A Room to Spare on the Second Floor of the Wet Boot

A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠National Treasure whose coordinates get leaked is, at that point, just a package.

Because the address is already stamped on it.

A delivery with twenty-odd people lined up as the recipient.

I slipped out of Rania's District 3 on the wings of the pre-dawn fog.

Lena had handed me a carriage. Heading the opposite direction from the estate.

No driver. Crest scrubbed off.

"Go to the western back alleys," she said. "The nobles' eyes don't reach there."

"What's there?"

"Drunkards ─ and people who know how to keep their mouths shut."

It caught me a little off guard, the Ice Duchess's daughter knowing her way around back alleys.

"How do you know about a place like that?"

"Ducal intelligence," Lena answered briefly.

Then she paused, choosing her words.

"…Once, a long time ago. I needed somewhere to hide."

A single crack ran through the ice. Just one line.

Before I could ask a thing, she shut the window.

"Go. Stay alive. I'll hold the rear."

I ditched the carriage two districts short.

Even wheel tracks become coordinates.

So I walked. Hood pulled down, shoulders hunched in.

A man strolling around in this world is a gold bar taking a walk.

A gold bar with legs, at that.

Women's gazes stuck to me like magnets. The woman at the bakery fumbled her dough. The one hanging laundry stepped on a wet shirt. One woman looked at me twice, and on the third look started running.

Toward where? No idea. But it was a bad direction.

Damn it, the rumor's already out?

I cut into an alley. Then another, shoulder scraping along the brickwork.

The narrower the alleys got, the more my heart settled. Wide roads mark your coordinates well. Narrow ones don't.

At the end of a dead-end stood a crooked signboard.

Beneath the sign, nailed to the wall, hung an actual soaked boot.

The name was no joke.

Booze and laughter leaked through the gap in the door. A good smell for hiding. Drunks have no interest in other people's business.

I pushed the door open.

Inside was dark. The windows were small, and even in daytime it felt like evening.

A few day-drinkers didn't even lift their heads, each face buried in a mug.

Behind the counter, a woman was wiping glasses. Early thirties. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, unkempt bangs, languid eyes. The face of someone who had ease soaked into her bones — a face with nothing in the world to hurry about.

She saw me, and the wiping hand stopped.

For exactly one beat. Then, a little smirk.

"Well, well," she said. "The real thing."

I pulled my hood lower.

"Real what?"

"A real man." She propped her chin on her hand. "Fifteen years I've run this neighborhood, and I've never once had a customer like you."

"…You've got the wrong person."

"Seen these hands?" She tilted her chin at mine. "Women's hands don't look like that. Knuckles too thick. And that Adam's apple."

"…You're checking Adam's apples?"

"Every customer is money in this business. Reading faces is the job." Sera finished the glass in her hand. "But a face like yours? Can't put a price on it. Never seen the merchandise before."

It took her less than three seconds to see through me.

I sized up my escape angle. Five steps to the door. But outside was even more dangerous.

"Relax." She set the glass down. "Name's Sera. I own this place. ─ And I don't make my living selling out customers' identities."

"…You won't sell me?"

"You know what you'd fetch." Sera shrugged. "How much the palace bids for one man — this whole neighborhood knows. A few houses' worth."

"…Then why not?"

"Because once it's sold, think what the gossip does to my tavern." Sera lifted the glass and turned it in the light. "'The bar that ratted out a man.' The moment that label sticks, my customers dry up. Women in this trade hate a snitch worse than anything."

A businesswoman, through and through.

Somehow, the fact that her reason for silence was profit margin and not loyalty made her more trustworthy.

Loyalty changes. Math doesn't.

"You're being hunted, aren't you?" Sera asked.

"…Yeah."

"The delivery guy whose coordinates got leaked. Saw the gallery."

Of course the rumor had spread. This world's magical communication network was faster than Earth's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠internet.

"I can hide you." Sera tapped the counter. "But not for free. This is a tavern, not a charity."

"Money is…" I dug through my pocket. "I don't have any. This world's money."

What came out was a few Earth coins and a stack of expired delivery-app coupons. Both worthless here.

"Figured as much." She grinned. "Then you'll pay with your bod─"

I flinched, and Sera burst out laughing. Doubled over, holding her stomach.

