anwhile, in the logistics departnt of Westminster Bank.
When Howard confird Baron’s interview assessnt as S Level, the logistics departnt commissioners, led by Jack, who were eavesdropping on the latest developnts, were all struck dumb, exchanging bewildered glances.
"Did I hear that right? S Level? Quick, pinch . SLAP! ... I said pinch, not slap !"
The man rubbed his face and said, "So it’s true? His interview assessnt is S Level?"
No one answered him. Everyone’s brains seed to have short-circuited for a mont.
After a long mont, a logistics departnt commissioner finally mumbled, "I rember the interview questions not being that difficult."
Another logistics departnt commissioner chid in, "When I went into the office, Stella took one look at and just said, ’You’re a B.’"
"Sa here, but I’m a C."
"I’m a C, too."
"Don’t look at , I’m D Level."
Jack’s face darkened. In a sense, his D Level rank, just like Baron’s S Level, had been personally decreed by the deputy director.
The specific reason was that Jack had been too nervous during his interview that day. When he went to the bathroom, he accidentally locked the examiner inside, and the Westminster Bank’s restrooms were famous for their excellent soundproofing and Forbidden Magic effects.
It happened to be sumr in London, and the air was hot and muggy after a rain, baked by the sun.
To put it in terms of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity: however long Jack spent enjoying the air conditioning in the office, the examiner spent an equal amount of ti sobbing and breathing in the stench of the restroom.
When Howard learned of this, he simply waved his hand and said, "From this day forward, you are Westminster’s one and only D Level Commissioner."
"Have we... just witnessed history?" soone said. "I’m going to sell this news to the Westminster Tis. Their reporters would definitely pay a handso fee for the birth of another S Level interview assessnt."
"You’re too late. Jack’s already off the phone," another commissioner said grimly.
A few commissioners looked over.
Jack, who had just hung up the phone:
"By the way, does S Level count as A Level? I bet on him getting A Level," another logistics departnt commissioner said.
He was one of the few who had bet One Ounce of Gold that Constantine would beco an A Level commissioner.
The other commissioners in the logistics departnt had bet on B, C, and D Level respectively. As for S Level, that option wasn’t even on the betting board.
An S Level interview assessnt was sothing no one had even dared to imagine.
Even though it had now actually happened, it still felt unreal.
Jack scratched his head and said, "Since S Level wasn’t on the board, it naturally doesn’t count. But this is just the interview assessnt. The final comprehensive evaluation depends on the upcoming containnt test. That’s the core skill a Westminster Commissioner needs to master."
"But..."
Seeing the unfriendly looks from the few commissioners who had bet on A Level, Jack quickly changed his tune. "I can refund all the bets and open a new pool with an S Level... no! An SS Level option! Let’s see if you all dare to follow."
...
As they walked, Stella explained, "The final test asures your affinity for Taboo Items. All Taboo Items of A Level and above cannot be actively sought, only contained through Destiny. Only a commissioner with a strong Destiny has the ability to contain an S Level Taboo Item."
"What is Destiny?" Baron asked. "Predestination?"
"Predestination?" Stella stopped in front of an iron door and gave a faint smile. "Sothing like that."
"Before that, Mr. Constantine, allow to ask you one question."
Her hand rested on the iron door’s wheel lock. She turned her head and asked, "Suppose after you beco a Westminster Commissioner, a Taboo Item you are required to contain already has an owner. What would you do?"
’A pop quiz from the lesson just now.’
Baron complained internally, but on the surface, he answered without hesitation, "Until I have truly confird the ownership of a Taboo Item, the Taboo Item is free."
Translation: It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s all mine.
She nodded, pulled the iron door open, and with her back to the darkness inside, said to Baron, "This is the Illusory Space ford by the Taboo Item ’Illusory Cocoon.’ There are no rules. You succeed as long as you contain one Taboo Item within the space."
"What counts as successful containnt?" Baron asked. "Putting it in the ring?"
Stella smiled. "And making it serve you."
...
「Westminster Bank, Logistics Departnt.」
The room was in an uproar. A rare crowd was gathered around an electronic screen, on which fluctuating lines showed the betting odds for Baron’s containnt test level assessnt.
The logistics departnt was full of hidden talents; having one or two people who knew their way around a computer was nothing special.
Several other commissioners were manning three or four landline phones each, like well-trained custor service agents, explaining the latest odds to every caller who wanted to place a bet and offering their own betting advice.
Jack, wearing sunglasses, held a freshly printed copy of the Westminster Tis in one hand and a wad of banknotes in the other, shouting:
"Place your bets! All bets are final! Betting on the containnt test level for the S-Level-assessed commissioner! Highest payout is 91-to-1!"
