The grand hall of the prince's palace was huge and intimidating, with tall ceilings and pillars that seemed to go on forever. Tuk walked in, trying to keep his breathing steady. The prince sat on his throne, staring at Tuk with cold eyes that seemed to see right through him.

  Tuk swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the prince's expectations pressing down on him. The scroll in question was clutched tightly in his hand—a seemingly innocuous piece of parchment that had caused him endless headaches for the past month.

  When faced with danger, humor was Tuk's shield—a way to deflect the sharpness of reality. Nothing goes wrong if you mix some truth with lies.

  The prince's voice broke the silence like a knife. "Historian Tuk," he said calmly, but there was a hint of danger in his tone, "it has been a month. You assured me that this scroll would be decoded by now. And yet, I see no results."

  Sweat trickled down Tuk's back. He had to be careful. He didn't know the prince well, but he was sure this was not a man to mess with, especially when it came to the scrolls. She can't change the past, but she could try to save herself now.

  "Your Highness," Tuk started, forcing a smile onto his face, "I must admit that I was overly optimistic in my initial assessment. You see, when I first looked at the scroll, I thought it was written in a dialect I was familiar with. But the more I studied it, the harder it became. This job needs someone really smart."

  The prince raised an eyebrow, not looking impressed. "So, you're saying you're not skilled enough to do it?"

  Yes, exactly, you crazy man! she thought, but she quickly put on a shocked face and mimicked the polite gestures Leon always used. "Oh, no, Your Highness!" she said, her hands moving in an overly respectful sweep. "I can do it, but I need more time. The words in this scroll are tricky. Take this symbol ?, for example—it looks like it means 'person,' but it could also mean 'fire,' or 'a cross with rope.' Deciding which one is right takes time."

  The prince's eyes narrowed, looking like a predator losing patience. "And how much time will this take?"

  Tuk paused, trying to come up with a safe answer. "Well, Your Highness, with how complex it is, I'd say… several months per word."

  "Per word?" The prince's voice was suddenly turned into a dangerously soft tone, like the calm before a storm.

  Tuk nodded quickly. "Yes, per word. But that way, we can be really sure the translation is right. We don't want to rush and get it wrong, do we? You know what they say, haste makes waste, and waste is… not great."

  The prince's stare was unreadable, and the silence was so heavy Tuk's heart raced. He needed to change the prince's focus. A smile crept onto his face.

  "And, Your Highness," Tuk added with a grin, "if I rushed and got it wrong, who knows what might happen? We could end up with a purple dinosaur instead of a dragon! And while everyone loves Barney, I don't think anyone here is ready for a sing-along."

  The prince's eyes narrowed, and the room fell silent. "Barney?" he said, looking confused. Tuk felt the tension grow and quickly explained.

  "Uh, yes, Your Highness," Tuk stammered, "Barney is… a friendly purple dinosaur who likes to sing and play. Lots of hugs, not much fire."

  Why did I even bring up Barney?! Tuk thought, blaming his niece for putting that in his head. The prince stared at him with a mix of confusion and something else. Then, Tuk saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of the prince's mouth, like he was fighting back a smile.

  "Historian Tuk," the prince said at last, his voice cool but with a touch of humor, "you're lucky I find your… creativity… entertaining. I'll give you more time. But be warned: my patience has limits. If you fail, not even purple dinosaurs will save you."

  Tuk bowed deeply, hiding his sigh of relief. "Thank you, Your Highness. I promise to work hard on this scroll. Maybe I'll even find a way to make the dragon a little less… cuddly."

  The prince waved him away, and Tuk left the hall. As he walked out, he chuckled. He had escaped the prince's anger for now. With any luck, he'd figure out the scroll's meaning before his next close call. Tuk felt relief, and the next she knew she was mingling with the warrior.

  --TUK's POV--

  As I walked through the corridor, one of the warriors invited me, or the right word was he dragged me to their group, and the next thing I knew I was in some tavern where they decided to throw a celebration after winning a recent battle. They praised me with words about how their weapon makes a big difference to their training, so I guess they invited me here to show their gratitude for helping with their weapons, which was technically not my intention at all.

  I hesitated getting to close to these men, knowing that being in close quarters with them could be a double-edged sword against me. Yet, I agreed, thinking it might be the perfect opportunity to avoid any suspicion about my gender and get a better read on these brawny brutes who could easily crush me with a single swing.

  As I walked into the tavern, the feeling hit me hard. The place was dark but fancy. Shiny wood glowed in the dim light. Big wall hangings showed bloody fights, each thread telling a violent story. The air smelled strongly of good drinks, cooked meats, and women's perfume so strong it could make you cough. The warriors were already drunk, laughing loudly. Women in silk clothes fluttered their eyelashes at them. It was all too much.

