I Won the Bid for the Tuck Shop
Quite a bit of time had passed since I first arrived in this other world.
Flap-flap!
And right on cue, a messenger pigeon came winging my way, delivering a sealed envelope. One look at the seal pressed into the wax told me everything I needed to know.
"It's here!"
Swelling with anticipation, I tore the envelope open and examined the letter inside. I skipped the perfunctory greetings and skimmed straight through the body until, at last, my eyes landed on the words I'd been waiting for.
Congratulations.
You, who did so-and-so and such-and-such….
…have hereby acquired the right to open a stall at the Academy Tuck Shop.
"Yes!"
I whooped out loud. I had won the bid to open the Academy tuck shop — the thing I'd been dreaming of!
Now that it's actually happening, my hands are shaking a little.
But when it came to my ability, Online Shopping, nothing was impossible!
No, it wasn't some world-shattering cheat skill that would make history books tremble — and no, I didn't have a scrap of talent that would let me enroll at the Academy as a proper student — but who ever said a man had to become the strongest in whatever world he landed in?
Running a shop at the Academy meant raking in money hand over fist while rubbing shoulders with the future leaders of the empire. This was the answer my cunning survival instincts had arrived at after much deliberation: my own way of making a living in this world.
"Heh heh…."
Just you wait, Academy! I'm about to blow your souls clean out of your bodies with the gourmet food and consumer goods of my old world!
Fist clenched triumphantly in the air, I was practically radiating smugness.
Crrrunch.
And with that very fist, my precious Academy admission permit crumpled up like a losing lottery ticket.
"Ah, damn it."
This was not supposed to get wrinkled. I hastily smoothed the paper flat again, but creases that deep don't just vanish because you ask them nicely.
"Oh!"
True to its reputation as the empire's finest institution for grooming talent, the dormitory housing was genuinely impressive. Sure, I was now affiliated with the Academy, forbidden from setting foot outside without permission, but I couldn't have cared less.
It wasn't as if I had anywhere particular to go out there anyway. If anything, wandering off and running into bandits or wild beasts — and getting myself horrifically murdered — would have been the real tragedy.
Demonic beasts go without saying.
Honestly, if you asked me to name the safest place in this entire world, it would be the Academy. This is where the children of the most powerful families across the empire are educated; nowhere else boasts security this airtight.
For a commoner like me, with neither aura nor mana, there could be no more perfect haven. No street thugs demanding protection money, either. And no dealing with the antics of illiterate, uncivilized medieval thugs.
Best of all, Academy students are almost entirely nobility — which means I could sell my goods to those silver-spoon brats at premium prices!
This was nothing short of paradise on earth. My otherworld life was about to begin anew at the Academy — by a slightly unusual route, sure, but begun nonetheless!
"…I take it something wonderful has happened?"
A slender silver-haired beauty, her age impossible to pin down, was gazing at me and posing the question. The metal-framed glasses weren't quite my taste, but without them I'd have mistaken her for a noblewoman rather than a headmistress. That's how captivating she was.
"You could say that. I'm so happy to be opening a shop at the Academy, I could fly."
"…And yet the condition of your permit doesn't look all that wonderful, does it."
The Headmistress held up the permit the messenger pigeon had brought, giving it a little shake. Streaked across the paper, like faint stripes, were the creases I'd ultimately failed to erase.
"Ah, that's from me folding and unfolding it over and over to double-check on the way here. I was just that excited."
"Hmm…."
Perhaps it was because she'd spent years facing down lying students as Headmistress, but she didn't look even remotely convinced.
"Well, a magically stamped seal can't be forged. In any case, welcome sincerely to the Academy, Mr. Dante."
Dante.
That was the name I'd given myself after arriving in this world. The reason wasn't anything grand. It happened to be the name of a writer I admired — and besides, it sounds cool, doesn't it?
In any case, here my name was Dante, and I had no family name. A commoner doesn't get one of those.
Now that I think about it, though….
Being called a member of the Academy by a mere tuck shop owner — what an honor. Something felt off, though, so I tilted my head.
"I did a great deal of deliberating, you know."
"Deliberating about what?"
"Your predecessor at the shop was an Academy graduate, Mr. Dante — a high-tier mage who'd distinguished himself on the battlefield."
Gulp.
I barely managed to close my open mouth. But I couldn't stay quiet for what came next.
"And if you look at the résumés of the others who applied for this bid…."
A magnate running a major trading company that even the merchant-saturated East would envy. The second son of a noble house with a stranglehold on the empire's liquor distribution. There was even a retired soldier who'd once served as the Imperial Army's chief of supply.
"Mm…."
Was it just me, or had my chair suddenly turned into a bed of nails?
Damn it, the application requirements never said anything about credentials!
I'd applied figuring I could somehow cover my deficiencies with my bonus skill, but now I was genuinely curious: why on earth had she chosen me, without having seen a hint of my ability?
"That's precisely what you'll have to show me, starting now."
The answer that came back made my eyes go round.
"Your predecessor, you see, lasted less than a month before quitting?"
