Manpower Supply Center

"Welcome." A calm, distinct female voice greeted the customers as the bell above the heavy door chimed.

Eleanor tried to be as inconspicuous as possible when she stepped into the building, considering that its owner was none other than John Burbom, the fiancé of the body she currently inhabited.

Fortunately, as she scanned the two-story establishment, she found no familiar faces—only two female clerks at the long wooden counter and a young male cleaner sweeping the terrace. All three were dressed in simple medieval-style uniforms typical of common workers.

Eleanor restrained herself from looking around too much to count the number of workers on the first floor. However, she was surprised to see only three security guards, each with a sword at their waist, stationed in a building of this size.

So, there are only six people downstairs..? she mused, pretending to observe casually.

Eleanor grew nervous at the sight of the three guards, their large builds and intimidating expressions unsettling her. Silently, she prayed that she wouldn't appear suspicious—especially not enough for them to question her identity.

The true relief, however, came from the customers. Almost all of them, like her, wore heavy black cloaks, their faces obscured by hoods as if intent on concealing their identities while seeking the services offered here. Eleanor's own attire blended seamlessly, allowing her to breathe a sigh of relief beneath her hood.

Moving carefully, she sought out a quiet corner in the back. Several individuals already occupied the seats ahead of her, their silence thick with purpose. They exuded the air of people waiting for something—or someone. This spot was ideal. Close enough to overhear conversations but far enough from scrutiny.

Let's gather information calmly like this first, Eleanor thought to herself, humming inwardly.

Just as she was about to settle into the seat, the sound of hesitant footsteps approached. The young male cleaner, the one sweeping the terrace, stood before her, his grip tightening around the wooden broom he held. He was timid, almost trembling, and Eleanor tensed.

Had she been recognized? Had Alger Gwendolyn already tracked her down?

How could they find out so quickly? This family is way too overprotective—!

Her fingers curled under her cloak, ready to run—until the boy spoke in a stammering voice.

"E-Excuse me, miss... You need to take a number first... at the counter... before sitting."

"... Huh?"

Eleanor blinked, momentarily thrown off.

That was it?

She had nearly panicked for nothing.

Forcing her nerves to settle, she took in the boy's appearance. He was small, around her height—only about 160 centimeters. His long black hair was neatly tied to the side of his neck, contrasting with his humble job as a cleaner. Despite his nervous demeanor, his uniform was spotless, giving the impression that he took pride in his work.

Suppressing the urge to curse at her own oversight, Eleanor slightly nodded and walked toward the long wooden counter, where the clerks were occupied with customers who had clearly been there before. This place had a process, just like everything else. She would need to queue and wait her turn.

As she moved to grab a numbered token from the box on the counter, she silently fumed.

A numbered queue system? Really?

It was a blatant copy of the bureaucratic nightmare she had left behind in her real world. Her younger brother, the author of this world, was not as creative as he thought.

Still grumbling internally, she turned back to the cleaner, who was fidgeting near the terrace, still clutching his broom like a lifeline. Despite his earlier nervousness, he now seemed determined to help.

"Thank you for telling me," Eleanor said softly.

The boy jolted at her words, shaking his head vigorously. "N-No need to thank me, miss! I just— I just thought you looked new. There's always someone like you every now and then, so I figured I should say something."

He paused, shifting awkwardly. "A week ago, I helped someone like you. And— and they gave me a whole bag of gold coins!"

Eleanor arched a brow beneath her hood. So, he wasn't just being helpful—he was hoping for a reward.

How smart.

This boy had clearly been watching the business operations here for a while. He had learned to identify new customers, ones unfamiliar with the system, and capitalized on that. Considering the clerks only paid attention to returning customers—those with a history of paying well—newcomers were often left wandering aimlessly, unsure of how things worked.

If the business is quiet or no new customers arrive, the clerks take the initiative to approach newcomers and explain how the operational system works. However, this is rare. The clerks are often too busy to spare time for customers who might not even submit requests. They value their breaks and prefer not to waste them answering questions for free. As a result, they tend to ignore hesitant visitors and focus on their tasks instead.

To avoid such situations, most customers gather information beforehand—learning about the unique business, its success rates, how former knights interacted with requesters, and how requests were processed and completed. This knowledge, widely shared in the Lower District, helps reduce the number of clueless newcomers, making transactions smoother.

Still, many first-time customers, especially those from the General District's second section, lack the money or means to research in advance. As a result, it's common to see them wandering aimlessly around the Manpower Supply Center on their first visit, unsure of what to do.

This created an opportunity for someone like this cleaner to step in. It was a gamble, of course. Some might ignore him, but if he got lucky, he could earn a handful of copper or silver coins. And if he was truly fortunate, a clueless noble might hand him an entire bag of gold, as had happened a week ago.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes slightly, deep in thought.

A bag of gold coins? That wasn't a common tip.

Only a noble would be foolish enough to waste money like that over trivial information. And considering the Gwendolyns and their vassals were already aware of John Burbom's business, this noble must have come from outside their influence.

She reached into her pocket cloak and pulled out the small red pouch Tina had given her before she left. Five gold coins—meant for emergencies. Without much thought, she handed the entire pouch to the cleaner.

"Here," she said.

The boy's eyes widened in shock. He fumbled with the broom, almost dropping it in his flustered state. "M-Miss! This is too much!"

Sh..it...!

Eleanor only realized her mistake after the pouch had left her hand. She had just given away all the money she had on her.

"..."

Her blank stare lingered on the boy, who had scurried back to the terrace, casting timid glances around as he resumed sweeping—though his eyes kept darting toward the entrance as if hoping for more clueless customers to appear.

Eleanor exhaled through her nose.

Great. I had no money now.

She pulled her hood lower, contemplating her next steps. But her mind kept circling back to what the cleaner had said.

A noble. Not from Gwendolyn's influence. Here, last week. And they had given away a whole bag of gold.

Last week... Eleanor sat in deep thought.

It couldn't be her, could it? She wondered, shuddering involuntarily.