I Really Am the Administrator!

At the Dawn City trading post, the clamor of hawkers and bustling crowds never ceased, with merchants and foot traffic streaming in and out from dawn until deep into the night. Ruts of varying widths crisscrossed the ground like a massive chessboard, and an array of rare and exotic treasures piled high upon the stalls. Among them were eight-jointed octopus-style mechanical arms produced by Boulder Military Industries, clocks and jewelry crafted in the Camel Hump Kingdom, general-purpose bionic maids and valets imported from Ideal City, and even exotic spices from the Far Sea Continent alongside bars of soap manufactured by the Legion. In short, if you could imagine it, you could buy it here. Long ago, the Dawn City market had transitioned its operating model. While keeping the official bulk commodity trading hubs run by the Alliance, it leased out the expanded trading stalls to private individuals. Those leasing the stalls included local merchants, shelter residents, and traveling merchants from abroad. Even before the Tide had officially begun, the market had steadily grown livelier as winter thawed. Now that news of the Tide's end had spread, an air of festive joy infused the thriving commercial hub. "Is there some sort of celebration going on lately?" A man in a long, high-collared gray coat paused in front of a stall, glancing up at the decorations hanging overhead as he asked casually. His skin was somewhat dark, his brow and the corners of his eyes marked with deep wrinkles. He carried a weathered look that spoke of extensive travels, a lone suitcase held in his hand. The stallholder looked him over, finding his face unfamiliar and guessing he was a traveling merchant from far away. With a smile, the merchant replied: "Our esteemed Administrator led us to victory against the Tide! In three days, there'll be a grand victory celebration held right here. It's an old tradition of ours. By the way, is this your first time in Dawn City?" "Not quite. But the last time I came through, this place was still an overgrown wilderness." The man glanced around, putting on a helpless expression. "Just a moment ago, I thought I'd misread my map." Seeing his rustic astonishment, the vendor chuckled. "Well, that must have been years ago! This whole area is governed by the Alliance now. It stopped being a patch of wilderness long ago." Though he had not been here in years, the man did not seem unfamiliar with the word "Alliance." Evidently, he had heard rumors about this region elsewhere. "I've heard of it. The Administrator of Shelter 404 led his people to build a prosperous utopia upon the wasteland. They not only seek to unite all suffering survivors, but have sworn a lifelong vow to bring an end to the wasteland era..." The stallholder gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Haha, it's not quite as exaggerated as the rumors make it out to be, but it's pretty darn good... By the way, friend, where are you from?" "The Southern Sea," the man replied. The stallholder looked at him in surprise. "The Southern Sea? One of those islands in the south? I heard the scenery down there is quite nice." That was far too distant, and with both Haiya Province and Jinchuan Province mired in turmoil, he knew very little about it. The man gave a wry smile, shrugging helplessly. "If you consider sea beasts capable of kicking up waves dozens of meters high to be scenery... then yes, you'd love it there." The vendor let out a hearty laugh. "Haha, guess every house has its own troubles... Aside from that broodmother in the city center, the biggest beast around here is the Administrator's mount." The man froze. "M-mount?" "A Deathclaw." Pride beamed across the stallholder's face, as if he were the one who rode atop the monster's back. "Even a mighty Deathclaw bows at his feet. There's nothing on this planet he can't defeat—including that broodmother downtown!" The man's brow twitched. He felt an urge to laugh, but held back out of politeness, thinking to himself that this fellow simply hadn't seen the world. However, one of the vendor's words caught his attention. "What do you mean... he defeated the broodmother in the city center?" The vendor stated with absolute pride: "Exactly what it sounds like. He wiped out the monster that even the Post-War Reconstruction Commission couldn't defeat. Not only is there no Tide this year, there'll never be another one again." The man stared in utter disbelief, his jaw dropping slightly. Wiped out... How on earth could someone wipe that thing out?! He had studied mutant slime molds for years. The terrifying nature of that organism lay in the fact that so long as a single speck remained, it would regenerate endlessly—and with each rebirth, it emerged far more troublesome than the last. In truth, that very broodmother was the reason he had made this journey, yet the man before him was claiming... it was dead? Seeing the visitor standing dumbstruck, asking question after question without any intent to purchase, the vendor gradually lost interest in keeping up the conversation. Still, business was business. Not wishing to cause offense, he refrained from