I'm sorry, what?
My mouth stretched into a long, dumb line as both corners drooped.
"The Academy tuck shop is a tougher post than most people imagine," the Headmistress said with a faint smile.
No, wait — why?
Back in my school days, the person I envied most in the entire building was the lady who ran the school store. The customers were kids in their prime growth spurts, so sales could never be low, and you only had to work during breaks — I'd genuinely believed no sweeter job existed. Wasn't the most envied soldier in the army always the one running the PX?
That's a dream gig, no?
The Academy being no pushover was one thing, but still….
"His ability was beyond question, and his diligence and sense of responsibility were never in doubt. And yet even that wasn't enough."
"Ah…."
As I let out a small groan, the Headmistress raised a single finger.
"Your trial period is one month."
"?"
"Prove to me, within that time, that you are qualified to run the tuck shop at this Academy."
A qualification test, out of nowhere? It seemed absurd, but listening to her reasoning, it made a certain sense.
"After all, there's no shortage of people lined up for the position."
Exactly as she said — the Academy had nothing whatsoever to lose.
Only then did the faint sting of regret set in.
Should I not have agreed so readily…?
The regret being: maybe I should have done my homework before coming.
But where in the world was I supposed to find intel like this?
The Academy is, for all intents and purposes, a core state-run educational institution. Its internal affairs are classified; you don't go blabbing them about.
Whatever. Spilt water's spilt water.
And honestly — even if I'd known in advance, was I really going to turn down the gig? The reason I could be this confident was simple: I had something to fall back on.
Never underestimate my bonus.
This was more than doable.
Let me take a moment to look back on when I first came to this world.
For professional reasons I can't go into detail, but before I died, I had been moonlighting as a convenience store owner. It was a cover identity, of sorts — and that experience was part of why I'd set my heart on running a tuck shop here.
Anyway, for reasons of a certain nature, I met my end and tumbled into a fantasy world I knew nothing about. And perhaps because my dying memories left an impression…
Ding!
As your otherworld bonus, you have obtained a skill!
Skill Name: Online Shopping
The ability I'd awakened also happened to be related to all of this.
Well, I suppose it made sense — a convenience store owner is just a retailer who buys goods and sells them on, and a tuck shop is one and the same, isn't it?
At first my reaction was, what the hell is going on? But I adapted to my new world in no time. Being trained to adjust anywhere at speed played its part, sure, but the real credit went to the Online Shopping ability.
So what is it, you ask? Simple. Put plainly, it's the ability to spend this world's currency to purchase items from the world I originally lived in.
You have purchased Cup Ramyun, Mild (Small) for 10 silver.
One silver is worth roughly a hundred won, which makes the conversion easy. A small mild cup ramyun costs about a thousand won back home, so the math checks out.
Better yet, apparently some process is applied to products as they cross over into this world: all the Korean text on the packaging gets omitted or rewritten into the local language. Meaning if students buy these products, they won't have to strain their eyes deciphering a foreign script or start asking suspicious questions. That one detail alone was a godsend.
Sluuurp.
I filled a cup from the hot water dispenser and waited the three minutes. Meanwhile, I made one more purchase.
You have purchased Braised Burdock Root Onigiri for 15 silver.
Don't ask me why a triangle rice ball you can demolish in three bites costs more than cup ramyen that comes with broth and noodles and fills you up for a whole meal. It's a question that bugged me even back in my old world.
Still, that was no reason to give up the eternal pairing of cup ramyun and a rice ball.
Whoa.
When I peeled open the lid at roughly the three-minute mark, steam billowed up in a soft cloud. Inside, I could see plump, perfectly cooked noodles floating in a clear broth.
Ohhh yes. Ramyun truth is and always will be the three-minute cook!
I fished up a big mouthful of noodles with my chopsticks and went straight in.
Mmm!
Each chew bounced with a springy, satisfying chewiness. Cooked to exactly the right point — not bloated and soggy, but not so underdone that the noodles squeaked between my teeth.
How would anyone in this world ever recreate this texture?
My hand darted straight for the onigiri, and I took a big bite. The white rice popped grain by grain against my teeth, while the braised burdock root offered up its mellow sweetness and savory saltiness, rounding out the seasoning. And then, just before swallowing, a sip of the ramyun broth.
I could taste, in its entirety, the labor of the corporate doctorates who'd engineered that umami-rich soy sauce base.
Ah, warmth.
My stomach felt settled even though I'd only drunk broth.
No matter how good this world's cuisine gets, it'll never catch up to modern food.
Spread out before me at that very moment was a veritable feast of flavors that simply cannot exist without MSG. And it required no fire. No chopping or prep. Not even any dishes to wash — eat your fill, toss everything in the trash, done.
Call yourselves apex predators all you want. Let's see you resist the tools of civilization.
I sipped down the very last drops of broth and nodded to myself in deep satisfaction.
The Headmistress had given me a month's grace, but I wasn't the least bit worried. I was absolutely certain the business would succeed — no crystal ball required.