That Day When Suzuki-kun Wasn't the Mob-B!

”Your ledgers are entirely too simple.”

Suzuki leaned over the massive oak desk, casually flipping through the Kingdom’s highly classified financial records. He let out a soft, disappointed sigh. As he took total control of the Ministry of Finance, he couldn’t help but feel insulted by the Minister’s painfully basic accounting skills. The corruption was incredibly sloppy, leaving massive, glaring paper trails that any first-year university student could uncover.

”...W-What are you going to do?”

The Minister of Finance was in a sheer panic, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He couldn’t stay calm. This teenager had just walked into his office, shattered his security, and effortlessly exposed his treason.

”Don’t worry,” Suzuki smiled, his voice as smooth and intoxicating as aged wine. ”Everyone simply needs to sign a contract, and then you just follow my lead.”

Since the Minister was already backed into a corner, binding him was effortless. Suzuki didn’t waste time. He needed to ensure that every single official involved in this grand financial scheme was completely, permanently leashed to his will.

[Absolute Contract].

It was one of his most broken, terrifying skills. It didn’t just create a piece of paper; it forged an airtight, legally flawless magical deed bound directly to the soul. There were no loopholes, no gray areas, and absolutely no escaping the terms.

Even right now, Suzuki could practically taste the sharp, bitter killing intent rolling off the Minister. But Suzuki didn’t flinch. The beauty of the Absolute Contract was that the very second someone actually tried to act on that treacherous intent, they would face immediate, catastrophic consequences.

In fact, Suzuki wanted the Minister to try and send an assassin or report him. It would trigger the penalty clauses, allowing Suzuki to completely devour the man’s mind and assets.

”Now,” Suzuki murmured, stepping closer, his dark eyes gleaming with a predatory thrill. ”Let me show you how real embezzlement is done.”

Suzuki didn’t hold back. Using the flawless calculation speed of the Manager AI, he introduced the terrified medieval official to the dark, seductive art of modern creative accounting.

The Minister stared at the newly drafted ledgers, completely paralyzed by a dizzying cocktail of excitement, terror, and awe.

”...Is... is this really going to work?”

Deep down, the Minister knew it would. The accounts were mathematically flawless. Suzuki had engineered the perfect illusion. No auditor, no royal advisor, and no High Priest in the entire Kingdom would ever be able to trace how much gold was actively being drained from the royal treasury.

”It works perfectly,” Suzuki whispered, enjoying the intoxicating rush of absolute control. ”Now, instead of wasting time sweating in this office, you are going to go out and set up shell companies for me. Think of them as fake, invisible stores. You will invent fictitious mercenary guilds and draft paperwork for imaginary supply vendors.”

To put it simply: the Kingdom would sign massive checks to pay for swords that didn’t exist and soldiers who were never born, and all that untraceable gold would funnel directly into Suzuki’s [Absolute Storage].

”.....” The Minister swallowed hard.

”Hurry up,” Suzuki ordered, his tone suddenly dropping into a cold, unquestionable command.

”Y-Yes, sir!”

When the Minister scrambled out of the room, Suzuki leaned back in the luxurious leather chair. He was about to siphon off a massive, bleeding chunk of the Kingdom’s war budget. Naturally, he wasn’t completely heartless; he planned to keep 80% of the embezzled funds and leave the Minister 20% for acting as the political frontman.

It was the ultimate passive income. Suzuki didn’t have to lift a single finger. The King and the Holy Church would look at Suzuki’s perfectly balanced, legally bulletproof budget and furiously thank the young Merchant for ”saving” the Kingdom’s economy. Meanwhile, the actual, physical gold would be quietly resting in his pocket dimension.

He was making the Kingdom bleed invisibly. They wouldn’t even realize they were going bankrupt; they would simply assume the ”Demon War” was getting more expensive.

And when the Kingdom inevitably ran out of money? They would be forced to raise taxes. When the people rioted and the Crown grew desperate, Suzuki would be waiting with open arms, ready to buy the entire country for pennies on the dollar.

