Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 49: The Update Hell
Although troubled by the difficulty of finding reliable talent, Marlon had not forgotten his duty. He informed Musa Mein that the deputy dean of the Demonology Research Institute had already registered the “Crimson Rune Energy Conversion Device” as a patent, and, relying upon that very patent, had gone on to establish the so-called Carlos-Wilkin New Energy Company.
The news struck Musa Mein like a thunderbolt. His face contorted in rage, his chest rising and falling as if his heart might burst. He cursed Carlos-Wilkin with the vilest words he could muster, calling down the wrath of the Quinn gods, begging them to rain divine punishment upon this shameless thief who had so brazenly stolen his father’s research results. His voice cracked with hatred, spitting venom with each syllable, as though only destruction could appease the burning wound in his soul.
Marlon did not interrupt. He simply waited, patient as a stone, until Musa Mein had vented his fury. Only then did he step forward, his tone calm yet heavy with reason, hoping to anchor Musa Mein back into composure. What else could be done? The deed was already accomplished, the wood already carved. If Musa truly wished for revenge, if he sought to reclaim the stolen glory, it could not be done in haste. They would have to plan, prepare, and bide their time.
“Musa,” Marlon said softly, resting his hand upon the younger man’s trembling shoulder. “There is an old saying: a wise man’s revenge is never too late, even if he waits ten years. So long as you possess patience and resolve, vengeance is only a matter of time. And when that day comes, you can return every shred of hatred upon that man—tenfold, a hundredfold. Isn’t that far more satisfying than a rash strike today?”
His words seemed to sink in. Musa’s furious breathing slowed, though his chest still rose and fell like a bellows. The tempest within him calmed, little by little, until a grim determination replaced the blind rage.
“Marlon,” he said, his voice hoarse yet steady. “I’ve made up my mind. For the patent we’re filing tomorrow—I want your name listed as co-inventor.”
The declaration startled Marlon. He blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Ha? That… isn’t necessary.” He shook his head firmly. “You don’t need to put my name there. All I ask is that you convert this patent into shares and invest it into our DreamWorks Film Company. That’s enough.”
According to the patent laws of the Loring Republic, using a patent as equity in a joint venture automatically granted the company free usage rights to that technology. By Marlon’s proposal, if Musa registered the patent for “Crystal Film Imaging,” then DreamWorks Film Company would hold perpetual usage rights without paying fees. And in the future, if others attempted to found similar companies, they would have no choice but to pay royalties directly to Musa.
In other words, Marlon was handing Musa a fortune—a stream of patent income that could last thirty years—while taking only the smallest, most reasonable share for himself. From a business standpoint, it was clear: Marlon was no black-hearted profiteer. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
“This won’t do! You’ll suffer far too great a loss, Marlon!” Musa protested sharply. He too had studied the law and knew exactly how much wealth Marlon was leaving on the table.
Marlon only chuckled, brushing off the concern. “Nonsense. The invention is yours. I merely provided a little financial support. That hardly entitles me to your life’s work. So it’s settled. Musa, prepare the theoretical outline and demonstration steps. Tomorrow at noon I’ll come fetch you. We’ll go to the city patent bureau together and record the application.”
In this world, patent registration required both written documentation and a “crystal-ball recording,” a dual-layer process that made the procedure costly—five hundred Lants per patent, no exceptions.
“Oh, right,” Marlon added with casual concern, “will you be able to write the documentation alone? If not, I’ll have Adela assist you. Her record-keeping speed is… well, nothing short of miraculous. She’s more than qualified as a secretary.”
He spoke with such sincerity, as if every word was devoted to Musa’s wellbeing. The steadiness of his demeanor lent weight to his reassurance.
For a long while, Musa remained silent. Then, with an odd mixture of admiration and sorrow in his eyes, he whispered, “Marlon… you truly are a good man.”
A good man?
Marlon almost laughed aloud, torn between amusement and helplessness. Brother, you can’t just hand out ‘good person’ cards like this. We’re supposed to be sworn enemies, remember?
But Musa’s gaze grew resolute. His voice, slow and deliberate, carried a weight that could not be ignored. “That is why I cannot let you suffer loss. This patent—I will insist on writing your name beside mine. And not just this one. As long as our partnership endures, every invention, every creation, I will sign your name alongside mine.”
Marlon tried to refuse again, but the unyielding resolve in Musa’s eyes made further protest pointless. In the end, Marlon could only sigh and accept this unwanted gift. He truly had no desire to profit from it.
After all, before his strange journey into this world, Marlon’s very first childhood dream had been to become a great scientist—an Einstein, a Newton, someone who changed the world with knowledge. That dream had withered as he grew, leaving him nothing more than an unremarkable office worker. Yet now, seeing the spark of that dream reborn in another, nurtured by his own efforts—it filled him with an unexpected, genuine joy.
That night, Marlon did not return to his own Flowery Courtyard. Instead, he stayed behind with his ever-efficient maid-secretary Adela to help Musa compile the written patent materials for the Crystal Film Imaging invention. In this world, a poorly written document could spell disaster—there were countless cases of inventors losing rights to silver-tongued opportunists.
Fortunately, Musa’s gift of expression was decent, and with Adela’s blistering speed and Marlon’s careful editing, the materials were completed by midnight. They checked the document thrice over, ensuring no errors, no ambiguities remained.
Finally, Marlon stretched wide, yawning like a cat. “Hah… I’m dead tired! I’ve decided—I’ll sleep until noon tomorrow!”
But Adela, still dressed in her gothic black maid uniform, interjected sweetly yet mercilessly: “Young Master Marlon, I fear that wish cannot come true. According to your agreement with Master Conchita, you already missed today’s quota of twenty thousand dictated words of The Book of Aery. That means tomorrow, you must compensate with triple—sixty thousand words in total.”
She did not add the obvious: at Marlon’s dictation speed, sixty thousand words would take at least five and a half hours. Combined with their trip to the patent bureau and his daily promise of storytelling for the orphans, sleeping until noon was nothing more than a dream.
Marlon knew it, of course. His hand slid to his forehead, his voice dripping with exaggerated despair like a tragic actor on stage. “Why… why did I ever agree to such a suicidal clause with Old Kang? This will kill me! No, I refuse! I’ll renegotiate, demand holidays, demand breaks! Authors are human beings, not word-churning machines!”
Adela tilted her head, lips curling in curiosity. “Young Master, what are ‘updates’ and ‘breaks’? And what is a… ‘code-writing machine’? I don’t quite understand. But I suspect Master Conchita would never agree to such requests.”
The way she smiled, mischievous yet innocent, left no doubt—she too believed “skipping updates” was simply unacceptable.
Thus, poor Marlon, staring into the abyss of his endless “update hell”… could only weep silently.