[Time]: Day 34, Friday, 10:10 AM
[Location]: Hollow Mountain · Level 22 · The Apothecary & Material Ring
The atmosphere changed the moment they descended from the quiet, scholarly Bookstore Ring.
Here, the air was thick, humid, and deafeningly loud.
The layout was chaotic yet possessed a strange, organic logic. To the left, stalls piled high with Glowing Mushrooms and Mandragoras screamed of fresh soil. Next to them were the Floral Enchantment shops, selling roses that sang and lilies that wept.
"I am going to Dragonfang Street," Victoria said, adjusting her pristine gloves. "Meet me at the central lift in three hours."
"Go," Hathaway nodded, checking her mental list. "I'll handle the grocery shopping."
Hathaway adjusted her collar, a dangerous, highly focused glint appearing in her eyes.
I used to negotiate project deadlines with publishers who wanted 'AAA quality' on an 'Indie budget', she thought, a cold smile touching her lips. I eat sharks for breakfast.
Victoria simply nodded. She turned and dissolved into the dense stream of Witches with the grace of a ghost.
Hathaway was left alone in the chaos.
She took a deep breath. The air smelled of sulfur, roasted lizards, and expensive perfume.
"Alright," she whispered. "Operation: Eye Drops. Start."
She stepped into the crowd. And immediately, she faced the true Boss Fight: Her own gamer soul.
The market was a minefield of temptations. She walked exactly five steps and froze.
A Witch with three eyes was standing behind a glass display case, shouting:
"New Expansion Pack! ‘Lantern Cats’! Guaranteed one Foil Rare in every box!"
Inside the case, holographic cards spun in the air.
Witch Cards.
The universal addiction of the multiverse.
Hathaway’s feet glued themselves to the floor. Her hand trembled violently over her purse.
I want a pack, Hathaway thought, her breathing turning shallow. I really, really want a pack.
The memory of her humiliating defeat at the hands of Rina and Victoria flashed in her mind. Her deck, the "Anti-Synergy Council," was worth nearly a million Solars, packed with legendary Grand Witches. But it was entirely unplayable because she lacked synergy.
If she just had one Lantern Cat. Just one basic, 0-cost [Baby Lantern Cat] white card!
That was all she needed to trigger the 1st Seat Ovelia's [Invulnerability] shield and reduce her deployment cost! Just one fluffy little token minion, and her million-Solar deck would go from the laughingstock of the bar to an unstoppable, god-tier steamroller!
Price: 50 Solars per pack.
Hathaway stared at the price tag. Her breathing turned shallow.
Fifty Solars. Her gamer brain completely misfired.
I don't need a Foil Rare! she screamed internally. I don't need a miracle! I just need a piece of garbage! A 0-cost, common-rarity white card!Because it was a dedicated 'Lantern Cats' expansion, pulling a basic cat was practically a guaranteed statistical certainty. Fifty Solars. Just one single pull to fix a million-Solar deck! It was the most cost-effective upgrade in the history of gaming!
Her hand drifted toward her spatial bag. The holographic foil on the display case seemed to whisper to her.
Today is Friday, her mind rapidly calculated. My next paycheck from Nino drops after tomorrow's shift. I have to survive for a day and a half. That is exactly four meals.
The cheapest tolerable cafeteria meal is 6 Solars. A decent seafood risotto is 8. I need an absolute minimum of 24 Solars just to keep my biological functions running.
I am already facing a 700-Solar deficit for my spell reagents. If I drop 50 Solars on a card pack right now, before I've even started haggling... I am mathematically guaranteeing that my food budget will drop to zero unless I pull off the greatest negotiation streak of my life.
Hathaway paused, her hand hovering inches from her wallet.
If she failed to haggle deep enough, she would have zero Solars. With her high-density Witch metabolism, fasting for 36 hours while studying and compiling a Tier 3 spell would literally cause her to faint. Which meant she would have to eat.
Which meant...
Hathaway's gaze slowly drifted in the direction Victoria had vanished.
A horrifying image formed in her mind: sitting at the dining table in Dorm 302, her stomach growling violently, staring pitifully at Victoria's three-tiered dessert stand, waiting for the aristocratic Witch to toss her a pity donut like a stray dog.
She would literally become Victoria Wellington's gacha-addicted, freeloading pet.
Hathaway physically shuddered. A violent chill ran down her spine, freezing her gacha fever instantly.