"Look how red you went." She waved a hand. "Cute. Not that body, you idiot. The other thing."

"…Then what?"

"You summon things from another world, don't you? It's all over the gallery. Sold something called 'black water.'" Sera's eyes glinted. "One sip and a girl burped three times, said it was the most refreshing thing of her life. Apparently silver coins were changing hands over a single burp?"

She was talking about cola.

"Sell it here. Split the profits. Then I'll hide you." Sera held out her hand. "What do you say? Not a bad deal, right?"

I needed a base. Somewhere to hide, somewhere to earn, people who kept quiet.

Sera was all three.

I took her hand. Warm palm, strong grip.

"I've got things better than cola."

Sera's eyes flashed. A merchant's eyes.

"Oh? Like what."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

I opened the system. Dimensional shop. Earth items list.

Cola was just the appetizer. Time to bring out the real goods.

Flavors the women of this female-dominated continent had never tasted. Deep-fried sin, and the hell of spicy broth.

I scraped together my coins and placed the order.

A box dropped onto the counter with a heavy thud. As if it had leapt out of thin air.

The smell of frying oil crashed over the tavern. Greasy, nutty, sinful.

For the first time, the customers lifted their heads. Their noses moved first.

"Sera. Time for a tasting." I opened the box. "Free. Today only."

"Free?" Sera arched an eyebrow. "A merchant giving things away — has your brain rotted…"

"It's bait," I said. "Taste it once, and from the second time, they'll pay."

Sera studied me for a moment.

"…You've got a knack for selling stuff."

The first woman to bite went wide-eyed. She stopped mid-chew.

"What… is this?"

The crunch. The juice of the meat. The batter. A combination this world simply didn't have — everything on this continent was chicken boiled or roasted.

"Give me another piece." The woman beside her reached out. "I'll pay. How much?"

Sera called a price lightning-fast. Merchant reflexes.

"Two silver coins a piece."

The customer opened her purse without a moment's hesitation.

I did the math in my head. Two silver coins was a knight's monthly salary in this district. Per piece.

Sell one whole chicken, and a knight surrendered an entire month's wages to fried batter. And yet the customers paid smiling. Their monthly pay was vanishing to the bone, and their faces were happy.

On Earth, chicken was a ten-thousand-won midnight snack. Here, it was a luxury that bit a whole social class off the bone.

"Let's boil the ramyun too." I handed Sera the packets. "All you need is hot water."

Sera turned the packet over.

"This red powder… is seasoning?"

"Only a little. It might be a bit strong for this world's stomachs─"

Sera put it all in.

Merchants don't listen to anybody.

When the red broth came to a boil, the entire tavern swallowed in unison. The spicy smell clawed straight up the nostrils.

"Five silver a bowl." Sera declared.

"Are you insane?" a customer shouted. "…Give me two bowls anyway."

Insane prices, selling like madness. The first customer gulped down a mouthful and burst into tears.

"It burns…" she sniffled. "It's so hot… so why can't I stop eating…"

"That's Shin Ramyun," I nodded. "It's hell, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but you keep knocking on the door."

The eight day-drinkers became twenty before anyone noticed. The woman from the next shop came over following the smell. The laundry woman arrived with wet hands.

For the first time in its existence, a line formed outside The Wet Boot.

Sera was counting silver when her hands stopped.

"Hey." She looked at me. "This is genuinely insane."

"We agreed to split the profits."

"Yeah, but I didn't think it'd be like…" Sera swept up the mound of silver. "Fifteen years in business, and today is the best day I've ever had."

Her counting hands sped up slightly. For a moment, a real expression flickered across that languid, easygoing face — surprise. Then the ease smoothed over it again. Smoothing things over seemed to be a habit with her.

"You," she grinned, "are merchandise. And you don't sell merchandise like that. You keep it close."

"I'm a person, though."

"A person-shaped treasure." Sera wagged a finger. "The most expensive thing in this trade is someone who's a person and can't be bought."

I laughed too. But this wasn't a laughing matter.

The system had been flashing a red light for a while now. It meant the bill had arrived.

Oh.

I'd summoned the chicken and ramyun on credit.

The system ran on prepaid funds, and if your balance was empty it charged it negative and made you pay it back through deliveries.

