The deeper Aria walked into the shop, the more she realized how large it was. It stretched far beyond what it looked like from the outside — almost like a hidden warehouse filled with endless treasures. Shelves were stacked high with wooden furniture, porcelain sets, wall clocks, and more.
Zorvath sighed softly and stood up from his seat, lazily following her. Soon, he found himself acting as her assistant — taking the things she picked and handing them over to the old shopkeeper for billing.
Aria's excitement grew with every step. She chose a few sturdy tables, matching chairs, several beautiful mugs in different shapes, and elegant trays and plates. She even picked out three or four vintage clocks — their designs intricate, each one ticking with a different rhythm.
Her eyes then caught some framed scenery pictures leaning against the wall, and she picked a few of those too. And when she saw the curtains — soft velvet, embroidered with royal patterns — her eyes sparkled. "These are perfect," she murmured, adding them to her growing pile.
Then, tucked between a stack of dusty vases, she noticed something unexpected — a book. Its cover was old and faded, but the title caught her attention:" The devil's moonflower". Curious, she brushed off the dust and flipped through it. "It's like a love story… or maybe a fairytale," she said quietly to herself.
Looking up at the old man, she asked, "Your shop has such a beautiful collection. But why isn't it more… visible? You could decorate it, make it popular like the others."
The shopkeeper smiled faintly, shaking his head. "These things don't deserve people who chase after glitter and trend," he said slowly. "This shop has been here for ages — long before this market even looked like this. It has its own soul. People like you, who can see the value of it, are the ones meant to find it."
Aria glanced at Zorvath, and he looked back — both quietly understanding what the old man meant.
They continued shopping. Aria kept choosing, Zorvath kept passing each item to the counter, jotting down details as they went.
When they finally reached the front counter, the old man asked, "Where should these be delivered?"
Zorvath opened his mouth to give the café's address — but Aria gently held his hand, stopping him.
"Send it to this address," she said instead.
Zorvath turned to her, confused, but didn't question it. Aria handed over the advance payment and stepped outside with him.
Only after they were out did Zorvath finally ask, "Why your place?"
Aria smiled, looking ahead. "Because these things are special," she said. "I need to work on them — some finishing touches and designs. They won't be part of our café's daily theme. They'll appear only on special occasions. You remember what I said — our café will change every day. And one day… I'll design mine."
Zorvath looked at her — her eyes gleaming with quiet determination — and smiled faintly. He didn't need to ask anything more.
He just believed her. Believed that whatever she touched… would turn out beautifully.
After wandering through several shops, Aria finally sighed and turned to Zorvath.
"Nothing in this market fits our idea," she said, frustration slipping into her tone. "If it keeps going like this, our café won't look the way we imagined—and the profit we expect will fall flat."
Zorvath didn't reply. His eyes were on his phone, his thumbs moving fast.
That made Aria's jaw tighten. She stood there, half-talking to herself, while he kept typing.
Who is he texting? a voice inside her asked sharply.
But her pride stopped her from saying it aloud.
Instead, she just shifted her weight, pretending to look around, sneaking small glances toward his phone screen whenever she could.
Zorvath noticed. Without looking up, he said quietly, "Let's go somewhere."
Aria blinked. "Somewhere?" she asked, doubtful.
He finally looked at her, a small unreadable smile on his face. "Yeah. Somewhere better."
Finally, they stopped in front of a small house tucked inside a crowded colony.
The narrow lanes were lined with uneven roofs, laundry hanging between the walls, and the faint smell of spice and smoke drifting through the air. It was one of those places where people built homes on land that technically wasn't theirs — poor locals trying to survive in the gaps left by the city.
Every night, they lived with the fear of police patrols and eviction — but somehow, life still moved on here.
Aria looked around, clearly out of place. "Why are we here?" she asked, frowning at Zorvath.
He didn't answer directly. "Every question," he said, "will get its answer once the door opens."
Before she could ask again, Zorvath stepped forward and began knocking — hard and fast, not even pausing to wait for a reply.
Aria crossed her arms, watching him with confusion.
After a few moments, the door creaked open.
Standing there was a boy — around their age, maybe a little younger — with curious eyes and a wary expression, as if strangers didn't often come here.
For a moment, the boy squinted at Zorvath's face — once, then again — as if confirming he wasn't seeing things.
Zorvath just stood there, silent, his eyes steady.
"Are you… Farhan?" he asked calmly.
The boy's eyes widened. "King!" he blurted out. "Oh God, you came to my house? What a surprise! Please, come in, come in!"
Aria froze on the doorstep, stunned. King?
She repeated the word under her breath. "King, Zorvath?"
The boy leaned out of the doorway and spotted her. "Oh my God! Miss Aria the future queen! You're here too!"
Aria's eyebrows shot up. "What the hell? Who's your queen?" she demanded, clearly annoyed.
From inside, Zorvath's voice cut through her confusion. "Get inside."
The boy obeyed instantly, stepping back with a quick nod. Aria followed reluctantly, rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath about the boy's strange behavior.
Aria stepped inside — and her eyes widened.
Half the house didn't even have a roof. Only one corner was covered with a rusted metal sheet that could barely be called shelter. It had more holes than shade. Beneath it sat a single old bed, and the rest of the space was filled with random things — clothes piled in corners, broken tools, and bits of furniture stacked like forgotten junk.
The only clear area was a small space in the center, where someone could just about stand or sit.
Aria stopped there, trying not to show her shock.
The boy hurried over, dragging out two stools. "Please, sit!" he said cheerfully.
Zorvath sat down without hesitation.
Aria, however, eyed the stool suspiciously — the legs looked like they might snap under a feather's weight. She gently pressed her hand on it first, testing its strength. When it didn't collapse, she lowered herself slowly, still tense, as if ready to jump up if it broke.
Her expression said everything — she was still not sure if sitting there was a good idea.
Farhan awkwardly scratched his ear, a nervous grin spreading across his face.
"Leader," he said to Zorvath, "I didn't store any milk. Would you mind black tea instead?"
Zorvath gave him a blank stare.
"Do you really think I came here to drink your tea?" he asked flatly.
Farhan straightened up immediately, his tone flipping into seriousness.
"Of course not, Leader! So it's a mission then, right? Just tell me what to do — I'll handle it quick. Is it something about meeting the GHSS boys?"
Before he could say more, something small hit him square in the chest.
Aria had thrown it — whatever random thing she'd found nearby.
"Shut up," she snapped. "That's not why we're here."
Then she turned toward Zorvath, her tone softening but her eyes still sharp with confusion.
"…Right?"
Zorvath didn't answer immediately — just looked at her, unreadable as ever.