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The Third World leads an everyday life that’s pretty ordinary.

Is it something unusual that Polaris failed to convince Victoria for two straight days?

Just because they managed to return to the Royal Academy doesn’t mean their emotions are all sorted out.

Or maybe they’ve neatly wrapped it up and severed ties.

The classes themselves are manageable.

If it’s just about memorization without any application problems, I could even score full marks.

So, after attending classes until the afternoon, I head back home. Once I finish tidying up for dinner, it’s already midnight.

And that’s the end of my day.

Of course, that doesn’t mean the Royal Academy itself is truly peaceful.

With the sudden influx of powerful entities, everyone is moving cautiously.

Since everyone is being careful as if walking on thin ice, nothing major has happened yet.

But that won’t last long.

People adapt quickly to stress.

Staying tense for long periods is very draining. You could say they’ve adapted, or even that they’ve become numb.

This happens frequently.

Accidents occur at construction sites for this reason.

It’s the ones who have just enough skill that end up getting into serious trouble, right? Being in a dangerous situation for too long dulls their senses.

They mistook that dullness for comfort.

Though the danger remains unchanged.

It’s the same with a war-torn country in faded memories. The war hasn’t truly ended; it’s just paused, but no one feels that danger significantly.

From the perspective of someone in another country, those who have lived in such perilous conditions for decades don’t perceive the danger at all.

They may already be in the center of danger, but their senses are numbed.

What can be done?

Living beings aren’t made to endure stress like that for long. There’s only one way to reset this.

Outside of dying, there’s no other option.

That’s why people periodically die in dangerous places.

And the worst-case scenario occurs when countless deaths are taken for granted, and no one feels a sense of alarm.

This means that the death of someone cannot even be considered significant. When the value of life equates to garbage, the breakdown of morals naturally follows.

No, I’ve wandered off into strange thoughts.

Anyway, the current situation won’t last much longer.

When the careful tension between everyone ends, they’ll develop grudges against those who caused it.

People are pretty simple that way.

Meanwhile, I can just step in and turn any patient into a harvesting machine.

What if things don’t go badly?

That would be just fine.

It’s not like the harvesting machine is in a rush like in another world, and there’s no need to hustle around. In fact, being overly active would be more suspicious.

If I find a reason to make harvesting machines, someday I might get caught for doing something bad.

However, life at the Royal Academy seems a bit quieter.

*

On the other hand, the Fourth World is just too entertaining.

The place for making harvesting machines has finally been completed!

I moved to a new area with a massive chunk of machinery from the laboratory.

This new place is at the boundary of Jeber Mansion. It’s set up in such a way that it stretches across the wall. It’s not just a building plopped down by itself.

They’re so ridiculously safety-conscious that an additional fence has been built inside the mansion.

And I was set up inside that building.

Of course, my limbs are still severed, but I’ve broken free from the chains.

No, strictly speaking, the situation has worsened.

It’s almost like I’m fitting into a box. You could understand the posture if you imagined being stretched out in a rack while fitting into a box.

Then the blindfold was removed, but I ended up trapped in a space so narrow and dark that I couldn’t see a step in front of me.

Anyway, since nutrients and air flow in through the tubes embedded in my body, I can live even in such a space.

If it were a regular person, they would have gone mad immediately.

Mentally, it’s like that, but physically, it’s not too bad.

In fact, I’m half-submerged in a gel-like liquid, but strangely, I haven’t developed any pressure sores.

Anyway, while waiting in that state, a light appeared near my mouth.

A tiny door opened, just enough to barely see my lips.

“Are you going to make me young again?”

I heard the voice of an old man.

Thinking that this might be the only thing I’ve said in this world, I recited the contract document.

“I’ll give myself to you. In return, after you finish everything, I’ll receive everything you have then. How about it?”

The old man outside nodded, and I was drawn into his light.

“Oh, ohhh. Oohhh!”

I heard gasps from outside. But that sound quickly faded away.

Because the tiny door had closed. It’s a tiny door, but it seems to be well soundproofed.

However, I did obtain the harvesting machine named Blanc.