I am an independent, self-respecting game dev, not a kept woman! Hathaway thought, her spine snapping perfectly straight in absolute defiance. I will not sell my dignity to my roommate for a piece of cardboard!
"Walk away, Hathaway," she whispered to herself, her voice suddenly filled with the iron will of a corporate survivor. "You can be the King of Games later. Right now, you are a laborer on a deadline. Do not become a parasite."
She forced herself to turn around, leaving the shiny foil cards and her dreams of an invincible Ovelia behind.
"I need reagents. I need power."
She took a deep breath, pushing past the temptation, and headed deeper into the Reagent Sector.
Finding the ingredients on a crippled budget was indeed a nightmare.
She stopped at a stall selling [Liquid Mithril]. The vial looked silvery, but when Hathaway tilted it, the viscosity was wrong.
"Too runny," she muttered. "Cut with mercury. If I put this in my optic nerve, the logic matrix won't compile. My eyeballs will just detonate."
For a species that treated being blown to pieces as a minor learning curve, exploding sensory organs were just a standard trial-and-error mechanic. The academy clinic handed out replacement eyes like aspirin.
But Hathaway was a game dev on a violently strict budget.
A failed compilation meant buying the expensive materials all over again, plus paying a medical deductible just to experience the agonizing sensation of her own face blowing up.
That was a catastrophic Return on Investment.
She put the vial down with a sharp clack and walked away without a second glance.
She checked three different stalls for [Cerebral Fluid].
One was overpriced (3,000 Solars!). One was clearly fake (just glowing blue water). One was expired (the fluid had turned cloudy gray).
"This is exhausting," Hathaway wiped sweat from her forehead. "No wonder High Witches hire assistants."
After forty minutes of searching, dodging scams, and resisting the urge to buy a singing skull, she finally saw a clean, well-lit stall tucked under a giant fern.
[Bamboo Grove Reagents]
The sign was hand-painted. The jars were neatly arranged. And the owner was a Panda Witch.
She had round, fluffy black ears twitching atop her head, and her hair was a soft, gradient mix of black and white. She wore a loose, eastern-style apron and was currently munching on a stick of sugar cane, looking absolutely sunny.
Hathaway approached cautiously, but her footsteps felt unusually heavy.
Her game designer's brain was screaming: She looks harmless. That's usually a trap. Rip her profit margins to shreds!
But her Earthling soul was currently suffering a massive, critical-hit override.
A Panda. An actual, living, breathing Panda girl.
On Earth, this wasn't just an animal. This was the National Treasure. The ultimate, untouchable symbol of fluffy, lazy diplomacy. You didn't haggle with a panda; you gave it an air-conditioned mansion, imported bamboo, and dedicated your life to watching it sleep!
How was she supposed to maintain her "Corporate Killer" aura and ruthlessly extort a National Treasure who was happily chewing on sugar cane?!
She slapped her own cheeks mentally.
Focus, Hathaway! There are no sweet and innocent Witches in this entire species! The only 'girl-next-door' type you know is Rina, and Rina is an RNG-manipulating, sweet-faced savage who casually executed your Ovelia with a 1-Cost bottle of acid! Fluffy ears are just camouflage for apex predators! Have no mercy!
"Welcome! Welcome!" The Panda Witch beamed, her smile radiating enough warmth to melt a glacier. "Looking for eyes? Or maybe liver?"
Hathaway swallowed hard, desperately trying to force her "Closet Simp" back into its cage.
"I need Mirror-Spider Eyes," Hathaway said, forcing her tone to remain perfectly professional as she picked up a jar.
She held it up to the light, squinting at the contents. She didn't just glance; she inspected it like a Quality Assurance officer hunting for a fatal bug in the code.
"Cloudy cornea," Hathaway muttered, loud enough for the Witch to hear. "And look at this refraction angle. It's off by at least 3 degrees. These eyes were harvested post-mortem, weren't they? The mana decay has already started."
She put the jar down with a calculated thud.
"For a high-precision modification, this decay would introduce a 15% error margin. These are B-Grade at best, but you priced them as A-Grade."
It was a bluff. The decay was maybe 1%, and the spell's auto-correction would handle it. But Hathaway needed leverage to start the haggling war.
She braced herself. Here it comes. The merchant's counter-attack. The venomous sneer. The 'take it or leave it, kid.'
"Oh my stars!" The Panda Witch gasped, clapping her hands to her cheeks in absolute horror.
She scrambled over, her fluffy ears drooping pitifully.
