I have a theory that there are two types of people in the world.
People who enter a shop politely, browse, and maybe buy something.
People who are seven feet tall, covered in plate armor, have horns the size of canoe paddles and block out the sun when they stand in your doorway.
Unfortunately, the Floor Boss of Level One is firmly in category two.
He ducked under the frame, somehow making it more intimidating and rumbled, "Loyalty card... do you sell?"
There are a lot of things you expect to hear from a dungeon boss.
"Prepare to meet your doom" is one.
"Loyalty card" is not.
Still, I am a professional shopkeeper. "Uh... sure. Buy nine potions, get the tenth free?"
He nodded solemnly, like I'd just recited a sacred vow. "Good. I will take all potions you have."
I froze halfway to the shelf. "...All?"
"Yes. All."
It's important to understand that my entire stock of red potions takes up two shelves and weighs more than I do. Watching the Floor Boss, whose name, I learned later, is apparently Grunt, pick them up was like watching a child collect candy.
Except the candy was worth more than my monthly rent.
He dumped them on the counter in one crash that made my register beep in protest. I rang it up and the total flashed a number that could buy me a new roof, a new sign, and possibly a small pet dragon.
Grunt handed me a single gold bar. It was still warm. I did not ask why.
While I counted change, he spotted my clearance bin, a sad pile of random hats I couldn't sell.
"What are these?" he asked, picking up a floppy sunhat decorated with daisies.
"Hats" I said, because sometimes the truth is the weirdest answer.
"Two for one gold."
He placed it on his massive horned head. It didn't fit, obviously, so it perched there like a bird that had given up on life.
"...I will take three."
I didn't even argue. Watching the Floor Boss walk out wearing a sunhat, a pirate hat and a beanie stacked on top of each other was worth more than the sale.
A minute later, I realized something.
The glowing mushroom was still under the counter.
I looked down. The mage was gone. The mushroom… was also gone.
On the counter, in its place, was a single note: "Thanks! - Floor Boss" with a tiny doodle of a smiley face.
For a brief moment, I considered the possibility that I was now an accomplice in dungeon theft. But then I saw the gold bar on the counter and decided to file it under Customer Transactions - Do Not Question.
That night, as I was closing up, the bell jingled one last time. I expected another wounded adventurer or maybe a goblin looking for jerky.
Instead, it was Grunt again.
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you have... membership upgrades?"
I blinked. "Like... premium loyalty?"
"Yes. With... benefits."
"What kind of benefits?"
He looked left, then right, and whispered: "Double points on Tuesdays."
And that's how I found myself designing a Platinum Dungeon Loyalty Program at two in the morning, for a giant horned warlord who probably eats people for breakfast.