Allen's gaze made Martha feel a little uneasy. There was something about the way he looked at her—scrutinizing, intense. It reminded her of the way her teacher used to stare at her work before she even started school.
Since inheriting her family's high-end custom clothing store last year, Martha had seen all kinds of customers. But this kid... This was definitely the first time she'd encountered someone quite like him.
Despite his flawless appearance, he looked far too young to be someone important in the fashion or magic industries. The clothes he was wearing didn't suggest he had the means to shop in a place like hers, let alone customize anything.
If it had been anyone else—any ordinary-looking person, even a child—Martha might have already gently sent them away. But Allen had a face that made him hard to turn down. He was just... too charming.
"Child, did you go the wrong way?" Martha asked gently, squatting down so they were eye level. Her movement was graceful but revealed little of her elegant figure. "Are you lost from your parents?"
"No, I'm here to customize clothes," Allen replied, looking at her with mild confusion. "Do I need my parents' permission to do that?"
"It's not that," Martha said, glancing at his plainly dressed form. "It's just... the prices here are a little high."
"Oh, that's fine. I'll order within my budget," Allen said casually, walking over to inspect the fine fabrics hanging on the wall. "I need custom-made clothes that are dust-proof, odor-proof, and oil-resistant. How much would that cost?"
Unlike Madam Malkin's Robe Shop, Martha's boutique offered magical fabrics with practical effects—dust-repelling, oil-proof, even waterproof enchantments. But, of course, magic came with a price.
"The fabric you're asking about isn't cheap," Martha explained. "It's twenty galleons per foot. Judging by your size, a full outfit would require about two feet. Add in the craftsmanship—an additional 50%—and the total comes to around sixty galleons for one set."
That was a steep price.
Allen had planned to order three sets, but upon hearing the cost, he paused and thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "Then I'll just get one set for now."
"Are you sure?" Martha asked. "At your age, you're still growing. You might not fit in those clothes next year. Custom-made outfits are very precise. They won't feel right if you outgrow them."
"That's fine. I'll just get new ones next year," Allen replied confidently. "I've had to make do before, but not anymore. I want to eat good food and wear nice clothes. As a time traveler, I don't plan on going without."
That last sentence was muttered under his breath.
"Alright, come inside, and I'll take your measurements," Martha said, pulling back the curtain. She cast another glance at Allen's handsome face as she gestured for him to follow her.
Allen tossed the black cloak off his shoulders and stepped behind the curtain.
"Ma'am, you don't need to touch so much just to measure my arm span, do you?" Allen's exasperated voice came from behind the fabric divider.
"Ah, sorry, I just want the fit to be perfect," Martha said sheepishly.
"And... pinching my cheeks? That's necessary too?"
"I couldn't help myself," she said with a small laugh. "You're just too cute."
Five minutes later—after measuring (groping), noting (tying), and cataloging (binding)—Martha finally finished her "professional" work and smiled as she recorded Allen's data.
"It'll take about three days to finish," she said. "You can come back and pick it up then. But I'll need a 10% deposit today."
Allen nodded, pulled out six gold galleons, and handed them to her.
"I didn't catch your name," Martha said, still smiling.
"Allen Cecil," he replied.
"Wait—you're Allen Cecil?" Martha's eyes widened.
"You've heard of me?" Allen raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"
"You're even younger than I expected! I've heard so many people talk about your cooking, but I thought you'd at least be in your teens. You're a little legend already!" Martha's expression softened, and she grinned playfully. "If I could taste your food, I might even consider giving you a discount."
Before she could finish her sentence, Allen had already pulled out a small paper bag and handed it to her.
"I meant it when I said I do what I can," he said with a smile.
Martha blinked, caught off guard by how fast Allen had acted. She'd only meant to joke, but now she felt a little awkward.
"Go ahead and try it," Allen said cheerfully. "If you're not impressed, I'll be too embarrassed to accept a discount anyway."
Now that he'd offered it so earnestly, Martha couldn't say no. She slowly opened the paper bag and pulled out a piece of his signature rock sugar chewy cabbage.
Earlier, Allen had prepared crispy fried cabbage, but this time he had brought the chewy, candied version instead.
Martha picked up a piece and popped it into her mouth. After a few chews, her eyes widened with astonishment.
"This... this is incredible!" she gasped.
"As long as you like it," Allen said, pleased. "Now, I'm wondering—what kind of discount does a handmade treat like that earn me?"
"Um..." Martha paused, covering her mouth thoughtfully. She glanced around the empty store, clasped her hands together, and leaned forward with a charming smile.
"Little brother," she said sweetly, "it's really hard running a business like this. Could we just let it go this time, please?"
"No way," Allen replied, squinting at her. "Whether it's a person or a business, you have to be honest. Big sister, are you trying to go back on your word?"
He put on a pitiful expression, eyes wide and shimmering with exaggerated hurt.
Martha clutched her chest like she'd been hit by a spell. She let out a tiny whimper. "Ugh, don't look at me like that! I swear, if you keep that up, I'll take you home and keep you for myself!"
With a mock glare, she dramatically handed back the six galleons.
"Fine! You get a 10% discount and no deposit. Just bring 50 galleons when you pick up your clothes in three days!"
"Only 10%?" Allen pouted.
"Nope! Not listening!" Martha covered her ears and shut her eyes. "You can't charm me anymore!"
Allen sighed theatrically. "Hey, woman."
Still, he gave her a sincere "thank you" before leaving the store.
Once he was gone, Martha dropped her hands, uncovered her face, and groaned with dramatic regret.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "That little guy's voice is so sweet. I really do want to take him home and raise him!"
Her previously elegant demeanor dissolved into giddy laughter as she hugged herself and spun once in place—like a teenager struck by a hopeless crush.
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