The Happy Days of Being a Factory Owner in London – Chapter 2
by MonoInheritance
Why is it a factory?
Arna only opened her eyes as the train slowly pulled into the London station.
A blink of an eye, and her stamina bar was full again. Easy as that!
She made her way down the narrow corridor toward the exit, surrounded by people all desperately pushing their way out. Before she knew it, Arna’s boots were stepping onto a spacious, brightly lit platform.
Sunlight streamed down through the high, arched glass ceiling, cutting through the white steam that was gradually dissipating. From beyond the yellow-brick archways came the faint, crisp calls of newsboys hawking their papers.
Even though I have no idea what papers they’re selling… the modelling and rendering are insane!
Arna stood in place for a moment, craning her neck to look around the station curiously. Then she ran a lap around the bustling platform, following the floor tiles, searching for a guiding NPC.
She didn’t see any special locations or markers, though she did nearly collide with a nearby porter.
“Hey, country bumpkin, watch where you’re going!” the man snapped, taking two quick steps back and glaring at her.
Before Arna could react, the porter had hurried away.
Maybe I haven’t reached the starting point yet?
Arna circled a brick wall, but finding no wall-clipping bugs to take a shortcut, she had no choice but to regretfully walk the proper way out through an archway and onto a nearby thoroughfare.
The street was called Euston Road, and the station she had just arrived at was one of London’s most famous: King’s Cross Station.
She wandered around the station for a bit before finally spotting a small red dot marked on her map.
Standing at that location was a short, stout, grey-haired man in a black suit and white tie. He was looking down at his pocket watch, clearly anxious from the wait.
There you are, the reception NPC!
Arna walked up and stopped in front of him.
The man looked up at her, and sure enough, a dialogue sequence began.
“You must be Arna Aisas?” he said, his tone less than friendly. “Good. You’re not late. That’s very good.”
Seeing Arna nod, he gestured for her to follow him.
“My name is Green, a solicitor1 with the Green-Douglas-Knight Firm. I was a friend of your maternal grandfather’s and handled some business matters for him. Of course, you weren’t in close contact with your grandfather, so you may not have heard of me. In any case, your grandfather passed away not long ago and left you an inheritance,” he said slowly, leading Arna down the street while explaining the situation to the young man. “I presume you’ve read the letter I sent you. In short, as the executor of his will, it is my duty to hand over the deed to the factory to you.”
A cutscene, the old classic, Arna thought. Some relative dies, and the player inherits a farm/manor/courtyard/plot of land and is told to work hard and not disappoint said relative.
Taking advantage of the story moment, Arna activated auto-follow mode and began rummaging through her interface panel to take stock of her resources.
Her original 9,999,999 gold coins were locked. Clearly, currency wasn’t shared between maps, and the developers hadn’t even bothered to set up an exchange system. The height of laziness.
She had ten sandwiches left in her bag, which was probably the inventory limit for that item. She hadn’t sold them, just in case she got beaten up by mobs right at the start.
She’d made a small profit selling sandwiches on the train, and now she had one hundred and twenty of the new currency, called “Pence.”
Her Golden Hoe, Golden Axe, Golden Hammer, and Golden Sword had survived, but all magic-related items were greyed out. She wondered if she could unlock them again later.
Her Fishing Rod was also there and seemed to be usable. Hopefully, she could catch some fish nearby.
There were also two letters tucked away in her pack, both clearly unread. Since there was no icon indicating they contained items, she skipped them for now.
This is a single-player survival game, after all. Who needs a story? As long as I can dig, farm, and fish to feed myself and sell a little on the side, that’s good enough!
Arna poked around for a moment, then realized the man was staring at her, obviously waiting for a reaction.
She tried for a one-click skip.
Skip failed.
In fact, this damn game didn’t even have a skip button.
She tried nodding.
Good, the other party looked satisfied and started spouting more dialogue.
Pleased, Arna went back to checking her inventory and the unlocked portions of the surrounding map on her panel.
“…This factory plot is in the East End of London. You’ve probably heard of it. Most of the factories are located there, and it’s also a residential area for the workers. It’s near Whitechapel, so the public order isn’t the best, but transportation is convenient,” Mr. Green explained in detail. “Furthermore, most of your grandfather’s assets were used to offset his outstanding debts. The factory plot is the only property he left behind…”
At this, Green the solicitor looked the young man of about twenty up and down again.
