Tan Je’e’s place wasn’t just a house; it was a mansion that sat at the edge of the guild district like a jewel dropped into a pile of coins. The neighboring buildings were tall and narrow offices for scribes, merchants, and lobbyists, because, of course, lobbying would exist in a military state where might makes right. Je’e’s estate sprawled over nearly an entire block, with a high iron fence covered in climbing roses, polished lanterns hanging from posts, and a double gate wide enough for a carriage procession.

  A footman in a black cashmere vest opened the door. He was tall and trim, his posture stiff and his expression dismissive. His eyes flicked over us quickly, sneering at Nina in her pastel sarong dress and gray wings, and at Louis with her flour-stained apron and brunette hair still messy from the kitchen. But when his gaze landed on my silk blouse and my boots, he lingered a moment longer, recognition flashing in his eyes. I suppose my clothes passed his little test, but my friends? Not so much. Not that I cared. I wasn’t here to impress him.

  “Who might you be?” he asked.

  “Tell Lady Je’e that San Alice is here for business,” I said smoothly.

  “Do you have an appointment?” His tone was flat.

  “No, I don’t,” I replied, meeting his stare without blinking. “But tell her it’s urgent.”

  Barely a minute passed before Je’e herself swept out the front door, skirts fluttering. Her blue hair was loose for once, not pinned in its usual buns, and it fell in glossy waves that caught the lamplight. Her gown shimmered, fabric cut and sewn to display wealth without crossing into gaudy. She gave us an exaggerated wave, all charm and sparkle, the kind of performance only an idol could perfect… or a charismatic merchant, I guess.

  We followed her through the gate and up the stone path. The mansion rose three stories tall, its fa?ade carved with marble lions and dragons, the windows framed with colored glass. The garden alone would have cost more than most freelancer guild members’ life savings: fountains shaped like dolphins, hedges cut into spirals, and a small orchard of imported Dreamer fruit trees.

  The nobles had similar displays of wealth in their own district close to the palace protecting the rift gate, of course, but Je’e had deliberately chosen not to join them. She had built her palace here, at the edge of the guild district and close to Market Street, where her wealth and taste stood out tenfold. A big fish in a small pond, where her shine would glow even brighter.

  As we reached the front entrance, the doors opened wide, polished wood inlaid with silver runes I guessed were for weather warding or sound-dampening. I still couldn’t read the ancient soul script yet. The air smelled faintly of roses and ciderwood. Je’e smiled with the satisfaction of a woman who knew she was impressing her guests.

  She led us through a hallway that glittered with oil lamps set in crystal sconces, every corner polished to a shine. Two servants hurried ahead to pull the double doors open, bowing as we passed.

  The sitting room was ridiculous. The couches alone nearly made me choke: wide, overstuffed, upholstered in the same material as my boots, cloud-sheep leather. I had spent a silver on a single pair of boots. How many silvers, no, how many golds, had she poured into covering entire couches with the stuff? It wasn’t furniture anymore; it was wealth you could nap on.

  A Persian-looking carpet sprawled across the floor, a maze of reds, golds, and indigos that probably took a team of master weavers a year to finish.

  And then there were the people. Three maids in matching blue dresses and three footmen in black-and-gold livery stood in a perfect line along the wall, silent as statues, eyes forward, waiting for orders. Not moving, not fidgeting, not even breathing loudly. It was the kind of display that screamed: yes, I’m rich enough to waste six people just standing here for show.

  “So, Alice,” Je’e grinned, folding herself into one of those cloud-sheep couches, “what did you bring me?”

  “Allow me to introduce my friends,” I said smoothly. I gestured first to Nina, pastel cloth still tied in its loose sarong, gray wings shifting as she sat down carefully, and then to Louis, her brunette hair tucked back, her face still flushed from the kitchen heat. “This is Nina: a genius inventor. And Louis, a talented cook.”

  Both girls gave shy little waves.

  I opened my mouth to launch into the pitch when we were interrupted by the sudden thump-thump-thump of bare feet on polished wood.

  Ja’a came barreling down the staircase, soaking wet, wrapped in nothing but a towel that barely covered her to mid-thigh. Her cyan hair, a shade lighter than her sister’s, dripped a trail behind her as she dashed into the room, utterly unconcerned that half her back was exposed, despite the three male footmen standing at rigid attention along the wall.

  I suppose it really is true what they say: the rich forget that the help are people. Back when we traveled home from the Pikar Steppe, Ja’a had been all about modesty; she needed her own tent and was wary of the boys when bathing. But here, surrounded by servants she could order around, she acted like they were part of the furniture instead.

