Early the next morning, Giovanni was suddenly in high spirits and announced that everyone would "draw lots to pair up and go explore."
Seeing his face—practically screaming "I've already decided; you just need to play along"—everyone eventually gave in.
The results came quickly:The Captain and First Mate were a pair.Renass and Fernando were another.Fais got paired with the pilot.As for Miguel—he ended up with Arran.
Miguel immediately wanted to protest: "Why is it always—"
Giovanni quickly put away the drawing cylinder and smiled, ending the discussion: "The will of fate, brave young man. Off you go!"
Port Alexandra turned out to be even more advanced than Miguel had imagined.
As the Capitano approached the dock, the first things that came into view were layers of staggered towers and arched bridges. Brass pipes climbed along building exteriors like veins, directing steam to every corner; gears and rivets were everywhere, but didn't look crude. These mechanical elements seemed intentionally placed—decorative in their order, not oppressive in a productive sense.
Rails ran along the streets. The bases of lampposts were carved with intricate designs. The air smelled of steam, but lacked the acrid coal smoke of industrial cities. On the contrary, it was excessively clean—like a commercial capital wrapped in a steampunk shell.
Arran kept looking up the entire way, his eyes full of disbelief: "I can't believe this place is real."
Miguel had only one thought: This place looks expensive.
The moment they stepped onto the port's walkway, a robot stopped them.
The robot barely reached Miguel's chest, its shell a polished blend of copper and black steel, with a glowing panel embedded in its chest. Its voice was steady and emotionless, like reciting a law:
"Welcome to Port Alexandra. Please proceed with identity verification."
Miguel instinctively reached for his hip—of course, there was no gun there.
Arran quickly whispered, "Just go with it. The system here… doesn't like delays."
The robot extended a mechanical hand with a soft rubber pad. "Fingerprint, please."
Miguel placed his hand.
"Please state your name."
"Miguel Wegenstadt."
"Please state your date of birth."
Miguel froze for a second. His brows furrowed instinctively, as if he'd suddenly been forced into an interrogation.
Arran quickly whispered again, "Just say what's on your ID. Even if it feels meaningless."
Miguel gave a date. The robot verified it quickly, its panel flashing green.
It turned to Arran and repeated the process. Arran cooperated smoothly, as if he had practiced.
Once the verification was complete, the robot stepped aside: "Identity confirmed. Wishing you a pleasant stay in Port Alexandra."
It rolled away smoothly, like a demonstration clip.
Miguel watched it leave. "You even need to report your birthday just to enter this port?"
Arran adjusted his sleeve and replied, "This place is a commercial treasure. Probably the commercial center of the whole world. And the tech here is way more advanced than in other cities. Did you see those robots? They're not just for show—they're part of the management system."
Miguel raised an eyebrow. "How do you know all that?"
Arran pointed toward a nearby district—people were checking out via mechanical terminals, using vending devices to get change, and even a line of small cargo bots was hauling boxes in precise formation like a military drill.
He continued, "Commerce here is huge. Order has to be maintained through technology. If we want to get familiar with this city…" He hesitated, like it hurt to say it, "We could spend three—three rivet coins to rent a tour guide robot."
Miguel froze. "Rivet coins?"
Arran nodded. "Local currency. Think of it as—"
Miguel cut him off. "Hold up. You say three rivet coins, but I have no frame of reference. Is three a lot? What does one even look like?"
At that moment, a voice barged in—so enthusiastic it was almost intrusive:
"If you don't have a concept of value, that just means you need someone to explain it to you."
Miguel and Arran turned at the same time.
A boy stood beside them. Young, but sharply dressed: his short jacket was lined with faint gold threads, and a small gear-shaped pin was fastened at his collar. His eyes were bright, like someone eternally curious about the world.
He smiled naturally. "You two look like newcomers. Were you just talking about rivet coins?"
Arran replied a little awkwardly, "Y-yes."
The boy pointed toward a nearby tour guide robot. "Renting that costs three rivet coins—but if you want to save money, I could give you a tour. Only two coins."
Miguel narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The boy immediately raised his hand and recited his introduction like a proclamation:
"My name is—Ilo." He spoke with pride. "Department of Philosophy, Grand Library. Researcher in Metaphysics."
