Meanwhile, on the other side.
This was a room forged entirely of gold, spanning roughly three hundred square meters, equipped with 230 of the latest galactic-model super-powered micro air conditioners. These ensured complete, corner-to-corner coverage of cold air, perfectly maintaining the temperature at minus eighty degrees.
No need to worry about such a temperature being unsuitable for human habitation, as that applies only to ordinary people. For the master of this place, it wasn't cold enough.
At the center of the room stood a long table, laden with exactly 108 supreme dishes selected from various star systems. Factoring in interstellar transportation and preservation costs, a rough estimate put the cost of this meal at around ten billion credits.
Seated at the head of the table was a short-haired, light-blue-haired boy, none other than the "evil Mick" mentioned earlier by Mila and the others. Though his appearance wasn't much different from the other six Mikhail avatars, his demeanor—every gesture and movement—undoubtedly carried the closest resemblance to the founder of the Penacony Group himself.
Confident, composed, elegant.
To his left and right knelt two trembling servants:
Calling them "people" wasn't entirely accurate. One was Capitalist Bird, recently subjected to a one-sided thrashing by Firefly, while the other was a muscular clock figure strikingly similar to Clockie. However, this clock figure was far more opulent—adorned with gem-encrusted numerals, golden hands, and a dial crafted from the divine body of Amber.
Since it was created in the image of Clockie, its name was Clockie Junior.
"Sigh… I'm meeting my dear junior later, so I can't be too ostentatious. For now, I'll have to settle for a humble, nostalgic meal."
Mick uncorked a bottle of red wine worth two billion credits, took a swig, and let out a series of "glug glug" sounds. A few seconds later, he elegantly spat the wine into the trash bin by his feet and wiped his mouth.
Rinsing his mouth with ordinary red wine before a meal was a long-standing habit of Mick's.
Capitalist Bird respectfully presented a bottle of red wine worth five billion credits. "Master, this is the wine brewed by Aha during their time working at a tavern. It was authenticated by Ms. Ruan Mei at great expense, and it indeed contains the divine power of [Elation]."
"Only such a wine is worthy of you."
Mick gave a faint "hmph." Wine brewed by Aha? Hah, while it might be unimaginable to ordinary people, to him, it was merely something slightly more precious.
He had plenty of such things.
Take, for instance, the goblet by his side, made from the divine body fragments dropped by Qlipoth, the Aeon of [Preservation], valued at over eight hundred billion credits.
Or the casual outfit he wore, crafted from an Abundance miracle. For those unfamiliar with the term "Abundance miracle," consider the Ambrosial Arbor of the Xianzhou Luofu—that's an Abundance miracle.
Or take the super-powered air conditioners in this room, recreated using [Remembrance] technology after observing Fuli.
To put it bluntly, even an Emanator walking the Path of their Aeon might not possess as many treasures as Mick.
"Clockie Junior."
"Here!"
At Mick's command, Clockie Junior maintained its kneeling posture and responded respectfully: "Please give your orders!"
Mick glanced at the main dish before him—a cut of meat from the war leader of the Borisin—and said indifferently: "The chef for this breakfast has changed again?"
"Reporting, sir, I recently found an obscure chef for you. She hails from a water-based nation where law reigns supreme, named Aiko…"
"Enough."
Mick waved his hand dismissively: "The flavor is indeed better than the previous chef's, but unfortunately, she's still lacking."
"This steak used cooking wine that's too low-grade—on par with my mouth-rinsing wine! Two hundred million credits' worth of wine in the dish? What's wrong with this chef? Can't she tell the difference between rinsing wine and cooking wine?!"
Clockie Junior paled in shock. "My apologies, Master. Her skills are indeed top-notch. Would you consider giving her another chance…?"
Mick snorted coldly: "No need. Given her decent culinary skills, I won't sue her. Deduct sixty percent of her wages from yesterday, and send her back to wherever she came from."
Clockie Junior nodded repeatedly, pulling out a phone and ordering: "Quick, transfer four billion credits to that chef, then send her back where she came from!"
Mick picked up the steak with his fork and unceremoniously tossed it into the trash bin by his feet: "Not the steak I like. Throw it out."
Capitalist Bird seized the opportunity to flatter: "My Master, Junior is simply unreliable. But rest assured, I foresaw its incompetence and prepared a backup chef."
"This chef was brought in at great expense from a certain virtual world. Rest assured, this chef is also a monarch, so their vision should barely keep up with your shadow."
Mick didn't respond, merely casting a slow glance at Capitalist Bird. That inscrutable gaze made the latter feel uneasy, its smile gradually stiffening.
"I almost forgot about you."
Mick said calmly: "Six minutes ago, I received a reprimand email from the company, stating that my people infringed on their copyrights and engaged in malicious advertising. Want to see the original video?"
Capitalist Bird immediately went on high alert: "Master! It wasn't intentional. There's a reason for this—the Stellaron Hunter…"
"I make billions per minute. You think I have time for your stories?" Mick cut it off mercilessly. "You're banned from eating cake for a week."
Capitalist Bird: !!!
No! Its cake! A week?!
Don't joke—a week without cake, and it would break!
"Master! I was wrong, I'll accept any punishment, but please, don't take away my cake!" Capitalist Bird pleaded tearfully. "Miss Sunday's sister was there at the time, and she seemed hostile toward those people, so I…"
"What?!"
Mick's voice grew colder. "Don't you know what my relationship with that guy is right now? You even meddled with his sister? Hah… In addition to a week without cake, you're banned from air conditioning for a week."
"If you dare defy me, hmph… just wait for a summons from Penacony's High Court."
Hearing this, Capitalist Bird knew Mick was truly angry and didn't dare beg further, reluctantly accepting its fate. "…Yes, sir."
For the next while, both Clockie Junior and Capitalist Bird stayed silent, not daring to make a sound, fearing Mick's wrath.
"…I've eaten enough."
Mick wiped his mouth and said: "Pile the leftovers in the restaurant and say they're from my breakfast. I'm sure plenty of people will pay a high price for them."
Clockie Junior and Capitalist Bird responded in unison: "Yes, Master."