Coulson sighed as he stepped out of the director's office.
Just hours ago, he had experienced firsthand the other side of the Mulgore Hotel's innkeeper, Kaus—poverty.
Not just poverty, but extreme stinginess.
After delving into the mysteries of elemental magic, Phil Coulson had an engaging conversation with Kaus, learning fascinating and unheard-of knowledge. He even enjoyed his meal.
Well, mostly.
The only downside was that the roasted bird meat was overly salted. But that was manageable—just drink more water.
Until, of course, nature called.
"Ah, I'm sorry, but the Mulgore Hotel doesn't have a toilet!" Kaus declared without an ounce of shame. "You see, my hotel barely gets any business. I survive mostly on the kindness of gangsters, thieves, and lowlifes who toss me spare change. Renovating for a toilet? Yeah... that's not exactly in the budget."
Coulson stared at him, dumbfounded.
Was this guy serious?
S.H.I.E.L.D. had turned a blind eye to his habit of looting corpses and disposing of enemies only because he had some strategic value. But now, in front of two legitimate government agents, he was bragging about his criminal connections—like it was some sort of achievement?
And worse, he used that as an excuse for not having a basic necessity like a toilet?
But Kaus seemed utterly unconcerned.
To be fair, it wasn't just the Mulgore Hotel—there were no toilets anywhere in Azeroth.
Undead were, well, undead. No need for bathrooms.
Night elves? They practically lived off moonwell water and morning dew, so they could manage.
Goblins? Always running around, living in caves—where they handled their business was the least of their concerns.
Did Coulson know that in Stormwind City, human residents had to run to Westfall just to relieve themselves? Some even traveled as far as Wintergrasp…
Meanwhile, the tauren had a simple philosophy: wherever you stand is your restroom.
Just look at how green Mulgore's grass was!
After desperately searching for a restroom and failing, Coulson had no choice. He sneaked out the back door, found a large tree near the hotel's exterior wall, and took care of business.
"Ahhh… much better."
As he exhaled in relief, he mentally drafted his compensation report. If approved, it could fund plumbing, water heaters, and even proper restrooms for the hotel.
Then, as he stepped back—his foot landed on something soft and squishy.
His gut twisted.
Grimacing, he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight.
The tree's base was surrounded by various spiral and strip-shaped objects of different sizes and textures.
"Oh… no…"
"See? That tree will be thriving next year!" Kaus stated proudly, as if this were a selling point.
Coulson shuddered, recalling the state of the guest room: bare walls, a tiny wooden bed, and nothing else. He groaned, every bone in his body aching.
Sure, the roasted bird was delicious.
Sure, it was free.
But was that worth one hundred and fifty dollars for two nearly empty rooms?
Stretching out his stiff limbs, Coulson resolved to finalize his report and push through the funding request as soon as possible.
Meanwhile, Kaus was ecstatic, holding the crumpled banknotes like they were the most precious treasure in the world.
This was the largest amount of money he had ever earned since arriving in this world.
After all, real underworld bosses handled high-stakes negotiations and exclusive cocktail parties.
Mid-level gang leaders focused on internal power struggles and managing their turf.
And elite gang members—the smartest and most ruthless—were busy fighting over the biggest profits and toughest rivals.
In contrast, Kaus had mostly dealt with low-level street thugs—wannabe gangsters who had nothing but lint in their pockets.
Gold chains? Designer watches? Fake knockoffs worth pennies.
If Kaus hadn't figured out how to prepare his own food and drink, he would have starved long ago.
Now, clutching Coulson's payment and generous tip, his fingers trembled with excitement. He almost wanted to kiss Coulson's saintly face.
"I want a Coke. I want watermelon. I want a gaming console… or at least a computer."
But what he really wanted was a doll.
The hotel's basement was cold—as cold as a prison cell.
Yet, as a time traveler who had already survived the novice phase, it was humiliating enough that he still hadn't gathered a harem. Buying a doll? That was just pathetic.
He could already imagine being mocked by his fellow time travelers, all of whom were likely living like kings in their respective worlds.
And those high-level elemental elves?
Who in their right mind would fantasize about a humanoid thundercloud or a walking bonfire?
Sighing, he flicked through the bills again, mentally calculating his budget.
At the very least, he could afford some daily necessities.
With that thought, he locked up the hotel and set off for the shopping district.
As he walked, he passed the Fogway Underground Boxing Club, its grand sign hanging prominently above the entrance.
Further ahead, the towering Fix Building loomed over the simple, rundown residential homes beside it.
It was a strange contrast—like the Mariana Trench standing next to ridiculously long, white legs.
Rusty, duct-taped old cars crawled down the street, squeezed between sleek, roaring supercars.
Wait… was that a metaphor, or was something weird going on?
Eh, whatever.
None of that mattered.
What did matter was that as he passed by a m glass storefront, something made him stop.
His own reflection.
Blond hair—messy, but manageable.
Facial features—sharp, well-defined.
Slim figure—not bad.
But… his clothes.
He was still wearing the exact same outfit from his original world.
A light green shirt, slightly wrinkled.
A pair of gray trousers—which looked like they hadn't seen a washing machine in eight hundred years.
And massive suede shoes that resembled cow hooves more than footwear.
To be fair, the clothes were high quality.
Despite a month in this plane—not to mention the untold years in the elemental world—they hadn't suffered a single tear.
Still…
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. The few bills inside were already slightly damp from nervous sweat.
"Maybe I can endure it a little longer…"
"No way Coulson is going to refuse to pay for magic lessons."
With that excuse in mind, Kaus turned away from the shopping mall—
—and walked straight into the nearest tobacco shop.
End of Chapter 9
This version keeps the word count in check while improving flow, humor, and readability. Let me know if you'd like any tweaks!