Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva

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After arriving at the pit's bottom, the excavating machines placed the mined ore into the trucks, then the trucks ascended once more, pouring the ore into the train carriages that sat waiting.

In this way, it would take roughly two days and two nights to load a batch; after which the train would haul the ore away, completing an order.

In the subterranean mining area, the workers wearing helmets maneuvered mechanical arms to continuously sever chunks of white crystals, with dust rising amidst it all, barely contained by the spray of water mist from a small pipe beside the mechanical arms.

Even so, the environment here remained harsh, as long-term inhalation of dust would cause various occupational illnesses.

Another significant chunk of pale crystal was severed, and then the worker adjusted its position, set the parameters, and hopped down from the driver's seat.

For the next twenty or so minutes, the mechanical arm would continue to operate under AI control until it encountered a complex ore vein or the pre-set time arrived.

Moving to a small, isolated corrugated iron hut nearby, this worker wiped the dust from his hands, then removed his helmet and reclined on the support chair beside him.

"Exhausted, wearing this helmet is suffocating," besides him, there was a safety officer, but at the moment, the officer was just idly leaning on his chair, watching the mechanical arms excavate automatically through the window.

"Better keep it on, you know inhaling this dust can make you ill."

"The money to replace a lung, even selling you wouldn't be enough," he replied.

"Forget it, I'm in my sixties, not much time left for me," he lay down and quenched his thirst with the ice water drawn from the side.

"Life expectancy in the Federation is 85 years, that should still be enough for you," the safety officer glanced at him.

"We're on the averaged side, don't compare us with those people from the Central Star Domain, living to 150 isn't strange for them."

"Might as well enjoy ourselves while we still can in these years, otherwise when we're old, even wishing for it won't do us any good."

The two continued their intermittent conversation until the worker said,

"Why do people have to be so tired, it's not like we're in the old slave society anymore."

After speaking, he looked fixedly at the tirelessly digging mechanical arm.

"Sometimes I feel like that machine, soulless, thoughtless, just repeating motions."

"No one's whipping me, no one's pointing a gun at my head, but I still can't rest."

"Perhaps it's exploitation?" the safety officer said with a laugh.

"Maybe, but it doesn't quite fit."

"Some companies make money and don't share it with the employees, but here, as you and I know, the company isn't making any money, who else would want such stones."

"A company that can't turn a profit should be eliminated, I used to say that when I was young, but now I don't dare because I really fear that the company might close down."

"At least now I can still draw a salary, but at my age, if I lose my job, I'll hardly find another one."

"Lying at home, letting my children earn money and care for my illnesses, it feels like I am burdening their entire lives, making them carry a burden at an age when they should be striving hardest."

"Life really is tough," he murmured.

Muttering to himself, he seemed to see, through the glass, the enthusiastic, sprightly young self from many years past, running past.

'I'm going to Central Star Domain University.' Explore stories on My Virtual Library Empire

The girl he once liked had said this to him as she waved goodbye, then boarded a faster-than-light spaceship and never returned.

He still had her contact information, but he never sent another message.

Because he knew that from that moment, they had been living in two different worlds, and as heavy labor took its toll, his cheeks no longer shone but turned ugly and greasy, to the point where he even dreaded looking in the mirror for a while.

Why exactly? The person full of ideas and ideals, lively and vigorous, had slowly died in the passage of time, and now all that remained was a soulless shell.

Was it his fault, was he not diligent enough? But he had indeed worked hard, exhaustedly so.

Was it society's fault? Yet what caused the current situation, his impoverished brain couldn't discern within the increasingly complex economic environment, and the dizzying array of industries and professions nowadays.

"Sigh..."

A sigh, and the condensation fogged up the glass, obscuring the view before him. Then he picked up the helmet beside him, put it on himself, and pushed open the door to leave.

He needed to get back to work, couldn't let the mechanical arm stop.

It couldn't stop; it was a machine, meant for maximizing its value, and that was his value here as well.

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