Chapter 70: The Second Regret

The two children, visiting an outdoor café for the first time, felt awkward. Before sitting, they repeatedly patted their clothes to ensure they wouldn’t dirty the seats.

Lynch said nothing, simply watching. Reverence for the world doesn’t vanish in an instant; those who instantly lose all respect for everything soon perish—either destroyed by others or by themselves.

Those arrogant enough to lack reverence don’t live long.

Seeing the children sit cautiously with their heads slightly lowered, it was clear they still held some reverence inside, even after doing things most adults wouldn’t dare to do—killing.

When the waiter brought three coffees with three thin pancakes, wishing them a perfect afternoon tea, Lynch began discussing the jobs he could offer.

“I recently started an auction house,” he said. “I don’t have any employees yet, and in the coming period I’ll have a lot of work. I can’t lock myself inside all day; I need people to help.”

The children exchanged glances, then straightened their backs. Lynch nodded without comment, holding the tray in one hand and sipping from his cup.

“For the first job, I need someone to visit all the trade markets in Sabin City daily to inquire about goods, including raw materials and their prices. It’s simple but requires attention to detail, the ability to ask questions, read and write a bit.”

Mr. Fox hadn’t yet realized how much trouble the mortgage loan tied to his finances would cause him. His warehouse was filling with all sorts of clutter—not gold or jewels that could be easily sold.

If he had valuable items, he wouldn’t send them to Fox; they’d go straight to antique shops, which were often just pawnshops in disguise.

What ended up with Fox were items hard to sell quickly but essential for daily life.

These things couldn’t be sold easily or discarded, tying up time and energy. Lynch would then buy them at discounted prices per the mortgage agreement.

In effect, he profited twice from the same transaction, and the second profit might be larger. But since these transactions were separate, and Fox asked Lynch to handle them, it didn’t matter.

Market prices fluctuated. Setting prices required careful budgeting. Lynch already sensed the storm before the economic downturn.

As the economy contracted, people changed spending habits, turning to secondhand goods to reduce unnecessary expenses. Pricing secondhand goods became an art.

Sometimes market behavior was puzzling—for example, some goods could sell for less than the value of their raw materials once disassembled, especially in used car sales.

An old car might sell for a few Sol, but its parts or raw materials could be worth more.

In the past, high labor costs made such dismantling unprofitable, but with the coming economic slump, labor would become cheap, and people would scramble for jobs once deemed undesirable.

For prepared capitalists, this would be a feast—since labor was historically the largest cost.

The two children nodded vigorously. The younger one remained quiet; the older spoke, “Mr. Lynch, we can read and write. We’re hardworking and fast.”

Lynch nodded. “Secondly, I need people with some sales skills, who look a bit charming. We’ll have goods to sell door-to-door.”

Kindness and charity usually arise only after financial freedom is achieved, when people start seeking spiritual fulfillment.

A person too poor to afford pants doesn’t think about helping others or finding joy in it—they just want to make money and fill their stomach.

Only those well-fed and idle prove their superiority through charity. Using a small amount of money, they buy gratitude and even worship, gaining a sense of spiritual elevation and superiority.

This craving for spiritual satisfaction often defines the middle class. True elites have seen everything and regard charity as a mask for their own flaws.

Using poor children to knock on middle-class doors is effective. The aspiring middle class, eager for social progress and responsibility, will pay for these children.

It’s a profitable business—helping some, satisfying others, and most importantly, Lynch makes money.

“Maybe I’ll have other jobs for you later, depending on how things go here…” He pulled out a checkbook and wrote a two-hundred-Sol cash check, placing it on the table.

“Use it to buy decent clothes. Make yourself look…” He gestured, “neat. Come to the warehouse district tomorrow.”

He finished the pancakes and coffee, stood, and the children nervously stood as well.

“I think we’re done?”

“Yes, Mr. Lynch!” The older child bowed his head obediently.

“Enjoy your tea. See you tomorrow, kids!”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Lynch!”

After Lynch left, the children were excited but grimaced at the bitter coffee.

“Why do adults like this stuff?” the younger child shivered. (This sensation is likened to a post-urination chill; girls and women might not relate.)

He eyed the dregs in the cup and said, “I’d rather have something sweeter, like juice.”

The older child grimaced too, whispered at him to be quiet, then wrapped the leftover pancakes to take back and share with others. They had become one unit, sharing everything.

If it weren’t for the coffee’s perishability, they wouldn’t have drunk it all.

Before leaving, they carefully wiped the chairs—though they hadn’t dirtied them—cautious and delicate, evoking pity.

Such is the world: some roam lavish places, spewing vulgarities, their mistresses sucking the blood of the federation and society’s elite.

Others, like these children, live cautiously, continually contributing but barely preserving basic dignity.