Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

“How do you think I should deal with this kid Kus?” Inside the Sky Restaurant, Jinzerk swirled his wine glass and posed the question to the two young women in front of him.

“Why are you asking us? Isn’t this a matter that concerns your company’s reputation?” Dolores spoke up preemptively, hoping to spare Hestia from being put in a difficult spot.

“It is a matter of Hot Lizard Motors’ reputation, yes, but it also involves students from Edess Academy. Mishandling it could affect both the academy’s name and our own standing.”

“I just felt a sudden urge today to hear your opinions,” Jinzerk said, shaking his head slightly and showing an amused expression.

Dolores shook her head. She wasn’t someone who could be easily coerced. She had remained silent, intending to let Jinzerk finish his piece so they could leave. She knew his obnoxious personality all too well; if you didn’t let him have his way, he would keep pestering you endlessly.

“This happened last night. You must have already dealt with it by now. What’s the point of asking us now?”

“You’re right, I handled it. But I’m still not entirely satisfied. I don’t like overthinking, so I came to consult with my cousin Dolores.”

Jinzerk didn’t hold many people in high regard at the academy, but Dolores was one of the few exceptions. He had some respect for his cousin, who was the same age as him. After all, Incense Workshop was a major corporation on par with Hot Lizard Motors, and Dolores had already started taking on family responsibilities.

Dolores thought briefly about his request before shaking her head. She didn’t want to answer. She turned to Hestia, intending to leave with her. As arrogant as Jinzerk was, he wouldn’t dare to push her too far.

“Let’s go, Thilan.” She stood up.

“Oh, leaving already? Are you going to ignore the questions of your dear cousin and classmate?” Jinzerk’s voice came lazily from behind.

“And Thilan, do you still remember your speech at the freshman ceremony? Or were those words just a ploy to gain recognition?” He took a sip of his amber-colored wine and leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly, as if confident they would stop.

If it were just her, Dolores would’ve ignored him. Their relationship wasn’t close, and others would simply brush it off as a family squabble.

But for Hestia, whose family background was far less prominent, her reputation mattered more. Avoiding the situation now could lead to even worse rumors spreading, fueled by Jinzerk.

Her steps faltered. The girl beside her gave a slight shake of her head, then stepped forward.

“So, Jinzerk, are you asking for my help?” The black-haired, blue-eyed girl stared directly at the lounging young man.

“You could say that,” Jinzerk replied indifferently. Even if word got out, no one would believe he was actually seeking advice.

“And your specific question is? Do you want to punish Kus or salvage the academy’s reputation?”

“My first question is how to prevent Hot Lizard Motors’ reputation from being damaged. As for the academy’s reputation… maybe that too. Let’s call it my second question.”

Seeing Hestia engage with him, Dolores felt a twinge of worry. She wasn’t naïve, she saw the traps in this situation.

Last night’s events must have spread locally. If there were news reports or videos uploaded to the Star Network, damage to Hot Lizard Motors’ reputation was inevitable.

The best approach would be to directly control the media in the Southern District or reach out to the Star Region government to discreetly suppress the news. While this might seem difficult to the average person, Dolores knew that given Hot Lizard Motors’ economic contributions to the Verdant Veil—its taxes, jobs, and industrial network—the authorities wouldn’t refuse such a small request.

However, such a solution couldn’t be openly discussed. Whoever suggested it would face criticism and moral condemnation. For someone like Jinzerk, this wouldn’t have much impact, some might even praise his decisiveness.

But if Hestia were the one to propose it, the fallout would be entirely different. Jinzerk could later claim that he was “inspired” by a certain classmate’s suggestion, leaving Hestia’s reputation in ruins within the academy.

People tend to admire the powerful. What Jinzerk could get away with wouldn’t be afforded to others. Even if he followed through with such a solution, he probably wouldn’t be entirely satisfied, which was why he was stirring up trouble now. Dolores, having grown up in the Verdant Veil’s elite circles, understood this mindset all too well.

