A threat, a scuffle, and a sight.

There is a sound that issues anger. There is a tone that stipulates violence. And there is a vision… Actually, let’s just say a sight because vision makes it sound like I’m a prophet. There is a sight of a fight. Across, just a few metres away from my table in the cafeteria, Ceylica threatens someone. I look at her, blinking, a spoonful of veggies in my mouth.

Five days have passed since my arrival.

“Get your crap together, demon. If you won’t, then I’ll have the boss do it himself.”

His response seems to have provoked something. “Oh, ye?!” She yells, eyes shifting in anger. “Tell yer boss to come then! Or hell, I’ll drag him out meself and show him a thing or three!”

“U-” The boy’s next word is cut short. Lifted in the air like a ragdoll, Ceylica places him several heads above ground, dangling with wild abandon.

“Run out of threats, haven’t ye?”

I feel trouble coming on. In the distance, where attention shifts to us, I spot several students watching. Of them, several look strong, and several, I’ve confirmed, may be more than willing to instigate a fight.

Smiling, the catboy next to us rises up from his seat.

“Hey,” He says in a low voice. “No need to get so worked up, you know.”

Though lacking in social finesse, his words manage to quell her rage. Settling down the boy, Ceylica shoos him away before offering one final parting line.

“Tell yer boss I’ll handle it.”

The boy nods and scrambles off to the distance. Interest, meanwhile, stirs within me. Engrossing as mild school drama is, I tilt my head to the side and pose a finger to my lip, question ready.

“Is everything ok, Ceylica?”

“Ye, just gang problems, that’s all.”

Gang problems. The way she phrased it, I’m inclined to believe that there’s some serious issue—though of what nature? It would be easy to ask, but would she answer?

“Get me an orange juice and a chocolate chip cookie!”

“You got it, boss!”

One of the male students at our table hurries away, rushing to serve the whims of his master.

I decide to broach the topic.

“If it doesn’t bother you, can I ask for more details?”

Ceylica shrugs, “Ye sure.” With a groan, she caresses Ode’go’s hair between her fingers. “No one wants to buy from us anymore. Uh, I believe ye say ‘undercutting’, right. Someone’s undercutting us, so we’re losin’ a lot of money.”

Undercutting.

Ahh. If I remember, Ceylica’s gang runs a series of shops around the school. She sells various snacks and basic necessities, charging, at times, obscene prices.

So someone’s decided to challenge her hold over the lucrative snack sector, flooding the market with “her” products at a much lower price.

“Can’t you reduce the prices of your products then to match theirs? Since you are an established business, your model should operate more effectively than theirs, so you should be able to run them dry.”

“That’s what we’ve been doing”, Ode’go comments. “Issue is, they seem to have an unlimited supply and even lower costs than us.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I see, quite the predicament, indeed. Some student must have found a way to smuggle snacks into the school at a far more reduced cost. The question now remains whether it’s a market worth fighting for or not.

“Couldn’t you change markets then? Liquidate your stock and solely focus on basic goods such as soap and toilet paper?”

“I’m not running a gang of janitors ye? Snacks make money, toilet paper only makes profit with newbie students. Plus, we agreed Tommy was the only one who could sell that kinda shite at a lower price.”

Ah. I’m starting to get a better idea of what was happening. It seems that the obscene prices being charged are not just coincidence but rather the result of some gang agreement. They must have agreed on who could sell what and at what price to give an illusion of competition, lining their pockets all the while.

Mulling over the matter, I trace back my memory to several of the stores I visited, comparing their prices in my head. The moment I do so, the answer becomes clear.

From what I understand then, Ceylica has the ‘right’ to sell snacks, which form the core of her business, at around 20% less than her few “competitors”, but must maintain all her other products at higher prices than theirs. A price difference small enough that the collusion is unnoticeable for consumers but big enough to allow the accumulation of profits. Truly an ingenious system for high-schoolers, but also one in which a cleverly thrown-in wrench could be most disruptive.

By temporarily reducing her snack prices below the agreed levels, Ceylica is able to retain some of her market share, but must also deal with her increasingly angry oligopolistic “friends”. Indeed, while other gangs may not have a preferential status for snack selling, snack sales still prove a lucrative side business for most. After all, few famished high school students have the patience to walk across all of campus for a 20% discount.

Essentially, this new competitor is driving a carefully balanced profit-printer into a brick wall.

“Do you know who’s smuggling the snacks?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Whoever’s doin’ it is a sneaky little bastard. Probably as tall as me ankles, I think.”

I find the correlation but struggle to make too much sense of it.

“Though…” She mumbles, a bellicose tone belying her voice. “I do know how they do it.”

From the fold of her leather jacket, Ceylica takes out a phone. Making a conciliatory gesture to signal patience, she continues to dabble with it, finishing only when a minute passes.

“Ye see this?” Her screen shines evidence. Proof of what can only be quite a degree of competence. “They made a DAMN WEBSITE!”

“Uh-huh.”

“What typa nerds make a website to sell snacks to students?!”

The website in question looks pretty professional too. Did they hire a web designer?

Interrupting my thoughts, the sound of hastened footsteps enters earshot. The male student from prior makes his triumphant return, sweat pooled on his forehead, and heavy breath through his throat. In his two hands, he presents both cookie and juice.

“Nerds, nerds, nerds!”

While Ceylica pouts her resentment, the boy stares awkwardly into the distance; hands still occupied with snacks.

“What are ye waiting fer?”

Though calm, Ceylica’s question is marked by an untempered edge, obviously eager for something. A few seconds pass without a response, however. It’s only by the count of four, that Ceylica points to her mouth, and the message is relayed.

“P-please excuse my ignorance, boss!”

Like a servant at the behest of their master, the boy follows without question. His left hand brings the cookie to Ceylica’s lip, while his right brings a straw of orange juice, allowing her to drink. If I had half the mind, I would ask him if he enjoyed doing it. Though, just from a cursory glance, I’m 99% sure he does.

“Hehe, ye ain’t half bad,” Ceylica says. Without another word, she rustles the boy’s hair, then sends him on his way. “So, ye satisfied, Morgana?”

“Hm?”

“With the information bout’ the undercutting nerds, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’d say I got the hang of it.”

I inhale strongly, letting the air swirl through my lungs. Then, I smile, the ends of my lips perking into a grin. “I’ll help.”

“Yeaaaaaa.” Her expression grows noticeably more amicable. She seems to have caught onto my intention, no doubt owing to some degree of social awareness. “Don’t worry, Morgana, I’ll get you one of your own servants if ye want.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll do without one of your boytoys.”

“Ye sure?”

“Yes.”

I spare the offer no further thought. Whatever awaits me, I think this form of deviancy can do for another time. All things considered, I do like to believe I’m not that desperate for male companionship, much less in the form of a servant.

“Ahem.”

Now then. Onto more important matters. How does one go about unravelling this whole mess?