By the time the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and golds, the Fat Lady—I mean, my Chubby Shop—had been emptied of almost everything I'd made that day.
Every bottle, jar, and neatly labeled cart of CHUBBY Ketchup, Shampoo, Soap, my magical concoctions, and various scent of conditioner had vanished faster than I could blink.
I was exhausted, my feet aching from hours of standing, moving, explaining, and occasionally dodging overenthusiastic villagers who clearly thought that free samples meant all you can carry.
And then, as if the universe hadn't already handed me enough chaos in one day, my scroll buzzed insistently. I snatched it up with a groan, wiping sweat from my brow.
It was Merchant Leonil. Oh, of course. He was practically begging through the glowing script, his words practically hopping off the scroll: "Three carts? Please, Seraphine! You cannot be serious!"
I sighed and typed back, my fingers flying over the runes. "Three carts. That's it. My essential oils and aloe vera are running low.
I cannot risk running out before the next batch."
There was a pause, then another flurry of messages.
He was suggesting sending dozens of carts of aloe vera, herbs, and who knows what else, probably things that would rot before reaching the capital.
And honestly? I didn't care—they were useless there, I know, I heard that aloe vera in this realm was nothing but useless plants and some herbs were just ordinary grass or plants that were expensive on earth and I wasn't going to overextend my stock.
But, because I do have a mind for business—and a flair for negotiation—I agreed on a fair trade.
A week from now, his supplies would arrive, but I would not sell in bulk to other merchants, he said and I agreed. This was my territory, my rules, my brand. I am Seraphine but I can talk about business.
The night itself was a whirlwind. Dinner was a blur, mostly because I was exhausted and probably radiated a mix of authority and frazzled exhaustion that kept everyone quiet.
Sir Alex, as always, was perfectly composed, sitting like a marble statue while my father—oh, that man—spoke at length about the arrival of more nobles, the overcrowded inns, and how the town might handle this influx.
I suggested—loudly and with full confidence, I might add—that we needed more inns, more shops, and more merchants.
After all, if my product was drawing crowds, other businesses would follow.
And if I was bringing in traffic, the town should capitalize on it.
Sir Canva was at the table too, frowning slightly, or maybe just admiring me—I can never tell with him. He didn't comment, which in his language usually meant he was impressed. Or calculating.
Either way, it gave me a tiny thrill, which I ignored, because I had towns to plan and products to stock.
The villagers, I noticed, were buzzing outside, talking about the new business opportunities coming their way.
Some were laughing, some were plotting little market stalls of their own, and some were just staring at the empty shop with a mixture of awe and envy.
That was exactly the reaction I wanted. A busy, thriving town meant business, and business meant power—and let's be honest, I loved having both.
By the time the candles had burned low and the servants were already yawning at their tasks, I finally sank into a chair, rubbing my temples.
The air smelled of garlic, herbs, and faintly of CHUBBY PRODUCTS—my little empire, my chaos, my pride.
And yes, I was tired, but nothing beat the rush of seeing my ideas come to life, even if it left me a little frazzled and a little more sarcastic than usual.
I leaned back, letting the last of the day's chaos roll off my shoulders. Tomorrow, we'd start again: preparing for the noble arrivals, ensuring the inn could handle more guests, and maybe, just maybe, finding a way to make Sir Canva admit, even subtly, that he was impressed with the little whirlwind that was me.
Because let's be honest—if I could run a town, a shop, and a noble's expectations all at once, I could probably run the world. But for tonight?
Tonight, I let the chatter, the clanging of pots, the excited villagers, and the promise of new merchants lull me into a rare, exhausted satisfaction.
And yes, tomorrow, the real fun begins.
******
For the next few weeks, my life became a whirlwind of plans, instructions, and endless "yes, do it like this" moments.
The Chubby Factory hummed with activity almost day and night, producing CHUBBY Ketchup, soaps, shampoos, and conditioners.
I wanted—oh, how I wanted—to expand the line even further: lotions, tonics, maybe even those special aromatic oils I'd been dreaming about, or maybe some deodorant because dear gods, this realm needs it, but alas, the town's infrastructure had to come first.
Inns were bursting at the seams, roads were muddy chaos, and the merchants were starting to grumble about nowhere to set up tents.
So I shifted focus, prioritizing the urgent over the glamorous.
I divided the villagers into teams. Half of them were tasked with expanding inns, shops, and roads, while the other half built temporary tents for the newest wave of merchants.
Some were eager to sell fresh fruits, vegetables, and medicinal concoctions, which naturally pleased the town's healers.
I even taught them about certain antibiotic plants that could reduce casualties and help ease fevers—a little tip from me that made them beam at my expertise as if I were some mystical genius.
Honestly, I didn't correct them. It was fun to watch them think I was untouchable.
Meanwhile, Sir Alex returned to the capital to report to the king, leaving me entirely unbothered.
I mean, I didn't make my products with flashy magic; everything was crafted with genuine ingredients and knowledge.
I even handed him the recipes for my soaps and shampoos before he left, fully aware that no one—no one—could replicate them.
According to CHUBBY, my loyal shadow wraith, there was something in me—some unknown magic, subtle but undeniable, that made my work… different.