...This has become quite a problem.

'...Looks tough, partner.'

'...You too, Sugar.'

At the counter seat of Cafe Sweety Outpost Base, Moore sips on a specially brewed coffee. Sugar, who's in charge of the store, went out of his way to personally brew a sugar-free coffee and hand it over, though he does charge a proper fee.

Seated on a stool at the counter, Moore is dressed casually, wearing combat pants and a short-sleeved black shirt. He quietly sips his coffee, glancing casually at the half-missing ceiling that has excellent ventilation due to the explosion, while also smoking a cigarette.

'This place is non-smoking.'

Sugar, leaning on the counter with his chin resting on his hands, points with his thumb to the wall where a plate clearly states 'No smoking.' Moore acknowledges it with a shrug.

'...Ventilation should be sufficient, right?'

'...Well, I suppose so. I'll make an exception this time.'

'Thank you.'

Opening the lid of his oil lighter and rotating the wheel, Moore ignites the tip of the cigarette with the flame emanating from the evaporating oil. He then takes out a portable ashtray.

'...Any estimate on the repair of the shop?'

'I've contacted Mighty Tools, so... it shouldn't take too long. How about you?'

'...I'd appreciate it if you didn't ask...'

The current time is 11:40. The cigarette he's smoking is his third today.

The individual who has become a heavy smoker must reduce smoking, precisely because the outpost is in dire straits.

Frankly speaking, it's due to a lack of budget.

'...want to see?'

Without specifying what, he pulls out a mobile device, unlocks it, and taps on an app icon.

Seems to be an app related to accounting.

He flips the stool seat, leans back against the counter, and raises the LCD screen for Sugar to see as he begins to explain.

'This number is the current operating budget for the base headquarters, one month's worth. Subtract the salaries distributed to the Counter's squad and the mass-produced Nikke staff, and it becomes this amount.'

'...It's halved in no time.'

'...Just to be clear, if there's a battle with the Rapture that infiltrated here, danger allowance is added. And if you're on guard duty, there's a special duty allowance.'

In other words, Moore says while tapping on the screen, further deductions will be made from here. The remaining balance decreases again.

'Food expenses... combat rations aren't free. Although it's cheaper than providing hot meals... this is for three meals. If you're on special duty, the food allowance supplied as additional rations increases...'

'Partner, stop it. Your voice is losing its vigor.'

'...The ammunition depot is almost empty too. Requesting more, especially the 50-caliber for self-defense...'

The screen is tapped, and each time, the displayed remaining balance decreases steadily. Simultaneously, the energy in his voice disappears, and a sigh mixed with purple smoke is exhaled into the large hole in the ceiling, half of which has blown away.

'...Here, the repair costs for the entire base are included... this is the result.'

'...Partner...'

With a big sigh, he taps the LCD screen with his fingertip. The minus sign is prominently displayed at the beginning of the vivid red numbers, indicating a clear deficit.

He shows it to Sugar, puts the mobile device in his pocket, opens the lid of the portable ashtray, and taps off the accumulated cigarette ash with his fingertips.

'...It's a cliché suggestion, but how about accepting a suitable mission, submit a mission report?'

'...It's not that I haven't thought about it. But, currently, I decided that we should focus on mental care and recovery rather than accepting missions.'

Leaning against the counter, with his back to the ceiling, he lets out another deep sigh.

When Eagle and other mass-produced Nikke returned to the outpost, the first thing they recognized as they descended from the elevator was the drastically changed scene.

Holes of various sizes punctured the paved roads everywhere, and the ground was in the same state. The walls of the dormitory, where they had just woken up, were exposed as if they had been scraped off, vividly revealing the indoor situation, and conveying what had happened.

While they were away, the base had been pushed to the brink, as reported by a mass-produced Nikke who felt guilty about the comrades who were not one or two but many. As the acting base commander Moore, he must have decided that priority should be given to interviews and mental care with them.

They still have memories of being attacked unilaterally when they were assaulted. His decision was correct. However, as a result, they are reluctantly accepting the significant budget deficit.

'...What should I do?'

Gazing up at the wide-open ceiling, Moore lets out a deep sigh. Sugar gently pats Moore's shoulder as he casually watches the purple smoke being drawn away.

"...I really want to contribute, but we have our own needs too."

"I didn't come here to borrow credit money. If you worry too much, it becomes unbearable for me."

The operating budget for the next year has already been received—back when they were initially assigned to the outpost. Based on that, a budget for the year was planned, but with the urgent need for restoration, it's far from enough.

Considering receiving the budget for the next fiscal year in advance, but it's likely not to be approved. The organization doesn't seem that accommodating.

An attempt to secure a special budget for restoration was likely rejected by the accounting department.

[Nikkes are not required to consume meals as a general rule. By reducing food expenses and minimizing facility maintenance costs, the current budget can handle the situation.]

Such an answer came two days ago. At the mere thought of it, thick veins pop on Moore's forehead.

It might be better to unofficially claim compensation from the central government forces—though that's also impossible.

The recent invasion was essentially a form of irregular warfare. It won't be officially recorded.

Even if they were to unofficially claim, the sight of being ignored and dismissed would likely be the result, a scene that appears in his mind's eye is not unfounded paranoia.

When he exhales a sigh, a deep low-frequency explosion sound echoes through the outpost. At the same time, from a distance, a thick column of water erupts, appearing in Moore's field of vision as he leans against the counter.

Apparently, a water pipe burst.

"...These facilities were originally quite old."

"...You're having a tough time."

He pulls out his mobile device again—the repair budget is undoubtedly going to increase.

"By the way, partner, your white hair is increasing, you know?"

"I know. I saw it in the mirror this morning when I was shaving."

"...Yeah. I'm not sure if it'll help, but I'll try to find some work on my end too. I have some connections."

---

On the evening of the next day, Moore was in the lively district of Ark. Wearing a black suit from head to toe—he exudes an aura of a muscular figure and even has the atmosphere of a gangster, but it is well-known that he is a public servant in an official organization.

However, given the nature of the bustling district, it seems that people often assume he works in that profession. Occasionally, pedestrians passing by quickly yield the way and avoid making eye contact, hastily moving away.

"...Is it that bad?"

Wondering if he has such a terrible expression, he stops in front of a restaurant and checks his face in the mirror glass.

The stubble is not a problem since he shaves. The vertical wrinkles on his forehead—well, one or two are within the acceptable range.

"...It's not a big deal."

The mirror glass outside the store cannot peer inside, so Moore didn't notice, but he happened to be checking the location of the customer seats.

It seemed as if a suddenly tall, formidable-looking man was glaring at him, and moreover, a young man who ended up facing him directly seemed frozen.

Resuming his walk, Moore takes out the mobile device from the inner pocket of his jacket.

He re-reads the message he received this morning—from Sugar. It seems that the lead is from the Merchant Alliance Unit, the Talent.

When Sugar asked if there was any work Moore could do, it seems there is a suitable job.

Well, he doesn't know what kind of job it is yet.

In any case, following Sugar's recommendation to meet once, Moore opens the map app and searches for directions to the bar specified as the meeting place. It seems it's not too far away.