Miss Witch Doesn't Want to Become a Songstress-Chapter 190

The truck sped across the wilderness, occasionally shaking slightly due to scattered stones on the ground. However, thanks to its excellent suspension system, the interior remained stable. Though it appeared to be a large freight truck from the outside, the inside was actually divided into two levels, allowing space for living, sitting, and sleeping. At the moment, eight members were seated on the upper level, while the remaining four were resting in the relatively quieter lower level.

"It’s about time to replenish our supplies. I wonder if that station marked on the map is close." Guro leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs. One hand rested on his knee while the other tapped rhythmically against the opposite knee, his expression both bored and expectant.

"I wonder how people here live. Do they watch TV? Do they have idols they follow?" Ruby, seated on the other side, held up a mirror to examine her face, checking if she needed to touch up her makeup. As a professional idol, she couldn’t afford to overlook any details.

"When we get back, I’ll edit all the photos and footage we took along the way into a short video series, like a mini-drama. That should attract quite a few fans, maybe even boost my popularity a little~" Even while on this expedition, she never forgot about her career.

"And Thilan? Is she still resting?"

"Seems like it. Ever since that night, she’s been really drowsy, even dozing off in Dolores’s arms a few times," Ruby recalled.

That night, everyone had been captivated by the song carried on the night breeze. It was only after a long time that they snapped out of it, as if waking from a distant dream.

"I never knew Thilan had such a beautiful singing voice. This trip was definitely worth it," Jinzerk had said, putting down his handheld console and jumping off a rock in admiration.

Though the students were amazed, they couldn’t be sure if this was the result of a Songstress talent. They had their suspicions but weren’t completely certain. After all, in the Federation, every Songstress was registered. The moment one was discovered, they would be publicly recognized almost instantly. If Thilan truly had such a talent, she would’ve been famous by now.

Over the following two days, some tried to find out if their president really possessed such a talent, but N shut down their inquiries.

"Thilan is certainly unique, but a Songstress talent doesn’t usually manifest like that. There are also regular singers who can achieve similar effects," N explained.

He was lying. But with his serious demeanor and carefully chosen examples, he managed to temporarily mislead them. Only a few individuals remained skeptical.

...

In the lower level of the truck, a black-haired girl lay curled up on her side, hugging a pillow, dressed in sleepwear. Despite the slight, constant motion of the truck, she slept soundly.

Beside her, Dolores rested against the interior wall, covered with a thin blanket. Wearing headphones, she scrolled through personal terminal footage of past Songstress performances and speeches, occasionally glancing at the peacefully sleeping girl beside her.

Unlike the other students, Dolores wasn’t easily fooled by N’s explanations. She had keenly picked up on a particular phrase he used: "A Songstress talent doesn’t usually manifest like that."

That meant... there were some Songstresses who did manifest their abilities in such a way—just not many.

If Thilan truly had that talent, then considering what she had once said to her, a lot of things suddenly made sense.

She probably didn’t want to become famous.

Dolores quickly deduced Thilan’s reason for hiding her talent.

She really was a rare kind of person. But if she had been the type to crave fame and fortune, Dolores likely wouldn’t have grown as fond of her as she had.

Since Thilan didn’t want to reveal her secret yet, Dolores decided to pretend she didn’t know. Exposing someone against their will wasn’t something a good friend would do.

With that thought, a faint smile appeared on Dolores’s lips, and a lightness filled her heart.

Though she and Thilan were close friends, the girl beside her always seemed to have so many worries she wouldn’t fully share. Even for someone as open and easygoing as Dolores, that had been a little saddening.

Now, with her doubts resolved, she slowly came to understand her friend’s reasoning. The invisible gap between them dissolved.

Thilan... is she really a Songstress?

Thinking about it, it was exciting to imagine.

“A girl so gentle yet strong—what kind of songs would she sing?”

“What kind of brilliance would she eventually radiate?”

“I want to record it all.”

“I want to watch as she climbs step by step toward that shining peak.”

“You ask me why I believe she’ll reach that peak?”

“That’s simple.”

“Because I believe in her unconditionally.”

“I believe that someone like her is bound to create miracles.”

Slowly writing down her thoughts in her journal, Dolores closed the records, then lay back down. Carefully, she adjusted the blankets for both herself and Thilan before slowly drifting into sleep.

...

The truck’s black tires had turned dusty white from the road. By the time they arrived at the lone supply station in the wilderness, it was already dusk. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the land in fiery red hues. The isolated building stood against the barren landscape, its dim lights flickering on.

As soon as N stepped out of the truck, the students followed suit. Negotiating with the supply station’s staff wouldn’t be N’s job—if he handled everything, this journey wouldn’t be considered a true training experience.

