The guard collected the bottle with surprising care. "I'll ensure this reaches her highness first. If it works as claimed, expect more orders."
"If it doesn't...the princess will decide the next step."
He left the threat hanging, but Noah barely noticed. He was too busy calculating his new income projections.
"It'll work," he assured the guard, as he momentarily stepped out of his trance. "Customer satisfaction guaranteed."
After the captain departed, Noah executed a victory dance that would have horrified any professional choreographer. His movements resembled a drunken flamingo having a seizure.
But at least his joy was genuine.
"System! I'm back in business!" He pumped his fist toward the ceiling.
[Well done, host.]
His current status was as follows:
Host: Noah Carter
Age: 28
Shops: 1
Daily Revenue: $1,300
Current Assets: $1400.42
Shop Points: 110
Attributes: Strength: 4, Vitality: 4, Intelligence: 6, Agility: 3
Skills: Programming (Level 2), Finance (Level 1), Surviving on Ramen (Level 3)
Noah collapsed onto his stool, giddy with relief.
"An opportunity like that one might not come again. It's good that I took advantage of it, otherwise. I would be regretful till the day I die." He sighed.
He had almost gotten greedy, wanting to keep more money on his possessions. But luckily, he chose to buy a new product.
And soon he would have to answer Elara's request about the magical academy. Princess Elara would be waiting, probably ready to throw him into classes with teenagers who could already turn people into frogs or whatever.
'Not now. It's too early.'
And outside his shop's safety, demons prowled the city walls—demons that had looked at him with particular interest.
I really should have charged fifteen coins for that tea.
...
He glanced around his tiny shop. The shelves were completely empty.
He had sold everything in the shop.
'I'm such a good businessman.' He smiled before deciding that it was time to return to the real world.
He couldn't sell anything even if he wanted to.
Outside the shop window, Esta's sun began to set. ... Back in the real world, the sun was still out.
I should have counted the time difference, Noah thought, his stomach announcing its displeasure with an undignified growl.
He walked to the fridge, scratching his belly under his shirt.
The kitchen light flickered, reminding him that his apartment was one maintenance issue away from being condemned.
"Let's see what we have here."
Noah swung open the refrigerator door and confronted his life choices in food form.
"..."
A single, lonely egg stared back at him, accompanied by a packet of cheddar cheese so old it might qualify for the elderly care home.
He looked above his fridge, where the ramen usually sat in rows.
That too was empty.
"I need to buy some groceries," he muttered. "I can't keep living like a brokie for the rest of my life. I'm a businessman now."
The word felt strange on his tongue.
Businessman...
But wasn't he? In another world, at least.
He was now pulling in $1,300 daily.
That was more than most corporate executives.
A businessman who can't afford chicken.
Noah thought sarcastically.
Noah grabbed his empty wallet and keys, glancing at his phone, he realised that he hadn't spoken to his dad today.
Ring-Ring
His father picked up on the second ring. "Noah? Everything okay?"
"Hey, Dad. Just checking in. How's the hospital food tonight?"
A dry chuckle. "Mystery meat with a side of regret."
"Sounds delicious!" He chuckled.
"I'll visit tomorrow. Craving anything? Snacks? Magazines?"
"Save your money, son. You need it more than I do."
Noah stepped outside, squinting in the evening light. "Actually, business is looking up. Really up."
"Good, good." His father's voice softened. "You know, your mother would be proud."
Noah swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat. "Yeah."
"Though she'd also say it's time you settled down. Can't marry your work, son."
"Dad—"
"Just saying. Those good genes shouldn't go to waste."
Noah laughed, turning the corner toward the supermarket. "I had a date today, actually. Complete disaster."
"What happened?"
"She walked out when she found out I was unemployed."
"But you just said—"
"I'm self-employed. She didn't stick around for the distinction."
His father's laugh turned into a cough, and Noah's chest tightened.
"Get better, Dad. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Take care of yourself, Noah. Love you."
"Love you too."
Noah pocketed his phone, pushing through the automatic doors of Super Discount Mart.
He grabbed a basket, headed for the ramen aisle out of pure muscle memory, then stopped short.
I'm making almost two grand a day. I can afford some real food.
Noah pivoted toward the produce section.
"Can I help you find something?" asked an employee who clearly hoped the answer was no.
"Just... looking at vegetables," Noah replied, realising how sad that sounded only after the words left his mouth.
The employee blinked slowly. "I... see."
"Thanks."
Noah selected items at random.
Broccoli?
It's healthy-looking. Into the basket.
Bell peppers?
Pretty colourful, looked tasty enough. Definitely basket-worthy.
Eggplant?
Way too intimidating. Maybe next time.
The meat section presented new challenges. Different cuts stared back at him through plastic wrap, judging his culinary incompetence.
What do I even do with ribs?
He settled on chicken breasts, the culinary equivalent of a beige sweater.
It was safe and Impossible to mess up.
But it had one problem...
Bland. Way too basic.
His basket now contained vegetables, meat, bread, and yes, two packages of ramen.
Ramen is the foundation. No matter how rich I am, I can never forget my good ol' friend.
At checkout, Noah recognised the cashier, Melissa, who'd been ringing up his eggs and ramen for the past year.
Her eyebrows shot up at the sight of actual food in his basket.
"Whoa. Did you lose a bet?" She scanned the broccoli with suspicion.
"Thought I'd try 'not dying of scurvy' for a change."
Melissa nodded at the ramen. "I see you're keeping your options open, though."
"Baby steps." Noah grinned. "Besides, ramen and I have history. Can't just ghost a faithful companion."
She laughed, bagging his groceries. "Well, look at you, adulting and everything. Next, you'll tell me you're doing your laundry regularly."
"Let's not get crazy."
Her smile lingered as she handed him his receipt. "Seriously, though, good for you. Everyone deserves real food."
Walking home, grocery bags swinging at his sides, Noah felt almost normal.
Before a familiar, scary voice called out to him.
"Carter."
The voice wasn't loud, in fact it was quite calm. But it still sent shivers down Noah's spine.
'Shit.'