Chapter 8: I Know a Lot of People

A busy day.

On weekends, the bakery becomes especially hectic; the two-day break boosts weekend sales dramatically.

Over the next two days, most people prefer not to go out to buy food, especially as the weather has grown increasingly hot.

So they buy enough bread for two or three days, then enjoy quiet weekends at home or go on countryside outings.

Federal citizens now have few real entertainments; for ordinary people, watching TV and picnicking may be among the few affordable pastimes.

Places like bars, opera houses, and nightclubs are beyond the means of their class.

Amusement parks are the same—crowded and expensive.

The very people who can’t afford to spend are the ones who actually create wealth for this society; it’s undeniable that reality is sometimes more fantastical than books.

Just after eight in the evening, the bakery’s business finally wound down; surprisingly, dinner tonight was pizza.

Pizza has been present in the Federation for fifty to sixty years, evolving from a niche “hometown dish” for a small group into a wildly popular food, undergoing many local adaptations along the way.

So much so that due to the Federation’s pizza sales, many now believe Federation-style pizza is the most authentic, causing regions that may have had pizza earlier to shift their styles and flavors toward the Federation’s.

And this is one of the main reasons adults fervently praise the Federation’s economy—everyone looks up to the strongest economy.

The pizza’s cheese overflowed, slices of sausage and beef chunks were piled thickly, and a layer of ham topped it all.

The fat boss treated ham like his own precious treasure; every night after closing, he personally checked the shelves in the storage room to ensure the ham was safe.

Though Fodis thought the bakery’s Sumuli ham wasn’t authentic, it had cost him four hundred and ninety-nine credits for fifty-five pounds.

At roughly two and a half credits per box—less than two ounces, or about fifty grams—a single ham was worth about twelve hundred and fifty credits in the bakery.

Buying and selling ham was more profitable than selling bread, but only a few people bought ham.

Ordinary folks couldn’t afford, nor would they spend hundreds of credits on a good ham—even two and a half credits for a few slices required careful thought.

There were cheaper hams available—one credit per portion. Though the taste wasn’t great, their low price made them the bakery’s most profitable item, without exception.

Roasted over charcoal, the ham emitted an indescribable aroma—a complex, layered scent that, combined with the cheese, sausage, beef, and dough, made Lans admit: at least when it came to pizza, Joni was a master.

“Sit down, Lans.”

Lans, who had been mopping the floor, whistled, took off his apron, and sat at the table.

The fat boss’s daughter glanced in surprise from her father to Lans, then turned deeply shy.

The fat boss didn’t notice; his attention was entirely on Lans.

“Have some?”

“You won’t charge me extra, right?” Lans didn’t move.

The fat boss looked slightly offended. “Do you really see me as that kind of person?”

“I know I’m strict with you, but you can’t deny you’ve had food, drink, and a job here.”

Lans interjected, “And I still owe you four credits.”

The fat boss frowned. “I was just joking. Don’t you have any sense of humor?”

At that moment, the apprentice, drenched in sweat from finishing his work, stepped out from the back room.

The weather grew hotter, the work harder; the oven in the back room radiated deadly heat like a miniature sun.

Every summer, newspapers often reported accidents near bakery ovens—passing out from heat had become a standard measure of just how hot the season had been.

He had changed clothes and wiped his hands, preparing to sit down, when the fat boss looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

The apprentice looked confused, staring at the fragrant pizza on the table—part of it was his work too.

He stammered, “I… you just said we were having this for dinner.”

The fat boss pointed at Lans, his daughter, and himself. “Us.”

Then he pointed at the apprentice. “You.”

“Are ‘us’ and ‘you’ the same thing?”

“I really wonder if your elementary teacher had water in his brain to raise you like this. Your dinner’s in the cabinet behind you—you know, yesterday’s bread.”

Yesterday’s bread was as hard as stone; leftovers each day became their dinner.

The apprentice stared in disbelief—he couldn’t believe Lans sat at the table, while he, a local who worked thirty days a month without pay and even paid the boss ten credits as an apprentice, had no right to eat pizza!