It felt exactly like being a rider behind on card payments — the installments coming out before the paycheck ever landed.

Worse, the Quick Service lock really stung. Instant-teleport delivery, my one and only emergency exit. Locked because I was in the red.

In debt, I couldn't even run away.

The system was savagely, brutally realistic.

"What's wrong?" Sera asked. "Your face looks terrible."

"…I'm in debt. To the system."

"A merchant afraid of debt? Unacceptable." Sera flicked a silver coin; it spun ringing through the air. "Debt's just something you pay off. And you've got plenty to pay it with."

She caught the coin on the back of her hand.

"This tavern is now your branch."

One base acquired.

One debt acquired too.

This world was so fair. It took exactly as much as it gave.

When the tavern finally quieted down, Sera brought a bird in through the back door.

A messenger hawk with a silver communication charm on its ankle. Feathers blacker than night.

"Ducal crest." Sera held it out. "Looks like it's for you."

"How can you tell?"

"A fancy bird like this doesn't come to drunks." Sera shrugged. "Take it. I'll tactfully give you some room."

She strolled to the far side of the counter — listening the whole time while pretending not to. The fake nonchalance again.

The moment I touched the charm, Lena's voice flowed out like ice.

"You're alive."

"Thanks to you."

"The palace knights can't move today." Lena said. "House Aska has filed a formal objection on the grounds of 'male custody jurisdiction.' Procedural review has them tied up for three days."

Politics. Buying time with paperwork instead of blades.

"For the knights to 'secure' you now, they'd have to fight the dukedom in court first." Lena's voice went cold. "I've made things inconvenient for them. Three days. Establish yourself within them."

"…Thank you. Really."

"Thank me?" She cut herself off short. "It's the contract."

But for a contract, her voice lingered a little too long.

For a moment, the line went quiet. Only her breathing came through.

"Kang Dohyun."

"Yes."

"Article one." She said. "Protection. ─ Effective, even remotely."

The line cut.

The Ice Duchess's daughter was holding the line for me from two districts away. No sword. Not even her face. Just a bundle of paperwork.

Only then did I realize — that was the most terrifying weapon in this world.

After sending the bird back, I opened the system gallery. It was there, as predicted.

The sighting reports were already up. But this time, no coordinates.

Sera hadn't even been able to see the screen over my shoulder, yet she caught it anyway.

"The back alleys don't hold coordinates well." She said, still wiping glasses. "The lanes are an anthill. That's why I told you it's a good place to hide."

"…So that's why Lena sent me here."

"That ducal brat's got a good head on her." Sera smirked. "She buried you where nobody can see. The safest way possible."

Only then did I understand why Lena had chosen this place.

Merchandise that gets sold the moment it's seen should be kept where it can't be seen.

That was the Ice Duchess's daughter's way of expressing affection.

Night fell. The last customers drained out, and Sera barred the door.

Twice, for good measure.

Just the two of us in the tavern. Sera, mid-way through settling the silver, tossed something onto the counter with a clatter.

A key.

"Second floor." She said lazily. "There's a room empty. Haven't used it in years, but the bed's fine."

I looked at the key. Old brass.

"…You're letting me sleep here?"

"Can't have a hunted kid sleeping in the gutter." Sera propped her chin, and those easygoing eyes went just slightly lazy. "But."

"But?"

"You walk up those stairs on your own two feet." She smiled. "I don't drag anyone up. I have no hobby of pulling men in without manners."

"…What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means." Sera leaned her elbow on the counter. "I'll be down here wiping glasses. Nights get lonely on my hands."

That tone — I'd heard something like it before. The same grain as what Lena had said that first night. That nothing taken by force would ever truly be mine.

The women of this world all handled me so carefully. Not because I was a National Treasure — because I was a person. Faces that wanted me, but refused to take me by force.

That, apparently, was this continent's idea of courtesy.

Sera flicked a glance toward the stairs. Above them, lamplight leaked through the crack of a door. Someone had already lit it for me.

"There's a room empty, you know." She slid the key across with her fingertips. "You're really not coming up?"

I picked up the key. The metal was cold.

But the lamplight leaking from the second floor was warm.

I took the first step.

The stairs creaked.