“N-Not for sale?” The seemingly honest worker was surprised. He raised his pinky to dig his ear. “You’re not joking with me, sir?”
Calling foreigners
sir
had become quite common. In some extreme areas, people even started calling them
master.
That wasn’t the case here, and Lynch didn’t want it to be.
Sir
was a respectful title.
Master
was not.
So, whenever a local called one of Lynch’s employees
master,
Lynch would have them correct the locals—it was
sir,
not
master.
The honest-looking local pointed at the small iron pot and asked, “Can I pick it up and have a look?” As he spoke, he took out his work ID hanging from his neck. “I work here. I’m about to be promoted to a level-two worker. I earn real money!”
He seemed worried the foreign seller might not believe him, so he opened his ID to show his employment start date.
Nowadays, Nagaryll and the Federation shared some oddly similar practices—like needing work permits to prevent people from sneaking into job sites.
Workers had to present their ID daily to enter. Each ID was linked to one person, effectively preventing freeloaders.
The foreign seller nodded. “Of course. You can have a look. That’s your right as a customer.”
The man picked up the pot. It was finely crafted and could hold a decent amount. He had never seen anything like it locally.
He tapped it with his finger. The resonant tone it gave off carried a special texture.
Solid, beautiful, heavy in the hand. It was hard to believe it was free.
He placed it back down, reluctant.
He’d been working here nearly 100 days. His family’s living conditions had improved—there was color in their faces now—and he’d even saved up some money.
The recent appreciation of the Valier currency had made people like him—savers—suddenly
wealthy.
Many had exchanged Valiers for Federal Sols or even Francs. He was genuinely well-off.
He wanted to do more for his family—like buying a good pot.
Until now, they’d used a thin, dented tin pot, the kind you could crush with a firm press.
It was battered, patched, and overdue for retirement.
As a
wealthy man
with a stable job, his consumer desire had quietly awakened. Now, seeing something he truly wanted, it started to grow uncontrollably.
“Sir, did you say it… doesn’t cost anything?” he asked again.
The foreign seller nodded and tapped the pot. “There are two ways you can get it…”
The worker nodded quickly, showing he was listening.
“First, you can buy it outright for 19.98 Federal Sols—that’s about 20 days of your wages.”
Hearing that, the man hesitated. Too expensive.
He didn’t think it was worth that much. He could get a serviceable pot for far less—not something so fancy.
Because of the price, the pot had become a
luxury item
in his eyes. But in the Federation, this was just an ordinary cooking pot found in most homes.
“Second option—you don’t need to pay all at once. I heard you’re about to be promoted?”
The man nodded eagerly. “Yes, I’ll be a level-two worker next week.”
The seller continued, “You can take it now, and we’ll deduct a bit from your daily wages. We call this
installment payment
.”
He scribbled something in a notebook. “Since you’ll be level two soon, I’ll give you a 100-day installment plan. Just 0.28 Sols per day—and you can take it now.”
“After 100 days, it’s yours. But if for any reason you can’t continue payments, we’ll take it back.”
Hearing about
installments
for the first time, the man was intrigued. “Just 0.28 Sols a day, and I can take it home?”
He was amazed. His current wage was 1 Sol per day. Even after paying that, he’d still have 0.72 Sols left—enough to support his family and handle emergencies.
The little iron pot looked even more appealing now. He hesitated for a while, questioned why it was
0.28
, but finally agreed to buy it. It was just a small daily deduction—and he’d get to enjoy the benefits of a premium item immediately.
As he was about to leave, the foreign seller smiled and asked, “Not taking this elegant steel ladle as well?”
“Same 100 days. Just 0.06 more per day—and you can take both.”
A few minutes later, the honest-looking worker happily walked onto the site holding a pot and a ladle, scrubbing them over and over under jealous stares.
If they weren’t made of steel, he might’ve already worn off the finish or damaged the structure.
Curious workers started asking questions, and by the end of the day, the little shop outside was packed. To prevent theft, two armed guards were stationed nearby.
People’s shopping desires were intense. Even with money, the lack of available goods had suppressed their urge to buy. But now, that problem was solved. Lynch had helped them find an outlet—and one that fit their budget.
A small daily deduction, and you could take home a brand-new, expensive item right away. It wasn’t a burden—it felt like a blessing.
Some noted that installment payments added up to a higher cost, but most still preferred it. It didn’t hurt as much, and they didn’t feel like they were losing money—especially once people began demanding their wages be paid in Federal Sols.
Surprisingly, within a single day, a huge number of goods were sold. No one could believe this was still the same impoverished Nagaryll.
“I really don’t understand, Mr. Lynch,” one businessman said that night. “Why do people develop such a frightening desire to consume?”
Several merchants had gathered around Lynch. They’d also sold goods to their own workers using his exact approach—and they’d sold out quickly, shattering their impressions of local poverty.
Lynch sat in a chair, legs crossed, a cigarette between his fingers. All eyes were on him.
He rested his elbow on the chair’s arm, forearm vertical, and rotated his wrist slightly. With a faint smile, he said, “Gentlemen, what’s the first thing you do after making money?”
The businessman who had asked earlier immediately replied, “I’d go out and have some fun, find a few girls, or do something else.”
Lynch pointed at him. “Exactly. The purpose of making money is to enjoy life. Building on that idea, I have a personal view that might differ slightly from the mainstream…”
He looked around at the others. Everyone assumed a serious listening posture. Lynch flicked the ash from his cigarette and continued, “After receiving their wages, people subconsciously engage in
retaliatory
consumption to relieve the stress that comes with their work.”
“This kind of consumption is impulsive. The harder the work, the greater the pressure, the stronger the desire to retaliate—and the easier it is to lose control.”
“These people didn’t show any consumer desire before because there was nothing that fit their psychology.”
“But once something does align with their consumer instincts, they’ll become irrational—just like all of you, and like housewives back in the Federation.”
“Goods, entertainment, culture—all of these are consumable. And all of them can be sold.”
“We can even lower the total repayment amount for installments, to allow more people to participate. That way, not only do we sell more products—we also bind the workers more tightly to us.”
“When their lives are governed by installment payments, they can’t afford to leave the jobs we provide. Because if they lose their work—even for just a month!”
Lynch raised a finger, his tone carrying a clear sense of absolute control. “They’ll fall from heaven into hell. Even if you treat them poorly, dock some of their pay, or worsen their meals, they won’t act like the pampered workers in the Federation.”
“They won’t form unions, won’t go on massive strikes, won’t protest in the streets. There’s no labor union here to take you to court and bankrupt you.”
“Here, there’s nothing. They’ll beg you, and thank you, for giving them a job.”
“For us—this place is paradise.”
Reading Settings
#1a1a1a
#ef4444
Comments