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  The warriors' faces were red from winning and drinking. They filled the room with loud laughs and the harsh sound of cups hitting together. The women in their shiny silk clothes teased the men. Their eyes sparkled with fun and something darker. The noise was almost too much—a mix of music, laughter, and a feeling that something obscene might happen. Well, I guess for a grown adult, the right word is fun.

  I tried to stay hidden, sitting in the shadows with my wine. I nodded along to talks I could barely hear over the noise. The warriors celebrated wildly, drinking to old wins and future fights. But under their brave act, I could feel they were scared. They knew some of them might die in the next fight. This scary thought made every drink feel heavier.

  Hours felt like forever. Each moment dragged on in the heavy air. My heart beat faster when I finally saw a chance to leave the crowded tavern. Carefully, I moved through the drunk warriors. It was easy to slip away without them noticing. When I stepped into the cool night air, I felt better, but still worried about how close I'd come to danger. The quiet night felt strange after all that noise. "Time to put my spy skills to use," I thought, as I disappeared into the dark streets.

  Though a little tipsy herself, she remained focused on my goal today—supplies. Tuk strutted through the deserted alleys like she was auditioning for the lead role in SpyxFamily, taking each step as if she were a top-secret agent on a high-stakes mission. She imagined herself as a super-cool spy, sliding through the shadows with stealth and grace. In reality, she looked more like a clumsy penguin on a midnight stroll, and the few merchants who spotted her gave her the kind of puzzled looks usually reserved for people talking to their own reflection.

  ---

  The night was very quiet. I could only hear the soft sounds of sellers packing up their shops. The market was closing, but it was still full of colorful tents and flickering lights. These made long, dark shapes on the stone paths. I took this chance to buy things I needed - stuff to make life in this rough world easier. One of these things was something I never thought I'd want so much—sanitary pads.

  "But is there even one here?" I asked more to myself still looking around the place.

  I wandered between the shops, scanning the goods on display. My attention was caught by a small stand where a local seller was carefully sealing bottles—not with corks or lids, but with something that looked like cotton. From the faint aroma wafting through the air, it seemed to be perfume. Curious, I edged closer to get a better look.

  "That looks familiar," I murmured, startling the man as I appeared beside him. He flinched, almost dropping a bottle.

  "What's this?" I asked, crouching down to examine a container filled with cylindrical pieces of cotton. I picked one up, turning it over in my hands.

  "Oh, my lord!" The seller straightened up immediately, his expression shifting to a practiced business smile as he noticed my attire. "You're lucky to find me! This is one of my latest inventions. With just a few drops of this perfume, the cotton will hold the scent for weeks—long enough to keep your room smelling divine until the last drop is used!" His enthusiasm was almost as overwhelming as the perfume itself.

  "Interesting," I said, inspecting the cotton closely. "I want a lot of these."

  The man clasped his hands together, practically glowing with excitement. "Of course, my lord! What fragrance do you prefer? I have jasmine, lavender, rose—"

  "Not the perfume," I interrupted, pointing at the cotton cylinders. "These. Where did you get them?"

  "Oh, these?" He seemed slightly confused but quickly recovered. "They're made from soft moss fibers, processed and shaped—"

  "Can you customize them?" I cut him off again, shaking a pouch of gold coins for emphasis. The clink was enough to erase any hesitation he had.

  "For you, my lord? Absolutely!" he said eagerly. "What design do you need?"

  I leaned in, explaining my idea in detail. The seller listened carefully before disappearing into his craft room. A few minutes later, he returned, holding up the result. The cotton cylinders were now tied with thin ropes, their texture smoother and slightly glossy. I held one in my hand, marveling at the transformation.

  "Finally..." I whispered, clutching the cotton dramatically. "I've found you... my tampons!" My voice trembled as if I were on the verge of tears.

  The seller didn't even blink, his professionalism impeccable. I ended up buying an absurd number of the cotton cylinders, along with a few bottles of perfume and a book on how to make it.

  "This should counter those warriors with the freakishly good sense of smell, right?" I thought, feeling smug. My bag was heavier, but my wallet was heartbreakingly light.

  "By the way, do you know where I can find, you know... elixir of diwa? For a fair price?" I whispered to the seller, adding a wink for effect. I overheard the servants talking about it. They say anything made by a diwa works like magic, but it's pricey and hard to come by.

  If I'm in another world, there's got to be one thing that's the same—a black market. Right?

  As I walked back through the bustling market alleys, ready to face whatever came next, I couldn't help but sigh. "Well, at least I'm prepared... but now I'm broke."

  "If I am going to be isekai at least make me a daughter of a noble!" I thought angrily as I walked back to the tavern.