With Thilan still half-asleep over the past few days, Alen had taken over as the substitute leader of their group. Leading a few of the boys, he stepped into the rusted, dilapidated building.

The pale blue paint on the walls was peeling, faint traces of yellow markings still visible underneath. The doorframe held an oval glass panel, allowing them to glimpse the interior of the hall.

Pushing the door open, a wave of warm, stale air hit them. It was much better than the dry cold outside, though the faint, unpleasant odor made several students instinctively cover their noses.

Inside, Alen scanned the room. The station wasn’t empty—there were at least ten people visible in the hall. Two staff members stood behind the counter, while the other eight, looking dusty and travel-worn, were scattered throughout the room. Some wore grimy work overalls, others wrapped in shiny, worn-out jackets. The old equipment near the bar played raspy, rhythmic music, and a holographic projection nearby displayed an old, recently declassified film from over twenty years ago.

Stepping onto the slightly echoing metal floor, Alen approached the counter while taking in his surroundings.

"Hello, we’re just passing through and need some supplies, especially fuel for our vehicle," he said, his gaze settling on a young man behind the counter. The man wore a floral-patterned headscarf and a gray T-shirt, with an old red vest layered on top. At the moment, he was grilling food behind the counter, the sizzling sound of oil audible.

"Oh, new faces. You guys here for the first time?" The man swayed slightly to the rhythm of the music before looking up.

Alen knew that admitting it was their first time might make them an easy target for a scam. However, he had no idea how to fake being experienced, so he decided to be honest.

"Yeah. We’re just here on some business," he explained briefly.

"Well, you’re in luck. For a first visit, you ended up at our place. Compared to other spots around here, we’re relatively safe and play fair."

He picked up the freshly grilled meat, sprinkled some seasoning over it from a nearby bowl, then wiped his hands with a towel before serving the dish to a nearby table.

"You need fuel, right? Come with me." He stepped out from behind the counter, lightly tapping Alen on the shoulder before heading outside.

As soon as they stepped out, he spotted the large white truck parked nearby. It had a boxy overall design, with chamfered trapezoidal edges instead of sharp corners, giving it a rugged, solid appearance.

"That’s a fine-looking beast. I’d say it runs on Liquid Alkane Hydrogen Fuel No. 34, known for its excellent efficiency."

"Yeah, 34 is one of the compatible options," Alen replied, relieved.

"Well, too bad. We don’t have any high-end fuel like No. 34 around here. The best we’ve got is No. 26—cheaper, dirtier, but easy to produce."

"Only No. 26? No better alternatives?" Alen sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

"None," the man replied bluntly. There weren’t any other shops nearby, so he wasn’t worried about losing business.

"Guess we’ll have to make do."

Though using low-grade fuel on such a pristine truck felt wrong, this wasn’t the time to be picky.

"5,000 Federation credits per liter, and the maximum I can give you is 400 liters," he stated, quoting an obviously inflated price.

"Hey, hey, hey, buddy, you must be joking," Guro walked over, looking displeased. He was well aware of the current fuel prices—even high-quality No. 34 fuel only cost around 120 Federation credits per liter. This guy was demanding 5,000 per liter, nearly 50 times that—was he trying to rob them blind?

Seeing the three of them gathering around, the young man with the floral headscarf raised his hands with a placating smile.

"No need to be so shocked, everyone. This is Northern 2nd District, a place even birds wouldn’t bother coming to. Transporting goods here isn’t easy—drivers risk their lives bringing stuff in, so the price is what it is. Besides, talking to me won’t do you any good. The prices are set by my boss."

"400 liters at 5,000 credits per liter... That’s two million Federation credits for a single refuel. Isn’t that a bit excessive?" Alen frowned deeply. He had mentally prepared himself for the high costs of traveling in Northern 2nd District, but he hadn’t expected to be ripped off this badly on the very first day.

"I already told you, my boss sets the price. There’s no point arguing with me. Why don’t you guys discuss it among yourselves first? I have work to do inside," the young man said before retreating into the store, leaving the visibly inexperienced and youthful group standing outside.

They exchanged glances, but no one had a good idea of how to deal with the situation. After all, this was their first time encountering such blatant price gouging.

"How about we ask Mr. N?" one of them suggested.

"No need—he won’t say anything. He already emphasized before that unless we’re in extreme danger, he won’t intervene. We have to figure everything out on our own."

"So what do we do? Are we really going to hand over two million credits? The money isn’t the issue, but taking this kind of loss is infuriating," Simu kicked a rock by the roadside in frustration.

"Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t afford it. The budget for this trip is only three million credits. If we start dipping into our own pockets, it defeats the purpose of the exercise."

"Three million credits... If it were before, I wouldn’t have even dared to dream about that amount," Guro shook his head. His family was middle-class—not bad, since they were from Southern 3rd District, but they weren’t exactly wealthy either.

"The real problem is that we don’t know the actual market price here. If goods really cost this much in this region, then there’s nothing we can do about it..." Alen adjusted his glasses.

"That’s impossible," Guro walked over and shook his head.

"You rich kids have no sense of reality. Sure, transporting goods here is dangerous, but there’s no way the price would skyrocket like this."

"A human life? Under Federation law, the compensation for a death is only 500,000 credits. If you offer 200,000 to someone from the outskirts, plenty of strong young men would risk their lives to do the job for you."

"So, he’s deliberately trying to rip us off? Taking advantage of the fact that we look young and inexperienced?" Simu ran a hand through his short, spiky, wine-red hair.

"Of course! I say we teach him a lesson and drag his boss out for a beating so they learn their place," Guro cracked his knuckles, producing a series of popping sounds. He was itching to act.

"Not yet. Let’s go back and discuss it with the others first—Thilan should be awake by now," Alen stopped his companions from resorting to violence too soon.

"Come on, Alen, why are you being so wishy-washy? Do we really need Thilan’s opinion for something this small? Even if she comes over, they’ll still try to rip us off. Who knows? They might even harass her because she’s pretty," Guro argued, visibly frustrated.

On just the first day, Alen was already facing dissent among his group. He had spent most of his life buried in research labs, and the situation left him indecisive. But even if going back to discuss wouldn’t change the limited options available—either accept the price or use force—immediate violence still didn’t sit right with him.

Closing his eyes, he remained silent for a few seconds before shaking his head. Resorting to brute force went against everything he believed in. Even if it made him lose face, he would still rather consult the group first.

"We’re heading back. That’s final," he said with more firmness. Seeing this, Guro reluctantly let go of his clenched fist, though he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

The three of them returned to the truck, where N was lounging in the driver’s seat with his legs propped up, listening to music. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised by their failure and didn’t bother asking about it, remaining immersed in his own world, as if silently telling them not to bother him.

After explaining the situation to their companions in the vehicle, they finally asked about Tilan.

"Thilan and Dolores are still resting," Evony, wrapped in a thin blanket, emerged from the lower level and sat by the window, her face still drowsy under the sunset’s reddish glow.

"Still not up? We’ve got a bit of a problem," Alen rubbed his temples.

After hearing Alen’s explanation, Evony shook her head.

"Reasoning with people like that is pointless. I’ve dealt with plenty of these kinds of small-time crooks—they’re all smooth talkers. You’ll never get the truth out of them unless you completely overpower them."

Her father was a high-ranking official in the Federation’s star region government, so she had grown up exposed to all sorts of negotiations and power plays.

"So we really have to fight?"

Alen groaned in frustration. He was a pacifist at heart.

"I told you already—talking won’t work on people like this," Guro insisted. At this point, several other guys in the group were also getting restless, especially Jinzerk, who lived for this kind of drama.

Taking off his sunglasses, he propped one foot on a nearby seat.

"Well, well! Looks like it’s my time to shine, hahaha!"

"Alright, boys, let’s go show them what we’re made of! If we don’t teach these scumbags a lesson, how are we supposed to kick off our grand journey?" With a dramatic flourish, he flicked a card between his fingers, and a large white object landed in his grip.

It was a White Snake-C2 Model electromagnetic assault rifle—lightning-fast fire rate, modular attachments, and specialized ammo compatibility, making it a favorite among customization enthusiasts.

Slamming a boxy magazine into the rifle, it clicked into place with a crisp sound. Blue circuit-like patterns glowed along the gun’s surface as it completed its self-check, and a green laser dot appeared at the muzzle.

"I knew this would happen, hehe. Big guy, go fetch the two blue crates from the storage compartment. They’re loaded with weapons—perfect for today."

"You can’t come to Northern 2nd District and not fire some shots, right?"

Soon, every member of the group was armed with brand-new weapons. Fully geared up, they stormed out of the vehicle and kicked open the rickety door of the supply station.

"Alright, which one of you dumbasses thinks they can rip us off?!"

Several fully armed individuals, clad in tactical gear with protective visors, stormed into the shop. The sleek blue glow of their weapons danced across the walls, and the targeting lasers locked onto the two clerks inside.

Faced with such an overwhelming show of force, the young clerk trembled violently, immediately raising his hands in surrender, terrified that the slightest movement might provoke these heavily armed newcomers.