The first thing that became apparent to me was the lack of noise. The inn, which had been alive with laughter, clattering mugs, and the hum of conversation the night before, now felt hollow. Shadows stretched long across empty tables, and the hearth burned low, its warmth failing to fill the silence. You could have heard a pin drop in this place.

  Tucker sniffed the air, ears twitching, then looked at me expectantly; he probably smelled the food in the back. I gave him a head pat. “We'll eat soon, boy. Hang in there. Let’s see what’s going on first.”

  Balt walked at my side, his heavy boots echoing in the emptiness, while Tucker padded close, the wolf-bear’s massive frame drawing wary glances from the few who remained. Jase, Chu, Weren, and Mei sat together at the long table near the hearth, their faces tight with unease. All eyes turned as we entered.

  I took the open seat, patting the bench beside me for Tucker to settle. His weight made the wood creak, but no one spoke. The silence pressed in, heavy, expectant.

  I braced myself for what was about to come. “Alright,” I said, voice cutting through the stillness. “Let’s hear it. What’s going on?”

  Mei folded her hands, her expression grim. “The Earl has issued a new decree in what is an obvious attempt to bleed me dry,” Chu swore under his breath. Wren leaned back, jaw tight, tears in her eyes. Jase only shook his head, a grim smile on his face.

  Mei slid a parchment across the table. The ink gleamed fresh, the words written in elegant, flowing script:

  In celebration of the Anchor Tournament the Earl of the West, the honorable Rave Jox pledges his assistance to The Lucky Lady and The Dancing Snake, let it be known that all travelers lodging in these fine establishments will receive a subsidy of up to half their expenses until the Tournament is concluded.

  The signature at the bottom was bold, sweeping, and took up half the page: Rave Jox, Earl of the West.

  The parchment trembled slightly in my hand as I read it. Suddenly, the silence of the inn made sense. A declaration to shut this place down had been issued in all but name.

  I folded the paper and passed it to Balt. He scanned the words, his brow furrowing.

  “So… what are we going to do?” he asked.

  All eyes turned toward me. Even Tucker tilted his head, watching with quiet curiosity. I leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands cupped beneath my chin.

  “Give me a moment. I need to think.”

  One option was obvious: we could issue our own decree, use our funds to match the incentives offered by the other inns. But the Earl would only find another way to undermine us. And when we left this floor, Mei would still be left to deal with the fallout from Jox’s death.

  My fingers moved almost unconsciously, scratching behind Tucker’s ears as my thoughts churned.

  What to do, what to do… Commerce thrived everywhere back in the U.S., and this was an old-fashioned capitalist showdown. Surely there was some kind of business I could adapt here, something strong enough to anchor this place, even with the nobility subsidizing our competition. Something that would keep the inn alive and allow it to thrive.

  I understood logistics, supply lines, and survival. But markets and margins? That was a battlefield I’d never fought on, but what products did we have over there that I could introduce here that I could make myself? I was not an engineer, so I had no idea how to make anything really practical or technological.

  Magic was king here, and things like heating and cooling and electricity were replaced with mana. What could I create that we can sell?

  Then an idea struck me. “Mei, take me to the kitchens. I might have something.”

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  Mei led the way, her steps light but purposeful, and I followed close behind. The others, Jase, Chu, and Tucker all fell into step around me. The corridor narrowed, stone walls sweating faint traces of mana that shimmered faintly like veins of light. The air grew warmer as we approached the kitchens, carrying with it the mingled scents of roasted meats, herbs, and something faintly sweet.

  When Mei pushed open the heavy oak doors, I was struck by the sight. The kitchens were alive in a way I hadn’t expected. Great iron cauldrons bubbled over rune-etched hearths, their flames fed not by wood but by glowing crystals that pulsed with stored mana. Copper pots hung from enchanted hooks that kept them polished and gleaming, while long wooden tables bore baskets of bread still steaming, their crusts golden from heat that never seemed to fade.

  There were still a few kitchen workers there, and I could see them move with practiced rhythm, their hands guided by minor enchantments, knives that sharpened themselves mid-cut, ladles that stirred without tiring.

  “This place is amazing,” I said with a smile.

  “A kitchen is the heart of any inn,” Mei replied with no small amount of pride.

  “Do you have milk?”

  “Milk?” she echoed. I explained what it was, and she gave me a nod. “We do, but it’s called Beast’s Draught.”