shooing the man away and instead offered a well-meaning suggestion: "If you want to learn about Dawn City, I'd suggest picking up the latest newspaper and heading over to the Highway Town Inn near the entrance for a beer. You can sit in the tavern hall all day without anyone bothering you, and you'll never run out of people to chat with... The stories you'll hear from those mercenaries and traveling merchants are far more thrilling than anything I can tell you. Especially Old Hook, the lame innkeeper—he's been here since Dawn City was nothing but weeds and rocks." "Thank you. I'll take your advice." Sensing the vendor's fading interest, the man gave a polite nod, preparing to leave. "Don't mention it. My name is Zhang Datong. If you ever need wholesale hardware tools or automatic rifles, come find me... By the way, what line of work are you in?" "I am an Administrator," the man answered truthfully. "An... an Administrator?!" The stallholder didn't process it at first. When the words registered, his eyes went wide in shock. "Uh... not the Administrator here, of course," the man said helplessly, suddenly realizing the misunderstanding. "No offense intended. I know the title carries a special meaning to you, but there are far more shelters in this world than you might imagine. By the way, if I wanted to meet your Administrator... how might I go about requesting an audience?" Zhang Datong stood with his mouth agape for a long while before gathering his wits, staring intently at the man. "...For real? Which shelter are you from?" Anticipating skepticism, the man sighed and rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a slightly faded VM. "Shelter 70. Administrator Sun Yuechi." Yet to his utter surprise, the stallholder's jaw did not hit the floor upon seeing the VM. Instead, the man lost interest almost instantly. "Tch, what's that supposed to prove?" Zhang Datong curled his lip in disdain, his half-hearted curiosity turning into deep suspicion. "Isn't that just a vital signs monitor? Plenty of people have those." Sun Yuechi froze, caught between tears and laughter as he prepared to argue. Before he could speak, the vendor pressed on. "Even if you claim to be an Administrator, where's your power armor?" "P-power armor?" "Yeah," Zhang Datong looked at him strangely. "You call yourself an Administrator, don't you? Shouldn't you at least have a suit of power armor?" Sun Yuechi stared at him blankly. Power armor and an Administrator... Was there an inherent connection between the two? Seeing Sun Yuechi's down-and-out appearance, Zhang Datong felt certain he couldn't produce anything of the sort. A flicker of contempt surfaced in the vendor's eyes. He didn't even bother mentioning that their own Administrator could stroll around in power armor without even turning on the power. "Forget it, I bet you don't have one... Well, what about a mount? You should have one of those, right?" "I..." Sun Yuechi's face flushed red, completely tongue-tied. Not wanting to waste more time on him, Zhang Datong waved his hand dismissively. "Alright, alright, I've seen plenty like you. Every few weeks, someone buys a blue jacket and waltzes in here trying to run a scam, claiming to be a shelter resident. Heh, claiming to be an Administrator, though—that's a first. I'll just write it off as tall talk. Go spin your yarns somewhere else, I don't have time for this." Sun Yuechi swallowed the retort on the tip of his tongue, glaring fiercely at the smirking vendor. He snatched up his suitcase and turned on his heel. *Why do the residents here seem so utterly thick-headed?* To think he had actually looked forward to seeing the Alliance after hearing the rumors. It was nothing special after all. Having reached the gates of the trading post, Sun Yuechi stopped. A sudden thought made him reconsider his plan of paying a direct visit to the local Administrator. Perhaps... That foolish fellow was right. It might be wiser to do as he suggested: head to the Highway Town Inn, buy a newspaper, and quietly observe the situation before making any decisions... ... Meanwhile, at the Highway Town Inn not far from the trading post. Wearing an apron, Lisa wove through the crowded room, placed a tray loaded with beer mugs onto a wooden table, and hurriedly headed back toward the kitchen. Watching the young girl scurry back and forth, Old Hook felt an ache of sympathy in his heart. At first, he had merely felt pity for the girl's tragic background. But as time went by, he had unconsciously come to treat her like his own daughter. It helped that he had no children of his own. Taking advantage of a brief lull in her work, he called the diligent girl over and placed a small pouch of silver coins into her hand. "I want you to take a few days off, starting tomorrow. Here's your wages for the month. Don't come back to work until the victory celebration in three days is over." Lisa blinked, asking in a timid, anxious whisper, "Did... did I do something wrong?" Old Hook grinned. "No, quite the opposite. You've done wonderful work, and that's precisely why you need a break. What's the point of earning money if you never spend it? Go buy yourself some new