#Next day...
Arth returned just before sunset.
He looked tired, but not worn out. Dust clung to his cloak from long roads and a few muddy paths. Two days of low-tier quests—routine work, enough to raise his adventurer rank without too much risk.
He wasn't expecting anything new when he reached the diner.
The door opened with a soft creak.
His boots crossed the threshold—and he paused.
The change was obvious. The air smelled cleaner. Warmer. The faint scent of polished wood and something lightly fried hung in the quiet room.
Tables were arranged neatly. Sturdy pinewood, all matched. Chairs evenly spaced. The floor was swept and oiled, catching the evening light through the front windows. It didn't feel makeshift anymore.
Behind the counter, Woon was adjusting a shelf, his sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He glanced over. "You're back already?"
Arth stepped in and closed the door behind him.
"Ran a few quests. Just enough to bump my rank."
He looked around again, slower this time.
"You really got it all set up."
Woon gave a short nod.
"Figured it was time."
Woon set the cloth aside and jerked his head toward the stairs.
"Come on. I'll show you the upstairs."
Arth gave the room one last glance, then followed without a word.
The stairs creaked lightly under their boots. The smell changed as they climbed—less like food, more like varnished wood and faint incense. It felt quieter already.
At the landing, Woon opened the door and gestured him in.
Arth stepped through—and his pace slowed.
The upstairs dining hall was quiet. Too quiet for a tavern. The kind of quiet you didn't break without thinking twice.
The chandelier overhead cast a soft amber glow, its glass arms shaped like curling leaves, each holding a flickering magic crystal. Light pooled gently over dark polished floors, broken only by shadows tucked in the corners. No harsh light. No clutter.
A wide carpet stretched from door to far wall—maroon, embroidered with a crest-like pattern in deep gold thread. It sank underfoot with just enough give to quiet their steps. Definitely imported. Probably expensive.
Five tables. No more.
Each table was draped in thick red velvet, its edges stitched with golden filigree that shimmered subtly when the light hit at an angle. The chairs were tall-backed and upholstered, padded in dark fabric with brass studs lining the trim. The walls had elegant sconces holding slow-burning candles, spaced evenly between sections of rich paneling. One corner even held a discreetly placed folding screen—just decorative enough to hint at privacy.
The windows weren't thrown open like downstairs. Here, they were shuttered halfway, letting in narrow beams of natural light that cut across the tables in soft strips. Everything here seemed deliberate. Measured. Controlled.
Arth's fingers brushed one of the tablecloths. The velvet was smooth, not worn. He caught himself checking his boots for dirt.
"You really went all out," he murmured.
Woon stepped beside him, quiet and confident.
"This floor's not for the usual crowd. It's for the ones who think presentation is half the meal."
Arth looked around again.
"Only five tables?"
"Exactly," Woon said. "You don't want them thinking they've been squeezed in. This place isn't for filling seats. It's for making sure the people who sit here feel like they shouldn't be disturbed."
He crossed to a sideboard near the wall and picked up two polished wooden boards, the menus freshly carved and lacquered.
"Split the menu. Ground floor's open to anyone. This one's invitation by wallet."
He handed both boards to Arth.
**Menu A – Ground Floor**
**Food**
* French Fries — 10 copper
* KFC Chicken — 20 copper
* Veg Sandwich — 10 copper
* Non-Veg Sandwich — 20 copper
* Onion Rings — 5 copper
**Drinks**
* Pawn's Wine — 10 silver
**Menu B – First Floor**
**Food**
* Steak — 25 silver
* French Fries — 10 copper
* KFC Chicken — 20 copper
* Veg Sandwich — 10 copper
* Non-Veg Sandwich — 20 copper
* Onion Rings — 5 copper
**Drinks**
* Pawn's Wine — 10 silver
* Soldier's Wine — 1 gold
* General's Wine — 10 gold
* King's Wine — 1 platinum
___________
After reading both menus, Arth took a long breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. His eyes ran down the item list again, lingering on the numbers beside each name.
