06.

“Tomorrow? I heard you’re heading to the Marquess’ estate today.”

As soon as the connection was established, a flood of information rushed into her mind, causing a slight headache. Erable furrowed her brows.

Even though she had taken a sedative, the noise still lingered. If she crashed now, it would be a disaster, because she had work piling up.

It could be more of a stress issue than just her condition. That’s why she absolutely had to watch *Romantic 4* tonight.

Stress management was just as important as managing the noise. At least there were drugs for the noise—there were no drugs for stress.

If it built up, depression would set in, and if depression hit, the universe would collapse.

“I’ll pay you double if you finish it by 7 PM today. How about 400 CP?”

“If you pay double, I’ll finish it by 9 AM tomorrow.”

To prevent the collapse of the universe, I absolutely have to see *Romantic 4* tonight.

“No, it has to be by 7 PM today.”

“If you pay me ten times that, I’ll agree.”

“Forget it, damn it. I give up.”

“Thank you.”

After organizing the documents, Erable stood up to deliver her report. She carefully navigated around the long legs of the murderers lounging around, something she had gotten used to.

Each one of them was an outstandingly handsome man, but she felt nothing. Lately, she had been seriously worried that she might turn into a stone at this rate.

Sure, they were BL novel characters, all of them with perfectly proportioned, eight-head-tall bodies, but honestly, she was completely unaffected.

Why was that? Had her survival instincts completely overpowered her reproductive instincts?

“This is the report on the 2nd channel you requested.”

Dezeb was lounging with his dogs, casually drinking beer.

He looked like someone who would only drink the finest wine, but he was the type who could switch his behavior to match the situation. His relaxed posture as he drank beer was, of course, effortlessly sexy. It felt like watching a beer commercial, with no sense of reality.

“Looks like you’re the only one doing any real work today, lieutenant.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Erable replied, though his comment wasn’t meant to be taken seriously.

“Want a beer?” he asked, tilting the can slightly toward her.

If this man weren’t Dezeb Avganis, Erable might have had a nosebleed right then and there.

But Erable was just relieved she could respond like this.

“The infirmary recommended I refrain from drinking for a while.”

“Oh, right, it’s only been two days since your injection, hasn’t it?”

He had personally administered the injection, and yet he’d already forgotten. It wasn’t even surprising. That was just how he was—everyone was fooled by him.

In any case, the fact that this man was voted “the number one man to marry” by *Daily Life* was an unfunny joke.

It simply meant he was utterly useless. The mere sight of him sent shivers down her spine, like a horror special.

“Let’s have a drink together sometime, lieutenant.”

“Yes, understood.”

Sure, someday. Maybe in 200 years or so.

The average lifespan of unmodified humans in this world was around 170 to 180 years, so in 200 years, I’ll definitely be dead by then.

Even if I never make it back home, I definitely don’t want to suffer the misfortune of sharing a drink with him.

‘Absolutely not.’

＊ ＊ ＊

“Send a few more teams to the Nor Colony side.”

At exactly 12:00 PM, Erable Vermilion left the office on time.

Dezeb, a cigarette in his mouth, was reading the report she had written. It was clean. She really was useful.

“Are you planning to weaken the Second Prince’s forces?”

“I’ve already tried that once. Which round was that?”

“I believe it was around the 44th or 43rd round. His forces collapsed, so it wasn’t particularly exciting.”

“Right, no need to repeat it. Let’s reinforce them. If they’re pressured at the colony, they’ll likely send more troops. We’ve increased supplies in three places, so let’s see where they pull forces from and offer some support that matches the prince’s plans.”

That seemed like something they had already done before, but the dogs didn’t bother questioning Dezeb’s orders.

“How’s our prince doing?”

“Seems like there’s no major issues. Though Kancher’s been whining about wanting a change in his post.”

Dezeb chuckled as he cracked open a second beer.

It was the same beer he had offered to Lieutenant Erable. She had dodged it with the infirmary excuse—quick thinking. She was like a bomb-sniffing dog that way.

Amused by his own thoughts, Dezeb flicked the beer can around with his wrist. Every time he tested her, Erable Vermilion always managed to politely slip away.

A trace of amusement lingered on his beautiful face. Maybe he’d invite her to lunch. It would be fun to see how she declined again.

“How’s the lieutenant been lately?”

“No significant changes. She’s certainly the anomaly of this cycle, but compared to previous cycles, she’s been pretty quiet. Unless you count drowning in overtime, there’s nothing particularly unusual.”