clothes. Those folks from the Refugee Home have their eyes on me, and I don't want anyone calling me an exploitative boss." To prevent rescued unfortunates from being mistreated by unscrupulous employers, the Alliance's Refugee Home conducted regular follow-up visits with those who had attained Alliance resident status. It was a measure proposed by the shelter residents. Supposedly, it began when those nosy blue-jackets discovered an unscrupulous company intentionally recruiting a large number of workers under "supervised" status, exploiting their desperation to become Alliance residents to bleed them dry. This included, but was not limited to, refusing to implement the Administrator's Victory Day proclamation, continuing to exploit laborers under old laws, and forcing them to work twelve-hour shifts on production lines without overtime pay. The end result was thoroughly satisfying: true to his word, the Administrator had driven the perpetrator out, an incident that made the front page of the *Survivor Daily*. Shortly after that, the Refugee Home instituted the follow-up inspection system. Naturally, Old Hook had nothing to fear from their visits or from harmful rumors; he had a clear conscience. He simply felt that a girl her age ought to live a brighter, sunnier life. If he had a child, he would have wanted her to live just like that. *Ah... living in the sunlight.* *What a luxurious wish.* Old Hook felt a pang of emotion. It wasn't the first time; there were moments he almost forgot he was living in the wasteland. Understanding the old man's kindness, Lisa clasped the coin pouch tight against her chest and whispered, "But... won't the celebration be terribly busy? Is it really okay if I'm not here?" "It's fine," Old Hook chuckled, waving his hand to reassure her. "I'll hire a few temps to help out." Sitting at the bar nursing a beer, In Debt God let out a drunken hiccup and raised an unsteady hand. "Can I sign up first? Or tell me when you're posting the quest so I can camp the board." Recognizing the regular, Old Hook scolded with a laugh, "You? I couldn't afford you. I'd like to keep some savings for my retirement, thanks." Slumped beside his empty bottles, In Debt God lamented with a miserable scowl, "Twenty percent off... no, fifty percent off! Somebody give me a job, anything! I just need to make some coin!" Lao Bai clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "What happened, brother? Down on your luck?" Nibbling on a grilled lizard tail skewer, Elaina gave him an amused, teasing look. "It can't be that bad. How much could your little hobby possibly cost?" "Piss off." In Debt God's face flushed crimson. Knowing these bastards were just itching to roast him, he got his retaliation in early, though he was too embarrassed to admit where his fortune had vanished. However, his buddy Construction Boy had no intention of keeping his secret, cackling as he spilled the beans. "This guy bought over a hundred gnawers." *Over a hundred gnawers?!* The entire group gasped in shock. "Holy hell... that Intelligence stat of yours is no joke." "What the hell are you gonna do with a hundred gnawers?" "Ten thousand silver coins..." Fang Chang rubbed his chin, pondering for a moment. "That doesn't sound too bad... Not enough to completely clean him out, right?" The price of a single Light Cavalry exoskeleton wasn't terribly steep for an Alpha veteran, representing a mid-tier expense at most. In this game, earnings in silver coins scaled directly with contribution rank and sequence tier. Elaina shot a suspicious glance at the miserable player slumped on the counter, sensing there was more to the story. Sure enough, Construction Boy smirked and dropped the rest of the hammer. "If it were just that, it'd be fine. But could our dear Brother Eyes accept his subordinates being a squad of brainless idiots? Obviously not! So the man went and bought a gun for every single gnawer! Sure, they're just pipe rifles, but seven-millimeter rounds don't grow on trees, do they?" "Uh, fair point." Elaina did the mental math; that was indeed a staggering sum. "Right?" Construction Boy shrugged. "And as you know, gnawers usually just stand around like statues to maintain organic balance... With the hyperactive way he's running them around, he not only has to burn through ammo, but he's also gotta feed them enough nutrients to keep them from decomposing!" "Alright, shut up! I'm an idiot, okay?!" In Debt God buried his face in his hands, nearly in tears. Not done having his fun, Construction Site Boy and Bricks slung an arm around his shoulder with a grin. "Come on, brother, I'm not finished yet!" In Debt God shoved his arm away. "Get lost! I don't have a brother like you!" Lao Bai roared with laughter. "Hahaha!" The group around the bar bantered and laughed. Watching their camaraderie, Lisa couldn't help pressing her lips together in a small smile. Yet happiness in this world was always balanced. Where some rejoiced, others worried. Just as the group was happily brainstorming terrible advice for In Debt God, an astonished cry suddenly echoed from the deluxe suite in the rear courtyard: "What?! They're not selling anymore?!"