Colt and the others returned to their respective homes—or in Colt's case, the inn.
With a full week of free time ahead of him, he decided to go shopping the next day.
Back when he was a player, he had Zeno's protection.
One of its features was keeping him perpetually clean.
Just like in a game where equipment never needed washing and characters never bathed, his "game character" was the same—untouched by dirt.
But now, things had changed.
He might still be a high-level existence, and his body didn't get dirty, but his clothes did.
Up until now, he'd been cleaning them with magic. That was how he'd managed the past three months.
Even so, it was time to buy something more presentable. He'd get his academy uniform later with the others, but for now, he needed decent everyday clothes.
So, he made his way toward where the shops were in the southern district.
***
The shopping center—more accurately, a stretch of shops lined up on both sides of the road—was crowded.
Lofpus City had always drawn attention, even from those with no connection to the academy.
As the largest city after the capital, it boasted plenty of attractions.
Of course, the Eastern District, where the true merchant class operated, was far better designed. Even with twice this many people, it wouldn't feel crowded.
But Colt would visit that area later with the others to buy their academy uniforms. Today, he just wanted to explore this place.
There were all kinds of shops—some sold clothes, others equipment.
Naturally, the gear sold here wasn't worth much unless you were looking for junk.
And that junk was exactly what desperate commoners bought when they chose to become hunters without the funds to properly equip themselves.
Even the range of equipment was limited. For example, a staff was out of reach for most commoners—they had to settle for a wand.
That's why the priest class was almost exclusively made up of nobles.
It was the same with tanks. Sure, a commoner could buy a shield, but it wouldn't be one that could truly protect a party.
And when it came to tanking, the quality of the shield could mean the difference between life and death for the whole team.
Still, some commoners did manage to rise as tanks—rare, but not impossible.
Colt scanned the street, taking in the rest of the shops.
There was one selling tobacco, another selling alcohol, and finally, a row of clothing stores.
The farther one walked, the cheaper the stores became. Colt didn't bother going any further and stepped into the first shop he saw.
Normally, that wasn't the best idea, but he wasn't too concerned.
He'd be in uniform most of the time anyway. As long as the clothes were decent, it would be enough—for now.
Inside was a spider beastkin, a rare type among the beastkin races.
Still, it made sense—perfect for selling clothes, Colt thought privately, though he kept that opinion to himself. He wasn't even sure if the man could produce silk.
"Welcome, sir. How can I help you?" the shopkeeper said without a trace of judgment in his voice.
It was a pleasant surprise. He didn't size Colt up or sigh in that familiar, tired way people often did for some reason when they saw him.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with Colt's appearance. It was just that, in this world, a noble's status was worn on their clothes.
And his, clearly, weren't noble.
In fact, they might have been poor.
But even so, the spider beastkin treated him with respect—and that was already more than Colt had come to expect.
After exchanging greetings, Colt asked the shopkeeper to show him a few casual outfits and one formal set.
The owner did as requested and fitted him with four different outfits.
The total came to 38 silver coins—an amount far too steep for an average commoner.
But Colt didn't flinch. He handed over exactly 38 silver without complaint.
He wasn't the type to throw money around. Sure, he knew when to reward good service or use his wealth strategically, but giving money away carelessly?
That was both wasteful and dangerous.
If he tossed silver like candy, someone was bound to take notice. And where there was talk, there were thieves. He didn't need that kind of trouble.
After paying, Colt stepped outside and turned to head home—but stopped.
Something hanging outside one of the nearby shops caught his eye.
It looked like a military-style tailcoat, though clearly not official issue.
The collar stood a little higher than normal, and the vivid red fabric matched the hue of his eyes.
Gold embroidery ran along the seams in elegant, intricate designs.
It pulled at him.
It was too big, but that didn't matter.
Normally, he was planning to wear his clothes until he grew out of them. But he could cast some magic on this tailcoat so that it would always be a perfect fit.
He stepped into the shop.
Inside sat an old man, sipping something green from a porcelain cup.
"Hello, sir," Colt greeted. "May I ask if the tailcoat outside is for sale?"
The old man looked up and slowly shook his head.
Colt's eyes fell. He bit his lip. "I see… Is there any way I can convince you? I can pay more than it's worth."
He didn't say it, but the tailcoat reminded him of his father. That was why he wanted it.
The old man shook his head again, but this time, he spoke.
"It's not for sale," he said, voice soft and slow, "but I can give it to you."
Colt blinked. "Sir, I can't accept something like that. Please, let me pay you for it."
Part of him really did want to help. This shop—one of the first on the street—should've been one of the best. Instead, it was empty.
No clothes on display, no customers in sight. Just dust and silence.
Still, the old man didn't budge. "Just take it," he said again.
Colt didn't understand what was going on. But after a moment, he gave in.
He stepped outside, gently took the tailcoat down, and placed it in his inventory.
He didn't head home, though. Not yet.
He wandered deeper into the shopping district, now on a mission.
He needed a crisp white shirt, a black waistcoat, and high-waisted black trousers.
Only then would the look be complete.
---
Hehehe! They look really good.
Colt was already wearing the full outfit on his way back.
Still, since he'd taken the last piece of clothing from the shop where he found the tailcoat, he decided to return and show the old man the full set—and thank him properly.
Maybe this time, he'd accept some payment.
But what he saw stopped him cold.
The shop was gone.
In its place stood a completely different store, one much like the first he'd visited—ordinary, modern, and definitely not empty.
He turned, looking up and down the street just to be sure, but no... this was the spot.
He hadn't imagined it. He was certain.
Was that a dream?
No. He looked down. The tailcoat was still on him.
It was real.
He didn't understand what had happened. But that store had vanished completely as if it had never existed.
From the face of Arte, it was simply gone.