The Pleasure Daily is a newspaper in the Gephra Empire known for its focus on entertainment. Moralists call it the sewer of decency, but for many pleasure-seekers, it serves as a guiding light.

Its reputation may be poor, but its circulation is strong—especially its “Monthly Rookie Ranking” and “Quarterly Rookie Ranking,” which gentlemen have dubbed essential reading for their personal indulgences.

Each quarter, the paper ranks newly debuted escorts based on client reviews and comprehensive evaluations. The winner garners both fame and fortune. Reaching that level means stepping beyond mere escort work—it’s a potential ticket into the upper middle class, even becoming a renowned socialite.

Many girls, unwilling to take the harder paths in life, aim for this route. Even if they don’t win, simply appearing in the rankings can guarantee decent business.

But it’s still a legitimate profession—and legitimate workers should not be ridiculed. There’s no hierarchy in honest labor.

In this era of fierce competition for attention, the lines between things often blur. If a huge story breaks, even a morally questionable paper can gain readership and subscriptions.

People who never read The Pleasure Daily may buy a copy for the headlines, and they won’t just toss it aside. Once they see other content—be they priests or preachers—if they’re men, they’re likely to come back for more.

This was a rare opportunity. The editor-in-chief immediately grasped its potential. He sat down, dabbed his tea-soaked mustache with a handkerchief, and picked up the phone.

News of this magnitude required approval from the editor-in-chief, and possibly from the nobles who backed the paper.

Within twenty minutes, the publisher arrived—accompanied by a young man of apparent high status and a stern-faced middle-aged man.

“Where’s the evidence?” the publisher asked without small talk. He called a young journalist into his office and requested proof.

The young reporter didn’t hesitate. He opened his tightly clutched briefcase and pulled out a file folder.

The publisher divided the contents among those present. As he read, he asked, “How did you obtain this evidence?”

The young reporter, calmer now after a long wait, began to explain the bizarre story.

“I’ve been following a new girl. The editor-in-chief knows…”

All eyes turned to the editor, who nodded. “In September, a girl entered the rookie competition. We’ve been monitoring these girls, but she disappeared a few days ago.”

“Clients reported they couldn’t reach her through our paper’s contact methods, so I sent him to check on her. We wanted to know if something had happened—and offer help if needed.”

Everyone nodded. Though escort work is legal, it’s still a vulnerable profession. The Pleasure Daily does sometimes offer support—legal aid, short-term loans, and the like.

Typically, a rookie wouldn’t go missing without cause. Disappearing means no chance of ranking. The publisher saw their actions as routine.

He looked back at the young reporter, who continued, “I found the girl. She was hiding. She told me that during an appointment, she overheard her client talking on the phone about something involving Harmony Capital. It sounded serious.”

“She made a noise while eavesdropping and startled him. He nearly kidnapped her…”

The young noble interrupted, raising a hand. “Can you identify the client?”

The reporter shook his head. “It was a phone booking—anyone could’ve called. That man could be anyone.”

“The girl said it was late and dark. She barely remembered what he looked like. The darkness helped her escape.”

“After hearing her story, I thought it might be a big scoop. As you know, anything linked to Harmony Capital has been a hot topic.”

Everyone nodded. Harmony Capital was the talk of the town. Anyone who bought shares early had seen their investments double. It was impossible not to talk about it.

The reporter continued, “So I chartered a boat and got approval for a business trip. I went to the gold mine associated with Harmony Capital, a bit further away. Everything I found is in your hands.”

“While I was there, I was discovered by some people. They didn’t intend to let me leave…”

He lifted his shirt. It was summer, and he was lightly dressed. The fabric revealed gauze wrapped around his left side, stained faintly with blood.

“They shot me. Hit me, too. Luckily, my camera absorbed some of the impact. I didn’t stay—I got out as fast as I could.”

Though he said little, everyone in the room could feel the tension in his tale.

“This is attempted murder. A scandal!” the editor added, glancing at the publisher and the young noble.

The two carefully reviewed the documents. The reporter’s logic held. It was natural for someone young and idealistic to be this passionate—and for a journalist, that kind of instinct was essential.

Often, major scandals are first uncovered by the media. Reporters’ hunger for fame can make them overlook danger—even life-threatening danger.

The documents described a gold mine—long since depleted—purchased recently by foreigners who resumed operations for a brief time, then abruptly stopped again.

Even without the reporter’s speculation, the publisher and noble could guess what was going on.

Hiring locals would’ve exposed the truth that there was no gold. Despite their wealth and power, the foreigners couldn’t stop rumors from spreading among the unified local workforce. Shutting down entirely avoided further attention.

Once the mine closed, locals lost interest. They probably just assumed the foreign owner was a fool and moved on.

No one expected a death-defying, fame-seeking reporter to go snooping.

“I’ve finished reading. Come with me…” said the young noble. He handed the documents to the middle-aged man—clearly his assistant—and looked at the reporter. “You’re about to be famous.”

Nothing could be more exciting for a young journalist. The reporter’s eyes lit up. He really was going to be famous.

A few minutes later, he was whisked away in a car. The matter now needed careful handling—for maximum benefit.

Nobles were not united. In the past, they waged brutal wars, beating each other senseless.

In modern times, nobles no longer wielded armies or political power. Their battles had shifted to the realm of wealth. But even this was foolish—most nobles were so well-established that attacking one meant heavy losses for oneself, too.

So, they’ve cultivated an illusion of restraint—rarely drawing real blood. Most conflicts end in a draw.

But when an opportunity arises—one that inflicts pain on the opponent without costing them much—they’re more than willing to strike hard.

The car quickly merged into traffic and disappeared. In a café across from the newspaper office, a man who looked like he was casually passing time stood up and entered a nearby phone booth.

He pulled out two coins and inserted them into the slot, picked up the receiver, and dialed a number.

After a few rings, the call connected, but there was no sound on the other end.

Both sides remained silent. The man in the phone booth glanced at his watch. After thirty seconds, he said, “The fish has taken the bait.”

With that, he hung up.

Friday was a good day—it meant the weekend was near. Just a little longer, and rest would come.

The Royal Exchange opened as usual. When the gates swung wide, traders poured in, and the entire Gephra financial market shifted from absolute stillness into frantic motion.

The noise felt familiar to everyone in the trade—the shouting, cursing, laughter, and chaos formed a symphony named The Desire for Wealth.

Richard had stationed people in the exchange to monitor the situation. The coming period was critical. If they made it through, their wealth would explode once again—and they could exit calmly.

Recently, more and more people were buying gold bonds. Everyone believed they could leave according to plan, smoothly and safely.

One man eating a toast-and-fish sandwich stared unblinking at the ticker board. Harmony Capital’s price was stable, trading volume low, with a steady upward trend.

Once he left, he planned to return to the Federation first—he was sick of the food here. Everything seemed to involve fish. To get a decent steak, you had to reserve in advance.

Most farms in Gephra were owned by nobles, who only supplied beef to their own households.

Any other beef was imported—which meant expensive.

In high-end restaurants, you needed to book three or four days in advance just to eat a proper steak. It was nothing like the Federation.

In the Federation, beef sat neatly in the supermarket freezer. If you wanted it, you just tossed it into your cart and took it home.

As he drifted into these thoughts, some traders began to show odd expressions.

On the ticker board, Harmony Capital’s price had begun to fluctuate.