"You are right! I must have mixed the display jar with the bulk storage jar! That is a terrible oversight on my part!"
She didn't argue. She didn't make excuses. She didn't try to gaslight Hathaway into thinking the eyes were fine. She looked genuinely, profoundly mortified that she almost sold an imperfect product.
"I am so sorry! I value the reputation of the Bamboo Grove!" She frantically snatched the jar away and pulled out a different, frost-sealed box from a velvet-lined drawer. "Here! Please look at these! These are the Premium Cuts. Harvested live, stasis-sealed within 30 seconds. Zero decay."
Hathaway inspected them. They were flawless.
Got you, Hathaway thought triumphantly. Now comes the price cut.
"These are acceptable," Hathaway said coolly. "But since I wasted my time filtering through your inventory..."
"500 Solars!" The Panda Witch interrupted her with a bright, painfully honest smile. "They are usually 600, but since I made a mistake, I will give you the Premium ones for the Standard price! It is only fair!"
Hathaway froze. Her "Corporate Killer" script violently stalled.
Wait. You're supposed to argue. You're supposed to lie and say the first jar was fine. Why are you apologizing? Why are you upgrading me for free?
Hathaway stared at the Panda Witch's round, apologetic face. Her corporate radar, honed by years of dealing with sociopathic clients and predatory publishers, aggressively swept the Panda Witch for deceit or hidden motives.
Result: Absolute Zero.
She wasn't faking it. She was actually... sorry.
Is she... is she actually a naive sweetheart? A genuine, sweet-and-innocent Cinnamon Roll?! Hathaway's mind reeled in absolute shock. In Milan'thir?! In the unregulated PvP zone of Hollow Mountain's Apothecary Ring?!
"Uh..." Hathaway stammered, her ruthless PM persona crumbling into dust. "The price... is 500?"
"Yes! And please, take this as an apology!"
The Panda Witch rummaged under the counter and pulled out a small mesh bag filled with bright green, round fruits.
"[Frost-Mint Citruses]. My mom grew them in the District 7 expansion. They are very sweet! Good for the throat after all that spellcasting!" She pressed the heavy bag into Hathaway's hands. There were at least a dozen fruits inside. "Thank you for pointing out my mistake! Next time, I promise to sort them better!"
Hathaway walked away from the stall, holding her jar of premium eyes and her bag of fruit, feeling a profound mix of confusion and defeat.
I failed.
I didn't haggle her down. I paid the standard price.
I came to fight a war, and she treated me like a neighbor.
She looked at the bag. Imported magical fruits. A bag like this cost at least 20 Solars. She had upgraded her goods (~100 Solar value) and given her a gift (~20 Solar value).
Technically... I won? But why does it feel like I lost my edge?
She peeled the green skin of one citrus. A fine mist of zest sprayed out, smelling of peppermint and winter air. She popped a segment into her mouth.
Crunch.
It wasn't soft like a normal orange. The flesh was firm, snapping between her teeth like a frozen grape.
Splash. Cold, sweet juice exploded in her mouth. The minty aftertaste cut through the sweetness, leaving her breath feeling icy and clean.
It was delicious. It was refreshing. It was perfect.
"Damn it," Hathaway mumbled, wiping juice from her lip. "She wasn't a con artist. She was just... nice. And the fruit is really good."
Suddenly, a massive epiphany struck her gamer brain like a bolt of lightning.
Of course she's a Panda Witch. Of course she's a National Treasure!
It wasn't just because of the fluffy black-and-white ears. It was because a genuinely kind, honest, and scam-free merchant operating in the cutthroat black market of Hollow Mountain was a statistical anomaly! That was the true Endangered Species of the magical world! She needed to be protected at all costs!
Hathaway finished the citrus in three bites, feeling a strange, protective warmth in her chest.
But then, her eyes fell upon her mental ledger.
The warmth instantly evaporated, replaced by the freezing reality of her dwindling budget. She still needed three highly volatile, aggressively priced ingredients.
"Alright," Hathaway patted her cheeks, her crimson eyes refocusing into a cold, predatory glare. "No more Ms. Nice Witch. That was an extreme SSR rarity outlier."
She tucked the jar of premium eyes into her spatial bag and stepped back into the deafening, sulfur-scented chaos of the market.
"The warm-up is over," Hathaway muttered to herself, her corporate aura flaring to life. "The next stall... I don't care if they are fluffy, cute, or crying. I am going to rip their profit margins to absolute shreds."