The Twelve O’Clock Reward and a Deadly Contrast

He walked straight through the main entrance, heading towards the hotel lobby.

The doorman, observing Yodel’s unassuming attire, initially intended to stop him.

However, he detected none of the usual timidity, envy, or inferiority that commoners typically displayed in the presence of the upper class.

On the contrary, this young man of unknown origins surveyed the surroundings with an indifferent gaze, as if this renowned hotel, famous throughout the kingdom, were utterly unremarkable.

‘A disguised noble on a private visit? An inquisitive merchant? A social scientist conducting an experiment?’

Regardless, he decided to trust his many years of experience as a doorman, allowing the young man to enter.

Unaware of the doorman’s recent internal struggle, Yodel continued to observe his surroundings with keen curiosity.

“So this is what last century’s British architecture looks like? Tsk, tsk, tsk, truly opulent.

“It’s certainly grand, but compared to modern architecture, it feels a bit gaudy. Hanging a few capitalists on the walls might improve the aesthetic.” Yodel mused irreverently to himself as he proceeded deeper into the hotel.

A sweet voice pulled Yodel from his reverie back to reality.

“Good day, sir. If you’re staying with us, please register here. For dining, kindly proceed to the second floor.”

Yodel turned to find a receptionnist, wearing a practiced professional smile, looking directly at him.

“Is this your first visit? A special note: the second floor offers Carolingian (TL Note: A fictional cuisine, equivalent to French cuisine in our world) dining, and it’s also equipped with our recently invented magic-powered fans, which you might enjoy experiencing.”

Yodel nodded his thanks and headed towards the second floor.

He soon realized what Carolingian dining was—it was simply French cuisine.

It seemed that in this world, Carolingian corresponded to the French of his original world.

No wonder the worker’s boss came here every Sunday; he must have been unable to stomach “Great British” food and sought out French dishes instead.

Glancing at the wall clock, he noted the time: 11:45:14.

Yodel found a table with a magic-powered fan and settled down, experiencing the technology of this other world while awaiting his 12 o’clock reward.

At 11:53, Mr. Moras, Joel the worker’s boss, entered the hotel and proceeded directly to the second floor.

At 11:56, Moras took a seat in the restaurant, casting a surprised glance at the young man at the neighboring table.

‘A scrawny physique, cheap clothes, and that unhealthy complexion—could such a person truly afford the expenses of the Meva Hotel?’

‘Moreover, allowing such an underling to sit here? What was the doorman even doing? Letting this sort of person in would defile the entire hotel and lower the caliber of all its esteemed guests!’

These were Moras’s initial thoughts.

However, he was in an exceptionally good mood today and thus disinclined to cause a scene.

Just yesterday, he had capitalized on an accident to effortlessly dismiss an incompetent worker and confiscate his wages, effectively killing two birds with one stone.

Each time he recalled the incident, he felt a surge of pleasure and pride in his own shrewdness.

All in all, he didn’t want a low-class individual to spoil his dining pleasure, so he refrained from voicing any objections.

At that moment, the young man also noticed Moras’s gaze and turned his head to look back.

In an instant, the young man’s eyes suddenly widened in panic, as if he had witnessed something truly horrifying.

Moras sneered. ‘Just as expected from a low-class individual; they always reveal their timidity the moment they see a respectable person. So weak, both materially and spiritually—my judgment is absolutely correct!’

Suddenly invigorated, he rose from his seat and strode arrogantly toward the young man, intending not only to expel this outlier but also to thoroughly humiliate him.

Unbeknownst to anyone, the magic-powered fan directly above his head began to crackle ominously.

At 11:59, Yodel abruptly stood, a gruesome, bloody hallucination reflected in his eyes.

Moras observed the young man, who had suddenly risen, and noting his terrified expression, assumed he had simply been intimidated by him, feeling an even greater surge of smug satisfaction.

He then spoke, entirely self-absorbed:

“You don’t belong here. I command you to leave this hotel immediately!”

“Sir, you must leave this hotel quickly!”

Both spoke at the same instant, causing a moment of stunned silence between them.

Regaining his composure, Moras visibly flushed with anger.

