Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 148

Chapter 148

Zatariel's Point of View

The moment the emcee announced the official opening of Foundation Month—

The ribbon was cut.

Applause followed.

Cameras flashed everywhere.

Jayson, naturally, was one of the photographers. He takes documentation very seriously. Evidence is power, apparently.

Then—
The migration began.

And when I say migration, I mean a full-scale human relocation event.

In one unified direction.

Toward our booth.

I observed the incoming crowd of extremely motivated individuals and arrived at a very professional conclusion:

We may have accidentally created a profitable disaster.

Asha, Jayson, and I immediately lost the luxury of participating in the other scheduled activities.

Ceremonial appearances? Social obligations? Symbolic ribbon-holding?

Irrelevant.

We were now managing what I can only describe as controlled economic chaos.

The ticketing system was functioning efficiently, thankfully.

Students waved numbered tickets with visible determination.

Parents stood nearby with expressions that looked less like charity and more like long-term investment planning.

Several VIP guests from overseas even joined the queue.

Apparently, generosity becomes significantly more attractive when limited supply is involved.

Within twelve minutes, every item inside the booth stopped being a "sale" and transformed into an "auction."

Students began competing.

Parents began competing.

Investors began competing.

One alumnus attempted to secure three watches simultaneously through emotional storytelling.

Unsuccessful.

Auction rules require structured desperation, not theatrical persuasion.

Items previously owned by President Ashel generated particularly intense interest.

Historical association increases perceived value.

Students bid with impressive confidence.

Girls began bidding for items belonging to Jayson and myself.

I have several concerns.

Jayson's baby shirt sold for 100 million.

One hundred million.

For a shirt previously worn by a crying infant.

Jayson simply adjusted his glasses and recorded the transaction calmly.

I am still unsure whether he felt proud... or deeply confused.

My pillowcase— the one I did not even like— sold for 90 million.

I stared at the receipt for several seconds.

Perhaps I underestimated the pillowcase.

Or perhaps I underestimated people.