Miguel's expression blanked for a second. "...A philosopher?"
Ilo nodded. "More precisely, a philosopher studying metaphysics. The guide robot can tell you the names of neighborhoods, commercial routes, and shopping tips. I can tell you the ontological premises behind them, the logic of institutional formation, and—"
He paused, getting into it. "—how newcomers like you will be perceived in this city."
Arran's eyes lit up like he'd seen a true upper-level institution:
"You study metaphysics at the Grand Library? That's amazing! I heard the Grand Library's been around for two or three thousand years in this world—and Port Alexandra's tech boom is all thanks to it!"
Ilo shrugged, correcting the adorable rumor: "What kind of rumors are floating around out there? Actually, the Grand Library's only been around for a hundred or two years, little brother."
Arran stammered, "Th-that's still amazing…"
Meanwhile, Miguel's brow kept furrowing.
Library. Always the library.
Images flashed in his head—Fais sleeping past noon, the Head Librarian tricking him into being security and keyholder. Library staff—how impressive could they be? Still ends up moonlighting as a tour guide, huh?
Miguel couldn't help but ask, his tone slightly impatient: "If you're so impressive, why are you out here giving tours?"
Ilo didn't get offended—he just smiled deeper. He turned to Arran, like inviting a "more rule-savvy person" into the discussion:
"You seem to understand this city better," Ilo said. "Then why don't you explain to him the value of two hundred mint-wheels?"
Miguel blinked. "Two hundred?"
Arran took a deep breath, like presenting an engineering report: "Two hundred mint-wheels… that's about the cost of maintaining a mid-sized engine, or—uh—a full tank of high-quality fuel…"
Miguel stared. "What are you even saying?"
Arran quickly corrected himself: "Okay, okay… it's like a month's rent and food for a regular person, or… a really good set of winter clothes… or many, many days of hot meals."
Miguel was starting to understand. "So what, you're saying you earn that in a week?"
Ilo instantly countered, voice breezy like correcting a math error: "A week? I make that in half a day."
Miguel was stunned. His brain did a rough calculation, and his expression twisted.
"Half a day, two hundred?" he muttered. "That's… that's more than what regular squad members earn in elite combat units."
Arran was equally shocked. "That's… insane—"
Ilo, watching their reactions, looked even more intrigued—like he'd discovered two fascinating specimens: "You two are interesting. One lacks intuition for currency, the other doesn't trust the system. Very typical."
Miguel grew warier. "What exactly do you want?"
Ilo didn't answer directly. He walked over to the tour guide robot, pulled out two mint-wheels from his pocket, and gently dropped them into the coin slot.
Ding.
The robot immediately responded with a standard prompt: "Welcome to your tour service."
Miguel was confused. "Didn't you say two mint-wheels would hire you? Why are you paying the robot instead?"
Ilo turned, pointing at Miguel like he was delivering a psychology lecture.
"Because I should change my approach," he said. "I want to be your friend. But subconsciously, you're afraid of being scammed. As long as there's a 'paid relationship,' you'll assume I'm trying to profit off you."
He then pointed to the guide robot, explaining the logic chain: "So I break out of that dynamic—by paying instead. Now you have no obligation to pay anything, and no forced service to accept. You're just 'happening upon a helpful stranger who's using a public guide system.'"
Miguel paused for two seconds, then very bluntly said, "Whatever. If you keep paying for everything, we'll be best friends forever."
Arran nearly choked. "Mig—Miguel!"
Ilo paused—then burst out laughing, like he'd heard a brilliantly insightful conclusion: "Wonderful. You've reduced moral relations to economic ones, and done so with charming honesty."
The guide robot scanned the boy's chest badge and made a formal announcement, as if reading out a credential:
"Identity confirmed: Port Alexandra Grand Library, Department of Philosophy, Researcher in Metaphysics — Ilo."
Ilo turned to Miguel and Arran, his smile now infused with genuine warmth and curiosity. He gave a slight bow, stepping fully into his role as host.
"My two new friends," he said, "your tour of the city—let me show you true hospitality."