Doll Street's Lessons in Commerce
There were only two university rules. The first was the right to survive. Every student had the right to their own life. No one could infringe on it without consent. The second was the right to possess. Every student had rights to what they owned. No one could take it without consent either.
I stared blankly at the page listing these rules. Only then did I understand why the city functioned at all. Mages weren't exactly the type to wander around like docile sheep. If someone was weaker, they'd kill them. If they had something good, they'd steal it. That was everyday life for them. I'd never understood how such people could coexist peacefully. But with these basic rules in place, it made sense.
Reading those words made my Seedling throb instinctively. I knew right away—this was a contract binding every student. Break it, and the tree forming your realm would rot from the inside. That must be why everyone quietly earned points and stayed alive.
I turned the page. The next section was surprisingly useful. The university was essentially a continent. Just as I'd glimpsed from on high with the professor's help before, it was all mountains forming a massive range. At the center, on the northernmost peak no one dared approach, stood the heart of it all. And it was surrounded by sea.
This sea was a vivid blue, they said. Its crisp mana unique to oceans even allowed people to live there. Bizarre stuff. How could a sea be blue? And habitable? As someone from an island, I could hardly believe it.
Page after page, next page. The thin booklet, maybe a hundred pages thick, took less than an hour to finish. Satisfied, I closed it. Then it crumbled to dust and vanished. Five hundred points, gone. I'd known it would disappear, but watching those points evaporate still left a bitter taste.
I hadn't planned to spend so much at first. I'd first heard the name Abyss Secret Society at a tavern. It kept popping up while I scrounged for info afterward. It was on the map too—a massive organization owning an entire city. Word was, they dealt in every scrap of information on the continent. They had a base in Stalactite City.
With some points to spare, I figured I'd check it out. True to an info guild, they knew a ton. Even I was in their files: new freshman this year, living in Professor Irian's tower, passed two lectures already. They didn't even ask why I was there. Just handed me a paper with my profile and a booklet.
That was the "University Primer for New Students" I'd just read. Stunned, I heard them say it was the most useful info I could buy within my points. Mesmerized, I bought it. And they were right. It was packed with university details—priceless for a newbie like me. Common knowledge to others, probably. But info like this was all just points in the end. They monopolized it as a powerhouse guild. That explained how they ruled one of the university's twelve cities.
The desire to earn points burned stronger inside me. I couldn't return to the tower yet. I needed more points. Sure, I'd made some selling lecture seats this time. But lectures were five-year gigs—steady income, but not enough. Relying on that alone meant no climbing to the next floor.
I thought of course registration. Even five thousand points was just the entry fee. Like my seats, without connections or more cash, nothing was guaranteed. Lucky for me, Professors Irian and Heisen had told me to sign up. Still, I needed a reliable way to farm points.
Sticking around the city these past two days wasn't just to learn about the university. I wanted to see how others made points. Sure, I indulged in some fine dining too. My palate, once stuck on ham and beer, had broadened. Monster meats and herb dishes drew gasps from me. I splurged points on cookbooks to study back home.
That extravagance left me with just three hundred points. Most mages took commissions. They came from the university, organizations, even individuals—all funneled through that commission broker I'd checked before. But that was small-time. And impossible for me right now.
Once back, I'd be tied to the tower: overseeing classes, managing it, crafting dolls, training overdue. No dashing out for quests. Wandering like others wasn't my style or specialty anyway.
So, leverage my strengths. I shot to my feet and burst out the inn door. Target: the shops where other dollmakers hung out.
The booklet even had a city map, marking the dollmakers' spot. I'd passed the area before. Time to steal their sales secrets.
Their shops huddled deep in the outskirts, where light barely reached. Entering the street, I saw dolls dangling lifelessly along the bridges. Beyond them, crammed in tiny buildings, the dollmakers formed their own guild of sorts.
I stepped into the biggest one. "Onui Doll Workshop"—a familiar name on the sign.
Opening the door, walls of dolls assaulted my eyes. No owner in sight. I wandered slowly. First up: a doll sweeping the shop. Simple structure—efficient motion, efficient magic, efficient materials. Pure efficiency distilled to the extreme. I was impressed.
I couldn't make dolls like that. Mine chased visible beauty. But this was worth emulating.
A rustle from the back, hidden by dolls. Someone emerged.
"A customer, eh."
A wrinkled old man, monocle over one eye, approached. I bowed in greeting. His mana pressure was faint—likely drained by age. I'd heard old students withered away like this. Could be me someday.
