Completely penniless and with nothing to do until tomorrow, Momon wandered E-Rantel aimlessly. Exotic street foods filled the air with delicious scents she couldn't afford. Her stomach twisted with longing.
"Next time… definitely next time… I'll buy everything…"
She made her way through the winding streets without thinking, until the smell changed—sharp herbs, bitter extracts, medicinal roots.
The Apothecary Quarter.
A memory surfaced.
"Enri said her friend works around here…"
A boy who liked Enri. A budding genius alchemist. A kind-hearted, slightly timid youth.
Enfi—
"—lare… Vale… something like that…"
She spotted the sign:
Bareare Apothecary
"Ah, close enough."
She opened the door.
A timid boy hurried out from the back.
"W-welcome…!"
Momonga bowed politely. "Good afternoon."
The boy blinked. He clearly didn't expect the person inside the intimidating black armor to be a woman.
This was undoubtedly Nfirea Bareare.
A prodigy. A youth blessed with a Talent capable of using any magic item regardless of restriction—a terrifying ability in the wrong hands.
"Were you searching for something?" Nfirea asked.
"Potions," Momon replied. "Though I, ah… left my purse behind today."
A bald-faced lie. She had no purse to forget.
"That's alright. Please look freely," he said warmly.
Momon browsed the shelves—and frowned.
Blue.
Every potion was blue.
"...Do you not stock red potions?"
"Red? I've never heard of such a thing. Potions are blue."
Momonga hid her reaction.
So Yggdrasil's red healing potions do not exist in this world—or are impossibly rare.
Either way, showing one would spark wars.
"Thank you. Your stock is impressive," she said with sincerity.
"Ah—thank you! If you ever need potions, please come again!"
She bowed lightly and left.
The moment she closed the door, Nfirea's grandmother, Lizzie Bareare, returned.
Within minutes, the words "red potion" nearly drove the old woman into cardiac arrest.
Evening — The Golden Pavilion
By the time Momon returned to the inn, the sky was orange. She had accomplished nothing. Earned nothing. Spent everything.
"Today was… empty," she sighed.
But one joy remained:
Dinner.
The receptionist greeted her with a bow.
"Your reserved dinner time is in ten minutes. Shall we prepare your table?"
Dinner. At a luxury inn. A true feast.
Momon nearly squealed inside her armor.
"Yes. Please," she answered coolly.
She rushed to her room, dispelled her armor, applied subtle illusion magic to mask her true inhuman features—and slipped into the elegant white dress the room provided.
Her heels clicked softly as she entered the grand dining hall.
Heads turned instantly.
Men froze. Women inhaled sharply. Conversations died.
A beautiful raven-haired lady descended upon the room like a vision out of a divine painting—her graceful steps, sweet perfume, emerald eyes, and flawless white gown drowning the hall in awe.
Every table fell silent.
Momon glided to her seat, thanked the waiter with a voice sweet as velvet, and sat—completely unaware that she had just seized control of the entire atmosphere.
In that moment, there was no noble, no merchant, no aristocrat who could match her presence.
Thus began another kind of trouble for her in E-Rantel.