The Merchant

The air outside the teahouse had changed. Not in a dramatic way. Just… shifted. The breeze had picked up. The sky had deepened by a few shades. The lanterns glowed a little stronger, like they knew the sun wasn’t coming back for a while. I stepped into the street, pouch of coins at my hip, leftover katapan bar in hand, wondering what exactly counted as “resource collection.” And how much of it I had to do before I stopped feeling like the world was buffering around me.

Somewhere to my left, a bell chimed twice, sharp and metallic. A shop door swung open.

The sign hanging above it hadn’t been there before. The font didn’t match anything else in the village—blocky, modern, and just a little cursed. It read: *KOMORI TRADING CO. There wasn’t a single soul on the road, but the door stood open now, and the warm light spilling from it tugged at something in my chest. Curiosity, maybe. Or exhaustion.

I stepped inside.

The air was warmer here; it smelled like old parchment paper. The shop was cramped but carefully arranged. Shelves were packed with scrolls, dried herbs, trinkets, polished stones, and items I didn’t have names for. It smelled like knowledge. Or clutter. Or both. Behind the counter sat a figure, broad and motionless in a pool of shadow. He wore layered pale robes and a wide-brimmed hat that shaded most of his face. A thick silver-streaked beard spilled from beneath the brim, and his hands, large, square, still rested neatly on the wood in front of him. When he finally looked up, I nearly dropped the katapan bar in my hand.

His face was almost human, but not quite. Too calm. Too knowing. Like someone had taken a buff Santa Claus and mixed him with a kitsune—only issue was he didn't have a tail. His ears, though, were subtly pointed and shifted slightly when he listened. His features were handsome in that weird, mythic way, but gently unnerving,

“You don’t belong here,” he said. “Okay, wow. Straight to the point.” I replied. He didn’t react. Just watched me with those tired, ageless eyes.

“Most people don’t arrive through the shrine path,” he added. “Not without permission.”

“I didn’t mean to arrive at all.”

At that, his expression changed slightly. Less curiosity, more confirmation. His ears tilted forward slightly, attentive. “You’ve been marked,” his voice was firm. He reached under the counter and pulled out a lacquered tablet. On its surface, a strange symbol shifted and shimmered like it couldn’t decide what language it wanted to be. The second it faced me, it pulsed—faint but deliberate.

“Your thread isn’t woven into this realm,” he continued. “You’re here on borrowed ink.” I stared with confusion, “Okay. That sounds poetic and terrifying??”

He finally smiled. Just a little. “Don’t worry. I won’t report you.”

“Good,” I said. “Because the last girl who noticed I didn’t belong wanted my head, I'm sure of it.”

His gaze dipped toward my apron, my shoes, my bruised knees. “You’re not from here,” he said again—this time with something softer in his tone. Almost pity.

“Yes, thought that was quite obvious,” I muttered under my breath.

Still no laugh. Just a slow, measured gesture toward a scroll spread across the counter. “The Maiden arrived two days ago. Through the proper gate. Summoned by prayer. Announced by light. Yours was… quieter.”

“Yeah,” I said. “More like a glitch.” His gaze sharpened. “That’s not a word most people know.”

I shifted, suddenly aware of the katapan bar still melting in my hand. “I read a lot of weird fiction.”

He dipped a brush into ink and began to write—not kanji. Something else. Something more fluid and looping. “You’re not part of the prophecy,” he murmured. “But your presence is already changing it.”

“That's just lovely,” I said sarcastically. “Do I get a t-shirt?”

This time, he didn’t smile. Just a slow, thoughtful blink. Then, without a word, he reached for the shelf behind him and pulled down a neatly folded bundle of cloth, navy, cream, and black. He set it on the counter beside me.

“Your uniform makes you stand out,” he said. “Too much foreign ink on the page. Wear this.”

