"Mother!"
The sudden voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the sharp rhythm of hurried footsteps.
Before I could even turn, the door slammed open.
Standing there was a young woman with striking red hair and deep crimson eyes — a beauty straight out of a fantasy illustration, radiating both grace and command.
I froze.
My expression must've said it all, because the noblewoman across me — her mother, no doubt — smirked slightly.
"Oh? You seem surprised by my daughter's beauty," she said, sipping her tea as if this kind of dramatic entrance happened daily.
I let out a short, awkward chuckle. "You could say that…"
But that wasn't the reason.
Above the girl's head, my Author's Eye flickered to life — and the label appeared in golden letters only I could see:
[Main Lead Heroine]
My stomach dropped.
You've got to be kidding me.
I forced myself to look away, pretending to admire the coins on the table instead. The Damac coins shimmered faintly, their surfaces scattering faint rainbow light — likely due to embedded mana crystals. No wonder they were so valuable; they practically radiated power and wealth.
"Mother," the girl said between breaths, "we're having trouble with the patrol units outside the kingdom's gate."
"Trouble?" The noblewoman's voice shifted, losing its playful tone. "What kind of trouble?"
"It's the food shortage in the military. Even with the empire's restock, only a handful of rations are edible — the rest spoil too quickly."
I blinked.
So they have storage issues. Even the canned goods I sell have expiration limits, and their supply chain sounds worse than my high school cafeteria.
"We can't preserve food long enough without freezing," the mother murmured, tapping her chin. "And even then, it only delays the inevitable."
"It's crippling our soldiers," Anastasha continued. "The border units can barely hold against the Abyss hordes — and the rival kingdoms are getting bold."
"Call the Empire," her mother said firmly. "Request aid."
"But, Mother," Anastasha protested, "if we call for help, we'll expose our weakness. The vultures across the empire will move in an instant."
The tension between them hung thick in the air — noble pride and political danger wrapped in one elegant argument.
Then, both pairs of crimson eyes turned to me.
The mother's gaze sharpened with sudden interest.
"You seem deep in thought," she said smoothly. "Perhaps you have a solution?"
Damn it. I should've known she'd notice.
"Ah— who is this?" Anastasha asked, finally realizing I existed.
Wow, thank you for noticing me only after I've been sitting here for five minutes.
"I'm merely a humble merchant," I said, forcing a smile, "who runs a humble little shop."
The mother's lips curved upward again. "A humble merchant who sells indestructible gemstones and wields space magic?"
Anastasha's eyes widened slightly, curiosity flickering behind them.
"You're no ordinary merchant," she said softly. "Perhaps… you might have the key to solving our problem."
I gulped.
Oh great. From fruit cans to royal crises. Just what I needed.
"I assure you, Princess Anastasha," I said, managing a polite smile, "I'm just a humble merchant."
"Like. I. Said." Her mother's voice carried a sharp rhythm as she leaned back in her seat. "No ordinary merchant wields space magic."
Please, I thought, just be quiet. I'm trying to survive here.
"It seems I've overstayed my welcome," I said, bowing slightly. "Our deal is done, so I think I should take my leave."
I started toward the door, hoping—praying—that would be the end of it.
But no.
"Then," Anastasha's voice rang out behind me, "if your business with my mother is finished… would that mean you're open for another deal?"
I froze mid-step. Of course. Of course.
"I prefer only working once a day…" I said carefully, trying not to sound like I was begging for my freedom.
"Is that so?" she replied, one crimson brow arching as she crossed her arms. There was a faint smirk tugging at her lips — the kind that said you're not leaving until I say so.
"You may go," the mother interrupted, her tone calm but deliberate. "Matters like these are for the royals to solve, not merchants."
Thank. Every. Existing. God.
"Then I shall take my leave," I said quickly, bowing again.
I didn't walk out — I escaped.
The corridor felt longer on the way back, the echo of my steps chasing the tension I'd just left behind.
Outside, the night air hit my face like relief itself. The same carriage waited, the driver bowing slightly as I climbed in.
As the wheels began to roll and the mansion's red flags faded into the dark horizon, I finally exhaled.
"Well," I muttered, staring out the window, "that could've gone worse."
A faint glow from the Author's Eye flickered in my vision — and for just a second, I could've sworn it showed the faint outline of Anastasha's title again, pulsing faintly as if fate itself wasn't done with me yet.
"Oh no," I groaned quietly. "Don't tell me I just triggered a heroine route…"
Ah — now skip forward to the next day for you, dear readers of this damned novel.
I opened the shop and went about the usual grind: dusting shelves, arranging stacks, and pretending being a shop owner who does everything himself is somehow normal. I dealt with regulars, greeted a couple of new faces, and thought the day would pass without incident.
Then the carriage came. The same polished black carriage with the crimson sigil. People on the street bowed and murmured as it rolled toward my shop. I was wiping a small table when it stopped right in front of the storefront.
Great. My first royal customer.
Princess Anastasha stepped down with the kind of grace that makes everyone else look like they forgot their lines. Guards fanned out behind her and she walked straight through the door as if I'd invited her in.
"Well, what may I offer you, Princess Anastasha?" I asked, forcing a smile.