‘It was clearly this low-class individual who should be thrown out of the hotel, yet now he was telling *him* to leave? What right did he have to order him around?’

‘It was utterly outrageous!’

Yodel: “Please listen to me, your life is in immediate dan—”

“Silence! Who gave you permission to speak to me in such a tone?”

Moras cut Yodel off directly. He had no desire to hear what Yodel was saying, and the young man’s frantic demeanor only intensified his annoyance.

“Forget about that! If you don’t leave the hotel now, you’ll be—”

Yodel was interrupted once more.

“What will happen to me? What *could* happen to me? Could I possibly die?”

“You wretched commoner, don’t even *think* about threatening me!”

Moras was exceedingly pleased with his reprimand, convinced that his imposing demeanor would surely terrify Yodel.

Indeed, he was delighted to see Yodel, seemingly terrified by his words, scramble and crawl directly under a table.

Seeing his triumph, Moras was about to summon security to publicly eject Yodel from the hotel.

However, the unexpected arrived even faster than security.

The very next second, at 11:59:50, a sharp cracking sound echoed from the ceiling. The magic-powered fan overhead plummeted with a whistle, bounced once off the floor, and then hurtled directly towards Moras.

In Moras’s eyes, he saw only a massive black disk rushing toward him.

The sound of steel rending flesh.

Moras was sent flying, crashing heavily to the ground, his inner pockets spilling their contents.

Among them, a thick leather wallet slid a considerable distance across the floor, coming to rest precisely in front of Yodel, who was hiding beneath the table.

Huddled under the table, Yodel covered his head, listening as the fan blades tore through the air, and screams erupted from the crowd in waves.

Indeed, this was the reason for his panic, and also what he had been trying to warn Moras about. Yet, as fate would have it, good advice often falls on deaf ears when dealing with those destined for trouble.

Only when the chaos subsided did he cautiously raise his head to observe, his eyes meeting those of Moras, who lay sprawled in a pool of blood.

Moras had been disemboweled by the fan, unknown organs scattered across the floor, his wide-open eyes filled with shock and regret, precisely matching the death hallucination Yodel had witnessed.

Moras’s lips quivered.

“You… just now… were trying… to save me?”

These were his final words, his eyes wide and unseeing, his heart ceasing its beat.

“Dong.”

Big Ben chimed, its muffled, heavy sound reverberating throughout the city of Landon.

It was twelve o’clock.

****

Yodel stood in a sparsely populated alley, opening the thick leather wallet.

Without needing a close inspection, he could see it was stuffed with large denomination bills.

Even without understanding the world’s currency system, Yodel recognized it as an enormous sum.

‘Was this the reward?’

“Someone died, just so I could get this wallet?” Yodel murmured to himself.

“You’re mistaken. I didn’t kill anyone *for* you. This merchant very fortunately escaped a death plan; I merely steered his fate back onto its destined course.

“You are simply a fortunate beneficiary, so spend the money in the wallet as you wish, without any psychological burden.

“Incidentally, this merchant was the worker’s boss, you know.”

Although Yodel had grown accustomed to the God of Death’s voice, the sudden sound of speaking still made him jump.

“Ah, I startled you again. My apologies, my apologies.

“Next time I speak to you, I’ll transform into a white butterfly before your eyes, so you’ll be prepared.”

Yodel gave a wry smile. “Thank you for your concern, boss. I was just too tense earlier, which is why I was startled.”

“Tense? Was it because of the hotel incident? Well, yes, that scene was probably quite impactful for you, so it’s normal to be tense. My oversight; I intended it as a surprise, but it turned into a fright instead.”

Taking several deep breaths, Yodel vigorously shook his head, attempting to dislodge the gruesome scene from his mind.

A moment later, he spoke as if to himself:

“You’re so approachable, so down-to-earth for a deity, and you even care for me, your subordinate, apologizing for the slightest mistake… yet, when you kill, you do so without a flicker of emotion, as if you’re simply eating a meal…”

“Hmm? Thank you for the compliment, but is there a conflict between those two things?”

Yodel fell silent, only to reply several seconds later: “Yes! I finally understand what ‘contrast’ truly means!”

“???”