10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 78- Enrollment Fee

A Curry Shop, Sector 9 – Linton Street, Hero City

Tucked into an alley so narrow it practically erased itself from the street, the curry shop existed more like an afterthought than a business. Its signboard was old-fashioned — no neon, no flair, just a single white bulb throwing dim yellow light onto faded painted letters.

No crowd. No queue. Just the smell of something warm and real drifting into the night air, confirming it was still open.

One customer. That was all.

An old woman had her hand slammed flat on the counter.

"You call this fair? Two GC for this? You’re bleeding people dry for noodles."

Behind the counter, Lira didn’t flinch. Her pink hair swayed faintly as she stirred the pot, voice soft but with no give in it.

"I’m charging what it costs me. Two GC is exactly what I spend to make that dish. I’m not even breaking even."

"Then you’re a terrible businesswoman," the old woman scoffed.

She had the energy of someone who came for the argument, not the food.

"Grandma." A voice came from the far end of the counter — low, flat, faintly exasperated. "When are you leaving?"

Neuril was leaning against the edge of the counter with her arms folded, watching the whole thing with the particular patience of someone who had witnessed this exact exchange dozens of times and had stopped finding it charming. She was eighteen, nearly nineteen, and the kind of girl who filled a room without trying — not loud, just ’present.’ Blonde hair pulled loosely behind one ear, a few strands falling across her forehead. A compact figure with soft curves that her shop apron did absolutely nothing to hide, hips just slightly wide for her frame, the kind of easy physical confidence that comes from not yet knowing you have it. Her eyes, a pale amber-gold, carried that specific blend of warmth and exasperation that only the youngest sibling ever truly masters.

"Hm?" The old woman snorted. "It’s not like she has customers anyway. Shouldn’t I just stay?"

She pulled five GC from her pouch and dropped it on the counter anyway, the way she always did — loud complaint followed by quiet payment. Then she turned, hunched back swaying, and made for the door.

Neuril uncrossed her arms. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You always fight with big sister and still end up leaving a tip." She pushed off the counter and moved to her grandmother’s side, reaching for the old woman’s arm out of habit. A daughter’s reflex wearing a younger sister’s face.

They made their way toward the door.

As they reached for it, it swung open on its own — slowly, stopping halfway.

A man stood in the threshold. Flanked by two women, one on each side. He looked directly at the old woman, then shifted his gaze downward to Neuril.

"Long time no see, Neuril."

’’!?’’

CLANG.

The bowl Lira had been collecting from the left table hit the floor in a sharp, cracking burst. Ceramic scattered across the tiles.

She stood frozen.

Breath caught. Eyes wide. Pupils blown open. Not surprise — not even close to something as ordinary as surprise. It was older than that. Deeper. The kind of fear that lives in the body before the brain names it.

Her hands hovered in the air, ladle loose in her fingers. Her mouth opened. Nothing came.

Her legs locked.

All of her fixated — on the door. On him.

’Cruxius.’

A cold blade ran the length of her spine. For a moment the shop dissolved and she was somewhere else entirely, back in that place, staring into those same eyes that had once looked at her while she choked — her hands at her own throat, his expression unchanging. Eyes she had prayed she would never have to see again.

Then she blinked.

The mask came down. Pale, but composed. Steady.

She bowed, once, barely. Did not look at him.

"...Sorry. Bowl fall."

Voice soft. Too controlled. And then she turned and walked into the kitchen, footsteps quiet, leaving behind air that felt like something in it had cracked — just like the bowl.

’’....’’

Cruxius said nothing.

But something had already moved, somewhere behind his eyes.

"Whoa — golden light—mmph!" 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

He looked down at the sound. Neuril had caught herself mid-sentence, palm flat over her mouth, eyes wide and luminous with something caught between awe and the instinct not to say it out loud. She stared up at him with those amber eyes and the clear, caught expression of someone who had just seen something she hadn’t been expecting — and absolutely wasn’t going to pretend she hadn’t.

Something about it made him smile.

"Pardon me, ladies." He placed one hand over his chest, a slight bow — directed at both the old woman and the young woman beside her. They exchanged a glance, puzzled by the gesture. Something in it read anyway.

"Ahem." The old woman cleared her throat, giving one last look toward the kitchen. "Fine, gentleboy. You may enter." She stepped aside.

Cruxius nodded and stepped through.

Behind him came Ytrisia and Darithi. That was what both the old woman and Neuril had expected.

What followed was something else.

Men in black suits. Sunglasses at night. Women dressed identically. One. Then seven. Ten. More than a dozen, filling every seat in the narrow shop with quiet, practiced efficiency — like a tide coming in.

’’!’’

"Oh my," the old woman breathed.

Neuril stood and watched the shop fill — the shop that had sat hollow more evenings than not — and felt something strange and unexpected bloom in her chest.

The man with the golden light had sat himself down and opened the menu like he belonged there.

"Grandma," Neuril said, turning, amber eyes wide. "Why are there so many—"

The old woman leaned close and whispered.

"’What!?’ They’re ’customers!?’"

Her voice carried. Every head turned. A soft, genuine chuckle escaped the man at the corner table — low enough to be private, not low enough to miss.

Neuril slapped both palms over her mouth. Looked at her grandmother. Both of them nodded once, the same nod, and without another word they turned and moved straight for the kitchen. No time. Lira needed hands. The shop’s long-empty wallet needed them more.

Inside the narrow kitchen, the air hung thick with turmeric and garlic. Lira stood behind the counter.

Motionless. Staring at the wall.

The curtain shifted.

The old woman stepped through first. Neuril came in right behind her, apron already knotted — slightly crooked at the back, the way it always was.

"They’re waiting," the old woman said, voice clipped. "More customers than this shop has seen in years. Get cooking."

Lira didn’t move.

"No," she said. Flat. Cold. "I’m not serving them."

The old woman blinked. "You’re... not serving?"

"I said no." Lira turned, eyes sharp. "Especially not ’him.’ The rest — I don’t know who they are, I don’t care — but I’m not feeding that kind of crowd."

Neuril stayed near the edge of the room. She’d never heard her sister use that voice before. Quiet, the way a door gets quiet right before it’s slammed.

The old woman folded her arms. Her face didn’t move.

"Why, Lira?"

"I cannot tell."

A pause. Then, measured and deliberate — "Listen, you brat. This shop lives on borrowed breath. And Neuril’s enrollment fee is due. One hundred and eighty GC."

Lira flinched as if something physical had struck her.

’180.’