I looked down at myself with a dirt-streaked café apron, sweat-damp blouse, and bruised knees. Yeah. Not exactly blending in.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Work robes. Soft armor. Linen lining. You’ll look like you belong.” His ears twitched again, sharper this time. “Which you don’t. But you may as well try.”

“Thanks,” I said, surprised. “Do I owe you coins or…?” He waved a hand as if the idea annoyed him. “You don’t owe me anything. Not yet.”

I didn’t ask what yet meant.

Instead, he slid a map across the counter. The parchment was old, the edges curled like it had been through too many hands. Kiyozumi was marked in red near the top corner. Beyond it, winding trails. Bridges. Glowing markers. One of them shimmered faintly—a silver fan etched near the bottom.

“There,” he said, tapping a silver fan-shaped mark near the map’s base. “That’s where your bag was last seen.”

I froze. “You saw her?”

“She passed through with guards. Headed toward the Shrine of Mirrors.” The name felt like something ripped from a boss fight. I didn’t like how it settled in my chest.

“What is it?”

He hesitated. “A place for summoning. Reflection. Correction.”

“Correction?” I repeated. “What happens there?”

His eyes lingered on mine longer than I liked.

“You’re not meant to be here. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a role.” Before I could press him for answers, the lacquered tablet on the counter lit up again.

⟡ SYSTEM INTERRUPTION ⟡
ERROR_03: Unauthorized Dialogue Path
Restoring Canon Flow...

The world around us pulsed. Like static. Like lag. The merchant’s face blurred at the edges, like my vision was trying to buffer him back into place. When the distortion cleared, he was folding the map into a perfect square.

“For your journey,” he said, like none of it had happened. I took the map with stiff fingers.

“I—wait,” I said, before the moment could dissolve. “What’s your name?” The merchant tilted his head slightly. That half-smile again. 

“Komori,” he said. “Just Komori.”

Then he turned back to his scrolls, and the moment was over.

I stepped outside with the map clenched in one hand and silence crowding the other. The sky had darkened another shade. The wind was stronger. The lanterns seemed to watch me with narrowed eyes. Nothing had changed. But everything had.

I didn’t start walking right away.

Instead, I ducked behind the wall of a nearby shop, half-collapsed, definitely abandoned, and crouched beside a cracked basin that might have once been used to rinse vegetables. I unwrapped the robes Komori had handed me and gave them a cautious sniff. Clean. Probably enchanted. Or at least washed sometime this decade.

My own clothes were… not so lucky.

“I need a shower,” I muttered, pulling off my apron. “Like, deeply. I smell like panic, fry oil, and dirt.”

The robes felt heavy in my hands, dark, embroidered at the sleeves, lined with soft cream linen that didn’t belong on someone like me. Still, they fit. And when I caught my reflection in the warped metal of the basin, I didn’t look like the girl who got chased through the woods.

I looked like someone who might survive another day in this realm.

I tied the sash at my waist, shook the worst of the dirt from my socks, and let out a breath that felt like it had been caught in my lungs since I arrived.

Then I started walking.

I stopped beneath one of the lanterns near the edge of the village. It buzzed gently, its glow barely holding against the dark. I unfolded the map under its light. Kiyozumi was still there, marked in red. But now I noticed the strange flicker at the edge of the parchment. One of the icons shaped like a fan blinked faintly. Not like magic, but like a screen glitch. 

I pressed my thumb to the fan.

Nothing happened. But something vibrated beneath my skin. A quiet static. Like I’d just tried to load a page that didn’t exist. There were no arrows. No quests. No tutorial boxes. Just a path I didn’t know how to follow and a direction I couldn’t afford to ignore. I folded the map and slid it into my pocket. 

I didn’t know what I’d find at the Shrine of Mirrors. Only that someone else holding my bag had already arrived.

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➤ Komori Trading Co
A shadowy general store with a yokia merchant that seems to open only when the system deems it necessary. Items are real. Prices are negotiable. The merchant can choose whether or not to help you(Komori is usually one of the nicer ones)