The Westminster Tis was a weekly newspaper that specifically served the global Law Enforcent Organization dedicated to containing Taboo Items, as well as individual containnt agents.
In 1987, an era when the internet was far from being as developed as it would beco, newspapers were the best forums.
When Jack had the Westminster Tis reporter publish the news, he added a condition: they had to include the logistics departnt’s landline number below the article for placing bets.
This was also why there were so many "custor service agents" behind Jack.
For every One Ounce of Gold wagered, the "agent" would earn a commission of 1 British Pound. This was a win-win for Jack, as he couldn’t possibly handle so many calls by himself anyway.
"One Ounce of Gold. I’m betting on B Level."
This was the sa commissioner who had previously bet on Baron getting an A Level interview assessnt.
In response to the questions from those around him, he said, "The containnt test is a different beast. When it cos to compatibility, I think this Mr. Constantine is a good fit, but this whole Destiny thing is too vague and ethereal..."
He didn’t say the rest, but everyone around him understood.
The containnt test and the interview assessnt were two completely different things. An S Level interview assessnt ant the person was an excellent fit for Westminster, but the containnt test would show just how strong their affinity for Taboo Items truly was.
"Makes sense. I’ll bet on C Level."
"C Level? Ter, Constantine’s interview assessnt was S Level!"
"Extres swing to their opposite, you know?"
Ter grinned slyly and said to Jack, "5 Ounces of Gold! I bet his containnt test will be C Level!"
Everyone gasped.
Ounces of Gold was equivalent to more than 2,000 Dollars. That was almost a month’s salary for a senior commissioner in the logistics departnt. What a high roller.
"What do you guys know? Going all-in is a form of wisdom."
Ter’s action and words sent the bettors, both in the room and on the phone, into an even greater frenzy, all of them declaring they wanted to raise their stakes.
The odds on the monitor fluctuated like ocean waves in response to the bettors’ frenzy.
All one could say was that Jack had still underestimated the appeal of an S Level. And why wouldn’t he? After all, the last ti an S Level had appeared in an interview assessnt was decades ago.
Jack suppressed his excitent and trembling hands. Just as he was about to continue his barker’s call, the phone in front of him rang.
Jack didn’t pay it much mind and casually picked up the phone. On the other end was the editor of a certain column at the Westminster Tis, who said he was about to transfer a major client over to place a bet.
The line went dead with a BEEP, and sure enough, a new call ca in a mont later.
The Westminster Tis had special correspondents. Whenever news broke that could shake the Old Descendant World, they would take a private plane to deliver the latest edition to users qualified to subscribe to the Black Gold VIP service.
Clearly, the user making this call was a Black Gold VIP subscriber of the Westminster Tis.
Otherwise, it would have been impossible for them to be transferred directly to Jack—the boss of this impromptu betting pool.
The call connected. A female voice spoke a single sentence and then hung up, her tone radiating an icy arrogance.
"One kilogram of Gold. I’m betting on S Level."
kilogram of Gold...
The surrounding operators and bettors froze. ’Who is this fat cat,’ they thought, ’betting so big? Aren’t they afraid of biting off more than they can chew?’
Jack smacked his lips, thinking, ’Such a huge bet... it could probably only be one of *them*.’ He had a guess in mind.
"The observer sees the target entering the door! Odds are climbing, odds are climbing! Place your bets now! The pool closes in 30 seconds!"
The spotter suddenly shouted excitedly.
Jack went forward, snatched the "coordinator’s" microphone, and said, "Quiet! All logistics personnel, attention! Switch the eavesdropping channel to SF-195. Eavesdropping codena: ’S Level’."
The logistics departnt and the phones with open lines fell silent instantly...
Jack asked in bewildernt, "Hey, why did you unplug the phone line?"
"Boss, didn’t you say to be quiet..." the person who unplugged the line said blankly.
Jack froze for a mont. ’No wonder the other departnts look down on logistics,’ he thought. ’These guys aren’t just a little bit stupid.’
He sighed, patted the man’s shoulder, and said, "Ah Gan, you’re a real genius. Now, if you would be so kind as to plug the phone line back in."
Then an operator asked Jack, "Which line is SF-195? Boss, I can’t find it."
Jack said, "It’s the observation room next to the containnt chamber. Patch in and follow their conversation. We must have the firsthand intel in our hands."
He looked at the odds, which had frozen as the countdown ended. The odds for S Level containnt had finally settled at 46-to-1. Only three people had taken that bet.
Jack was not one of them. He believed in his own luck, and smart people never beco gambling degenerates.
...
User Comments
0 comments from readers