“Food competition? Sorry, I’m not interested,” Mag said, and closed the door.
Arvin and Rood exchanged a surprised glance. Normally, a freshly opened restaurant would never turn down a chance to get popular, no matter how slim it might be.
“Let’s go, Rood. This guy is pretty smart. He knows he won’t be able to make it into the top 100. We won’t be able to make any money from him,” Arvin said unhappily.
“Look at the size of this crystal glass!” Rood said, pointing. “This guy must be very wealthy.”
Mag was indeed not interested in the food competition, because more often than not, not the best foods won the competition; some of the nicest restaurants might be lying in corners, waiting for keen-eyed customers.Besides, his restaurant was already busy enough for him to work his a*s off every day, so there was no point for him to compete in the competition.
“New mission,” the system called out suddenly. “At least one of your dishes has to make it into the top 30 in this month’s Aden Square food competition. Completing the mission will get you the recipe for Haagen-Dazs ice creams. You’ll be fined 10,000 gold coins if you fail.”
Mag stopped, rooted to the spot. “Only you can come up with such a dirty way to make money!” He quickly pulled the door open again. “Hey, please hold on a moment. I think I’ll sign up,” he said, abashed.
Arvin and Rood turned around.
“You want to sign up for the competition, sir?” Rood asked.
Mag nodded. “Yes. What do I have to do?” I don’t want to; the damned system made me.
He found the Haagen-Dazs ice creams appealing, though. Amy will like them; she’ll look even cuter eating them.Mag was very confident. He didn’t believe anyone in the Aden Square was a better cook than him. The top 3 spots would be all mine if they considered the taste alone.
Arvin and Rood were around 40, of average build with love handles. Mag saw a wok and a ladle embroidered on their fronts, and on their backs the words: Aden Square Catering Association.
“Five gold coins get you in. The voting starts tomorrow and lasts for 10 days,” Arvin said, writing down the restaurant’s name in his notebook. Then he held out a hand, asking for money.
“A name will cost me five gold coins?” Mag asked, wary.
Rood smiled. “Yes.”
Mag hesitated a moment, pulled five gold coins out of his pocket, and handed them to Arvin. The revenue from registration fees alone is handsome. And they do this every month!
“Thank you. These are the ballots,” Rood said, pulling out two stacks of paper ballots—each one five centimeter wide and 10 centimeter long—from his bag. “With anti-counterfeiting magic marks. One stack has 100 ballots, and one ballot is one copper coin. How many ballots do you need?”
Mag’s eyebrow rose in surprise. The people here sure know how to make money. If anyone wants to make it into the top 10, they’ll have to spend tens of thousands of copper coins on ballots first.
“If I want to enter the top 30, how many ballots do I need?” Mag asked.
Rood was surprised. The restaurants that have made the top 30 are all at least three years old. They are larger, and most of them are members of the Chamber of Commerce. No way this newly opened restaurant is going to enter the top 30. “If your dishes are expensive, you may need two or three thousand. If they are as cheap as green onion bing, which is five copper coins each, you may need at least ten thousand to make the top 100.”
“Then I’ll buy 2000 ballots,” Mag said after thinking for a moment.
