Chapter 397: I Saved the Street for Extremely Selfish Reasons

My breakfast slid off the kitchen counter just as the market started separating from the animal beneath it, which made the emergency unnecessarily personal.

Lukas saw the winch cable draw tight and climbed back toward the boat. I turned toward the kitchen, where the market host was trying to hold a shelf with one hand while shouting for everyone to leave through the rear opening.

*"Leave the pickles and move the people!"* I shouted. The market host reached for one last jar, and I would have called him a greedy idiot if my eyes hadn’t followed the eggs sliding across his counter.

[System: One-time objective, mate. Stop the stripping rig, secure the occupied platform and get the residents onto sound footing. Twenty thousand EXP and forty IP, including the boarding scuffle. No extra payout for arresting the same drongo twice.]

*Put the eggs on the reward list, because I want compensation for this heroic bullshit.*

[System: I’ll write your bloody acceptance speech while you stop the kitchen falling off, mate. Maybe lead with saving the people holding the frying pans.]

I slid beneath the frame where a thick support crossed the outer shell plate, watching its foot lift clear of the bracket.

I needed to hold it straight while Lukas stopped the winch, which sounded easy until the wood started complaining.

I placed a firm loop around the post, pressed the rest of my body against the sound inner frame, and used Pressure Packing at the points taking the load.

The load pressed into me, and my new core tightened hard enough to make me regret asking for a stronger body. I had imagined using it to bully people, not becoming emergency kitchen equipment.

The gap widened beneath the post. I braced harder and began humming through my teeth, saving the rest of the tune for whoever had built this fucking rig.

*"Lukas, hurry up before I start charging this building rent!"*

"I’m trying, but they’ve put two switches beside each other and labeled both of them PULL!"

The operator had left the separate haul engaged during the fight. His machine had kept stealing our kitchen while we rearranged his face.

Lukas killed the battery connection, and the winch stopped turning. The cable remained tight, held by the loaded drum, so the kitchen didn’t immediately settle back where it belonged.

Lukas found the drum release and called up from the boat, looking far too dry for my liking.

"I can ease it out, but there’s still a barb in the plate."

*"Ease it out before the kitchen and I become one unpleasant address!"*

[System: Don’t shove back, ya drongo. Hold the post straight and let the spider unwind it. Unless you’ve always fancied being found in a sandwich.]

The market host cleared the residents behind the stone wall, then brought a timber wedge and waited on the safe side of the bracket.

Lukas let the winch drum move a little at a time. The cable eased, the support came down, and the wedge held it aligned while I released the pressure gradually.

I nearly told the market host I could hold it all day. Then my side trembled against the post, and I told him to stay back instead. I wasn’t letting a lie about stamina become my obituary.

Once the wedge held, I slid clear and spread myself across the boards. Lukas asked if I was all right, and I said the building had been heavier than it looked in the brochure.

The grazer moved below, rolling the boat and slapping its cable against the rail. Its next turn could pull the attached barb tight again.

I lifted my head again, furious that saving breakfast apparently came with a second unpaid shift.

Lukas brought the boat’s long handling pole up to the platform. Its fork fitted the release eye behind the barb, but somebody had bent the retaining clip to stop it shaking loose during a haul.

The market host showed us safety rings on the lowest ledge. Lukas fastened himself to one and worked the pole toward the barb.

I held the pole steady with my tail against the ledge. He worked the clip with a hooked tool, keeping his hands away from the point where the cable would jump free.

The captive kept shouting how to work the pole. Lukas offered to let him demonstrate with the wrong end, and the instructions suddenly dried up.

[System: Point the barb away when it pops, mate. You’ve survived the kitchen; don’t let its fishing gear finish you.]

*If that hits me, you can explain it to the girls.*

The clip finally turned. Lukas pulled, I eased the pole toward the empty water, and the barb slid backward out of the loose outer shell layer.

We guided it clear instead of dropping it against the animal. The grazer gave a slow movement beneath us, then continued breathing as though the entire rescue had been a mildly irritating scratch.

The kitchen stayed level through the next turn, giving me a chance to remember how much I disliked working before breakfast.

The market host and fish seller checked the supports while Lukas photographed the damage. When the residents came back, I watched the kitchen first. Its floor stayed put beneath them, and nobody lost another egg.

My reward arrived then, bringing me to twenty thousand EXP out of three hundred thousand and one thousand fifty-five IP.

The patrol arrived before noon, recorded the scene, and took the three prisoners and boat. The market host signed our salvage statement; approved tools and cash came back to us, while the launcher stayed evidence.

I tucked the receipt away after making the patrol officer point out the bit saying the money was ours. Getting robbed by pirates was one thing; getting robbed by handwriting would have pissed me off.

The market host replaced our breakfast without charging, and I enjoyed every bite while Lukas sorted the harmless gear we’d been allowed to retain.

[System: Paid to save breakfast, you clever little grub. Keep this up and somebody’ll put your face on a charity tin.]

*Make the hole wide enough for banknotes, because coins would bruise my dignity.*

Then Lukas unfolded a waterproof chart found in the released tool bag.

A supply boat was marked beside Saltsink’s restricted marina, with its delivery time, approach lane, and a handwritten note promising more money than the harpoon crew had carried.