This fellow named Arna had a healthy complexion, one clearly blessed by the sun. His eyes were bright and spirited, and his features were well-proportioned, giving the immediate impression of a young man of decent character.
The coarse wool coat he wore was well-maintained, and the collar of his old shirt was washed white. He clearly had some skill in domestic chores. Even if the style was quite dated, he still maintained a basic, respectable neatness.
Right now, he was listening to Solicitor Green with great concentration, though he seemed a bit taciturn. When he heard a key point, he would occasionally nod to show he was paying attention.
It seemed that by entrusting this factory to him, Old Man Aisas’s spirit could finally rest in peace.
“Well? Do you intend to go see the factory now, or would you rather wait until tomorrow morning?” As an old acquaintance, Green didn’t mind showing a little consideration for his old friend’s child. “If you don’t have a place to stay, I can recommend some reasonably safe inns.”
“…Please wait. What I’ve inherited is a factory?” Arna asked, stunned for a moment.
Is this the developer’s weird sense of humor? Naming a farm ‘Factory’?
“Not a factory,” Solicitor Green corrected, lest the young man’s expectations be too high, leading to disappointment upon seeing the real thing. “It is a plot of land upon which a factory was once built. To be precise, you could also count the factory building and the remaining scrap materials. The factory is not currently in operation. If you wish to restart it, you will likely need to go through the relevant procedures again.”
Arna’s mind spun.
Got it. The factory building is my starter house, the scrap materials are the starter seed pack given to players, and ‘going through the relevant procedures’ means I have to visit all the residents before I can start accepting quests.
But it seems this game has free-form dialogue. Let’s try it.
“Oh. I understand,” Arna nodded. “I have a question. Can I rename this farm called ‘Factory’?”
A renaming plaque was very important and usually given out by the initial guide NPC. She had to ask about it in advance.
Of course, if the materials required were too expensive, she’d forget it.
“Of course… what?”
Mr. Green’s words caught in his throat. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for what to say.
Ten minutes.
It took Mr. Green a full ten minutes to explain to the young man before him that a factory was a factory, not a farm; that levelling the building to plant vegetables was an extremely unwise and unrealistic course of action that wouldn’t be cost-effective even with a great deal of money; and furthermore, that there was no way he could demolish the entire building himself with a hammer.
It seemed Old Man Aisas’s spirit would not be resting in peace anytime soon.
After all, never mind Old Man Aisas, even he was struggling to understand why this point was so difficult to grasp.
Why was this fellow so obsessed with growing vegetables? He even asked that if crops couldn’t be grown at the factory, could he find a few plots in the London suburbs to cultivate?
What kind of person thinks of clearing land to grow vegetables near Whitechapel, and even earnestly consults him on which vegetables were common on the dinner tables of London’s residents?
He didn’t dare to imagine the looks on the faces of local gang members if they stepped into soft, freshly fertilized soil in the middle of a turf war…
Solicitor Green spent another half hour, using every ounce of his strength and verbal skill, but was still unable to overcome Arna’s bizarre ideas.
Did this child spend so much time farming in the countryside that he’s addled his brain?
For the sake of his own sanity and future professional reputation, he decided it would be best to take the fellow to the factory tomorrow morning.
Solicitor Green led Aisas to the entrance of a relatively safe inn, gave him the address of the firm for their meeting the next day—tearing off a page from his pocket notebook to write it down—and instructed the fellow not to wander about at night, to avoid being robbed or swindled. Then, he departed with great haste.
Arna, left standing alone, stared blankly at the words on her panel.
【Profession: Dispossessed Farmer】
Arna tapped it, and a prompt popped up.
【Evidently, you are an unlucky farmer who has lost their land. Don’t worry, so were many farmers in the nineteenth century! Fortunately for you, you have inherited a plot of land, and it’s in London—even London’s scrap metal is worth more than countryside trash, isn’t it?】
For the first time, Arna read the story information carefully.
After discovering the plot of land could not be sold, she silently cursed the developers three hundred times in her heart.
The nineteenth century, London, farming. Are you serious? The rent alone would be several times more than the crops are worth!
Why not just drop me on a deserted island in the nineteenth century and have me do a survival challenge? Who knows, maybe I’d even run into the lands of the little people and the giants2 from a few hundred years later and see what’s changed there!