He glared at the fat boss; youth’s anger flared, but the boss didn’t flinch. “If you don’t like it, get out. Don’t make your damn mother kneel before me begging!”

As if struck in a vital spot, the apprentice’s tense body suddenly deflated.

Like a spineless worm, he could only crawl helplessly along the ground.

He lowered his head, turned, and walked back toward the kitchen—that was where he belonged, not here.

Lans picked up a slice—the abundant cheese and meat were the most lavish meal he’d seen since arriving here!

He bit down: his teeth first crushed the slightly charred, grease-slicked ham, then cut through the crispy exterior and tender interior of the sausage.

Next came the slightly sticky cheese, exploding with rich dairy flavor like a volcanic eruption; as he chewed, the beef chunks crushed, their unique texture stimulating every taste bud!

Only when swallowed did the bread’s distinct wheat aroma emerge, mingled with basil and other spices—this pizza was pure art.

He devoured it greedily, even stuffing the crust into his mouth, then reached for a second slice.

The fat boss’s eye twitched—he offered Lans this meal only to find out who had dropped him off that afternoon.

If it was someone he couldn’t afford to anger, as a lowly citizen and a budding capitalist, he’d wisely retreat.

Countless operas showed challengers of authority becoming footnotes in history.

Those who succeeded in revenge were always nobles or the privileged.

People had always deeply understood this: the lower class deserved only tragedy.

Comedy and wish-fulfillment stories belonged to the upper class—

The awakened king, the happy princess, the noble who achieved his dream, and the poor boy who died under the weight of society’s entrenched laws!

See? People always knew this—but they still encouraged poor boys to daydream.

Though others saw the fat boss as rich, in this society, he remained at the very bottom.

Lans took another slice, eating heartily; when he reached for the third, the fat boss stopped him. “If you like it so much, eat slowly—I’ll give you the rest.”

“But can you satisfy a small curiosity of mine?”

Lans licked his lips; the meat fat and rich cheese lingered deliciously.

He pushed the fat boss’s hand away and picked up the third slice. “In the Empire, there’s a custom: don’t speak while eating—it’s a sign of manners.”

“Let’s talk after dinner.”

Seeing he couldn’t stop him, the fat boss quickly grabbed two slices, gave one to his daughter, and shoved the other into his own mouth.

For a moment, all three raced to eat faster.

In under five minutes, the large pizza was gone—only the tray and crumbs remained.

Lans jabbed his finger into the crumbs; they stuck to his fingers, which he then sucked into his mouth.

When no trace remained on the plate, he finally patted his belly and sighed contentedly—would’ve been perfect with a cigarette.

“What were you saying earlier?”

The fat boss repeated his question. “The man who dropped you off this afternoon—do you know him well?”

Lans didn’t lie. “He’s okay. I know his boss.”

“He has a boss?” the fat boss exclaimed!

In his eyes, Fodis—well-dressed, driving a luxury car—was already upper class; he never imagined Fodis had a boss, and that this boss knew Lans.

He now regretted not fully understanding Lans’s background before treating him so cruelly.

If this person sought revenge…

He couldn’t even imagine it!

Still, curiosity stirred—he began to take interest in Fodis’s boss. Perhaps this was the stupidest thing he’d ever done: exploiting Lans.

Or perhaps it was his chance to rise—to meet a powerful person!

He leaned forward, body bent, tone almost flattering. “You and his boss—”

Lans picked up his coffee, took a small sip—it wasn’t that cheap roasted twig brew; the rich coffee bean oils fully coated every mouthful, revealing its true charm.

After a large gulp, he set the cup down and belched. “You see, my friend ran into trouble this afternoon—I needed two hundred credits quickly.”

“I don’t know any big shots here, so I went to a financial company on the next street.”

“Financial company?” The fat boss had a bad feeling, but he had to confirm.

Lans nodded seriously. “Yes. I borrowed three hundred credits. He dropped me off to check if I had a job—so he wouldn’t lose track of me later…”

The fat boss’s eyes turned red; he glared at Lans, teeth clenched, forcing out his name—

“Lans, go mop the floor again!”

“And this pizza costs five credits—you now owe me nine!”

“If you don’t finish by nine, sleep outside!”