"Ten silver… one gold… one *platinum*?" he muttered.
He set the wooden menu boards down on the table, glancing at Woon with a raised brow, but said nothing.
Woon crossed his arms, calm as ever. "So, let me elaborate," he said, stepping beside him. "I gave it a lot of thought. And after looking around, weighing what this city has—and what it doesn't—I came to a decision."
He tapped the top of the first board, marked **Menu A**, the one with the simpler fare and humbler prices.
"The ground floor is going to be open to everyone. Adventurers, travelers, families, merchants—anyone who walks through the door with a few coins and an appetite."
Woon paused, then motioned toward the first floor they now stood on. "But this floor? First floor's different. It's for the kind of people who want more than food. Nobles, rich merchants, knights looking to show off. Anyone who wants to eat somewhere quiet and expensive—and wants others to *see* them doing it."
Arth followed his gaze across the room: velvet drapes, rich red carpets, gold-trimmed tablecloths, even a polished chandelier overhead casting warm, flattering light. The whole place felt… designed.
Woon moved toward the railing overlooking the stairwell.
"Now, for food—downstairs we'll be serving dishes no one in this world has ever tasted. Stuff like French fries, fried chicken, sandwiches, onion rings."
Arth's brow lifted slightly. "They've never had fried food here?"
"Nope," Woon said, shaking his head. "They boil. They roast. Sometimes they bake. But no one's dropped something into hot oil on purpose. Not yet."
He gave a small grin. "Which means we're not just serving food—we're reinventing cravings."
"Even I've never tried some of this," Arth admitted. "You sure it's that good?"
"Oh, you'll see," Woon said with confidence. "The crunch, the salt, the heat. Once they get a taste, it'll become addictive. Especially when it's cheap enough to come back for."
He turned toward the side counter and opened a small crate beneath it.
"As for drinks—this world only has ale and mead. And neither are exactly 'premium.' But I saw grapes in the market. Big, ripe ones. No one here's thought to turn them into wine yet."
"So you made wine?"
"Exactly. Well—Jake and Tyson will make it in batches. I'm naming it *Pawn Wine*. It'll be the base drink—cheap, fruity, easy to drink. And since the locals don't even know what wine is yet, they won't be able to reverse-engineer it right away."
Arth tilted his head. "That name's a bit dramatic."
"It sets the theme," Woon said with a shrug. "Downstairs food is common but new. Pawn Wine fits that vibe."
He stepped closer to the menu again and pointed to the second board—**Menu B**.
"This is where things change. On this floor, we've only placed five tables. That's intentional. Limited seating, quiet atmosphere. The fewer guests we serve, the more special it feels."
"And the menu?"
"Mostly the same dishes—but here, they're presented like luxury." He gave a small smile. "One exclusive item though. Something only available on the first floor."
Arth leaned closer. His eyes settled on the lone new listing.
**Steak – 25 silver.**
He raised an eyebrow. "That's the big deal? Just a steak?"
Woon chuckled. "Not just a steak. A perfectly cut, perfectly cooked piece of meat, made using A-rank cooking skill. Every step—heat, timing, seasoning—is nailed down. No guesswork."
He reached under the counter again and pulled out a small wooden box. Inside were two glass bottles—dark, unmarked, gleaming with imported mystery.
"And the real kicker? Sauces. Things they've never tasted. Soy sauce, garlic butter glaze, even a hint of pepper they've never smelled before. Got them all through my shopping skill."
Arth's expression shifted slightly. "Alright. That does change things."
Woon grinned. "Exactly. It's not just food—it's a controlled first impression. One bite, and they'll think it's something only someone *important* is allowed to eat."
Woon stepped away from the counter and moved to the tall cabinet tucked in the corner. The doors opened with a soft click, revealing four dark-glass bottles resting in padded wooden grooves. They gleamed under the warm ceiling light—sleek, label-less, deliberate.
