Weakest Beast Tamer Gets All SSS Dragons

“Theodore! The smelling salts! Quickly!” Finch exclaimed with a choked voice, his face paling dramatically.

The mouse frantically scurried across the counter, bringing a tiny flask that Finch opened with trembling fingers. He inhaled deeply, his eyes watering from the sharp scent.

“Everything?” he repeated, as if hoping he had misheard. “All five hundred and forty-five thousand? Down to the last crystal?”

“Yes,” Ren nodded calmly. “I don’t know how much they’ll charge me to send money to my parents, so I’d rather have a margin.”

“Your parents!” Finch exclaimed, momentarily recovering his dramatic flair. His eyes widened behind his spectacles as he clutched his chest. “Of course! The young magnate honoring those who gave him life! What a noble gesture!”

Though his expression darkened again immediately, his mustache drooping visibly.

“But still… everything. The worst setback in the history of our banking relationship.” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped an imaginary tear. “And just when we were so close to the million.”

“I’ll recover it soon,” Ren assured him, his tone matter-of-fact.

Min giggled at Finch’s theatrics. Finch now opened the register with the slowness of someone handling a sacred object, his fingers caressing each page reverently.

“Five hundred and forty-five thousand,” he murmured sadly as he began to write, each stroke of his pen seeming to cause him physical pain. “A young fortune slipping through our fingers.”

At that precise moment, the door opened again and an administrative assistant entered with a stack of papers. The young man, dressed in the academy’s auxiliaries formal uniform, seemed completely oblivious to the drama unfolding before him.

“Finch, this year we’ll make the tournament deposits automatic, to avoid last year’s lost prize problem,” he announced, placing the documents on the counter. “I need your signature to confirm you got the deposits.”

Finch absentmindedly flipped through the papers, but his expression suddenly changed upon reaching a particular page. His eyes grew enormously behind his glasses, looking alternately at the paper and at Ren. His mustache twitched with poorly concealed agitation.

“Thank you,” he finally said to the assistant, signing quickly with a flourish that belied his inner turmoil. “You may leave.”

Once the assistant departed, Finch attempted to maintain a neutral expression, but his acting when not being dramatic left much to be desired. He was sweating profusely, his forehead glistening under the office lights, and kept casting furtive glances at the newly arrived document.

“So… five hundred and forty-five thousand,” he muttered, avoiding looking directly at Ren, his voice unnaturally high.

“He’s acting weirder than usual,” Liu observed. “I bet the tournament prize just arrived in Ren’s account based on what that auxiliary said.”

“Absolutely not!” Finch exclaimed with too much vehemence, his hands flailing. “Nothing has arrived! Everything is exactly the same and the magnate’s account will be brutally destroyed as requested!”

Theodore, however, nodded from behind the counter when Liu spoke, pointing at the paper with his tiny paws and making emphatic gestures.

“Theodore, I was trying to save some of the magnate’s savings!” Finch shrieked, scandalized. His meticulously groomed mustache seemed to bristle with indignation. “Traitor! After all these years!”

The mouse shrugged, as if saying “truth above all.”

“How much is the prize, Mr. Finch?” Ren asked calmly.

Finch deflated like a punctured balloon, slumping against the counter.

“One hundred and sixty-six thousand crystals,” he finally admitted, the words clearly painful for him to pronounce. “Which would raise your total to seven hundred and eleven thousand.”

His eyes briefly lit up with desperate hope. “But you don’t have to withdraw it all! Think about what could happen if you have an emergency and you’re at zero! Just don’t revert all the way to a blank account, please!”

Ren considered the new information.

“In that case, I’ll withdraw six hundred and eleven thousand,” he decided. “And I’ll leave one hundred thousand for any eventuality.”

Finch let out a small moan, as if each extra crystal withdrawn caused him physical pain. Theodore patted his hand consolingly, though the mouse’s eyes betrayed a hint of amusement.

“How would you like the withdrawal?” Finch asked in a weak voice, pulling out his ledger with trembling hands.

“Six bronze glow crystals, ten gold-sized, and ten silver-sized,” Ren specified, his tone businesslike.

“Theodore!” Finch called with a tragic voice that echoed through the small office. “Help me nearly empty the magnate’s coffers! What a black day for the financial history of the academy!”

