No! Money! Left!
Those three simple words stabbed into everyone's hearts. Queen and the others jolted upright as if launched from a catapult.
"What did you say?! No money? Did you embezzle all the funds or something?!"
Caesar slammed the table in fury, only to find everyone staring at him, including Queen and Judge. Their gazes conveyed the same message:
[Who could embezzle funds better than you?]
Everyone knew what Caesar did with his share in private. Since he was willing to squander his own research budget, the others didn't bother interfering.
When Caesar failed to produce results, it made mocking him easier, but his current outburst gave off a vibe of trying to cover his tracks.
"What kind of money-burning project did you start this time, Vegapunk? You're in charge of fund allocation, but you can't just spend like that!"
Judge's face darkened further. His research was at a critical juncture, and a funding cut now would render all his efforts wasted.
"Looks like we'll have to go rob someone, huh? I say we should've done it ages ago. That freeloader was a pirate, right? She's got experience."
Queen, rather than complaining, proposed a solution. MADS wasn't a legal organization anyway, and by the sea's common perception, classifying them as pirates wasn't far off.
"Shut up! Punk, finish explaining. What's going on with the funds?"
Oran silenced them with ease, more effectively than Vegapunk could.
Though Queen and the others resented both Oran and Vegapunk, they feared Oran more. The reason was simple: Vegapunk might dock their pay, but Oran would actually beat them up.
Against Oran, they couldn't outtalk, outsmart, or outfight him. One misstep, and that little cat girl would zero in on them. Two years had proven that fear well-founded.
"It's our sponsor. He's having some issues. He seems to think his investment's been sufficient and is considering pulling out."
Good news: No one embezzled the funds.
Bad news: The sponsor was planning to withdraw.
Everyone present had sharp minds and instantly grasped that this was a problem at a deeper level.
"What's the reason?"
"'It's enough'—that's what they said, verbatim."
To Du Feld, MADS was a vanity project, not genuine charity. Two years of investment without major results didn't faze him; MADS's name had already spread somewhat.
If he redirected the remaining funds to propaganda, he could achieve the same effect. Compared to the bottomless pit of research, buying public opinion was far cheaper.
"Why now, of all times? Didn't we publish some papers recently? That guy…"
Judge gritted his teeth. Of everyone, his experiment was at the most critical stage, impossible to pause.
"So, he only said he'd stop funding. No mention of reclaiming the ship, when it'll happen, or sending someone over, right?"
Oran wasn't surprised. He'd seen this before—Zaun's Chem-Barons, Piltover's great families, and Demacia's royalty all pulled similar stunts in business.
Their goal wasn't to flip the table but to demand a better deal.
"Exactly, just as you said, Oran. Got any other ideas?"
"A few. By the way, Punk, how's your GP research going?"
GP Flowers, Vegapunk's recent project, involved fast-growing flowers that consumed gunpowder as nutrients, instantly transforming explosives into blossoms.
"Nearly complete. It's in the final tuning phase."
"Then there's no issue. I'll handle it. I've been feeling the budget's a bit tight lately anyway."
Oran stood and headed for the door. Queen and the others, thinking he had a plan, followed, only to find him on the deck, catching a breeze.
"Where's your plan? Didn't you say you'd handle it?"
"No need to rush. Just wait. Du Feld's poured massive funds into MADS. With that sunk cost, pulling out now would mean huge losses. More likely, he's angling for something else. Whoever speaks first loses the upper hand."
"But our funds are already low. If they really stop…"
Thinking of his experiment's fate, Judge felt a pang of panic.
When faced with major threats, Judge always seemed weak-willed, and Caesar wasn't much better. Queen, in contrast, held up better.
"It's just a few days' wait. If he's patient, we'll contact him. It's not like we'll lose anything."
If talks worked, great. If the table flipped, Oran knew where to get money.
But it was easier to let others come to him.
Over the next few days, Vegapunk continued his research as usual, trusting Oran's assurance to handle the matter.
Judge and Caesar fretted daily, to no avail, merely adding to their stress. Queen, meanwhile, binged in the kitchen, gulping down mochi red bean soup, seemingly trying to eat his money's worth.
After a few days, as the ship docked for resupply, Du Feld himself arrived with a retinue.
A cigar dangled from his lips, a lavish cape draped over his shoulders, and a small flower adorned his purple suit. This was Du Feld, his attire screaming wealth, though it couldn't mask his ruthless aura.
But when he saw Oran waiting in the meeting room, he broke into a smile.
"Dr. Cidril, our first meeting, right? I'd only heard of you through Vegapunk. Looks like you've guessed my intentions?"
"Two years of investment with lackluster results. Even if it's charity to polish your image, you feel shortchanged. You want something more valuable from us, don't you?"
Oran toyed with a fingertip spinner, looking relaxed, not a trace of tension.
"Hahaha, you're sharper than the others, but you're not entirely right. I was genuinely prepared to pull out. On that, I'm serious."
"No, I'm sitting here waiting because I'm certain you won't pull out. In fact, after today, you'll invest even more."
Feld's expression grew complex, his facial scar twitching. He pulled out a chair and sat, intrigued by Oran's confidence, as if he had him figured out.
"The Ibel Awards are coming up. Double your investment, and Punk and I are confident we'll secure this year's Peace Prize and Medical Prize.
If your ambitions are big enough, afterward, we can take over Undertaker Piecro's business entirely."
Oran's spinner kept whirling, but the room fell silent, save for Feld's faintly excited breathing.