“Since it’s already happened, trying to cover it up would be like burying your head in the sand,” Hestia said, shaking her head. Her black hair swayed, revealing her delicate neck.

“Oh? So you’re suggesting I publicly apologize?” Jinzerk asked mockingly, as though ridiculing her naivety.

“Do you think an apology would solve the problem?” His tone dripped with disdain. Apologies, to him, were worse than silence—they were a tacit admission of guilt.

“Did I say anything about apologizing?” Hestia retorted, shutting him up for the moment.

“What you’re really afraid of is public misunderstanding—that people will believe Hot Lizard Motors’ products are unsafe, leading to plummeting sales and, eventually, the company’s decline.”

“So deep down, you’re worried. You’re not as indifferent as you pretend to be.”

At this point, Jinzerk leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink with closed eyes, while their conversation drew the quiet attention of everyone in the restaurant.

“If that’s the case, then crash ten more hovercars,” Hestia said, her words causing a stir in the room. What did she mean by “crash ten more”? Was she trying to make the situation worse?

“Not just crash them—make each crash worse than the last. Use full-range cameras to capture every detail: the deformation, the damage, and how the passengers inside are protected from fatal injuries and survive.”

“I imagine such footage would be far more captivating than last night’s accident during the hover race. It would quickly draw everyone’s attention, and through this display, Hot Lizard Motors’ reputation might even reach new heights.”

This response, while seemingly flawless, carried an implicit assumption—that Heat Lizard Motors’ products truly had exceptional quality. Otherwise, such a strategy would backfire, exposing glaring weaknesses and causing a catastrophic decline in reputation.

However, this point didn’t need to be spelled out. Both Jinzerk and Dolores understood it well. Jinzerk certainly wouldn’t bring it up, as doing so would essentially admit, in front of so many people, that his company’s products were subpar and unworthy of such a bold proposal.

Earlier, he mocked Hestia’s image and reputation, but now the tables were turned, and the girl used the same angle to corner him, forcing him into a subtle loss.

The question was now back on Jinzerk, leaving him with a dilemma. If he followed through with the plan and his company’s product quality proved lacking—or worse, if it came to light that they were using special prototypes disguised as regular products—the damage to their reputation would be even greater.

On the other hand, ignoring such a sound suggestion would implicitly admit, in front of his peers, that his company’s products were indeed inferior. This would be a heavy blow to his confidence and public image. Jinzerk’s ability to act arrogantly both within and outside the academy was tied directly to his position as the heir to Heat Lizard Motors. If the brand’s reputation faltered, his personal influence would crumble alongside it.

“Clap, clap, clap—” The crisp sound of applause rang out abruptly in the silent restaurant. All eyes turned toward the source, only to see that it was Jinzerk himself who was clapping.

“Impressive, truly impressive. Thilan, your suggestion was enlightening.” He smiled, though it was unclear whether it stemmed from genuine happiness or frustration.

Then, turning to the people behind him, he issued orders.

“You all heard her, didn’t you? Hire the best filming crew. Get the latest models of our hovercars from the factory. Crash ten tonight. Then another ten tomorrow. Keep crashing them every day for the next week. Make the public so accustomed to such videos that they lose interest. During this time, provide detailed breakdowns of the collisions, comparing them to similarly priced models from competitors. Do I need to spell out the messaging for you?”

“No, sir.” Several men in suits stood up immediately, heading to the restaurant’s elevator to begin executing his orders.

With the first problem resolved, attention shifted to the second—one far less significant in comparison to the reputation of a major corporation that impacts the livelihoods of millions. However, this second issue was closer to those present, as it concerned students of Edess Academy.

“So, Thilan, how do you think we should handle the students involved in last night’s incident?” Jinzerk asked, seemingly looking for a chance to regain some face.

“Does the academy prohibit students from visiting bars in their free time?” Hestia asked.

“No.”

“Does it forbid them from spectating exciting events?”

“No.”

“Then why should the academy punish those students?”