"Your face says you don't want me here," she replied, unruffled.
Wow. She knew.
"Is that so?" I shot back.
"Are you perhaps conscious of me?" she asked, tilting her head like this was a test.
"No," I said. "I just didn't expect a princess to stroll into my little shop."
She moved to the counter where I was sitting and stopped in front of me. "I want to purchase weapons," she said plainly.
"Weapons?" I blinked. "Doesn't the Empire supply your army already?"
"They do," she said, voice steady. "But hundreds of blades break every time they clash with the Abyss. I cannot watch soldiers who dedicate their lives be left with shattered weapons."
Her words landed like a stone. I knew enough to know she wasn't whining — she was angry and practical.
"Alright," I said slowly. "I can make better ones."
Swords are the bread-and-butter here. Regular steel is common; high-carbon or tempered alloys make the difference. If I can summon sturdier blades from Earth materials — better heat-treated steel, proper tempering — they'd last far longer.
"Can you send them to the army camp by tonight?" she asked.
Her tone was calm, but that question pressed on something else. Was it urgency? A test? A ploy to make me complicit in their politics?
I stared at her for a beat, weighing the options. If I refused, I might make a powerful enemy. If I accepted, I'd be dragged deeper into the royal family's problems — and possibly the story's main plot.
So which is it, Princess Anastasha? Are you asking because you care for your people… or because you want to make a statement to the rest of the Empire?
"I admire you for leading the army, but… you mentioned last night the lack of food and its edibility," I said, leaning back slightly. "I'm pretty sure the shortage of weapons isn't your main problem, is it?"
"So you're sharp," Anastasha said, her tone calm but eyes narrowing. "I didn't expect you to catch that so quickly."
I learned a lot from tropes and bad writing, I thought. And the smart ones usually die early.
"Thanks for the compliment," I replied, flashing a small grin.
"Yes," she admitted after a short pause, "the food shortage is the greater concern. Supplies spoil before they reach the front. Our soldiers fight hungry, or not at all."
"And now you're hoping a merchant can fix a military problem?"
"You underestimate yourself," she said. "I've heard what your shop can do — items that shouldn't exist, conveniences far beyond the empire's current craft."
"Rumors have a habit of exaggerating," I said. "Still, I don't do miracles for free."
"Of course not. Then name your price."
"Before we talk about prices," I said, "why do you need me to be there? Couldn't I just deliver what you order?"
"Because words don't carry the weight of reality," she said firmly. "You'll understand once you see it — the camps, the soldiers, what's left of our stores. Then you can decide if you're capable of helping… or if your reputation is just smoke."
Ah, so that's it. A challenge.
"Trying to guilt-trip me into compassion, Princess?" I asked lightly.
Her lips curved — not quite a smile. "If that's what it takes."
I sighed. "Fine. I'll go. But I work on my own terms."
"Which are?"
"Payment up front. I'm not running a charity. And if things turn political, I leave. Simple as that."
"Agreed," she said without hesitation. "Be ready by dusk. The carriage will wait outside."
She turned to leave, her crimson hair catching the morning light that slipped through the shop window.
"Princess," I called after her. "You sure your soldiers can handle a merchant walking into their camp?"
She glanced back, her expression unreadable. "If they can't handle that, they won't survive what's coming."
The door closed behind her, and I was left with the faint scent of roses and trouble.
Great, I thought. From shopkeeper to potential war supplier. Exactly how do I keep ending up in these routes?
By dusk, I locked up the shop and stood outside, the faint chill of evening brushing against my face. The street lamps flickered alive one by one, glowing amber in the fog. Then, as promised, the royal carriage rolled into view — polished, quiet, and heavy with the kind of presence that didn't belong anywhere near my humble shop.
So here I am, sitting inside a royal carriage in home clothes and rubber shoes, wondering if I look more like a guest or a mistake.
Across from me sat the same servant from before. His posture was proper, but his face — that was another story. The faint sadness there didn't suit someone used to the company of nobles.
The carriage creaked as we began to move. Outside, the cobblestone gave way to dirt, and the quiet of the city faded into the sound of hooves and the sighing wind.
"Is the situation that bad?" I asked.
The servant hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes… it is."
"Then why the long face? Or is that part of your job description?"
He almost smiled — almost. "My younger brother is there… fighting. I only hope he returns unharmed."
"No one comes back from war unharmed," I said quietly. "Not really."
He glanced down, gripping his knees tighter. The silence stretched between us, filled with the rattle of wheels on rough earth.
"The empire has sent an invitation," he said at last, as though to fill the silence. "Madam must deal with her rivals within the royal court."
"So the political mess piles on top of everything else," I muttered.
He nodded. "Princess Anastasha will attend in her stead. She'll meet her fiancé there — a union to strengthen ties with the empire."
"Her fiancé, huh?" I said, leaning back. "A political marriage then?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to. His expression said it all.
Nobles and their duties. Lavish lives built on arrangements and sacrifices.
I looked out the window, watching the horizon darken into streaks of violet.
The scent of damp soil, the distant cries of crows, the faint chill of nightfall — this world always reminded me that for all its beauty, it wasn't kind.