“Master… are you always involved in these kinds of large-scale business ventures?”

  We had only walked a few dozen paces away from Merkan’s shop when Wyn spoke up. She looked up at me with an innocent, wide-eyed curiosity that made her look every bit as endearing as Woya when she was in a similar mood. I looked down at her, the afternoon sun catching the highlights in her hair, and considered the question.

  “The core processes are usually quite similar to what you saw today,” I explained slowly, keeping my voice steady as we navigated the crowded street. “My strategy is simple: I purchase goods from distant, faraway places where they are abundant and cheap, and then I use my teleportation ability to move them instantly to markets where those same goods are in high demand and can command a much higher price. It is a near-perfect arbitrage. However, I have to admit that none of my previous deals have been quite this large. I just handed over more than half of my liquid fortune to a man I barely know. Hahaha!”

  I let out a short, self-mocking laugh. In the cold logic of a businessman, it was a move that bordered on reckless, but in the logic of a Player with my specific set of "cheats," it was a calculated risk with a massive potential payoff.

  “But master, how can you place so much trust in a man you have only just met for the first time?” Woya asked, her brow furrowed with a worried expression. She seemed genuinely concerned that I had been swindled.

  “It is okay, Woya. Don't worry so much,” I reassured her. “The risk is never zero, of course, but I’ve structured the deal in a way that favors him staying honest. I gave him a very large share of the potential profit, and he can earn that money without assuming any of the risks. The only real danger would be if he were exceptionally greedy and wanted a quick, one-time payout rather than a long-term gold mine. But that possibility was largely refuted the moment I saw his shop. He already possesses a significant stock of high-quality products that he must have spent years collecting. A man with that kind of established foundation isn't likely to throw it all away for five platinum coins.”

  I explained my observations of Merkan’s character and business environment, trying to teach them how to read a situation beyond the surface level.

  “... Then how do you intend to know exactly how much of a discount he actually receives from the locals, master?” Wyn asked after a few seconds of thoughtful silence.

  I was momentarily startled. That was a remarkably sharp question, cutting straight to the heart of the commission structure I had proposed. Seeing that the girls were becoming so genuinely interested in the mechanics of trade was a potentially excellent outcome. Depending on how they develop, I might eventually decide to make them responsible for certain branches of my business operations.

  “... Hahaha, I don’t know for certain yet,” I said, a mischievous glint in my eye. “But don’t worry, we are going to find out right now.”

  The next few hours were spent on a thorough reconnaissance mission. We visited several other merchants throughout Baymur, as well as the workshops of local artisans. We took our time looking at their wares, noting the variations in quality and meticulously recording their asking prices. Some of the artisans were open and friendly, allowing us to see their workspace and giving us a brief glimpse into their creative processes—the literal tip of the iceberg when it came to their craft. Others were much more protective of their trade secrets and wouldn't allow us even a moment of observation.

  By the time the evening sun began to cast its long, orange fingers across the town, we had completed a comprehensive search and price analysis. The most surprising revelation of the afternoon was the girls' natural aptitude for trade. They were incredibly observant, picking up on subtle price fluctuations and noticing small defects in the goods that I had missed. It occurred to me that putting them to work as overseers or executives of a trade route might actually be a viable strategy rather than just a whim. Their assistance allowed me to finish my market research far earlier than I could have managed on my own.

  As we neared the inn we had rented, I turned to the twins. “Would you like to get back into the water for a little while?”

  Since we were scheduled to depart tomorrow, they eagerly expressed their willingness to enjoy the ocean one last time. We returned to our secluded spot and played in the waves until the sun began its final descent toward the horizon, the sky turning a magnificent shade of fire.

  Once the air began to cool, we made our way back to the bathhouse. As the innkeeper had predicted, the hot water was now available. We rented a private bathroom once again, but this time the price was ten silver coins instead of five. Despite the double cost, the experience of soaking in truly hot water to scrub away the ocean salt and the day’s fatigue was infinitely more relaxing. It was worth every single copper.

  As anyone who has spent a day at the beach knows, playing in the water makes you incredibly hungry. We were experiencing this phenomenon for the second time today. We set out to find a place to enjoy more of the local fish. I had hoped to find a new restaurant to try, but after a quick survey of the nearby streets, nothing looked quite as inviting as the place we had visited for lunch.

  When we stepped inside, the same staff member who had served us earlier welcomed us back with a recognition-filled smile and led us to an empty table. The restaurant was significantly more crowded now that the dinner hour had arrived, but fortunately, we didn't have to wait for a seat.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I wanted to try something new for myself, but the girls had enjoyed their lunch so much that they seemed to be leaning toward ordering the exact same thing again. They didn't say it outright, but I could see them staring at the menu with longing. I was momentarily troubled—I wanted them to expand their horizons—but the waiter came to my rescue. He suggested a fish that looked like a herring, noting that it had a very similar flavor profile and texture to the horse mackerel they had enjoyed earlier. The girls happily agreed, relieved that they would be getting something familiar yet subtly different.