“But the situation isn’t that simple. People don’t care about the rules, they’ll just think Edess Academy has poorly behaved students. It’s like dumping sewage on my polished image. I’m sure everyone here feels the same—why should we pay the price for someone else’s mistakes?” Jinzerk glanced around, showing a rare seriousness.

“Yes, public perception doesn’t adhere to laws or rules,” Hestia nodded.

“However, if the academy disciplines its students without clear regulations in place, it will only appear weak, easily bowing to external pressure. Punishing students based solely on public opinion risks setting a dangerous precedent, gradually leading to passive responses.”

“Apologizing once opens the door for a second, then a third… People will constantly use your past apologies against you, disregarding the times when you were in the right. Once you admit to a stain, you lose the ability to refute it.”

“Humans are bound to make mistakes, but apologizing isn’t always the best response. Correcting those mistakes afterward is what truly matters.”

“Instead of punishing the students, the academy should learn from this incident and implement new regulations to prevent similar issues. This would address public concerns without placing the institution in a passive position.”

Hestia’s tone was steady, her words carefully considered. She was aware of the trap hidden in this second question. Calling for harsh punishment would alienate her from her peers, while advocating complete inaction would paint her as foolish and arrogant.

As she carefully explained her reasoning, the clock ticked past 1 PM.

“…That’s all I can think of,” she concluded, shaking her head. She took a sip of her drink, only then realizing the restaurant had grown unusually quiet. Looking up, she noticed every pair of eyes fixed on her.

Those in the room observed the black-haired girl framed by the blue sky and white clouds outside the window. They marveled at her sharp intellect, her meticulous consideration of all perspectives, and her striking appearance, as radiant as a summer flower swaying in the breeze.

“Amazing.”

“As expected of Thilan.”

“I feel like an idiot; I didn’t even consider half of that.”

“She’s so thorough. To think it all through so clearly without making a mistake—it’s incredible.”

“I think Jinzerk’s going to have to take this loss. With Dolores backing her, he wouldn’t dare make trouble for Thilan. And if the car crash issue really gets resolved, he might even have to thank her for the idea.”

“Ha, serves him right!”

The restaurant buzzed with chatter once more. Jinzerk placed his now nearly empty wine glass on the table, the small ship inside still gently rocking with the remaining liquid.

“What a beautiful day,” he remarked, gazing out the transparent window at the blue sky before standing up.

Nodding slightly toward the two girls, the once-arrogant youth smiled faintly and walked away.

“Put their bills on me,” he instructed, stepping into the elevator with his entourage. Just before the doors closed, he flicked a crimson metal card into the air.

The card arced gracefully before landing on the table in front of Hestia and Dolores, spinning briefly on the glass surface before settling under the sunlight.

“Jinzerk’s exclusive business card,” Dolores noted. “This gives you access to free services at any Hot Lizard Motors store and maximum discounts for business negotiations. It’s more useful for you than me, so you should keep it.”

“This probably isn’t over. If Hot Lizard Motors resolves the situation perfectly, he’ll owe you for your advice. You could ask for a few luxury cars, and he wouldn’t hesitate.”

“I don’t need a car that much, and luxury ones draw too much attention.” Hestia sighed but ultimately accepted the card under Dolores’ urging.

By noon, word of the events at the Sky Restaurant had spread across the academy. That evening, Hot Lizard Motors officially released footage of the bridge collision, noting that even in such a severe accident, the driver survived.

As if to emphasize the company’s quality, a livestream showcased hovercars crashing into designated structures. The vehicles shattered spectacularly, but each time, the dummy passengers inside were shown surviving with minimal injuries.

The dramatic footage quickly overshadowed last night’s racing incident. Within a week, the company’s stock price surged, leaving many astonished at its ability to turn misfortune into advantage.

As for the girl who proposed the solution, her role remained largely unknown to the public. Within the academy, however, her reputation soared, shielded by the combined efforts of Edess Academy and the Star Region government.