After nearly ten whole crates of high-proof, low-quality booze had been drained, Steven was the only one still standing in the entire Trade Station.
There was no helping it—his Minecrafter physiology made it nearly impossible for him to get drunk.
Even without drinking milk to remove the debuff, at most, a bottle of alcohol would just make him feel nauseous for a few seconds before he was completely fine again.
Downing the last bit of liquor in his bottle, Steven scanned the Trade Station, where the elite operators of Rhodes Island lay sprawled across the floor in various states of unconsciousness.
For a moment, he wasn't sure what to say.
These uncles and aunties had a collective age well into the hundreds, yet they still knew how to party hard.
Truly, an inspiration to the elderly.
"Come on, Steve, let's keep drinking…"
Blaze, reeking of alcohol, suddenly latched onto him, an empty cup in her hand.
The heat radiating from her body mixed with her faintly sweet scent, creating a strangely unique aroma around her.
"Go drink with Morpheus instead."
Steven gave her a look of disgust as he effortlessly pushed the drunken cat girl away with one hand.
He didn't mind her scent, but he did mind the possibility of her throwing up on him.
He had already seen what happened to the two middle-aged elite operators across the room, who were now doubled over, violently expelling a mosaic of regret.
This whole crew had been downing booze nonstop without so much as a peanut to soak it up. If they didn't end up puking, that would be the real miracle.
Just as he finished dealing with the drunken feline, the Trade Station's main door suddenly swung open.
A girl with black twin-tails strode in, pinching her nose as she took in the scene before her. Her crimson eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Steven—the only conscious soul left.
"I agreed to rent this place to you guys for a party, but I don't recall saying you could puke all over the place. So, who's paying the cleaning fee?"
Completely at ease, she gave Steven's shoulder a shove before striking a very familiar pose—slightly leaning forward, extending a delicate, pale palm, her fingers curled ever so slightly…
The universal 'gimme money' gesture.
Steven glanced around.
The same Blaze who had been demanding another drink just moments ago was now snoring sweetly, even letting out tiny, adorable purring sounds.
As for the two middle-aged men who had been throwing up their souls earlier? They were now lying on the floor, clinging to each other like two lovers who had braved the storm together.
Honestly, if someone called them a couple at this point, Steven wouldn't even argue.
Outcast and the two aunties were completely out cold on the couch, looking indistinguishable from actual corpses.
"...Listen, would you believe me if I said I was just an invited guest?"
Steven spread his hands helplessly.
He was always the one shaking people down for money, not the other way around. Being on the receiving end of extortion was a new and baffling experience.
"I believe you. But you're the only one still conscious."
The black-haired girl, wearing a slightly oversized trench coat, blinked her scarlet eyes at him. Her elf-like pointed ears twitched slightly, but she maintained her firm pay-up stance.
"You must be a new elite operator then? The newbies always go through this once—get used to it. So, will you be paying in Lungmen dollars or an equivalent currency?
"Oh, and by the way, they haven't paid for the booze either. Wanna cover that too?"
She looked like she definitely wasn't going to let Steven leave without paying up.
"So, who exactly are you? Why do you just go around demanding money from people?"
Steven scratched his face, a little troubled as he looked at the petite girl who was nearly a full head shorter than him. Her pointed elf ears and crimson eyes instantly reminded him of Warfarin from the infirmary.
Rhodes Island sure had an abundance of cute girls, huh? And they all seemed to have red eyes too—talk about a niche specialty.
"Me? Now that's the right question!"
The girl puffed up with pride and rattled off a string of self-important titles as if she were reciting a dish menu:
"I am the Rhodes Island ship reliability engineer, SUPERVISOR of Rhodes Island, a brilliant system engineer, one of Kazdel's top 100 youth innovators, an advocate for open-source software, a recipient of multiple design awards, and an enthusiastic gamer—Closure!"
She seemed worried that Steven might try to weasel out of it, so she quickly added,
"By the way, I'm also the head of this trade station. All the booze you drank was painstakingly procured by me—it's all my blood, sweat, and tears!"
"Hmm, and what does that have to do with me, a mere bystander?" Steven feigned ignorance before suggesting with a smirk, "How about this—you go ask Kal'tsit about it? I'm sure she'd be more than happy to reimburse me."
The moment Steven mentioned that name, the confident and smug expression on Closure's face vanished instantly.
As expected.
She'd been acting all high and mighty, but at the end of the day, she was just a textbook merchant—and dealing with merchants was one of Steven's specialties.
First, he had to completely distance himself from the drunken idiots behind him. Then, he had to introduce a real heavyweight into the conversation.
Considering Kal'tsit's cold and commanding personality, if she found out her subordinates had pulled something like this, well… things were going to get very interesting.
And sure enough, at the mere mention of Kal'tsit's name, Closure instantly shrank back like a mouse spotting a cat.
Not just her—Steven even noticed that the supposedly unconscious elite operators behind him all subtly held their breath.
So these bastards weren't actually knocked out—they just wanted to see him struggle for fun!
"Uh… you and Kal'tsit… are close?" Closure asked hesitantly.
"More or less. Let's just say I'm a VIP guest of hers," Steven said leisurely. "She personally invited me here, never asked me to do anything, and didn't mention anything about me having to pay for anything, either."
He put a bit of extra emphasis on the word pay just to mess with her.
Judging by Closure's reaction, she seemed genuinely terrified of Kal'tsit.
That green-haired, eternally composed woman really did have the aura of an empress ruling from behind the curtains. Not someone to be trifled with.
"D-Don't just throw her name around like that!" Closure's voice wavered as she withdrew her outstretched hand. "Kal'tsit—she's got a really small tolerance for nonsense, you know? If you're just bluffing, and she actually gets pissed, things are going to get real bad!"
Her shifty eyes and the way she was actively avoiding his gaze told Steven everything he needed to know—she was completely chickening out.
She must have realized that Steven wasn't lying, which made things even worse for her.
If Kal'tsit found out Closure had rented out the Trade Station for a drunk party and even tried to profit off booze sales, she'd probably have her hide.
"Well, if you're unsure, why don't you just go ask her yourself?" Steven suggested, his grin widening. "In fact, you won't even have to go far—she's standing right outside."
Glancing at his minimap, Steven noticed the little green cat-head icon that represented Kal'tsit had just arrived at the Trade Station entrance.
His grin widened.
This was about to get real fun.