The Reclusive Alchemist's Secret
In the Glissen Kingdom, Saturdays and Sundays were public holidays. That said, for commoners scraping by on self-employment or monster hunting, the distinction between weekdays and weekends hardly mattered. If anything, weekends brought a bustle to blacksmiths and general stores as adventurers geared up for their expeditions. Cecilia's shop was no exception. If it had been a bakery instead, it might've been dead quiet on weekends—at least, that's how it was back in the modern world when I worked part-time gigs.
A steady stream of adventurers frequented this general store. The wares looked ordinary at a glance: simple torches for light, salves for wounds, pouches that clipped onto clothes, basic repair kits, and so on—tools to make adventuring a bit easier.
What set this place apart, though, was the regular supply of Recovery Potions (Low-grade). The absolute bottom tier was the lowest-grade ones. When I got booted from the Rosikesta family, the baron's wife took pity on me and gave me one of those. Even then, my whole body throbbed like hell. They were basically for emergency first aid—C- or D-rank adventurers chugging them to escape a fight or patch up after the dust settled.
Those lowest-grade potions could be whipped up easily from raw materials, so even some grizzled veterans from the front lines knew the recipe. But starting from low-grade, you needed real expertise—basic magical knowledge and such—which meant mages or alchemists with a passion for it handled production.
Mages mostly did it to deepen their research, so in practice, alchemists cranked out over 90% of the supply.
So where did a humble shopkeeper like Cecilia source her low-grade potions? The answer was ridiculously straightforward: she had a connection with a local alchemist. Two days ago, curiosity got the better of me, and I asked her outright. She explained that she bought up cheap materials—especially monster loot—from adventurers and shipped them over. The alchemist churned out the expected batch and sent it all back in bulk. Cecilia even made house calls to pick them up and drop off materials.
I asked how she scored such an exclusive deal. Turns out, she'd crossed paths with the alchemist by chance years ago. The guy was a total shut-in who never left home, so she made the offer. Cecilia got top-quality potions; the hermit got materials delivered without stepping outside, free to focus on brewing. Win-win.
She even mentioned occasionally tossing in food or fruit with the shipments, hinting at a personal friendship too. No wonder she could afford art academy for her commoner daughter and impulse-buy stacks of clothes for me—these potions were the golden goose.
Oh, right—one crucial detail I almost forgot: that hikikomori alchemist was a woman. That's the important part.
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Come weekend morning, I woke earlier than usual, but Cecilia was already gone from her room. Right—last night she'd said something like, "I'll be out at dawn, so don't freak out. Just hang with Eli, okay?" She must've headed to that alchemist woman's place for the fresh batch.
The shop would be slammed all day. Cecilia had her hands full. I couldn't help much yet, but my wounds were nearly healed. By Monday, I should be back on my feet, right? I was itching to get some fresh air, stretch my legs—my body felt all antsy.
I rolled out of bed, ditched the pajamas, and slipped into comfy loungewear. Heading to the living room, I spotted Eli sprawled on the sofa. She usually tied her hair into low twin tails, but today it hung loose—probably no plans to go out. Her orange locks, just like her mom's, swayed freely.
Our eyes met, and she flashed a bright smile. Playing my usual innocent act, I greeted her casually, per her request.
"Morning, Eli sis. Sleep well?"
"Oh, Raoul's up? Hehe, I slept great. You?"
"Yeah, me too... Uh, Cecilia went to that alchemist's place, right?"
"Probably. She always swings by that sister's house on weekends for potions. Oh, right—Mom said she made breakfast, so let's eat together?"
"Sure, sis."
We moved to the table. Glancing sideways as Eli got up from the sofa, I noted she was in her usual dolphin pants. The one change: that beige camisole Cecilia bought her, a size up from before. No more tits straining against the fabric. What a waste.
We sat and tucked into bread and stew for a simple breakfast. Midway through, Eli—seated across from me, munching her bread—gazed at me intently before speaking up.
"Mm... gulp. Raoul, how's the wound?"
"Uh... Feels all better. I should be able to help at the shop by Monday? Cecilia said just rest this week..."
"Yeah? No pain anywhere?"
"Nah, I'm good."
"I see..."
Eli set down her bread, eyes sparkling like she'd hatched a plan.
"Raoul. Got anything planned after breakfast?"
"Plans? Not really..."
"Perfect, then..."
Leaning forward, she brought her face close, eyes twinkling like a kid with a fun idea.
"How about... we finish eating and do some drawing together?"
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First off, my drawing skills weren't half bad—better than average, even. Nothing pro-level like art school kids, but solid.
I got decent because as a kid, I obsessively copied stuff: cards from some king game, tanks, weapons—all over A4 paper. Gridded it out like XY coordinates, so the quality held up, and it built my skills.
Whatever—who cares? I snapped my cheeks to refocus. Now I was in Eli's room. Same wallpaper and vibe as Cecilia's—nothing fancy. I'd half-expected girly frills like back home, but nah, that was silly.
Differences? Cecilia's had faint makeup and perfume scents; this was mostly odorless. Slightly smaller than a bedroom, but still spacious for one. Single bed against the window wall, bookshelf and drawers opposite. Books crammed the shelves tight.
"Hm. hum~"
Eli hummed cheerfully, dragging two easels from a corner. Art stands for holding canvases, like those wooden ladders from art class where the teacher goes "see? Easy!"
She set one in front of me, one for herself. Then climbed onto a desk chair to grab white canvases from the top shelf, fumbling a bit—"Mm!"—fingers slipping between sheets.
Gulp...
From my low angle looking up, her dolphin pants hugged that plump, jiggly ass—cleft line clinging perfectly. Her smooth thighs wobbled unsteadily, sending soft ripples through the flesh underneath.
If I hadn't spent days gauging her personality, I'd swear she was shaking it to tempt me. Nah, she was pure airhead—knew some stuff, but zero body awareness. Maybe saw me as a comfy little brother. Similar height, close age, but already so developed... Genetics, huh?
That irregular jiggle was driving me nuts. I wanted to grab those cheeks from behind, nudge the crotch aside, and pound her pussy raw right then.
While my mind wandered, Eli stayed focused, muttering, "One... two... Got 'em."
She hopped down with two big canvases, slotting one into each easel. Then pencils and erasers from a case, brushes from her academy tube. Drawer slid open—scrrch—revealing round palettes smeared with colorful paints, Bob Ross style.
She handed me one.
"Here. I prepped these paints two days ago thinking it'd be fun to draw with you. Probably all dry by now."
"Thanks, sis..."
I poked the paints—yep, rock-hard.
"So... we just paint with brushes now?"
"One last thing: fill this bucket from the bathroom. These are water-mix paints."
"Oh? I saw street artists painting straight from the tube once—no water."
"You've seen street painters? Lots from my academy. That's oil paint—super thick. Mom would flip if we used it here. Hehe, pricey stuff..."
"Gotcha..."
Art supplies weren't cheap, even modern ones. Oils especially—layer, blend, fix, gone in a flash.
We fetched water. Setup done, Eli beamed energetically.
"Alright... Oh, right. Raoul, you've never drawn before? Sis'll show you how."
I knew the basics, but played along, staying quiet.
……………………Wait.
Come to think of it, I hadn't used hypnosis in days. Time to hit the daughter too? A boy and girl our age drawing alone... Kinda hot setup, actually.
"Sis."
"Yeah, Raoul?"
Eli approached with tools to teach basics, eyes on me. Seizing the moment, I raised both hands and clapped toward her.