"Hello. Looking to buy a few dolls."
He eyed me up and down, gaze lingering on my fingertips. I fidgeted. Why scrutinize my hands?
"You handle dolls yourself. Why not use your own?"
I froze, speechless. How'd he know? Glancing at my hands—calluses faint, smooth like any mage's.
"How... did you know?"
"Trade secret. Don't ask."
He grinned slyly, fiddling with the cleaning doll I'd eyed. It disassembled perfectly in his hands, innards exposed.
"You wanted to take it apart. Look here instead."
"No, no. Why would I?"
He'd nailed me. Guilty, I waved it off and straightened up. He just chuckled.
My eyes locked on the exposed doll despite myself. That circuitry's elegance was mesmerizing.
"Well? Worth a look?"
I nodded dumbly. I'd thought it pure efficiency, but inside? Gorgeous. Beauty born from ruthless optimization.
I stared long, snapping out only when he spoke.
"New to the university, huh?"
"Yes, just enrolled this year."
"Explains the fresh face."
He pondered, pulling small dolls from the wall and offering them.
"A gift. Take 'em."
"No, really, it's fine."
His kindness unnerved me; I backed away. But he was quicker, tossing them into my arms. I caught them hastily.
"What's your name?"
"Ebron."
I answered blankly. What was happening? I'd come to scout rivals, not get freebies.
"I'm Mauro. Guildmaster of this doll street."
Not On? I glanced outside at the sign. He'd caught my look and laughed heartily.
"On's our guild name. Named for the founder. I'm guildmaster now, so I use it."
He reassembled the cleaning doll as he spoke.
"You're probably wondering why the kindness."
I nodded awkwardly. He glanced, then focused on the doll.
"Tradition: gift dolls to newbies. You're not guild, but you handle 'em. First new dollmaker in thirty years."
I bowed carefully in thanks. No sense refusing freebies.
He smiled as the reassembled doll hummed to life, smoother than before. More efficiency shaved off. Incredible.
"Off you go. Next time, say hi first."
He waved. The cleaning doll herded me out. Stunned, I stared at the dolls in my arms. Their weight proved it was real.
What the hell? I stashed them in my space pouch. Analyze later—he'd given them for that, clearly.
Surveying, I spotted other workshops. Ahem. I headed over. He'd seen through me, but might as well scout everything.
I slipped into others. All sold unique dolls. Luckily, no one else clocked my skills. Mauro's specialty, maybe. Relieved, I loaded up. Hundred points gone.
Back to the inn. Spent big—time for results. Holed up, disassembling.
Each circuit awed me. Mauro's screamed efficiency, mass-producible. Traces of easy scaling everywhere, minimal materials.
Another chased lightness, cloud-like. Ghost-material doll; glowing circuits traced beauty in air. How?
A tiny one, smaller than my nail. Dozens formed a mass, liquid-shifting. They linked circuits into massive magic arrays. Unimaginable effort.
Dolls galore, varied wildly. Took all night to dismantle. Each embodied a singular vision—beyond my imitation.
Dollmakers each pursued their path. Vast potential. I felt my inadequacies keenly. How long to match them? Another lifetime, matching my years so far.
Sighing at my lacking talent and time. But admiration aside, big problem: I'd bought to learn sales, not craft. These were too niche—unsellable. Few passersby on doll street explained the outskirts huddle. Why hadn't I noticed?
Pitiful points wasted. Well, insights gained—but not the goal.
Back to square one. Still, one takeaway: too unique. Maker's tastes dominated; tiny market. But enough to sustain shops. Who ignores these? Niche buyers kept them afloat.
Not enough for me. I craved more learning, more points. Tiny shops wouldn't cut it. Learn from their mistakes.
I reflected on my sales history. Shop with comfy, personal dolls. It worked, so I was content. Like them—my tastes masked as customer-friendly.
No more. How to sell more? Mass points? Memories drifted pre-shop: street hawking, ship odd jobs with dolls. Then, island memory.
Father's commission. What doll? Eyes widened. I made what he wanted. Poured effort in. Satisfied, he granted my off-island chance. My doll arts began there.
Instinct for profit then. Time and artisan pride smothered it—till now.
Revive it. Tailor dolls to buyers, add fitting functions. Differentiate from doll street easily.
But issue: glanced around cramped inn room. They had shops. I had zilch—no base, no rep. No street vending here. Classes soon.
Where? Eyes sharpened. Perfect spot: Professor Irian's tower. My home base. Two hundred students for her lecture. Dolls just for them. Irresistible ones.