Now that Henry had properly settled in Mondstadt, he began noticing details he had previously overlooked. At first glance, the city felt lively—cheerful, even—with streets full of chatter and the distant clatter of hooves against cobblestones. But the longer he watched, the more cracks appeared in its food scene.
The snack stalls scattered along the streets were barely functional as businesses. Most were little more than wooden carts shoved into corners, their owners leaning against rough frames, calling out to passersby with half-hearted enthusiasm. It wasn't laziness that dulled their voices—it was simply that few people ever came.
"Fresh skewers! Warm bread!" one man called, the words drifting past like background noise rather than an invitation.
Another vendor waved distractedly, rearranging the same tray of snacks Henry distinctly remembered from the day before.
Henry slowed his pace, seeing the street properly for the first time. As his gaze followed the flow of pedestrians, a pattern emerged almost instinctively—every path, every crowd, curved toward the same destination.
Good Hunter.
It didn't matter the hour. Morning, afternoon, or evening—people gravitated toward it. The tables outside were always full, the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread drifting far enough to hook anyone passing nearby.
So Good Hunter really is a monopoly.
Henry had stopped going there for breakfast long ago. Discovering the handful of street vendors selling Sumeru tea had quietly changed his mornings. The brew was stronger than Mondstadt's usual blends, slightly sweeter, leaving warmth that lingered in his chest instead of fading away.
"Same today?" the stall owner asked, already reaching for a cup as Henry approached.
Henry nodded, passing over a few Mora. "Same as yesterday."
He lifted the cup, inhaled the familiar scent, and moved on as the city stirred awake. Lunch and dinner were simpler matters. He still visited Good Hunter occasionally, but most days were spent sampling regional dishes from scattered stalls across the city.
"You're getting lazy."
Henry turned to see Alina who was talking to him. But she was already pulling him back toward the street before he could react. Henry stumbled once, barely keeping his balance.
"Alina—wait—"
"No waiting." She threaded through the crowd with purpose. "You eat outside far too often."
She led him straight toward the residential market near the central plaza and released his wrist only when they reached the stalls.
"Vegetables first."
He kept pace as she moved from stall to stall. Onions, grains, oils, bundles of herbs—soon the basket was full. Then came fruits, the butcher stalls, and finally cookware and cutlery. With both of them having storage space, there was no need to carry anything physically, making the process almost effortless.
"You know," Henry said, glancing around, "Good Hunter exists for a reason."
Alina didn't look up, lifting a sack of rice to inspect it.. "Yes. For people who don't want to cook."
"And for people who don't have time."
"I can cook," she continued, her voice softening. "I've done it all my life for my family. If you let me, you'll eat well at home."
A faint warmth crept up Henry's cheeks. He scratched the back of his neck. "I know how to cook too. I can make plenty of dishes… but sometimes I enjoy letting someone else handle it."
She stopped walking.
Turning fully toward him, she crossed her arms, her stare sharp.
"Enjoy letting someone else handle it?"
Meeting Alina's gaze, he lifted both hands in an exaggerated show of surrender.
"Alright, alright—you've caught me," he said, a hint of laughter slipping into his voice. "But how about a compromise? One day I cook, the next day you do. That way neither of us escapes responsibility." He paused, eyes bright with mischief. "Deal, my dear?"
Her expression softened—just a fraction. She turned away, pretending to examine a bundle of herbs, but Henry caught the brief smile she didn't quite hide.
Back at the shop, the kitchen transformed.
Alina unpacked groceries with meticulous care, arranging vegetables, grains, and herbs across the counter before storing them neatly. The faint scent of wood and dust that had lingered since furnishing the place was replaced by fresh, earthy aromas.
Henry handled the cookware, assigning each utensil a place, mentally noting what they might need later. By the time they finished, the kitchen no longer felt temporary. It felt used. Functional. Alive.
He rested a hand on the counter, surveying the space. "This looks… right."
Alina nodded. "It does."
Later that morning, Mona arrived.
She stepped inside with her usual careful grace, her attention immediately drawn to the bikes near the entrance. She circled them slowly, crouching to inspect a pedal, then the chain.
"These are called bicycles."
Henry's explanation was simple. "Think of them as one-person carriages—but faster."
Mona's eyes lit up. The shape felt strangely familiar and completely foreign at the same time, reminding her of the massive wheeled carriages used to transport people.
"If they're really that fast," she said, excitement creeping into her voice, "wouldn't travel become much easier for everyone?"
"That's the idea."
He led both her and Alina to the back, clearing the desk. Henry began writing, movements precise.
"Adult mountain bike: 20,000 Mora. Kids' version: 10,000."
Alina leaned closer. "That's expensive."
"These are top-quality bikes." The pen never paused. "I've already lowered the price. Quality isn't cheap."
He broke the cost down into installments, explaining as he wrote—how even low-income buyers could manage payments without sacrificing rent or food. Mona followed every line, understanding settling in piece by piece.
"You've thought this through," Alina said, arms folded.
"It has to be clear." Henry turned to Mona. "You need to understand this fully before you explain it to anyone else."
He slid the paper toward her. "That's why we're not selling them the usual way. Study this—and then you'll learn to ride this evening."
"This evening?" Surprise flickered across her face.
He smiled. "Once you're confident in your own riding ability."
Mona took the paper carefully, glancing longingly at the books peeking from her bag. "Tch… I was planning to read today…"
"Expert salesperson first." Henry waved her off. "Study. Come back later."
She left with a quiet sigh, disappointment obvious in her step.
After she was gone, Henry clapped his hands. "Alright. Lunch and dinner are on me today."
Alina raised an eyebrow. "Both?"
"Of course." He was already pulling ingredients forward. "You can help—chopping, maybe—but I'll handle the heavy work."
She picked up a knife, cutting half-heartedly, eyes following him as he moved with practiced ease. A carrot disappeared here, a taste of sauce there.
"Not bad," she muttered. "I might let you handle cooking more often."
By the time the meal was ready, Alina had barely lifted a finger beyond chopping. One bite was enough to make her grin.
"…Alright," she admitted. "You are better than me at cooking."
She leaned back, savoring the flavors. "I might make this my routine—let you do the heavy work while I supervise."
Henry frowned playfully. "Hey, supervisor."
"Me?"
"Yes, you." He wagged a finger. "One day you cook, one day I cook. Today's mine. Tomorrow's yours."
She sighed, smiling despite herself. "Fine. Fine. Back to the agreement."
---
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