The Winking Shadow Problem**
Chen stared at his reflection in the school bathroom mirror, gripping the edges of the sink. His shadow—normally a passive, well-behaved silhouette—had just flickered its fingers at him.
*This is what I get for drinking that shadow-twin espresso yesterday.*
He leaned closer. "Listen," he whispered harshly, "we have a pop quiz in ten minutes. If you start doing jazz hands during the test, I swear I'll—"
His shadow mimed zipping its lips. Then it formed a tiny thumbs-up.
Chen groaned. This was worse than the time his left eyebrow had gone missing.
The bell rang. As he hurried to class, his phone buzzed. Listra:
**"FYI: Shadow side effects wear off in 12-24 hours. Try not to panic if it starts taking notes for you."**
Chen shoved his phone into his pocket just as Min Rui fell into step beside him.
"Whoa," she said, eyeing him. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
Chen forced a laugh. "Just... really nervous about this quiz."
Min raised an eyebrow but didn't press further.
The quiz went surprisingly well—until question four, when Chen felt an odd tugging sensation. He glanced down to see his shadow quietly pointing at the correct multiple-choice answer.
Chen sighed and circled **C**.
---
The Cookie Investigation**
That evening, Chen's mother cornered him in the family café's tiny back office. She held up one of the VitalBite cookies he'd brought home, now neatly wrapped in plastic with a handwritten label: *"Chen's Special Recipe - Not For Sale (Yet)"*
"Where," she said slowly, "are you really getting these?"
Chen's mind raced. He could lie again, but the dark circles under his mother's eyes stopped him. She'd been working double shifts for months. The café was struggling.
He took a deep breath. "What if I told you I found a supplier? Really good prices on premium ingredients. Like... wholesale, but better."
His mother's eyes narrowed. "What supplier?"
Chen pulled out his phone—the one Listra had enchanted last week to work in both worlds—and showed her a contact: *"Golden Root Provisions - Specialty Imports"* with a very normal-looking Earth phone number.
"It's a small operation," Chen said carefully. "They deliver by truck. Totally legit."
His mother scrolled through the (fabricated but very official-looking) website Listra had helped set up. "These prices..." She frowned. "That's half what we pay now. What's the catch?"
"No catch," Chen said. "Just... maybe don't ask too many questions?"
His mother gave him that look—the one that said she knew he was hiding something but was too tired to fight about it. "One trial order," she said finally. "And if the health inspector asks, we bought them from... where?"
"Golden Root," Chen said quickly. "Registered in Delaware."
As his mother walked away, Chen exhaled. Phase one complete.
---
The Tavern's Supply Chain**
The next morning in the Azure Bean, Chen found Listra negotiating with a towering figure made entirely of woven vines.
"—and we'll take twenty crates of the winterbloom honey," Listra was saying. "Delivered to the usual drop point."
The vine-being nodded, then turned its hollow face toward Chen. "This the new wildwalker?"
Listra grinned. "Chen, meet Rootweaver. They handle cross-dimensional logistics for half the first floor."
Rootweaver extended a branch-like hand. "Heard you need Earth-side deliveries."
Chen shook the offered hand, trying not to wince as tiny leaves tickled his palm. "You can really get stuff from here to my world? Without, uh, breaking reality?"
Rootweaver chuckled—a sound like rustling autumn leaves. "We've been supplying half your 'organic specialty import' companies for decades. The humans never question a good deal."
Listra handed Chen a thick catalog. "Rootweaver's team can pack anything to look normal—just point to what you want."
Chen flipped through pages bursting with impossible ingredients:
- **Moon-kissed vanilla beans** (now labeled "Madagascar vanilla - premium grade")
- **Dragon-scale sugar** ("Organic cane sugar - extra fine")
- **Everfresh berries** ("Freeze-dried acai - antioxidant rich")
Rootweaver tapped one gnarled finger on the page. "Minimum order is five crates. Payment in glims or Earth currency."
Chen's mind raced. This could save his parents' café. Maybe even turn it into something special.
"I'll take..." He pointed at three items. "Can you make the packaging look... normal?"
Rootweaver's bark-like face split into a grin. "Kid, we invented 'normal.'"
---
The First Delivery**
Three days later, Chen stood in his parents' café storage room as a perfectly ordinary-looking delivery truck unloaded crates marked *Golden Root Provisions*.
His mother inspected the first box, pulling out a bag of "premium matcha powder" that Chen knew was actually ground fairy-tea leaves. She frowned.
"This looks... too green."
Chen held his breath as she opened it. The vibrant emerald powder shimmered faintly—just enough to look expensive, not magical.
His mother dipped a finger in and tasted it. Her eyes widened.
"Oh."
Chen bit his lip. "Is it... bad?"
His mother stared at the powder, then at Chen, then at the rest of the delivery. Slowly, she smiled.
"Tell your suppliers... we'll take more."
---
The Price of Magic**
Back in the tavern, Chen proudly handed Rootweaver an envelope full of Earth cash—his parents' first payment.
The vine-being counted it with surprising dexterity. "Not bad for a first try." They peeled off several bills and handed them back. "Your commission."
Chen blinked. "My what?"
Listra leaned against the counter, sipping her usual dark nectar. "Every trader gets a cut, café boy. That's how business works."
Chen stared at the money in his hand—real, tangible profit from connecting both worlds. The implications hit him like one of Gregory's surprise broom-attacks:
He could do this. Really do this. Not just sneak magical treats home, but build something real.
His shadow, now behaving normally, gave him an approving nod.