  Our servings arrived shortly after, accompanied by three tall, frothing cups of cold beer. Once I took a bite, I understood their obsession. The meat was soft and flaky, and the spicy sauce provided a perfect kick while making the fish incredibly easy to chew. We fell into a focused, predatory silence as we consumed our meals, our attention entirely on the food.

  When the plates were cleared, I looked for a dessert recommendation. Our waiter suggested the house specialty, and I readily agreed. However, when the dish was placed in front of us, the girls and I both hesitated. It was a bright, translucent orange jelly. Woya and Wyn looked at it with deep suspicion, even mistaking the quivering mass for a slime monster. They seemed ready to refuse it entirely.

  I touched the surface with my spoon, watching it wobble, and then decided to be the brave one and take a taste. The girls watched me with bated breath, looking genuinely nervous. The jelly was surprisingly good—it tasted exactly like solidified, premium orange juice. The longer I chewed, the more the vibrant citrus flavor spread across my palate. I immediately took another large spoonful. Seeing my reaction, the girls tentatively tried a bite for themselves. By the end of the course, they were both absolutely in love with it.

  I paid the bill—fifteen silver coins this time. I mused that either the tea had been the expensive part of lunch, or the citrus for the jelly was simply much cheaper in this humid, coastal climate perfectly suited for orange and tangerine trees.

  We left the restaurant and headed directly back to the inn. Before heading up to our suite, I paid the innkeeper five silver coins for a bottle of his finest vintage and a set of three cups.

  Once we were safely inside our room, I turned the heavy iron key in the lock to ensure our privacy. I led the girls out onto the balcony, which offered a breathtaking view of the moonlight reflecting off the tidal waves of the bay. The three of us sat in the comfortable chairs around the small outdoor table.

  “... Pour,” I said, placing the dark, red-purple wine bottle in the center and sliding the cups toward Woya.

  “Yes, master.”

  She didn't need any further instruction. She grabbed the cups and began to pour with a practiced grace. She filled my cup first and handed it to me with both hands, before slowly filling a cup for herself and one for Wyn.

  I waited until they both had their drinks in hand. They were still wearing their light tunics over their swimsuits, a look that seemed perfectly suited for a warm evening on the coast. I raised my cup toward them.

  “A toast. To my cute Woya and Wyn. And to the success of my new business venture.”

  “To your success, master,” Wyn said firmly.

  “I hope for it as well, master,” Woya added.

  We clinked our cups together. They weren't made of glass, so there was no melodic ring, but the sentiment was heavy enough to make up for the lack of sound.

  We sat in tranquility for a long while, watching the ocean and sipping the wine. Our conversation started with simple, mundane questions—asking if the wine was to their liking or commenting on the beauty of the nighttime sea. But as the bottle began to empty, the alcohol started to take effect. The girls were already visibly tipsy, their movements becoming a bit more exaggerated and their voices softer. They began to speak about how much they had enjoyed the day, thanking me repeatedly for my kindness. They mentioned how well I treated them and how much they truly wanted to please me in return.

  However, as the final dregs were poured from the bottle into our cups, the mood shifted. The happy, thankful young women vanished, replaced by a pair of resentful and terrified children. The wine had stripped away their masks. They began to weep, begging me never to throw them away or sell them to someone else. They spoke with a raw bitterness about their father, reprimanding him for failing in his role and being forced to sell his own daughters. They described the bone-deep desperation they had felt, the absolute fear of being separated from one another and sold to different masters.

  As I listened to their drunken, tearful ramblings, another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. I realized why they were so adept at tracking prices and identifying quality goods: their father had been a merchant. They had grown up around the very trade I was now training them for.

  By the time we finished the liquor in our cups, they had said everything they needed to say. They were clearly drunk, though not so far gone that they couldn't communicate or move. I was also feeling quite tipsy myself, the world feeling a bit softer at the edges.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I said.

  They didn't argue or even respond with words; they simply stood up and followed me inside like silent shadows.

  I lay down in the center of the massive royal bed. Woya and Wyn immediately climbed in on either side of me, clinging to my arms with a desperate intensity, as if they were afraid I might vanish if they let go. Normally, they looked beautiful and cute, but tonight their feminine side was much more pronounced, their bodies warm against mine.

  “... Do you know?... I had another slave before I bought the two of you,” I said, my voice heavy with the wine and the atmosphere.

  They were still tipsy, but the moment I spoke those words after a long pause, they both jolted. They became suddenly, sharply alert, as if they had been doused with cold water. I couldn't tell if they viewed this unknown predecessor as a rival or if they were just intensely curious about my past, but I could feel their absolute focus pinned on me.

  “... His name was Namo,” I said, after studying their wide-eyed expressions for a moment.

  “Where is he right now?” Woya asked. Her voice was cautious, but as soon as I used the word "his" and identified Namo as a male, the defensive tension in her posture subsided visibly.

  “... He is long dead,” I said after a brief, somber pause.

  [Edited]

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  Heroes:

  Koreyn

  NaTaS

  sjturner79