  “Alice! I keep telling you to bring your business idea to me, not this old hag,” cried Ja’a.

  “And I keep telling you to stop making a mess in my house, or I will kick you back to the guild dorms,” answered her older sister smoothly, voice cold enough to frost glass.

  “You wouldn’t dare, I am your sweet little sister, and people in the guild are animals! They use chamber pots, for crying out loud.”

  “Go dress first, you spoiled brat, and stop embarrassing me in front of my guests.”

  It took Ja’a barely a minute to come back dressed in purple pajamas, still dripping but smug. By then, I was passing the spyglass to her sister Je’e.

  Je’e tested the spyglass first, lifting it with careful fingers and looking through a window. Her blue hair slid forward as she leaned, catching the lamplight in strands of blue fire.

  “I see… this is perfect.” She passed the spyglass to her younger sister, who snatched it with wet fingers and nearly dropped it. Je’e turned instead toward Nina, eyes sharp. “Your name is Nina, right? What kind of inventor are you?”

  Nina fidgeted, wings giving a nervous twitch. She looked more like a schoolgirl being quizzed than a crafty inventor. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Are you the kind of dreamer who hyper-focuses on perfection and keeps redoing something ten thousand times until it’s flawless,” Je’e said, voice crisp, “or the kind who jumps from project to project?”

  “Oh, definitely the second kind,” laughed Nina, rubbing the back of her neck. I nodded. Nina’s workshop was a chaotic mess, and her dreamscape was worse.

  “That means you won’t be able to mass-produce it.” Je’e sighed, folding her hands on her lap.

  “I think I can make a few more,” Nina offered brightly, “but I already have this idea for night-seeing glasses that I want to do next.”

  “Is glass your main inspiration material?” asked Ja’a, after she finished peering through the spyglass. Her blue hair was still damp, clinging to her cheek as she spoke.

  “No, I don’t focus on a single material. I actually started as a woodcarver.”

  “So that means I’ll need to hire crafters for bulk work.”

  “The sooner, the better,” I sighed. Then I explained what had happened with Lieutenant Tango on the roof. And how Nina already gave him a working prototype.

  “Well, lucky for you, Tango is a straight-laced kind of guy.”

  Je’e tapped her chin thoughtfully, cyan hair glinting as she tilted her head. “Pass me your address. I’ll start recruiting glassworkers. There are probably apprentices ready to become journeymen I could snatch up.”

  I scribbled the address down on a scrap of paper and handed it over. As I did, one of the maids leaned close to Je’e and whispered something in her ear.

  “Right,” Je’e said, flicking her hair back. “I’m being a terrible host. Have you girls eaten dinner yet? Do you want refreshment, or maybe wine?”

  “Actually, I brought something with me.”

  I pulled three warm boxes from my bag of holding, the dimensional pouch stretching wide as I fished them out. I set them carefully on the low lacquered table in front of the blue-haired sisters.

  “What is this?” Ja’a asked, her nose twitching as the smell reached her.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  She flipped open one of the lids and gasped. Inside was Louis’s earnest attempt at a Mediterranean beef pizza. The sauce was rich and red, made from fire-root and tomato simmered down with olive oil and herbs: basil, oregano, and a few others Louis insisted on. Since onions didn’t exist in this world, the fire-root added both sweetness and bite.

  The topping was a hearty layer of ground beef, bright green pepper strips, and thin slices of fire-root roasted soft in the oven’s heat. A base of creamy local cheese held it all together, while a sharper, harder cheese had been grated over the top after baking, crumbling into little golden nuggets. The pizza was already cut into eight perfect slices; Louis had become adept with her knife’s edge Soulbook.

  Ja’a took the first slice without hesitation, strings of cheese stretching as she pulled it free. Je’e followed, far more composed but no less curious. I nudged Nina to try a piece too; it was her first time seeing pizza, after all. Even the maid standing behind the couch leaned forward unconsciously, her eyes fixed on the steaming box. I hesitated; I wasn’t sure if offering her some would break whatever unspoken rule of etiquette households like this followed.

  Ja’a bit into the slice with a crunch, her eyes going wide. “Oh, my Treeworld,” she moaned around the mouthful, fanning her lips as if the melted cheese might burn her tongue. “This is amazing! What is this called?”

  “Pizza,” I said, trying not to grin.

  She took another eager bite, sauce smearing the corner of her mouth. “It’s so… so different. It’s not too fussy or delicate like the plates Sisou serves us, but it is bold, heavy, and rich. It feels more like something you’d buy hot from a street stall than from a fine dining table, but that’s what makes it so good!”