How could a high school student orchestrate this so flawlessly?

It was all thanks to the Manager. The skill didn’t just optimize Suzuki’s brain; it actively infected anyone legally bound under his contracts. Whether they were employees, debtors, or political pawns, the Manager stripped away their human error. It suppressed their egos and turned them into perfectly oiled, obedient cogs in Suzuki’s corporate machine.

It was a deeply satisfying, incredibly alluring sensation. Knowing he held the financial lifeblood of millions in the palm of his hand sent a hot, thrilling rush through his veins. He couldn’t wait to finish work, return to his penthouse, and bury his face in the soft, welcoming warmth of Shizuku’s thighs, letting her sweet scent wash away the smell of the castle.

”Kill him. Make it swift and clean before the other Heroes realize he’s missing.”

The Minister paced nervously in a dark, secluded alleyway outside the Ministry. Despite the contract, his ego simply couldn’t handle the sheer, crushing humiliation of being enslaved by a teenager. Without hesitation, he summoned his most vicious, elite shadow assassin.

The Minister wasn’t an idiot. He had done his research. He knew Suzuki Tanaka was just a Merchant—a weak, non-combatant class. If the boy quietly disappeared, the Kingdom wouldn’t care. The Crown only valued the frontline fighters: the naive, sweaty children who delusionally believed they were ”Heroes,” when in reality, they were just cheap, disposable weapons to be thrown at the demons.

This had to be done quietly.

”When he leaves the castle, show him absolutely no mercy,” the Minister hissed, his face twisting with malice. ”Give him a death sentence. Do not leave a single trace.”

The Minister actually felt a twisted sense of gratitude. The boy had taught him incredibly valuable, advanced accounting techniques. Don’t worry, the Minister thought. I will use the gold you taught me how to steal to build you the most expensive graveyard in Tortus.

”Yes, Sir—”

The assassin bowed, his hand resting on his poisoned dagger.

And then, he simply collapsed.

Thud.

”.....”

The Minister froze. ”...What are you doing? Get up!”

The assassin didn’t move. He lay perfectly still on the cobblestones. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the sky. A slow, empty, drooling smile stretched across his face.

Because the assassin had accepted an order that directly violated Suzuki’s [Absolute Contract], the penalty clause had instantly, violently triggered. The assassin’s memories, his deadly skills, and his entire personality had been completely and irreversibly wiped.

Without Suzuki lifting a single finger, the kingdom’s deadliest killer had been reduced to an empty, smiling husk with the cognitive intelligence of a toddler.

”Did you really just try to send an assassin after me?”

The Minister violently flinched. The voice wasn’t echoing in the alleyway; it was vibrating directly inside his own skull. His heart seized in pure, suffocating terror.

”Don’t bother looking around. I’m speaking directly into your mind. The moment you signed my contract, your soul was tied to my network.”

”I...” The Minister fell to his knees, gasping for air as if an invisible, velvet noose was tightening around his throat.

”Don’t worry,” Suzuki’s telepathic voice purred, sounding incredibly relaxed, completely devoid of anger. ”You can send as many assassins as you want. The result will always be the same. The royal healers are just going to assume your men are suffering from a tragic, random string of strokes.”

Gulp!

”Naturally, the moment you cease to be a profitable asset to me, you will be the next one to have your mind wiped clean. So please... be a good, useful dog for me, okay?”

The Minister couldn’t even formulate a response. His legs completely gave out, dropping him into the dirt. He stared blankly at the alley wall in an absolute, paralyzing daze, finally realizing the horrifying truth: he belonged to Suzuki Tanaka for the rest of his life.

”Ahahahaha....” the Minister laughed, a broken, hysterical sound escaping his lips.

Back in the luxurious leather chair of the Ministry office, Suzuki casually swiped a notification away on his glowing Status Plate.

He blinked, a slow, highly amused smile spreading across his lips. In all his calculations, he had never expected the system to reward his corporate ruthlessness with a brand-new, secondary Job.