The mouse jumped to the safe, giving Ren a look that seemed to say “forgive him, he’s always been like this.” Its tiny paws worked with surprising strength and efficiency as it began arranging crystals of various sizes near Finch.

While Finch counted the crystals with theatrical gestures, as if each one were an old friend he was bidding farewell to, he continued muttering under his breath.

“So much work! So many hours of calculations! So many dreams of seeing that glorious seven-digit figure! All for nothing!”

Finally, he placed the crystals in a bag that he handed to Ren with the solemnity of someone delivering the ashes of a loved one.

“Six hundred and eleven thousand,” he announced with a broken voice. “And one hundred thousand that will remain, lonely and sad, waiting for the return of their brothers.”

“I’ll recover them soon,” Ren promised, carefully storing the bag. The weight felt substantial in his hands, a physical manifestation of his months of effort.

“That’s what you said last time!” Finch protested, throwing his hands up dramatically. “And look at me now! On the verge of collapse!”

Theodore rolled his eyes so ostensibly that everyone noticed even though they were completely black.

“Thank you, Mr. Finch. Thank you, Theodore,” Ren bid farewell with a small bow.

“Come back soon!” Finch exclaimed, recovering some of his enthusiasm, his mustache perking up slightly. “And bring your report tomorrow! Theodore and I will be here, crying over the empty records!”

As Ren and his friends left, they could hear Finch theatrically sobbing.

“Six hundred and eleven thousand, Theodore! The worst setback in history! We’ll have to readjust all our student wealth ranking charts!”

Min could no longer contain himself and burst into laughter once they were outside.

“That guy should dedicate himself to theater,” he commented, wiping away a tear of laughter. “I’ve never seen anyone so dramatic about someone else’s money!”

“I think he truly enjoys his job,” Taro observed with a smile.

Ren nodded with amusement. “The mana tells me he enjoys making others laugh…”

As they headed toward their dormitory, the weight of the crystals in his bag reminded him of his purpose. Tomorrow, at last, he could send his parents the fruits of his first 6 months of effort.

From the bank window, Finch watched them leave, his expression as melancholic as Theodore’s.

“You don’t understand, Theodore,” he sighed dramatically. “We were so close to a million! SO close!”

The mouse gave him consoling pats on the hand before returning to his cookie.

♢♢♢♢

Director Ignatius massaged his temples while listening to Wei’s detailed report on recent experimental methods. His office, normally a haven of academic tranquility, seemed to have become the center of a storm of unforeseen events.

“So the Living Tunnel method should be paid for at once,” he commented, examining the documents Wei had presented. His fingers traced the detailed diagrams and notations.

Wei nodded, excitement in his eyes. “Precisely. Patinder even added explanations to a much more efficient mana absorption method, it already worked 20 times with no poisoning and was explained with great detail. His companion’s beetle evolved exactly when he predicted it would, many days earlier than expected… and remember, not as a Great Excavator, but as a Living Tunnel.”

“And you want to incentivize him to release more data with the corresponding hundred thousand crystals,” Ignatius murmured, making notations in a registry bound in good leather.

“For commoners, a million is announced for new cultivation methods,” Wei continued, his voice taking on a more formal tone. “But many get upset when they realize that amount is divided from Silver 2 according to the rank achieved… Even so, I want him to understand that so he gives us deeper methods soon instead of many superficial Bronze rank methods, most of which will never be used.”

The detailed payment for a cultivation method was: One hundred thousand for Bronze 1, two hundred thousand for Bronze 2, three hundred thousand for Silver 1, four hundred thousand for Silver 2, five hundred thousand for Silver 3, and a million for Gold 1, although the last two methods were rarely sold to the school.

“Considering that only Silver 2 is a useful and complete method to register in a restricted access book,” added Ignatius, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Just quickly reaching Bronze 1 is something I’m not sure if the contributors will be happy for us to purchase.”

“I’ve worked with the boy for weeks recording his theories,” Wei admitted with uncharacteristic humility, his normally authoritative demeanor softened. “And I must say his confidence is… unsettling. It’s as if he has access to information that the rest of us don’t. If we don’t act in good faith now and don’t incentivize him…”

The door opened without warning, interrupting the conversation. Selphira Ashenway entered with the serene authority that characterized her, not bothering to announce her presence.

“Speaking of the prodigy child, I suppose I heard correctly,” she commented, taking a seat without waiting for an invitation.