  Je’e, in contrast, chewed thoughtfully. She dabbed her lips with a napkin and said, “It’s hearty. Almost… rustic. A farmer’s dish, remade into something fashionable.”

  She turned her head. “Someone get Sisou, tell him I need his expert opinion.”

  One of the maids bowed slightly and hurried off, skirts brushing the marble floor as she all but ran. The other staff lingered near the edges of the room, trying, and failing, to hide their curiosity while Ja’a devoured the rest of her slice.

  Meanwhile, Nina nibbled cautiously, wings twitching as her eyes lit up at the flavor. “Wow! I would love to have this food while I’m busy working on something.”

  Louis, still seated at the edge of the couch, flushed red with pride.

  The doors opened with a soft knock, and in strode Chef Sisou. He was tall and lean, his white coat pristine, his dark hair tied back in a knot that gleamed with oil. He carried himself like a general summoned to the battlefield, sharp eyes sweeping over the table and then narrowing at the sight of Ja’a already halfway through her second slice.

  “My lady,” he said with a bow so stiff it could have cut glass. “You called for me?”

  “Yes, yes, sit, sit! You must taste this,” Ja’a said, waving him over with sauce-stained fingers. “It’s a new dish, pizza. Look!” She shoved a half-slice onto a plate and practically pushed it at him.

  Chef Sisou hesitated, looking at the triangle of melted cheese and uneven crust as though someone had served him boiled mud. Still, under Ja’a’s expectant glare, he picked it up delicately between two fingers and took a small, precise bite.

  His brow furrowed. He chewed. He swallowed.

  “The composition is clever, and the synergy of the ingredients is inspired,” he admitted at last, voice measured. “Balanced between bread, sauce, and topping. However…” His gaze snapped toward Louis and me, sharp as a knife. “…it will never sell in the Noble District. Not like this.”

  Louis shrank a little, shoulders tightening, but Je’e leaned forward, her cyan hair shimmering as her interest sharpened. “Why not? It tastes amazing!”

  “Because, my lady,” Sisou said, as though lecturing a child, “feeding you ground beef is an insult. It is the scraps of butchers, the refuse given to commoners in their taverns. If such a dish is to grace your table, it must be remade with thin-sliced prime cuts, seared properly, not minced into anonymity.”

  He took another bite despite himself, sighing. “And this cheese…” He tapped the melted layer with disdain. “It is made with local megafauna milk, the overproduced, unregulated sludge they dare to call cheese. A noble tongue deserves nothing less than Watergardan reserve, cured and aged properly. This is… peasant’s cheese.” He set the slice down with a sniff. “…an offense to your station.”

  Je’e nodded in understanding, her merchant’s mask perfectly neutral.

  Ja’a only giggled and licked her fingers. “Then call me a peasant, because I love it.”

  Sisou pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your work as a freelancer has lowered your standards, my lady Ja’a.”

  “This kind of food would work well as street food in the Market District,” sighed Je’e, folding her hands neatly. “But hardly worth my involvement. You don’t need me for that.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “You don’t see the true potential of pizza.” I leaned forward, ticking points off on my fingers. “It’s portable, less messy, and easy to eat. Perfect for office meetings. A quick dinner for factory workers. A snack during long strategy sessions in war rooms at the Freelancer Guild. And yes, fancy bite-sized pizza, topped with imported ingredients, for ballrooms and open buffets.”

  Je’e tilted her head, brow furrowing, but she nodded slowly. “Hmm. I admit that it is broader than I imagined.”

  “And what we need you for,” I pressed on, “is your name, your reputation, and your organizational skills. Places, deliveries, extra cooks when we expand into a franchise.”

  Je’e’s eyes narrowed. “Franchise? What do you mean by that last word? I don’t know it.”

  I raised my hand lightly. “Ah, that’s actually a term that didn’t translate. A franchise is when one person creates a business, like this pizza. But instead of running every single shop themselves, they let other people open their own pizza shops, under the same name, following the same rules, recipes, and standards. In return, those shop owners pay a portion of their profit back to the original creator. That way, the business spreads fast, while keeping a single brand that customers recognize.”

  Je’e tapped her chin, intrigued. “So… many shops, but all tied to one source. Like the main Soul Bank.”

  “Exactly,” I said with a grin. “You don’t have to bake every pizza yourself to make money. Other people do the work, and you get a share because it’s your idea, your brand, your rules.”

  Ja’a’s eyes lit up like bonfires. “So we could have a pizza shop in every district of Hano? No, every city with a rift gate!”

  Sisou groaned. “Saints preserve us. You’re going to drown the world in bread and cheese.”