"These," he said, pulling two out carefully and setting them on the table, "are the drinks I'm serving upstairs. Bought them directly through my shopping skill. Took some trial and error to find the right ones, but I got it just right."
He returned for the other two and placed them down in a neat line beside the first.
Arth leaned forward. "No labels?"
"No need. These aren't for the common shelf," Woon said, reaching for a clean tray from the nearby shelf. He placed four slender wine glasses on it, then set it gently on the table between them.
"One for each." He pointed. "Pawn. Soldier. General. King."
Arth blinked. "You named them after... chess pieces?"
"Ranks," Woon said. "Flavors go up in order. Strength, depth, complexity. Even the color shifts. Watch."
He uncorked the first bottle—*Pawn*—and poured. A light red filled the glass, bright and clear, like morning light through red silk.
"Pawn wine," Woon said. "Easy to drink. Clean finish. No frills, but surprisingly smooth."
He poured *Soldier* next—a darker red with a thicker body and a subtle swirl that caught the light.
"This one's bolder. Bit of spice. It lingers just enough to make you remember it."
Next came *General*. The wine poured like velvet, deeper still, with an earthy aroma that settled in the air between them.
"This one's layered," Woon said, "Changes depending on how fast—or slow—you drink it. The finish is smoky but gentle. It tricks you into thinking it's better than it is. And maybe it is."
Then the final bottle. *King*. The liquid slid into the glass like ink—dark, rich, with a shimmer at the rim like burnished ruby.
"This one doesn't shout. Doesn't need to. It's smooth, almost silent. The kind of wine that makes you forget you were tired."
He gestured to the glasses. "Try them. One by one."
Arth raised the *Pawn* glass first, gave it a cautious sniff, then sipped. Light. Crisp. Simple. He gave a small nod.
Then *Soldier*. The moment it touched his tongue, there was a warmth—slow and steady, like sinking into a hot spring after a long day. His eyes flicked up, approving.
*General* was more complex. The flavor shifted as he swallowed—bold at the start, unexpectedly mellow at the finish.
But *King*—*King* was different. Arth took a slow sip, and silence followed. For several seconds, he didn't move. The world softened. The chair beneath him suddenly felt deeper. His shoulders sank half an inch without permission.
He lowered the glass, exhaled, and stared out at nothing.
"…Alright," he said, voice low. "Now I get the name."
Woon didn't speak. He just leaned on the table and watched him process it.
A moment passed. Then Arth straightened and gave a small shake of his head.
"I understand the names now," he muttered, then frowned slightly. "But aren't the prices a bit too much?"
Woon shook his head without hesitation. "Nope. Not even close."
"Ten silver for the cheapest bottle, and a platinum for the King's wine?" Arth asked, still clearly trying to wrap his head around it.
Woon met his gaze calmly. "Yes, they didn't cost me much—but that doesn't mean I should sell them cheap."
He reached across the table and tapped the menu lightly.
"Think about it. If something tastes amazing but costs less than a bowl of stew, how valuable can it really feel to a noble?"
Arth opened his mouth, then paused. The logic held.
"Up here," Woon continued, "people don't want what's affordable. They want what feels *reserved*. I'll sell it as a rare product, hard to make, hard to replicate. That justifies the price."
Arth gave a short sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Fine. I guess."
Woon smirked. "Don't guess. Drink."
Arth raised the King's glass again. "Can I get more of this?"
"Sure," Woon said, pouring him another serving without blinking. Then, as Arth leaned back again, enjoying the warmth and silence—
Woon thought to himself, *Soldier costs me maybe a thousand yen. General's four thousand. King? Ten thousand tops. Even that only came to ten silver a bottle here. But... I don't need to tell Arth that. Let him enjoy it.*
Outside the window, dusk had painted the street in gold and violet. A gentle breeze stirred the red curtains. Upstairs, silence lingered like a secret shared between friends.
Woon glanced around one last time and let out a small breath.
"Looks good," he murmured. "Let's see how tomorrow goes."
To be continued.....