Just as Twiggy had said herself — she was a technician, nothing more. Without someone to vouch for her, no matter how gifted she was, the day her work was exposed would be the day she signed her own death warrant.
It wasn't as though she'd never considered building her own organization from the ground up, staffed entirely by people she could trust.
But reality wasn't a web novel. She didn't have the time to cultivate a power base like that.
If she wanted to reach her goal as fast as possible, forming an alliance with others was simply the best answer.
"In that case, allow me to give you my personal assurance, Miss Twiggy. On the honor of the Mayflower family, I swear that within the scope of my authority, you will never suffer any unjust treatment here in New Eridu."
As he spoke, he gestured to Lycaon, who stood to one side, and produced a contract that had clearly been drafted well in advance.
Twiggy took it and skimmed the terms. They were generous — remarkably so.
The package included, but was not limited to: a cutting-edge high-precision laboratory, unlimited material support, and guaranteed security.
In exchange, all revenue from the anti-Ether Corruption bracelet would belong jointly to the Mayflower family and the Timefield family, split seventy-thirty.
The patent itself, however, would remain Twiggy's personal property — which genuinely surprised her.
After all, the moment she handed over the revenue rights, she'd already written off any hope of keeping the patent.
Under New Eridu law, using a patent required the payment of licensing fees.
Because Twiggy was granting them the license, Mayflower and Timefield would be able to manufacture and sell the Ether bracelet — but in return, they would owe her royalties.
Twiggy had originally intended to waive even those fees and hand everything over. The fact that Mayflower had pushed that back to her was entirely unexpected.
"Consider it our recognition of your exceptional talent — and our hope that you will go on to create even more wonderful things for New Eridu's future."
Mayor Mayflower's words were smooth and carefully measured. As a seasoned politician, he knew better than to close every door. Leaving room was how you kept futures alive.
Much like a certain pair of siblings he knew.
"I understand. Thank you for your generosity, in that case."
With Mayflower having said as much as he had, Twiggy saw no reason to add anything further. She picked up the pen and signed her name.
Old Master Timefield signed next. His role in the arrangement was to provide technical support and partial funding for Twiggy's research.
If you're going to play the junior partner, you play it properly. All of this was for the sake of Timefield's better future.
With that, the three-way partnership was formally in effect.
Once Old Master Timefield had finished signing, Twiggy made to excuse herself — only for Old Master Timefield to stop her.
"In such a hurry, youngster? Won't you stay and have a cup of tea with this old man?"
"When an elder invites you, it would be rude to refuse. Only — please allow me to attend to a small private matter first."
With that, Twiggy stepped out of the reception room ahead of the others.
Outside in the corridor, a maid quickly approached and fell into step beside her. The two of them slipped together into the restroom of the municipal office building.
"This should do. Number Four — drop the disguise."
At Twiggy's words, the maid reached up to her chin and peeled. A full prosthetic face mask came away in one piece, wig and all.
Beneath it: a striking head of silver hair, and a face that was the mirror image of Twiggy's own.
"Please address this one as 'Shinobi,' Lady Twiggy."
Having shed the maid's uniform, the girl who called herself Shinobi dressed exactly as her name suggested — a mesh ninja outfit, which she maintained was perfectly suited for freedom of movement.
Mostly the ventilation.
"Same as always," Twiggy muttered, pressing a hand to her forehead.
This little Shinobi was one of her sisters — designation: Number Four. Twiggy had dispatched her early on to go undercover, embedding herself across various industries throughout New Eridu.
Over the past year or so, she'd gathered a great deal of critical intelligence for Twiggy. It was even thanks to her that they'd managed to make contact with the Mayflower family in the first place.
"If you could just get rid of that chuunibyou streak of yours, you'd make a perfectly competent soldier. The Harin kind."
As one of the lower-numbered artificial humans, Number Four's physical parameters were all rated excellent across the board — and her intellect was, frankly, well ahead of certain muscle-brained specimens who shall remain unnamed. Number Nine, for instance.
It was just a shame about the terminal-stage chuunibyou.
"A shinobi's life is given to the shadows. This is the glory of our kind."
"Right. Whatever. The latest intelligence — hand it over."
Twiggy had no patience for little Shinobi's episodes. She just wanted the report so she could get out of this political minefield as fast as possible.
"This one has seen to all preparations. One need only intone the secret passphrase—"
"Speak normally."
"As a shinobi—"
"Next month's budget."
"It's in the usual place. Check the codebook. And don't dock my budget!"
Give her an inch and she takes a mile — but threatening the wallet worked just fine, didn't it.
Twiggy narrowed her eyes, collected what she came for, and said her goodbyes to little Shinobi.
Little Shinobi resumed her maid disguise and slipped out. She had her next assignment to get to.
As for Twiggy — she headed back to keep her appointment with Old Master Timefield. She was genuinely curious what this elder wanted with her.
It's not going to be something about Geno, is it?
The thought crossed her mind — the classic power-fantasy web novel move: here's such-and-such, now stay away from my such-and-such.
But she shook her head almost immediately. The old man wasn't that sort. That would be far too beneath him.
It had to be something academic. Probably.
Back in the reception room, Mayor Mayflower had already departed. Only Old Master Timefield and his butler Arnold remained, waiting for her.
At the sight of Twiggy, Old Master Timefield rose to his feet, clearly ready for a proper conversation with this young person.
"Come — Arnold has already booked a table. We can talk over the meal."
"Alright."
Short and to the point. Before long, the three of them were riding in a private car to the restaurant Arnold had reserved in advance.
Twiggy settled into a plush leather sofa and breathed in the faint, drifting scent of bamboo leaves hanging in the air. A quiet sense of zen settled over her without her quite meaning it to.
"Heh heh — I do hope the ambiance is to your liking?"
As a scholar of the old school, he was genuinely fond of this restaurant's aesthetic. He assumed someone like Twiggy — equally at home in academic pursuits — would feel much the same.
"It's pleasant enough. Though I'm still curious — what exactly did you want to see me about, Elder Timefield?"
They had been seated for nearly ten minutes now. In all that time, Old Master Timefield had done little but beam at her like a fond grandfather and ask a string of perfectly banal questions — what did she like to eat, how had she been keeping busy lately. The kind of thing a doting elder says to family.
But as everyone knew, Twiggy had no parents in any real sense of the word. So this particular brand of behavior was genuinely difficult for her to parse.
"'Elder Timefield' sounds a little distant, don't you think? Why not do as little Geno does — call me Grandpa. After all, you are my future granddaughter-in-law."
"Grandpa... wait." Twiggy's eyes went wide and perfectly, suddenly clear. "What did you just call me?"
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