Lena's room was lit by a single desk lamp.
Stacks of paper were spread across her table, filled with half-written notes, diagrams, and crossed-out ideas. Her quill moved fast, scratching across parchment as she filled another page.
She wasn't thinking about being a noble.
She wasn't thinking about the guild either.
She was thinking about customers.
(Advertising isn't about being loud, she thought. It's about being noticed.)
Lixia's inventions were good. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that no one in this world understood what they were supposed to do with them.
A toaster, a coffee maker, an electric fan—people bought them once out of curiosity… then forgot about them.
(They don't know how to integrate it into daily life, she thought. So they don't feel dependent on it.)
She wrote:
> Goal: Turn Lixia's inventions from "novelties" into "daily necessities."
She tapped her quill against the page.
(In my old world, this would be brand positioning.)
If people only saw them as luxury toys, demand would stay limited. But if people started seeing them as things that saved time, reduced labor, or improved comfort…
Then even nobles would feel awkward not owning one.
She flipped to another page.
> Target audiences:
Nobles → prestige and convenience
Merchants → productivity
Commoners → time-saving and durability
(Same product. Different messaging.)
She sketched a rough idea of a stall display.
Clean table. Demonstrations. A person actually using the device instead of just selling it.
(No one buys what they don't understand.)
If someone watched coffee being brewed in seconds instead of boiling water for half an hour… they wouldn't need convincing.
Lena kept writing, barely noticing the world around her.
---
A knock came at her door.
"Lena?" Thomas called. "Mother told me to bring you snacks."
No response.
He frowned and knocked again, louder.
"Hey. You in there?"
Still nothing.
(Is she asleep?) he thought irritably.
With a small sigh, Thomas opened the door.
Inside, Lena was still at her desk, hunched forward, quill moving nonstop. Papers covered almost every surface. She didn't even look up.
Thomas stopped in place.
"…What the heck…"
He stepped inside quietly and walked behind her.
That was when he saw what she was writing.
Charts. Customer categories. Pricing notes. Display ideas. Short slogans written and crossed out.
He stared.
(Wait… that's…)
His eyes widened slightly.
(She's planning her first sales strategy…)
A strange feeling settled in his chest.
Father hadn't been joking.
When James said Lena would be the heir, he meant it.
He even let her register as a merchant.
At twelve.
Thomas glanced at her, still completely focused, not noticing him at all.
(She's actually serious about this…)
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then he smiled.
(…I guess I should be proud.)
Seeing his little sister working that hard—without complaining, without anyone forcing her—it felt strangely comforting.
Then his smile turned a little crooked.
(And hey, if she becomes the heir… I'm free.)
No endless business training.
No being dragged into guild meetings.
No pressure to run the family.
He could finally focus on politics, like he always wanted.
(This is perfect, he thought. Lena runs the business, I run the government someday.)
Right on cue—
"Achoo!"
Lena sneezed.
Thomas jumped slightly. "Bless you."
She blinked, finally looking up.
"…Huh?"
She turned in her chair. "Thomas? Why are you in my room?"
He lifted the plate. "Mother told me to bring you snacks. You didn't answer, so I came in."
He walked over and set the plate beside her.
"Don't stay up too late. You'll get sick."
Lena raised an eyebrow. "What's with you? You're acting weird."
Thomas smirked. "Am I? Maybe I'm just impressed by a tiny business tyrant working this hard."
"Hey!"
He laughed and turned toward the door.
"Don't overwork yourself, future merchant queen."
She stared at his back, confused.
"…Weirdo."
But she took a cookie anyway.
And went back to writing.