I confirmed what kind of place this was through his gaze and memories.

From the start, the entrance looks like the entryway to a cheap gambling den or bar. Instead of a menu board listing drink prices, there’s a wooden board displaying a rough account of what’s going on along with some lies.

There, I’ve been labeled as a legendary shaman from a distant land. Apparently, I would be here for a few weeks to fill my good deeds or something.

It’s suspiciously odd, but once I produce a harvesting machine, that oddness shifts to a sense of mystery.

Moreover, there’s a note stating to just nod when I recite the contract document.

There’s also a warning that if you ask anything else, you could end up dead from violations.

After confirming with the chimera in front of me, Blanc, the first volunteer, was taken inside.

The entryway had the vibe of a pleasure district, but beyond that, the next space turned out to be themed like a temple.

The chimera didn’t enter that space, stating that it would only come this far, letting Blanc proceed alone.

From Blanc’s perspective, the atmosphere suddenly shifted to something more cautionary.

The fairly spacious room was completely empty. The only thing there was a large door on the opposite side from where they entered.

Blanc hesitated but opened the door and stepped inside.

On entering, they found a room with mirrors on either side. The front was a pitch-black wall, with light coming from only one source above.

After closing the door behind him, a spot near my mouth opened up in the black wall.

It’s structured similarly to a confessional in some faded memory of a religion.

There, he met me, and he became a harvesting machine and regained his youth.

Looking at his reflection in the mirrors on either side, he joyfully dashed out.

And outside, he excitedly recounted his experience to those waiting.

That day, only nine people entered to become harvesting machines.

He claimed the shaman had gotten tired, so he closed the door.

That’s right.

It spreads much faster when you limit it rather than generating it indefinitely.

The reason exclusive items sell like hotcakes is that. Even if someone isn’t thinking about it right away, if it’s an event that could end at any moment and has a cap on numbers, wouldn’t they want to give it a shot?

Jeber.

Surprisingly, he understands people quite well.

It’s suspicious, but entering with a sense that it feels slightly wrong like a gambling den, suddenly triggering a religious atmosphere gives a big psychological shock.

So once inside, you meet someone who feels mysterious, whether it’s a shaman or whatever.

Then you make a contract.

And you can immediately see the changed appearance in the mirror next to you.

While they don’t explicitly rush you to leave, the only light in the room goes out moments later.

This naturally leads the person inside to exit.

Smartly designed.

When you step out from the religious space and transition back to the pleasure district, waiting there is a prospective harvesting machine.

And those who entered exit in the same direction they came from.

It’s definitely effective advertising.

Moreover, those who aged must continuously prove that they have become younger. And that alone serves as an advertisement.

And?

Every day, an immense crowd gathered in front of the establishment.

It wasn’t just the older folks who came to regain their youth but also many curious spectators wanting to see if the rumors were true.

On the second day, Jeber publicly lied.

He said the shaman was my guest and that he was a collaborator.

He explained that selecting volunteers would randomly draw nine people daily.

You write down names, genders, addresses, and ages, putting them into a box that’s half transparent and half opaque.

He gathers personal information with ease.

And he declared that the voting wouldn’t be done by themselves but by someone else.

He really just served as a show host, it seems.

The box containing the papers allows the audience to see the transparent portion while the dark portion is facing the one doing the drawing.

He disperses the resentment of those not drawn while obtaining everything he can.

And the place has turned into a frenzy of excitement.

Every day, time is given until lunch to submit papers, and that night, in front of everyone, a person would be randomly selected for drawing.

As days passed, the numbers grew, and among those who came in as prospective harvesting machines, there were even some trying to uncover my true identity.

But who would ever know? The only thing on the other side is a nicely packaged talking vending machine.

Moreover, if you ask such questions, the watchful chimera would kill that person.

Then they’d drag the corpse away and toss it outside, saying, “This one died from violations, so today, there will be no rejuvenation.”

It quickly became a group of lab rats that didn’t pose unnecessary questions.

I benefit from the spread of the harvesting machine, Jeber benefits from the increase in subjects, and people enjoy becoming younger.

It’s a win-win situation for everyone.