If someone stopped, he'd talk.
If they didn't, he'd wait.
The afternoon heat began to crawl across Frank's shoulders when a group of four broke from the steady foot traffic and drifted closer. Not slow, as if they were curious. Not fast, as if they were confident. That in-between pace—half pull, half drag.
D-Ranks. Scuffed armor, half-repaired gauntlets, and a mismatched pair of boots on one of them. Their weapons were solid but worn—steel swung too many times without a proper whetstone. The leader stood out by how little he blinked. Late thirties, maybe. Short hair, red with dust, and eyes that scanned Frank as if searching for a catch.
He stopped a few feet from the table.
"You selling those?" he asked, jerking his chin toward the vials.
Frank didn't move. "That's the idea."
The man squinted at the sign, then at the crate.
"Thirty credits?" he said, his tone sharp with doubt. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," Frank replied. "They're recovery potions, alchemy-brewed. Five tokens a pop on the other side. I've got the paperwork, but I figure you don't care."
The others were watching now. One leaned in a little. Another crossed her arms. A third kept a casual hand near his hip—not threatening, just careful.
"And what happens," the leader said, "when I drink that mid-fight and it turns out you bottled tap water with green dye?"
Frank reached down and held up one of the vials. The glass caught a clean band of sunlight—enough to show the soft pulse of glow near the base.
"A ranked seller makes it. I tested it myself. You get about fifteen percent stamina back, which helps with minor wounds. If it doesn't work…" He held the vial out. "I'll give you your money back—if you survive."
A chuckle came from the shorter man on the right. "We paid more than that for potions that tasted like swamp and did nothing."
"That's because you buy from Zarmel," the girl said, elbowing him. "That guy sells snake oil."
The leader didn't laugh. His eyes hadn't left Frank's.
"Who are you?"
Frank shrugged. "Just a trader. New stall."
"No guild?"
"Nope."
"You an alchemist?"
"Nope. Just know how to find good products."
Silence stretched for a moment.
The girl spoke again. "We need backups, Tace. We've only got four flasks left, and those are old."
Tace glanced at her, then at Frank. His hand went to a pouch and pulled out a clipped stack of cards.
"You got twenty?" he asked.
Frank tapped the crate twice, then pulled out the bundle he'd set aside earlier.
"Right here."
Tace counted out the credits—six hundred total. Frank didn't reach for them until the stack was placed on the table.
Then he handed over the potions one by one, ensuring each vial was sealed and intact. Tace checked two of them before tucking the bundle into a side pouch.
"Don't give me a reason to come back mad," he said.
"I won't," Frank replied. "The potions work."
The group turned. There were no nods, no handshakes—just the sound of boots on dust, armor clinking, and a faint mutter about squad formation before they crossed the gate perimeter.
Frank stayed seated.
He didn't lean back or let out a breath of relief.
He just picked up the stack of credits and counted them again.
Still six hundred.
Still real.
Then he placed the next batch of vials onto the table, even and steady, and waited for the next chance to prove he wasn't bluffing.
The next chance didn't come.
For almost an hour, no one stopped. No one slowed. Most didn't even look his way. The foot traffic had shifted—more confident groups now, higher rank, better gear, better attitudes. They gave him the kind of glance you give a stray flyer on a windshield: brief, annoyed, forgettable.
Frank didn't call out.
He didn't drop the price.
He just sat, elbows on knees, one hand loosely drumming the edge of the crate while the other shaded his eyes from the lowering sun. His water bottle was warm, and the back of his shirt stuck to him. He tried to crack his neck, but it just gave a dry click and locked up tighter.
He reached into his bag, pulled out a spare cloth, and started wiping the dust from the table's edge. Not for show—just to keep his hands moving.
Then a soft chime.
System-side.
He straightened, his eyes flicking to the corner of his vision where the alert hovered. Not a sale yet—just a message.
New Message — Buyer Inquiry
Sender: Arma Clan Cook
Realm: Beastkin Ridge
Product: Earth Energy Drink
"Is this safe for warriors? Good for recovery after battle?"
Frank blinked. The drink? He hadn't expected it to catch attention again. It wasn't magic. No stat boosts. Just sugar, caffeine, and whatever processed fuel Earth slapped into a can.
He typed back without hesitation:
"Yes. Boosts energy short-term. Helps with fatigue. No mana side effects. Good for daily use."
The reply came three seconds later.
"We'll take five."
Immediately after, the confirmation hit:
Item Sold: Earth Energy Drink
Buyer: Arma Clan Cook — Beastkin Ridge
Quantity: 5
Earnings: +150 Tokens
Remaining Balance: 310 Tokens
Frank sat there, watching the number shift.
That was half his stock, gone in one deal.
He opened his system dashboard. The energy drink listing blinked amber—Only 2 remaining. His eyes dropped to the tomatoes, still sitting in the market window like background noise. Untouched. Expected.
He tapped a few times to bring up the product editor. Quick changes. No pitch. Just facts.
"Earth Energy Drink – Non-magical stimulant. Effective for post-combat fatigue, long working hours, or stamina dips. Refrigeration advised but not required."
He saved the update and leaned back on his crate. The drink wasn't flashy. But someone needed it. Enough to pay 30 tokens each.
He opened a note window and jotted down quick thoughts before they slipped:
– Energy drinks sell to Beastkin: not for combat, for clan recovery.
– Not resold on system — they use it directly or share internally.
– Demand not power-based, it's lifestyle-based. Daily use items.
– Keep the price. Don't overstock. Scarcity matters.
Frank sat in silence for a long moment. Not tired, not impatient—focused. His brain wasn't buzzing with joy; it was shifting gears. Slower. Sharper.
Then a second alert pinged. New system message:
3 New Reviews Received
– "Not bad. Works well for cooldown recovery."
– "Strange taste. Effective."
– "Human merchant's supply is reliable."
Frank stared at them, reading each one twice.
Not glowing praise, but not empty either.
He adjusted the bottles on his table again, moving two closer to the edge for visibility. The crate creaked under his shifting weight as he leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, back to waiting.
A few steps down the path, a small trio approached the gate. One of them glanced over.
Frank didn't move.
If they stopped, he'd talk.
If they didn't, he'd sell to the next one who did.