Tatoeba Ore ga, Champion kara Oujo no Himo ni Job Change Shita to Shite.

"Eh... giggle, huh?

The words leaked from Richter L. Climbroom's mouth - no, it should no longer be called a squeal, and the red-haired girl chewed the cupcake in a boring manner.

Office of the Climbroom Mansion.

The woman in front of her appointment is still the "manager" behind the "Olba Chamber of Commerce", the largest in the King's City.

"... haha, what is that? The name of the cupcake shop?

With her hands on her forehead, she shook her head in astonishment to Richter, moaning as if she were shrouded.

Poor thing.

"Poor thing!?

Whatever the rhetoric, he looked at the woman in front of him - the young man sitting next to him.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

"No, I'm sorry, I forgot."

"I forgot!?

Such an idiot, Richter is stunned by the momentum of his jaw falling to the ground.

Behind his back, Richter was still cute today, and his secretary was smiling.

One scroll at the table between them.

It contained an invoice for the winning prize of 50 million gallons.

"The revenue generated by Futa's" fighting sword "- that is, all of Futa's operating rights belong to the Olba Chamber of Commerce. That was an arrangement with the princess from the beginning."

"Bye, stupid....."

A "contract" document that Pasta took out of his pocket.

Richter ran his eyes at the document with the momentum of licking, and he finished reading everything and rang.

"Hmm?

"Sir Treasury is no longer available."

"Mr. Richter, I was cool when I was fighting the sword."

"Really? It was terrible."

"That much!?

For Fouta, the "Richter of the Sword" is when he is dealing with Reef and Iroon.

For Pasta, the "Richter of the Sword" was just a bunch of crap that once in a few seconds said, "This is awesome."

It was an irreplaceable mistake.

"... if Futa wins, the treasury will be yours..."

"Sir Treasurer, why are you so broken?

"Well, apparently, I couldn't get 50 million gallons out."

"What would you have done if someone else had won?

"Come on....?

If Lilac or Futa wins, the prize is notorious and innocent.

I thought so, but it was quite a surprise of the late.

"I mean, what's going on with your financial management that you can't make Spectacular and pay another 50 million pounds right now?"

"Fifty million pounds!? What did I say, you!!

"Ursa... I don't know how much it cost the magician, but it would be a good place to raise more money than making spectacular clams."

"I'm sure you're here for the money...!

"Collect the money you get. It's only natural."

Spectacular who beat the country's money and made debts from everywhere.

I didn't go to make a strange debt, but it was a broken richter.

"Hey, pasta. Could I give you a moment?

"Simple arithmetic, Fouta. 1000 gallons per Spectacular Ticket. Even if you don't get 50,000 Max every day, how much do you think you get in one day on the last day or the first day? Of course, just the ticket money."

"That's 50 million... hmm?

An eight-day festival of fighting swords. First Martial Arts Games.

Eventually, with her arms in front of her, she grew up until she was almost full every day.

That would mean a simple calculation of 400 million dollars.

Excluding the sale of goods.

Futa glances at Richter.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait! You really think so!?

"No, isn't that true?

"It's true!! Still, this business is in big deficit!!

And it was also the truth.

Advertisement and advertising expenses for the construction of this spectacular club and the associated labor costs, including the magician. All of them are gold predators.

Because the last advertising money eater is now a cupcake eater in front of his eyes.

"Besides!

Still there?

"Yes!? ― ― The sword ahead is not like a martial arts tournament. Each gladiator has to pay the fight money."

"I see...."

That would be tough, even if it had 400 million dollars.

A pasta that pinches the thighs of a nodding lion.

"Every time the Gladiator plays a game, he thinks about filling the spectacle, and he goes into the black. Why are you fooled by such simple things?"

Eh, ah

It was a football club that had forgotten that tickets could be sold every time.

"Mr. Richter, is there anything you can do to fool me?

"I'm not fooling around, this is it."

Richter, holding his head, took a breath of tea he had received from his secretary.

Looking ahead, pasta.

"The tournament closed beautifully. Of course, I haven't decided what to do in the future."

"I've given you as much advance notice as I can at the moment, and I've kept promotional scrolling everywhere."

"But it's weak. Many people will be satisfied to see the" fighting sword "once. I don't think 50,000 people are going to be buried next."

……

That said, there was a verse that convinced Pasta.

Richter's concern is not wrong.