But then again, she often played management games. She’d tried restaurant simulators and clothing store simulators, but never a factory simulator.
Fine. I’ll give it a shot.
Arna took out the two letters from her pack again.
One was from the NPC who had just left, clearly a summary of the game’s premise. It was long-winded, but the gist was that she had inherited a factory that had nothing—no remaining funds, no usable machinery, and no solid gold statues to sell off. All that was left was scrap metal, which the heir would have to figure out how to deal with.
The other letter was signed “Your loving Aunt.” It stated that she was aware of the player’s recent circumstances, had heard the player was coming to London to handle an inheritance, and would be very happy to have her stay at her home for a while. The address was 221B Baker Street.
So this is the starter accommodation.
Logically, if the guide NPC didn’t take the player to their lodging, there must be a direct mode of transport nearby.
Arna looked around and, sure enough, saw a horse-drawn carriage parked nearby. The coachman was leaning against a wall, chatting with some other people, while the horse stood placidly, swishing its tail leisurely, looking perfectly content.
Arna sprinted forward.
Arna vaulted gracefully onto the carriage—and overshot it.
She jumped back again, landing precisely on the carriage step, and ducked inside.
Arna announced her aunt’s address.
The coachman stared, then scanned this uninvited, baffling person up and down as if looking at a lunatic.
“From the countryside, are you?” he asked dismissively. “Get out, get out. Can you even afford the fare?”
What, I have to pay?!
As long as a game didn’t force a payment and there was a free alternative, a player would always choose the free option.
Arna scrambled sheepishly out of the carriage and ran off in a flash.
It’s just walking. I love walking!
…Besides, walking doesn’t consume stamina. And I can pick up some resources along the way.
With that thought, she grabbed a random NPC to ask for directions, and then, carrying her pack, she set off at a jog toward her lodging.
Due to the excessive number of trash cans along the way, Arna’s journey was one of fits and starts. Her backpack was soon stuffed to the brim, but she managed to arrive in the vicinity of her destination just before dark.
Following her intuition, Arna picked a building at random, walked up, and interacted with the door.
Great, it was locked. It wouldn’t budge.
She knocked on the door. Thump, thump, thump.
With a creak, the door opened.
“Who are you looking for?” an old woman asked.
“I’m looking for my aunt,” Arna said with full confidence.
The landlady of number 219 was taken aback by the young man’s words.
“What is your aunt’s name?” she asked.
Since the letter didn’t give a name, then according to game conventions, Grandpa’s name is ‘Grandpa’, so of course Aunt’s name is ‘Aunt’!
“Aunt,” Arna replied decisively.
“…You lunatic! Stop wasting my time!”
The door slammed shut in her face.
Arna stood at the doorstep, completely baffled.
What did I say wrong? Was I supposed to repeat it twice, ‘Aunt Aunt’, for the correct password input?
She looked again and saw that the door number read “219”.
Oh, wrong address. Not 221B Baker Street.
No matter, getting lost is standard procedure. The NPC will forget what just happened once I’m a certain distance away, anyway.
Arna quickly changed direction and headed for 221B Baker Street. But she hadn’t taken more than a few steps when she saw thick smoke billowing from the windows of the small apartment building she had already mentally designated as her residence.
—You’ve got to be kidding me. The starting accommodation is on fire right from the get-go?
The author has something to say:
A friend asked me why the protagonist of my last literary crossover and the protagonist of this one both have names ending in ‘-na’, and if there was some special meaning, like they were from the same family.
Me: No, sorry, it’s just because I’m terrible at naming things…
- As a hub connecting the north and south of Britain, London’s King’s Cross Station was one of the larger stations built in the early railway era. It’s about a forty-minute walk from Baker Street.
- In the nineteenth century, many factories were located in London’s East End. It was close to the docks, home to a large working-class population, and was also a rather lawless area. The infamous “Jack the Ripper” murders occurred in the vicinity of Whitechapel… It’s about an hour and a half’s walk from Whitechapel to Baker Street.
Footnotes
- In the English legal system, a solicitor is a lawyer who traditionally deals with most of the legal work for a client, while a barrister specializes in courtroom advocacy.
- A reference to Lilliput (the land of little people) and Brobdingnag (the land of giants) from Jonathan Swift's 1726 novel 'Gulliver's Travels'.
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