“Is that so?”

Dezeb and his dogs didn’t think much of anomalies.

One or two always showed up, and after experiencing dozens of them, they became nothing more than little quirks—just another bonus in the endless cycle of repetition.

“Oh, what’s the noise spectrum for Lieutenant Vermilion?”

“You mean NS? I believe it was around 147.”

At the sudden question, Ol looked puzzled.

“147? That might make us compatible,” Dezeb mused.

A strange silence followed.

“Pfft!” Birgo spat out his beer, slapping the armrest of the sofa hysterically.

“If she’s compatible with Dezeb, she must have destroyed a few planets in her past life or something!” he joked, still laughing uncontrollably, even after being kicked by Aries’ boot. Ol clicked his tongue at the spectacle.

“Well, yes. There’s a high chance compatibility could show up with a score like that. Should we prepare for a blood test?”

“No need.”

Dezeb smirked and shoved the empty beer can into Birgo’s mouth, finally shutting him up, then smiled slyly.

“I’ll handle it myself.”

“Dezeb, has the lieutenant done something wrong?” Ol asked, confused.

“Wrong? Why, did something come up in an audit? I heard she’s been quiet lately.”

“No, it’s not that…”

The conversation was drifting.

“Do you… like the lieutenant?” Ol asked cautiously.

“Probably,” Dezeb replied, causing Ol to grimace in sympathy for Erable. Perhaps, like Birgo had said, she really had destroyed a few planets in a past life.

“So, what do people do when they don’t, you know, spend time with women?” Dezeb asked suddenly.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“I can’t just lay her down out of nowhere. She’d probably pass out.”

The others still didn’t seem to understand his point. Aries, looking nervous, hesitantly asked, “But… it’s not like you’d pass out, Dezeb. So what’s the problem?”

“Forget it. What do people do instead?”

Everyone avoided his gaze. Of course, they wouldn’t know. They all kept their mouths shut until Aries, out of nowhere, raised his hand.

“Anyone want to bet on how long Vermilion will survive? I’m putting 1,000 CP on a month.”

“She might not die if she’s compatible, right?”

“Then let’s bet on how long she’ll stay alive. A month, 1,000 CP.”

“I’m betting 1,200 CP, month and a half.”

Excited about the sudden bet, the dogs quickly got involved. The pot jumped to 5,000 CP in no time.

Dezeb watched their ridiculous behavior for a moment before throwing in 10,000 CP for a week. The whole group jeered at him.

“You said you liked her.”

“That’s right, Dezeb. She’s been working hard. Be fair—give her at least a month and a half.”

“Come on, Dezeb, don’t be cheap! Just give her a month! A week is way too cruel.”

They laughed and joked for a while, but none of them were serious about Erable Vermilion. To them, she was just a passing amusement, nothing more.

And it couldn’t be helped.

They were too ancient, too stagnant, to expect any real change.

＊ ＊ ＊

That afternoon, after running errands for the dogs and earning a bit of extra money, Erable headed to the storage room.

She had to check the inventory.

She wasn’t in a bad mood.

With her extra earnings, she had already bought a movie ticket, a popcorn set, and even a hot dog, and still had money left over.

“Hello, Lieutenant Vermilion.”

“Yes, Sergeant. Have you had lunch?”

Erable smiled brightly.

After two years in the military, her fake smile had become second nature.

Still, hearing her surname “Vermilion” made her feel like she’d returned to a civilized world—though that was just a delusion.

After all, these people were all the same—just ‘dogs’ in the end.

She briefed the awaiting platoon on their tasks.

“We’re starting inventory checks from this point. We have to complete the log within three weeks, so there’s not much time.”

“Three weeks…?” one of them groaned.

“Yes. Each squad should aim to complete at least one sector of their assigned items per day and report back.”

Erable was particularly sensitive to the schedule because she knew she would be discarded if she became useless.

“Failure to meet the daily target means overtime. Incomplete reports also mean overtime.”

The platoon members’ faces soured. Erable felt the need to encourage her fellow workers.

“If we carefully submit everything on time, we can all leave work on time. Don’t think it’s impossible! It might just work out!”

“Why do you always say the same thing…?”

Life is like that. That’s why she had booked the movie for the late night showing.

Erable joined the platoon in starting the inventory checks.

Naturally, she hated overtime too. Enjoying it would make her a masochist, wouldn’t it?

Seriously… at least that’s what she had thought until right before she had to stay late.