In fact, even at the end of the tournament, we should have given advance notice of what the next tournament would be.

However, the use of Spectacular was under the King's jurisdiction, and it was clear that Lilac was the organizer of the tournament.

If you had time to think about what to use next, it would be wiser to fill an appointment from one end.

"By the way, the nobles are planning a lecture with Spectacular."

"It's typical of us to look at a past of 50,000 people and think we can do the same. I wonder if lust for things has finally sprouted, even with self-expression."

"Well, don't deny it."

"Nnah, I don't know if you used spectacles for crap events, and even if they told me that guests wouldn't come in at our own time... you're holding on to the clues around here, right?

"I don't know... even though I'm a bit of a nobleman, I'm a little royalist."

Maybe I should tell the princess.

"Do it."

Richter puts his hand on his forehead and shakes his neck loosely.

And then Fouta realized one thing.

"Do you have a plan to use Spectacular instead of Fighting the Sword?"

"I sold it in the Sword of Fighting, but if you do something else halfway, there won't be any customers."

So we should definitely fight the sword, huh?

"Not at all... what, you don't want to fight a sword?

"I'm not saying I don't want to..."

You said something.

"Well, that's true. Not as much as a Colosseum experience."

Murmuring like that attracts the attention of pasta and richter.

The strange pressure is that of being a "manager" or a treasurer.

"There aren't many gladiators left to think about. It's impossible to hold consecutive days."

"It seems that the princess is trying to pull out promising stocks everywhere."

That reminds Pasta of the roots of the Reef relationship.

After all, that swordsman girl who somehow keeps living together is a grain crusher who can't do a single housework - that's good now.

"There were over 100 Normal League players playing in Colosseum alone. It's no match for a boulder."

"... I certainly thought it was a little tough to call people for one game a day. It was the finals, so I managed."

[]/(exp, adv) (uk) (uk) (uk) (uk) (uk) when/when/

I want something that will not tire the guests, tied to the "fighting sword".

"Hah... why don't you just let the princess sell you her favorite charm? You can call a customer, use that magic device to loud your voice, let them read your favorite poem, let them make a song and sing."

……

……

Tie to the gladiator.

It doesn't have to be the sword itself.

Her Royal Highness, who is no exaggeration to say that she is the most popular, showed her presence as much as a gladiator. Then, the story is the same as that of the commentary brother. Ladies and gentlemen, she's a lovely girl today! If you listen, you can sell as many tickets as you want.

--In that case, it would be tragic to be a princess.

She can't possibly think about that in this situation.

However, there was no word of reprimand from the neighboring young man when he said that he had given up the princess in a vicious mix.

Sometimes it's unusual to raise your face - tilt your neck.

"What are you staring at? Are you complaining?

"No...."

Fouta puts her hand against her mouth and thinks.

If you notice that the air is strange, look at Richter.

"I can't let His Highness do such a thing....."

a forward-looking voice tone.

"So what, it's disgusting?"

Fluffy, pasta with your hands on your hips staring at the two of you.

Richter tells her that.

"Pasta. Assuming... Assuming. What do you think of people who refuse to get a lot of money just by singing and dancing?

Big money?

"That's 50 million gallons a day."

"Ha, that's stupid. No matter what kind of fuckin 'dance it was, no matter how embarrassed you were about it, your forehead wouldn't have to be on a scale."

Richter nodded one by one in a manner that made it obvious what to do.

What is this? It's a pasta that looks half-eyed, but now it's a voice from the side.

"Pasta, this is also a tentative story. I tried to get Lilac to do that because he was popular in the arena."

"That's right. That's the worst you can do than tie a gladiator to a man. I don't know, Izna seems to like female customers."

"By the way, I think there's another guy who's so popular that he won't take the lilac, except for the gladiator."

"Spectacular? If he's here, you can leave it all to him.

I see.

Huta smiles.

Richter nodded.

Whatever, pasta with her eyebrows frowned and threw her gaze at the last person in the room for help.

She was smiling nicely in her child-sized flip-flop light blue costume. At least it's not the size she can wear. I mean, where did it come from?

----I think about it a little.

A man who is not a popular "gladiator" in the arena, who may earn 50 million gallons just by singing and dancing. As if it were a 19th grade woman.

That flashy child-sized costume.

And the answer that comes out of that is...

"... it's me!?!???!???????!??!?!??"