Mob No.123: “Nobles are… scary…”
The joint exercises with the Imperial Central Fleet’s 1st Strike Force in the Haluitok sector had ended, and I returned to Planet Ytz aboard the prepared carrier.
After docking the Patchwork in the hangar, I headed to Old Man Roans’ place to collect my payment.
“Looks like you had a rough time.”
“Well, we were used to weed out problematic rookies. Still, the military’s a pain. They have to make even that kind of unit work somehow.”
As I received my pay—in both credits and intel—I recalled what happened during the exercises and sighed again.
“Nah, not really. Surprisingly, ‘mysterious accidental deaths’ happen a lot inside the military.”
I didn’t know how Roans knew so much about the military’s inner workings, but if that was true, it was terrifying.
After that exchange, I left the mercenary guild building—just as my dad called.
Probably about the rear-end collision involving Lindert.
“Hey, what’s up, Dad?”
I answered as calmly as I could.
On the screen, Dad looked exhausted.
[Listen, John. About that car accident—the other party withdrew their complaint. We don’t have to pay that absurd compensation anymore.]
Yep, the Lindert incident.
[Not just that. Seven—no, eight years’ worth of unjust debt… about 70% of it got refunded. Turns out that bastard lying about being a duke’s grandson backfired. The duke himself apparently had him ‘dealt with.’]
“Whoa! That’s great!”
I’d heard the General might handle it, but I hadn’t expected this. I was genuinely shocked.
But Dad didn’t seem convinced.
[You… know something about this, don’t you?]
He asked me.
“Nah, I’m just as surprised.”
[…Well, whatever. Come home for once. Taking a long break won’t kill you.]
“…Alright.”
Maybe sensing I wouldn’t elaborate, Dad shifted the topic to my visit.
I didn’t feel like refusing, so I agreed.
[But take public transport. I’ll reimburse the fare later.]
Ugh, that’ll take forever…
Two mornings later,
I was on a orbital elevator heading to Ytz’s spaceport.
I’d left the Patchwork at Dorg Maintenance for repairs.
Dad said to “come home,” but Planet Tabl was his hometown—I was born on Ytz. Our old apartment still stood there too.
To me, this was just visiting the countryside.
As a kid, I went every summer.
Mom’s hometown was a New Year’s trip, I think.
News about me being a mercenary spread after one of Dad’s friends spotted me at the guild.
The neighborhood aunties wouldn’t stop gossiping. Visiting would’ve made it worse, so I stayed away.
This’ll be my first time back since middle school.
Feels weird not having my ship nearby.
Lost in thought, I passed through the boarding gate.
Planet Tabl was the fifth most developed world in the Galactic Democracy’s era—still perfectly balanced between urban and rural.
The capital had modern skyscrapers, while the outskirts held farms, orchards, and untouched forests.
Even using a gate, the trip to Tabl’s spaceport took two days.
Then, a 13,000 km/h maglev train for an hour to the capital.
The closest station to Dad’s family home—Marrock Region, Valbis City, Arbustal Town, Redzger District—was Valbis Central.
Dad and Mom grew cabbages and grapes in the countryside, apparently earning decent acclaim.
Another hour by bus would’ve gotten me home…
but Dad was waiting with a small air-truck.
I hadn’t even told him my arrival time.
“Why are you here?”
“Figured you’d come around now.”
His intuition about family was still sharp.
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In the air-truck, I explained the deal with the General—since he insisted, as the involved party.
“And this stays between us. Don’t even tell Mom.”
“…I caused you trouble.”
“The General proposed it, and the Duke handled it—but the Duke only ‘handled’ things for his own reasons. This quick resolution? He probably knew about Lindert but ignored him until crushing him became profitable.”
That was my guess, anyway. We’d never know the truth.
And if Lindert had been more useful to the Duke… we might’ve been the ones “handled.”
“Nobles are… scary.”
“…Yeah.”
The rest of the hour-long ride passed in silence.
Soon, we reached Dad’s house—
a spacious single-story home with a wide yard, a small vegetable garden, and a vast cabbage field across the road.
The grapevines were farther out.
“I’m home.”
“Welcome back.”
Mom reacted the same way she had when I’d come home from school—no fuss.
“Tired from the trip?”
“Not really.”
“Good. Then go pick cucumbers from the garden.”
“Sure, sure.”
Grandpa and Grandma used to live here. Visiting as a kid, Grandma always sent me to fetch veggies.
Grandpa died during my second year of high school. Grandma hurt her back two years after Dad started farming and moved to a care facility.
The cucumbers went into a salad. Dinner was simmered potatoes, pork-and-bean-sprout stir-fry, miso soup, and rice—my first home-cooked meal from Mom in seven years.
Mid-meal, Mom suddenly said:
“Keep the refunded money.”
“Huh? But Grandma’s care—you should hold onto it.”
Getting 70% back was a relief,
But as far as I’m concerned, I think of it as money I gave to my parents.
I’d rather you guys keep it because of what happened to Grandma.
“No, it’s yours. That was your money to begin with.”
“You guys earned some of it too.”
“Don’t humiliate us further.”
Their pained expressions made me relent.
“Fine, I’ll take it. But I’m not stopping my allowance. It keeps me motivated at work.”
If they refused that,
I’d force the refund on them.
“Deal. We’ll gratefully accept that instead.”
“Stubborn. Just like your father.”
They sighed in resignation.
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