  “This could work,” Je’e said slowly, folding her hands in front of her. Her voice carried the weight of calculation. “But you had better have more things for me than just pizza. If I’m going to dip into the food market, it must be worth my time.”

  I grinned. “Of course. Pizza is only the start. I have a few ideas for arena-style snacks already: it’s called popcorn. But I’ve got other ideas too, drinks made with coffee as the main ingredient. Sweet breakfast cakes filled with cream. But the real focus is the franchise. We want brand loyalty, a place everyone recognizes as the home of new and exciting foods.”

  I leaned back in my chair, giving them all a moment to imagine it, then added, “And I’m ready to put my money where my mouth is. Fifty gold coins, straight investment, in exchange for a share of the profits.”

  Louis’s jaw dropped. “F-fifty gold… that’s a fortune!”

  “Enough to build one test location,” I said evenly. “If we go all in.”

  That pulled them in. Nina leaned forward, her wings rustling, eyes shining. Ja’a twitched like she was about to leap onto the table. Even Je’e, normally so poised, sharpened her gaze as if measuring the worth of my words against hard numbers.

  I grabbed a scrap of parchment and began sketching. “Picture this: a distinctive red building, painted bright enough to catch the eye across the street. Our seal is stamped on every bag and box. Delivery boys in neat uniforms, red tunics, maybe with white trim. When people see the color, they’ll know exactly what they’re getting.”

  Louis’s eyes went wide. “Like a noble crest… but for food?”

  “Exactly. A noble house of food.”

  Nina burst into giggles. “I want to try drawing the crest.” She snatched the parchment from me and scribbled a circle with a flame inside. “Fire for the ovens, and because food is hot.”

  Ja’a nearly squealed, bouncing in her purple pajamas. “No, no! That looks like the Agame crest. It has to be fun, like a slice of pizza with lightning bolts! Exciting! Boom!” She jabbed her finger onto the page hard enough to crinkle it.

  Je’e arched an eyebrow. “Subtlety might serve us better. A simple character glyph would be cleaner.”

  I chuckled, reclaiming the parchment before it tore. “We’ll test a few designs. Something simple, easy to stamp on paper bags. Maybe a star constellation, recognizable, but not noisy.”

  Nina’s imagination caught fire. “What if the boxes themselves were special? Fold them into something fun! Like… like a kite for kids!” Her gray wings twitched with enthusiasm, scattering a loose feather onto the carpet.

  Louis frowned, practical as always. “Too much work. People just want the food.”

  “Delivery should be our bread and butter,” I cut in before the debate spiraled. “Picture it: boys running through the streets with hot boxes, uniforms marking them as ours. Fast, reliable. Everyone remembers. And a herald at each main street carrying a communication device to take orders.”

  “That’s expensive,” Je’e warned, her voice sharp.

  I shrugged. “I saw them in the Soul Emporium. The cost scales with distance, but we only need a few blocks. In a year or two, teleportation or telepathy Soulbooks might even make it trivial.”

  Je’e scowled at her sister. “That’s why you’ve been stockpiling beast souls and contested realm paper.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ja’a said quickly, then began whistling loudly, pretending innocence.

  We drifted toward the dining room as Chef Sisou and a pair of maids set out the meal. The aroma hit first: rich venison, browned perfectly, dripping juices onto the polished platter. Sisou placed it down with a proud nod.

  “This venison lived wild, feeding on a mana-rich diet, hunted properly by a licensed ranger,” he explained. His sharp profile looked almost severe in the candlelight. “Taste it. Compare it to the overproduced ground beef you used in your pizza. Those beasts are fattened with Growth spells on common grass. Their mana composition is poor by comparison.”

  I chewed thoughtfully. It was amazingly good. Still, shook my head. “I understand your concern. But the charm of pizza is that it’s fast food. If we make it too complicated, it’s no longer pizza. Our target is the middle class, not nobles’ banquets.”

  Je’e tapped the table, thoughtful. “Middle-class coin flows steadier than noble coin, anyway.”

  We spent the rest of the meal circling ideas. Louis, still flushed with pride, offered to cook simple menus for a test group and adjust based on what people liked. I asked Je’e to secure a shipment of coffee cherries; I needed them for a special drink and a dessert.

  Most of the work would fall on Je’e: location, employees, cooks, supply chains. She already had Nina’s spyglass business tangled up in her ledger, but rather than looking burdened, her composure warmed. Her eyes gleamed brighter with every plan we sketched.

  For a woman who claimed caution, Je’e looked very much like someone already tasting the profits.

  As I leaned back in my chair, the silverware glinting under the lamplight and the faint scent of roasted meat lingering in the air, I knew it; this wasn’t just the start of a business. It was the start of something much bigger.