One of his special abilities was self-recovery.
So basically, I’ll be his first aid kit for a while, until he figures out how to do it on his own.
Besides, this man will go through a terrible event soon, and it’ll be so huge that he’ll forget the small favor he made to an illegal jewel-dealer and become the final boss.
After reviewing it to my satisfaction, I noticed Heimdal lowering his head, his cheeks reddening.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t work for free.”
I laughed and tapped the floor.
“What makes you think it wouldn’t cost you something?”
Heimdahl’s eyes opened wide, like a rabbit.
“Oh… I see! So what do you want?”
“What can you do for me?”
I asked with a smile, and Heimdahl touched his glasses as if he was thinking.
The answer came out before long. It was more of an appeal than an answer.
“So, I’m… Ah! I can use my head pretty well.”
That’s what I thought. You’re just about the most clever person in this novel, right?
He used those skills to craft up all sorts of schemes to bully the heroine in part two.
Heimdal began listing thing after thing.
“I-I have pretty good looks, too.”
“Sure.”
“I can also cook—”
That was kind of tempting.
“A-and I have a lot of money!”
Too much, I’m convinced.
It’s a condition that makes me want to continue the story.
‘He’s handsome, good at cooking and rich.’
Of course, it’s not that I’m lacking anything, it’s just automatically appealing. That beauty works so hard.
“Oh no. I have a lot of money, too.”
But to put it bluntly, it was not an interesting requirement.
First of all, I have enough pocket money because I make it illegally.
My ability is to use my strength through jewelry.
Both attack spells and healing abilities come from jewelry.
I basically had all the skills, as well as an eye for jewelry.
To be exact, I can easily see the power and quality of jewelry, and have the hands necessary to produce detailed fakes.
It’s not about jewelry and sales.
‘Or the fakes, either.’
Of course, the jewelry I need to write my order is more special than ordinary jewelry. Although I learned how to evaluate a jewel in order to live.
“There’s no need for a cook, because I’m eating everything next door.”
Andrew, who runs a bar next door, was good at cooking.
His store menus, which were bars and cheap restaurants during the day, were delicious.
“About your brain, I’m not sure—”
Honestly, I don’t think it’s comparable to the best ruses of the main villain in the book.
“Appearance—”
Isn’t something I can eat. I covered my mouth and thought about it for a while, but Heimdahl spoke first.
“How about accounting?”
“Accounting?”
“Yeah, why don’t I organize it for you?”
Heimdahl looked around the room.
“That paper.”
He pointed to a paper I had stuck to the reading board on a nearby wall. I hadn’t finished the equations from a few days ago, because of the exhausting business trips, so I just kept them near the flowers, right?
“You’d better fix the numbers a little.”
His bespectacled eyes narrowed for a second, but quickly returned to normal.
“The units are different in the middle, so the multiplication is wrong. The difference is 9097. And it would be better to do such a calculation vertically than horizontally.”
Heimdahl said, looking at me over the rim of his glasses.
I blinked.
“You can see that?”
“I have good eyesight.”
“Then why bother with glasses…? No, nevermind.”
He didn’t wear glasses because of his poor eyesight, by the way. I got goosebumps again.
‘Your physical abilities are no joke, are they?’
I grabbed the paper and stared at it.
An 11-digit calculation was scribbled on iit.
It trailed off after a certain point due to the headache I’d gotten after listing the numbers, in an attempt to ascertain the size of the back alley market.
‘You paid for this at all once?’
He opened his mouth as if to say more. Our eyes met, and I nodded, granting unspoken permission.
“I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but you were looking at the flow of the market, weren’t you?”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“I can tell by looking at the size of the numbers and items. I’m good at organizing things quickly in my head.”
His words gave me a wild idea.
Was what I wrote that messed up?
He asked himself a question and immediately accepted it. Well, it’s a mess because I wrote it roughly.
“I’m confident that I’ve done it all the time.”
“There’s no record.” (Syrinx)
He’s serious about this.
To put it simply, he wants to work as an accountant secretary.