But in the mind of one dedicated blonde, when was it ever not a time for snacks?

In happiness, in sadness, during a disaster or crisis, and especially in moments of doubt, there was always one solution.

Snack.

And in their case, it was even better because their snacks were actually beneficial!

Ollie was certain. The others might hesitate, but sooner or later, they would understand the glory of snacks. Once they had a taste, the truth would dawn on them. Salvation, by way of snack.

Meanwhile, Minister Kordell's blood pressure was steadily climbing. It wasn't the bids below, nor the catastrophic prices being shouted like curses. No, it was the horrifying realization that too many things were being shoved aside, ignored, or treated as if they were perfectly normal, when nothing here was marginally close to normal.

But then, a soft touch landed on his arm.

Behind Ollie, Marquise Evelyn looked at him with that same relaxed decisiveness she always carried. There was that unspoken message in her eyes.

He exhaled, shoulders slumping.

As always, she knew exactly what to do. Exactly what would be right. Like a unique skill, his wife had always had the best instincts.

It was at that moment that Luca leaned forward, golden eyes shining with sincerity.

"My Lord, My Lady, if you're interested, you should come over with my brother Ollie. We have plenty of snacks."

"Really, brother?!" Ollie bloomed instantly, face lighting up like he had just been handed the keys to paradise.

"Really!" Luca replied, just as enthusiastically.

The Nox couple exchanged baffled looks. The entire exchange was so cheerful, so strange, it was like watching two children celebrating the discovery of food in the middle of a war zone.

And then—

"!!!"

Their confusion froze.

Because at that exact moment, two more S-grade systems had been announced and won on the auction floor.

Kordell lurched upright, hands searching for the results. His face drained of color, veins at his temples straining. "Which houses?! Who got them?!"

But Luca's calm voice reached him first. "My Lord, both went to Master Colton. It seems the masters have decided to pool their resources."

"..."

Relief washed over the Minister like cool water. At least the masters had secured them. That was good. That was—

Silence.

The entire auction house fell quiet.

For one terrifying moment, Kordell thought they had muted the feed again. But then he saw it.

Everyone's attention was fixed on the holoscreen above the stage.

A video began to play.

On the display, a generic mecha appeared, braced for combat. Its right arm gleamed with a bulky, heavy shield.

[Trial Shield — CF 82% | Durability 97%]

The crowd leaned forward as the demonstration began.

The mecha charged across the arena, its arm raised. From the opposite side, cannon fire exploded in rapid succession, hammering against the shield. The impacts thundered, as if shaking the screen itself.

Instead of shattering, instead of cracking under the strain, the shield shifted.

The surface rippled once, faint but undeniable, like metal rearranging itself under invisible hands. The dented sections stretched and flattened, seams knitting with a sound that was almost like bones settling back into place.

Gasps broke out.

"Wait… is it fixing itself?!"

Before their eyes, the gouges smoothed, the fractures sealed. It wasn't fast, but it was steady, unstoppable. Where the surface had bent and warped, it pressed outward, reforming until the alloy looked as pristine as if it had never been touched.

Another barrage struck. Missiles rained down, battering the mecha and slamming into the shield with earth-shattering force. Again, the mecha staggered back under the impact, shield edges biting into the ground as it absorbed the brunt.

The mecha staggered but did not fall.

And again, the shield repaired itself.

This time slower, more deliberate, but horrifyingly sure—scratches closing, cracks sealing, deep dents rising back into place until there was nothing left but smooth, unmarred steel.

"Impossible," whispered one master mechanic.

Another was half-rising from his seat, clutching his chest like he might faint. "That's not just defense. That's… that's obscene!"

The Trial Shield didn't glow, it didn't flare—it simply refused to stay broken.

By the time the barrage ended, the mecha stood tall, shield raised high, unmarred as though the storm had been nothing more than raindrops.

The hall erupted.

Voices shouted, gasped, even screamed. Some nobles clutched at their pearls and cravats as if it could help them breathe, while more than one master mechanic looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Because in that moment, one horrifying truth was clear to all of them.

This was not just another auction item.

This was war-changing.

Now, if even the Master of Ceremonies and the ushers of the auction shared the same opinion, then what more of Patriarch Peyton Orell and Patriarch Cinco Aramont? Both men were dead sure their families would suffer greatly if they failed to secure such an item.

Not that they had managed to secure any of the other items.

Still, they could reason that the previous ones were merely parts. Components, however incredible, still needed other components of a similar caliber, not to mention the involvement of the master mechanics, to be useful.

Those elites would certainly complain, but in the end, they would understand. After all, outbidding the masters themselves was suspicious, and worse, dangerous.

But this?

This was a completed item. A fully functioning piece of equipment that could be mounted onto existing heavy mechas without waiting years for compatibility adjustments.

If they didn't get it, shouldn't they already consider themselves dead?

Peyton Orell felt the sweat crawl down his spine. His mind turned toward the inevitable disaster, when suddenly—

"Thirty billion."

The voice cut through the room like a blade.

It was Butler Henry.

The man who had barely spoken for the entire auction—who had quietly sipped what looked like tea while others lost their sanity—was the first to bid after Mitchel opened with a starting call of ten billion.

The room fell silent.

All eyes turned to him. It should have been a sure victory for the Imperial Family, a smooth and expected formality. Instead, for the first time, and in the oddest of ceremonies, Master Colton himself stood.

The old mechanic bowed. Bowed to Butler Henry. And then, clear as a bell, called out, "Thirty-one billion."

"?!"

The silence was shattered.

It was a frenzy. As if everyone suddenly realized that this was not the same battlefield as before. This was something else entirely.

Voices rang out, bids soaring higher with each cry. Yet each time someone called a number, they bowed first. Bowed to Butler Henry, as if apologizing for daring to stand against him.

The man in question simply inclined his head back each time with gracious serenity, like a saint forgiving sinners.

Meanwhile, up in the booth, Minister Kordell nearly lost what little composure he had left. His eyes bulged, and he turned stiffly toward the glowing blonde at his side.

"Oliver, y-you're saying… not to buy even that?"

Ollie's golden antenna bobbed as he gave a dazzling smile. "Yes, Father! You really shouldn't. There are far better things to use money on!"

The light coming off the cadet was blinding. It was as if the boy was radiating pure financial wisdom.

Kordell's lips twitched violently.

Better things? What better things could there possibly be than a shield that refused to stay broken?

He wanted to shout, to clutch the walls, to tear his hair out. But then, in the still-ongoing call in the background, a very distinct wail rose from Duke Leander.

The sound cut through the madness like a kindred spirit in suffering.

Minister Nox froze. For one strange, absurd moment, he felt… less alone.

Perhaps misery really did love company.

But in that case, perhaps it would also be better if he never learned about the display cases that Duke Leander had already prepared for the sole purpose of preserving every scrap of his son's work.

Because if he did, Minister Kordell Nox was sure his blood pressure would never recover.