  Ignoring the weird name, I continued. “Can you show me where you keep your stock at?” I motioned for her to take the lead, and she did.

  Mei gestured for me to follow her deeper, past the bustle, until we reached a heavy door bound in iron runes. She pressed her palm against the sigils, and with a soft crackle of frost, the door swung open.

  Cold air rushed out, biting against my skin. Inside, meat hung from enchanted hooks, its surface glistening as if freshly cut. Bundles of vegetables lay stacked in neat rows, their colors preserved by the chill. Sacks of rice were piled high, each marked with glyphs that I didn’t know the meaning of. My eyes caught on a jug of milk resting on a shelf, beside a jar of crystalline sugar.

  I stepped forward, pulling them free, the chill seeping into my fingers. My idea was coming together. I summoned one of the pumpkins I had bought the other day into my hands.

  Pumpkin, milk, sugar… it was close. But something was missing. I snapped my fingers in realization. It was the main thing... coffee.

  I exhaled, the realization hitting me like an unwelcome relative asking for money. If this world didn’t have coffee beans, my plan was dead in the water.

  I turned to Mei, the cold air from the storage still clinging to my skin. “Do you know about coffee?” I asked.

  She tilted her head, uncertain.

  “It’s a dark bean,” I explained, holding my hands as if cradling something precious. “Roasted until it shines, ground fine, then brewed into a drink as black as midnight. Bitter, sharp, but with a depth that warms you from the inside out. Back home, it was the lifeblood of mornings, the taste of survival and comfort all at once.”

  Mei’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. I have never heard it described in quite that manner before, but I think I might have what you’re talking about.” Then she reached into a cabinet, rummaging past jars and bundles until she pulled out a sealed bag.

  She held it up and opened it, the faint aroma already drifting through the air. “The thing you’re describing is called Luxa. I don’t really see how that is supposed to help us. I keep some here because a few old men like the taste, but it is by no means a sought-after item.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Trust me.”

  I set the pumpkin on the counter, slicing it open with a conjured blade of mana. The flesh was rich and orange, and I scooped it into a pot with milk and sugar. I asked for a few other items that I had to describe, but to my delight she had most of what I needed.

  I began to create. A sprinkle of spice, cinnamon, and nutmeg and soon the mixture simmered, filling the kitchen with a fragrance that wrapped around us like autumn itself.

  Meanwhile, I ground the Luxa beans, their earthy scent rising stronger with each turn of the pestle. I brewed them in hot water, the steam curling upward, mingling with the pumpkin-spice sweetness. Carefully, I combined the two, coffee and pumpkin-spiced milk, into a single cup.

  I lifted it to my lips, took a sip, and chuckled. “Not as good as the chain stores back home,” I admitted, “but it’ll do in a pinch.”

  Pouring the drink into cups, I handed them out. Jase’s eyes widened at the first taste; Tucker was more interested in the cream I had put on top, but his satisfaction was obvious; and Mei herself blinked in surprise, savoring the warmth. Chu and Balt, however, only shrugged, unimpressed.

  I frowned thoughtfully, then poured a plain cup of Luxa, this time adding a dash of sugar and a swirl of cream. I slid it toward Balt and Chu. They took cautious sips and immediately perked up, satisfied sounds escaping them as if they’d just discovered a hidden treasure.

  Mei leaned forward, curiosity sparking in her gaze. “What is this?”

  I grinned, savoring the moment. “That is step one in my plan to crush this Earl at his own game.

  "I admit this is an amazing drink, but how is a drink going to crush an Earl? And if this is step one, what is step two?”

  I leaned back, the warmth of the cup seeping into my palms, and let the words hang with deliberate weight. “Marketing, Mei. Marketing. And tomorrow… it begins. I’ll show you the magic of my world. Your crew is in for a long night. We’ll need posters. We’ll need a stall at the market. And we’ll need a lot more of everything.” I gestured to the counter. “Gather your staff. I’m going to show them how to make what I just did.”

  Mei hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. I placed a steady hand on her shoulder.

  “If my plan fails, I’ll cover your losses for the remainder of our stay and leave you with enough to relocate your inn if you choose,” I said quietly. “But if it works, and I think it will, you’ll be opening locations in every ring of this city within a few months.”

  I took a deep breath before continuing. “I killed Jox. I bear some responsibility for what followed. Let me make this right. Let me help you. What do you say?”

  She looked at me, then around her kitchen, at her gathered staff. After a long moment, she took a breath. “I’m in.”