Chapter 19: Nouveau Riche (1)

The Quota Check was both an opportunity and a burden. The billowing smoke of Smoke Tower City wasn't there just for show, it could be said that upward of 60% of the city's population worked in these factories. All of these men and women labored through 12-hour shifts, slaving to meet the daily requirements of their upper management.

Smoke Tower City was one of the subsidiaries of the Crimson Tide Federation, under the direct rulership of Chief Minister Golden Lion. In order to keep this position, they had an obligation to hand in a quota of weapons once every three years. Subsidiaries failing to meet this mark will lose the protection of the Federation, and in some cases could be harshly punished. With the harsh realities of this world, surviving without the protection of Mythical Masters was impossible. A perpetual war of man versus beast was always raging. A city like theirs with such a high population of common citizens could only thrive under the Federation.

Protection was hardly the only necessity. With everyone working the factories, there was no labor left for farming and livestock rearing. The city was entirely reliant on imports from the Federation, turning them into a true Industrial town. Even if Smoke Tower City chose to break away from the Federation now, there would be little they could do to dig themselves out of such a hole. Their land was too infertile, and the irrigated soils were almost all areas rife with Spirit Beast activity.

Without a choice, the people of Smoke Tower City could only lower their head and work. The quotas were harsh and demanding, and there was an expectation of quality and quantity that had to be matched. The stress and weight that hung around the city during this time once every three years was enough to send one spiraling, it was no wonder the reaction to Francis' death had come with such fervor and heat.

The Crimson Tide Federation, though, was ruled by a group of old men and women who understood the tendencies of human nature quite well. Running such a tight ship was bound to accrue resentment, even if it was a necessary evil. These wizened individuals had the ability to toe a line of the carrot and stick, never doing too little to incur wrath, and never doing too much to procure complacency. One such method they used was the ceremony of the Quota Check, a practice that made this season of anxiety and unease synonymous with hope and anticipation.

The Quota Check was a chance for young men and women of Subsidiaries dotted all across the Crimson Tide Federation to rise up and make something better of themselves, to cross the veil of commoner and laborer to become part of the shield that protected and fostered. Of course, these were just the very same flowery words one would expect to hear when convincing a spring of youth to throw their lives away at a dart board, just for the small hope of landing true. Still, it was a dart throw that all too many were willing to take.

**

Despite the passing of Rosemary's grandfather, the Joseph family estate didn't seem to be very affected by the tragedy. It wasn't very surprising that this was the case considering the old man never wanted to have any relations with the Josephs, all while the current Joseph family Mistress wanted everyone to forget her humble past. The harsh realities of how quickly the world moved on in spite of death hit the mostly green young woman in waves.

Rosemary found herself staring blankly out of a window. The only real change on this day compared to the last several was the fact this window was in the large, well furnished living room of the family estate rather than her bedroom. That and the fact Sofia wasn't by her side.

"Rosemary, it's time to go."

A familiar stern voice reached her ears. It contained a particular shrill frequency that seemed to have only gotten worse over the years. Rosemary looked up to find her mother, dress prim and proper, standing a few feet from her, the latter's gaze already measuring out the places she needed to be and the things she needed to do that day.

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"Come, come. Being late is not acceptable today."

Rosemary's mother, Mistress Eschina Joseph, was a woman in her middle ages but her beauty was easily that of a woman ten years her junior. This might not seem surprising considering the amount of wealth she poured into maintaining these looks of hers, but there were any number of noble women hoping for just a tenth of her results. It was clear where it was Rosemary got her own beauty from.

That was where the similarities between the two women came to a grinding halt.

Rosemary didn't respond. Holding onto the little, fluffy bunny in her arms, she stood, prepared to follow her mother and everyone else to the Quota Check.

"Why are you wearing black? Didn't I already pick out your dress? What are you thinking?" Eschina snapped, seemingly only just realizing what it is her daughter was wearing. However, Rosemary didn't seem to hear her mother.

If it wasn't for Eschina, her grandfather wouldn't have died alone. If her mother hadn't put her under house arrest, not letting her take a single step out of the house, she could have seen him again before he died.

"You…"

Eschina almost lost her temper as Rosemary walked by her without a word. She regained her composure, smoothing out the ruffles in her dress and patting down the elaborate arrangement her hair was in. After ensuring that her heartbeat was steady, she followed after her daughter, catching up quite swiftly for a woman her age and wrapping her arm around Rosemary's.

Rosemary couldn't help but wince, feeling that the pressure of her mother's pull was especially strong. Though she had the talent to become a Mythical Master, she wasn't one yet. And, even if she was, most Mythical Masters didn't have powerful bodies. Though Mistress Joseph seemed frail, a strict workout regimen was part of how she remained youthful. In this regard, she was beyond her daughter.

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