The Pantry Transaction
The knife moved carefully against the stone.
One cut. Clean. Don't damage the edge.
I laid each wing into the cloth wrap, slow and deliberate. Not because I was being fancy—because I knew what happened when you tried to sell damaged goods at the Exchange.
They paid you in disappointment and sad looks.
Current count: Six wings. All intact.
I was still shaking a little. Adrenaline hangover from the War Shadows. My shoulder ached where I'd hit the wall during the fall into this pantry. My wrists throbbed from blocking claw strikes.
The broken short sword at my hip felt heavier than usual—half the blade gone, the remaining edge barely holding together. I'd been telling myself I'd replace it after the next decent haul.
That was three floors ago.
But I was alive.
And I'd accidentally stumbled into a hidden pantry with Blue Latheon Wings.
Actual. Blue. Latheon. Wings.
I recognized them immediately—bioluminescent blue glow, delicate translucent leaves, growing from moisture-rich cracks in the wall.
Dumb luck.
Pure, ridiculous, life-saving dumb luck.
I reached for the last wing clinging to the stone—
Footsteps.
Oh no.
My hand paused mid-reach.
Please be passing through. Please be passing through. Please be—
The footsteps didn't pass through.
They stopped.
Right behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder. Once. Just once.
Oh.
Oh no.
Pale ash hair. Light armor. Sword at her hip.
Her.
The girl from the street.
The girl from Floor 3.
The girl who watched me get kicked in the face by a goblin.
Abort. Abort. Abort mission—
My brain scrambled for the protocol.
Don't panic. Don't show recognition. Don't acknowledge yesterday ever happened.
Be professional. Be calm. Be literally anyone else.
I turned back to the stone and kept working.
Tactical decision: Pretend I didn't notice her.
She's probably just passing by.
She doesn't remember me.
I'm forgettable.
I'm a background NPC.
Her boots scuffed stone.
Closer.
This is not fine.
I reached for the last wing—the final one clinging to the stone. My knife worked cleanly, freeing it, and I added it to my bundle.
All of them.
Every Blue Latheon Wing.
Mission complete. Now just need to leave without—
"I'll buy them."
Her voice cut through the silence.
I paused, halfway through tying the bundle closed, and glanced back at her.
She wants to buy… all of them?
But I just—
My brain stalled like a computer trying to run Crysis on a potato.
She stared at me, waiting.
Okay. Think. What are these worth?
Meta Knowledge Status: USELESS
I know Blue Latheon Wings exist.
I know they're alchemy materials.
I know adventurers harvest them.
I know they're valuable.
But price? Currency conversion? Actual market rates?
Yeah, no. I got nothing.
The light novels never listed the Guild Exchange price sheet.
Just… say a number that sounds reasonable?
"Two thousand valis."
There. Done. Professional.
She blinked.
"Just two thousand valis?"
Wait.
"Just?"
Is that… low?
Did I just lowball myself?
She said just.
That's definitely a "you're selling this too cheap" tone!
My brain scrambled.
I know 100 valis buys bread.
I know 500 gets you a decent meal at a tavern.
Two thousand valis = twenty loaves of bread.
Or four decent meals.
That felt like a lot to me but—
Her expression didn't change. She just reached into her pouch.
Oh no.
She's going to realize I have no idea what I'm doing—
She counted out the coins.
Held them out.
Wait.
She's… accepting?
I looked at her face.
Calm. Not smirking. Not pitying. Just… transactional.
She's not going to correct me.
She's just going to take the deal.
Backtrack and look stupid? Double down and look stupid? Negotiate and still look stupid?
You know what?
Two thousand valis is still two thousand valis.
That's still food for at least a week.
And I'd rather take a known loss than gamble and look more incompetent.
I accepted the coins.
No haggling.
No counter-offer.
No "actually, let me reconsider."
Because honestly?
The damage is done.
I named a price. She accepted.
Trying to change it now just makes me look worse.
Transaction complete.
Internal Status: Definitely just underpriced my goods but too committed to back out now.
External Status: Perfectly calm. Professional. Totally knew what I was doing.
I passed her the cloth bundle.
She took it without comment. Secured it in her pack.
Then paused.
Her gaze drifted back to me.
Oh no.
She's looking at me.
"Do you… collect herbs to sell, or—"
She stopped herself.
Reframed.
"—to use?"
Why is she asking.
Is this small talk?
Do I do small talk?
I don't do small talk.
I turned back toward the wall—toward a different patch where smaller herbs clung to the moisture. Started working the knife carefully along the stone.
"To sell."
Short. Simple. True.
I kept my eyes on the wall, focusing on the work.
"Can't risk my life fighting monsters all the time."
Also true.
A beat of silence.
Then I added, almost reflexively:
"Need the safer income too."
Why did I say that.
That was extra information.
She didn't ask for my business model.
Shut up, brain.
Social Interaction Status: Failing.
I kept working, refusing to look at her.
Just let it end. Please let it end.
But I could feel her watching me.
Not judging.
Just… watching.
Does she remember?
Does she think I'm pathetic?
Of course she does. I got kicked in the face by a goblin.
My hand tightened slightly on the knife.
Don't think about it.
That was then. This is now.
I'm managing.
That's enough.
Then her voice cut through again—quiet, almost conversational.
"That sword. Might break any time. Find new."
I froze.
She noticed.
My hand drifted unconsciously toward the broken short sword at my hip. Half the blade gone. The remaining edge worn, nicked in places where it had been used past the point it should've been retired.
"I know."
The words came out immediately.
No argument.
No reassurance.
No promise that I'd get it fixed.
Just—
"I know."
Because she was right.
And I did know.
I just… hadn't done anything about it yet.
The words sat in the air between us.
Heavy.
True.
I tied the cloth bundle of herbs closed with quick, practiced motions. Slipped it into my pack. Stood.
Time to leave.
My hand rested near the broken sword for half a second—just long enough to feel the weight of her observation—before I adjusted the strap on my shoulder.
Don't acknowledge this was anything more than transactional.
I stepped toward the passage.
No goodbye.
No glance back.
No acknowledgment.
Professional. Clean. Perfect.
The passage swallowed me.
I walked until the pantry was out of sight, then exhaled—slow, controlled.
That was fine.
She didn't bring up yesterday.
She didn't ask questions.
She just… bought the Blue Latheon Wings and gave me advice.
My hand brushed the coins in my pouch.
Two thousand valis.
I still don't know if that was a good deal.
But it's money.
And money means food.
And food means I survive another week.
Even if I probably could've gotten more.
Later, I'll find out at the Exchange what they actually go for.
And then I'll definitely feel stupid.
But right now?
I have two thousand valis, and that's more than I had ten minutes ago.
I glanced down at the broken sword.
"Might break any time."
Fair assessment.
I kept walking.
The Dungeon hummed around me—patient, hungry, waiting.
Today?
I survived War Shadows.
And I didn't die.
That's progress.
I think.
Maybe.
Status Update:
• Ghost Falna Status: Still silent
• My Status: Still managing (barely)
• Her Status: Still way out of my league
• Maintained emotionless exterior: ✓
• Completed transaction professionally: ✓
• Actually knew what I was doing: ✗
• Definitely underpriced my goods: ✓
• Received unsolicited life advice: ✓
• Left without making it weird: ✓ (debatable)
• Still thinking about pale ash hair: ✓✓✓
Her opinion of me: Probably "idiot who doesn't know market prices OR needs better equipment"
Embarrassment: Survived