For soldiers garrisoned on Waste Star who maintained bodily functions each day on nothing but nutrient solution—whose mouths were so bored they could "taste birds"—delicious food had considerable allure.
Those who had hesitated, thinking two bottles for one strip was not worth it, stopped hesitating at once, and in the blink of an eye soldiers packed in front of Lan Grace's iron plate.
The strips on the iron plate were limited—each one traded was one less. If they did not move now, there would be none left later.
When Lan Grace finished trading away all her rat‑on‑the‑griddle strips, plenty of soldiers still had not gotten any.
Lan Grace, though, happily hugged thirty‑six bottles of low‑grade nutrient solution—enough to fill her stomach for a month!
Although low‑grade nutrient solution tasted worlds worse than her rat‑on‑the‑griddle, this was Waste Star. Not starving was already a blessing!
Besides, with these bottles, she no longer needed to climb the garbage mountain to scavenge for food. She could keep her stomach full every day.
Didn't Mi Milo go over the moon over just half a bottle earlier? And now she was holding more than thirty!
If not for the crowd, she would have laughed out loud on the spot without a care for her image.
This round of trading made her very satisfied. Of course, opportunities like this would not come often—she had said publicly that her seasonings were limited.
Even so, after this, she did not fear going hungry again.
From this rat‑on‑the‑griddle, she had spotted a business opportunity—and learned the soldiers' needs on Waste Star.
With her skills, all she had to do was make a few tasty things and she would have no trouble trading for more nutrient solution.
Once the meat was gone, the soldiers drifted away, still unsatisfied.
Some who had not gotten any meat even made sure to reserve a portion for next time.
A few quick‑witted ones even paid her in advance—one bottle of low‑grade nutrient solution as a deposit—so they would not miss out next time.
By the time the soldiers had all left, the natives who had been watching nearby also drifted away—some of them.
But quite a few stayed, their eyes greedy as they fixed on the pile of low‑grade nutrient solution in Lan Grace's arms.
So many bottles—most of them had never seen that much in their lives!
What was more, all those bottles belonged to one person—an exile, a felon cast onto their Waste Star!
This made many natives covet what Lan Grace had and burned them with jealous indignation.
In their eyes, exiles cast into their midst ought to die! What right did such a person have to that much nutrient solution?
At this moment, those bottles were not merely food to the natives—they were a pile of "wealth."
They believed a criminal had no right to such "wealth"!
From the expressions on their faces, Lan Grace could more or less read their minds.
But the nutrient solution she had obtained by her ability—no matter how others envied it—was none of their business.
Lan Grace knew that in any world, a certain rule seemed universal—knowledge is power, ability changes your life.
If others had her ability and outdid her, she would only strive to catch up—not stew in envy and resentment at what others had and she could not.
So she merely let her gaze sweep over the natives' faces, then drew it back, turned, and carried her haul into her room.
Before leaving, she did not forget to snap Mi Milo out of his daze—he was still stunned, unable to recover from his shock.
"Come with me," Lan Grace said.
The moment he heard her, Mi Milo obeyed instinctively.
He had already decided to treat Lan Grace as the most important friend in his life. Now, he thought, he needed to revise that view—perhaps to… admiration!
Yes—admiration!
She had traded one common carrion rat—everywhere on Waste Star and mentioned with disgust—for dozens of bottles of nutrient solution!
Before today, if anyone had claimed such a thing was possible, he would not have believed it. He would have thought the speaker was delusional—daydreaming—with something wrong in his head!
Yet now, what he would not have believed even in a dream had unfolded before his very eyes—real as could be.
Mi Milo felt that only Lan Grace could do such a thing—only she could have done it.
How could he not admire her?
Moreover, those soldiers who had traded at high prices for the strips had probably already "forgotten" that what they had eaten was the most ordinary, most common carrion rat meat—supposedly so nasty one could not bring oneself to swallow it!
All this left Mi Milo deeply convinced that his friend—Lan Grace—truly could turn dross into magic. He admired her to the core.
Following her back to her tiny room—barely large enough for a bed—Mi Milo's excitement finally cooled a little.
Suddenly, the reality came back into focus.
So what if Lan Grace could trade a single carrion rat for a whole heap of nutrient solution?
No matter how much food they had, it could not change their current status—criminals exiled to Waste Star.
Mi Milo did not know why Lan Grace had been exiled, but he felt it was an injustice to her.
After a month together, he felt that, though she was usually a bit taciturn, she was truly a good person—hardly a criminal.
So—had she been exiled here for the same reason as him—was she also…
"What are you thinking!"
Lan Grace's voice snapped Mi Milo out of his wild speculations.
He jerked his head up. Lan Grace casually grabbed a handful of bottles from the bed and, without hesitation, shoved them into his hands.
"Lan… what are you…?"
"For you. I have so many now—I won't starve. You don't need to climb that filthy garbage mountain every day for scraps either."
Lan Grace spoke evenly.
Mi Milo could tell—she was doing this without any ulterior motive. She truly regarded him as a friend, and this was a friend's gift, freely given.
Cradling the bottles, Mi Milo felt his nose prickle with emotion.
For a friend he had known only a month, he did not, for the moment, know what to say to express what he felt.