessly into the air above.

  "Oh, enough! Stop causing misunderstandings!"

  "No—! This Mahassa Gerie would offer you even this body, if it is you who asks—"

  "Quiet!"

  He clapped a hand over the Finance Minister's mouth—but the damage, needless to say, was already done.

  The Ladies of "Fu" had seen quite enough to fuel their imaginations for some time.

  "Mahassa Mare has given her blessing, you know.

  'I would not forgive you for a woman—but affairs with a gentleman, I can overlook.'"

  The Commerce Minister, Comis Balinere Itona Mare, came trotting along after the Finance Minister, laughing her bright rolling laugh.

  ...Though somehow her eyes weren't quite laughing. They were blazing with the gleam of a predator that had sighted its quarry, which was rather unsettling.

  "What is wrong with these people?!"

  The commotion in the entrance hall was brought under control, more or less, and the three of them proceeded to the council chamber where the other ministers, the Prime Minister, and the King were already waiting.

  "Quite the ordeal, wasn't it, Royal Father."

  The King addressed him with an amused smile. Celeste returned the bow, grumbling internally.

  "His Majesty looks well, I am pleased to see.

  I trust the ministers are all in good health as well."

  Once the three of them had taken their seats, the Interior Minister spoke up without delay.

  "The corporation's report has already reached us here.

  You needn't have stopped by the trading house in person—though, as it is Your Excellency's own purveyor, calling on it yourself is, of course, entirely appropriate."

  A minister who valued protocol would naturally feel that calling on the King first was the proper order of things—but neither Celeste nor the King himself had given it a second thought. Just yesterday, the King had been sprawled out in nothing but a yukata at the private annex in the White Mansion, and had told him he was perfectly welcome to stop by the trading house first, since he knew today was the first month's accounting.

  Even so, it wouldn't do to dismiss out of hand the Interior Minister—third in the kingdom behind only the King and Prime Minister.

  "No, no—I must beg your pardon for the discourtesy.

  It being the first accounting, I'm afraid my anticipation got the better of me.

  I humbly ask your forbearance."

  'What a nuisance, but that's social protocol for you.'

  Since it was nothing more than an exchange of pleasantries, the Interior Minister asked nothing further and settled the matter with a nod.

  "Well then—I have already received the report, but...

  Royal Father, I would hear it from you directly, if you please."

  "By your leave, Your Majesty.

  This month's net profit, after deducting operating expenses and the corporation's dividend share—

  Five million, three hundred and fifty thousand Feli.

  From this, the national tax remittance will be two million, four hundred and seven thousand, five hundred Feli.

  The royal tribute, being half of that, amounts to one million, two hundred and three thousand, seven hundred and fifty Feli.

  The remaining one million, seven hundred and thirty-eight thousand, seven hundred and fifty Feli constitutes my dividend—from which I have distributed two hundred thousand as bonuses to the corporation's staff."

  The ministers had already received the same figures in the written report—and yet, hearing Celeste recite them aloud, they closed their eyes and wore the expressions of men savoring a piece of exquisite music.

  The Finance Minister's mouth had curled upward at the corner and was twitching in a series of small involuntary spasms.

  'They're enjoying this rather a lot,' Celeste thought with a wry smile—though he couldn't honestly say it didn't feel good to him either.

  "Report received, well done.

  Now—you mentioned bonuses?"

  "Yes. I thought a small gesture of gratitude was in order for the staff who worked so diligently.

  So as not to affect the national tax or the royal tribute, I drew from my own dividend.

  I'm told this single month's earnings alone exceeded the house's entire five years of profit—they were weeping with joy—and I trust their circumstances speak for themselves."

  "I see.

  For those who became refugees of a fallen nation, the hardship must have been beyond measure.

  And yet they press on, determined to make their lives in this country—their spirit is admirable.

  I intend to contribute bonuses from my share of the tribute as well. Finance Minister—any objection?"

  "None whatsoever, Your Majesty. As it pleases you."

  The Finance Minister's inner reluctance at parting with funds was no doubt genuine—but with tax revenue beyond anything he'd dared hope now flowing in, and both the King and Celeste drawing from their own shares, he had no grounds to refuse.

  "You are most gracious, Your Majesty.

  The staff of the corporation will be overwhelmed by your generosity."

  "Good.

  Now then—this resort hotel of yours. How does it stand?"

  The change of subject prompted a quiet click of the tongue, deep inside Celeste's thoughts.

  'You swan into the annex every chance you get to laze about—and now you're showing an interest in even more leisure?'

  That said, the King discharged his duties as monarch with perfect diligence, and whether he chose to spend his personal time playing or not was a matter for the Prime Minister to take issue with, not Celeste. So Celeste answered dutifully.

  "Yes, Your Majesty. The hotel facilities and the attractions are fully constructed. Staff hospitality training is proceeding smoothly as well—we should be ready to open before long."

  "The attractions—that includes the one from before?"

  "Yes, the very one that had Your Majesty making those sounds again."

  "Fa—"

  The King moved to cut him off. Too late.

  Under the suddenly curious gazes of the assembled ministers, the King scrambled to compose himself—but Celeste pressed forward without mercy.

  "No need to be embarrassed, Your Majesty.

  Among the ministers present, there was someone who let out even louder ones—"

  "Idiot!"

  Daharat's shout rang out—only for him to freeze as he realized every eye in the room had turned his way.

  'You double-crossed me, O-teru?!'

  'Obviously.'

  And so—at the cost of the dignity of the two most resolutely masculine figures in the council chamber, the King and the Military Minister—anticipation for the resort hotel continued to mount.