Chapter 50: Honor… or a Duel?.

The immense pressure of the impending “update” left Marlon no choice but to rise early. He had only managed a short nap before the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, but that was enough—he shot upright, bleary-eyed yet restless, and immediately went in search of Musa Mein.

Unlike Marlon, Musa Mein had not slept at all. He had worked through the night, his eyes now bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion. Yet when Marlon found him, the man was already surrounded by the faint glow of success—he had finished the preliminary cutting of the crystalline sheets and even recorded content within them.

Marlon’s theory, it seemed, had been correct. The thin crystal slabs functioned just as effectively as fragments from a crystal orb.

“Marlon! I’ve confirmed it completely at last—the key to letting a crystal record moving images doesn’t lie in its shape, but in its material!”

Musa Mein’s voice trembled with excitement. His eyes, red as a rabbit’s, shone feverishly as he gestured toward the table littered with translucent shards.

“That makes perfect sense,” Marlon replied with a yawn, his tone casual despite the significance of the discovery. His Earth born mind understood this instinctively—back in his own world, the magic of film reels didn’t depend on their shape either, but on the material of the film and the substances layered upon it.

At his side, the young fox-girl Amy peered curiously at Musa Mein’s workbench. Before her, a roughly cut, irregular sheet of crystal hovered midair, projecting a shimmering hologram of Musa Mein himself—his spectral figure moving busily about, as if trapped in the moment of its own creation.

“I’m no professional gem-cutter,” Musa Mein said apologetically, pointing at the unevenly shaped crystal. “My tools are crude, so this is the best I could do.”

Then he picked up another shard—a smaller piece of crystal, uncut and raw. “This one here,” he said, holding it with a pair of silver-white tongs whose metal Marlon could not identify, “is the fragment I demonstrated last night—the one that holds the recording of ‘The March of the Armored Soldiers.’”

Carefully, he placed that fragment atop the larger crystal sheet that was projecting his holographic image.

A moment later, the rousing, metallic rhythm of The March of the Armored Soldiers filled the air.

“Next,” Musa Mein continued, “is inserting other visuals for editing.”

With meticulous precision, he used the same silver tongs to place another small fragment onto the projecting crystal.

Suddenly, the image changed. Out of the air burst the sight of a massive steam tank roaring forward, its wheels grinding the earth beneath it. Behind it moved a squad of Loring National Defense soldiers, crouched low, advancing in tactical formation with the armored behemoth.

“Ah—!”

Amy shrieked in surprise, her tails puffing up like startled brush. In an instant, her instincts took over—she crouched low, claws half-bared, ready to strike.

“Easy, Amy, it’s not real! It’s fake—just an image!”

Luckily, Marlon reacted swiftly. He caught her from behind, wrapping her in his arms before her hunter’s instincts could drive her into action. The fluffy fox tail that had bristled with tension began, little by little, to settle down under his touch.

Reassured, Amy exhaled shakily, her body still trembling as she realized the soldiers and steam tank were mere illusions.

“That reaction reminds me of myself,” Musa Mein said with a weary chuckle, rubbing his reddened eyes. “The first time I saw a projection crystal ball, I nearly jumped out of my skin too.”

Marlon couldn’t help but smile. When he was a child in the countryside, the first time he’d turned on a television, the screen had shown a train rushing straight toward him—he’d screamed and nearly fallen off his chair.

His nostalgia was cut short by the honking of a steam car outside.

He didn’t need to guess who it was. The impatient, insistent blaring of the horn could belong only to one man—Inspector Bernard.

With the mayor’s new “Public Order Reform” in full swing, the once understaffed slum precinct, which had previously consisted of Bernard alone, now had four newly hired ex-soldiers serving as auxiliary police. The chaos of the recent riot had finally been logged and settled, leaving Bernard with some well-earned peace and, apparently, time to spare.

Still, it wasn’t that Bernard was using his police car for private errands—he was merely heading to the Central Police Bureau to deliver documents and pick up some new equipment. Giving Marlon and the others a lift was just… a coincidence.

Or so Bernard would claim.

Whether the grizzled officer harbored some small, fatherly resentment at seeing Marlon boldly holding hands with his precious daughter Amy—well, only the gods could say.

Naturally, Marlon wouldn’t dare offend his future father-in-law. After calling out, “Coming!” he hurriedly helped Musa Mein pack the various materials and prototype crystals into a suitcase, then rushed outside with Amy in tow.

“You brat! Get your ass in the car already—I’m on a tight schedule!”

Bernard glared from the driver’s seat, his gaze narrowing as it drifted toward Marlon’s hand, which was still clasping Amy’s. His expression said everything: you’re asking for a beating, boy.

Marlon scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Uncle Bernard, the car’s so tall that rolling into it seems… difficult. How about I just climb instead?”

Amy, trying and failing to suppress her laughter, nodded vigorously beside him and gave her father a mock glare of defiance.

That did it—Bernard burst into a hearty laugh. “You little rascal! You always have a joke ready. Get in already!”

Seeing the mood lighten, Marlon grinned and released Amy’s hand, courteously opening the passenger door for her. Best to keep the future father-in-law happy, he thought.

By then, the bleary-eyed Musa Mein emerged from the orphanage gate, suitcase in hand. Marlon dashed over to help him, and soon after, the police car rumbled to life, rolling out of the orphanage grounds toward the city’s government district.

The ride passed without incident, and before long they arrived at the City Patent Bureau.

“I’ve got official business at the headquarters,” Bernard said, parking the car. “I’ll pick you up here later.”

With that, he drove off toward the Central Police Bureau, leaving the trio before the tall marble building.

Though it was Marlon’s first time at the Patent Bureau, his name was already well known in White Sand City. As soon as he stepped inside, the clerks recognized him—the inventive young man whose name had appeared time and again in the papers.

Once they learned he was here to apply for a patent, the clerks bustled eagerly about, fetching forms and guides with almost excessive enthusiasm.

After paying the required filing fee, Marlon went a step further—he pulled out ten lants and pressed them into the clerk’s hands.

“For your afternoon tea,” he said with a knowing smile.

In this world, open bribery was no sin—it was simply good manners. Even back on Earth, Marlon mused, the so-called bastions of democracy hadn’t been free from corruption. From “political donations” to “soft money,” the words might change, but the game stayed the same.

“Oh, Mr. Marlon, that’s not really appropriate,” the clerk said politely, though his fingers had already closed firmly around the money.

“It’s just a small token of appreciation for your hard work,” Marlon replied smoothly, seeing through the man’s pretense of moral restraint. Then he leaned in slightly, his tone casual but curious. “By the way, where’s your director? I haven’t seen any of the higher-ups around.”

The clerk glanced about nervously, lowering his voice.

“You mean you haven’t heard? Our bureau Inspector and the deputy Inspector of the police department had a falling-out over a certain noble lady. They’re settling the matter today—with an honorable duel in the city square at noon! Practically every senior officer from both sides has gone to witness it.”

“…Wait,” Marlon said slowly, certain he’d misheard. “Did you just say honorable duel?”

That couldn’t be right.

They were well into the steam age, for heaven’s sake! And yet—here they were, with two high-ranking officials preparing to draw pistols or swords in the middle of the city square… all for the sake of a lady.

Marlon could only stare, dumbfounded, wondering if civilization here was advancing—or simply circling back to the madness of old.

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