A Very Particular Set of Skills

“No. I don’t want to go.”

Even the nun who seemed so sure of herself flinched. But it was nothing compared to the look on the inspector’s face.

“You can’t be serious,” he said coldly. “You’d rather rot in this veritable fetidness?”

The inspector stepped closer… too close. I could feel the sharp heat of his breath on my left ear.

“I despise fake nobleness,” he hissed. “This performativeness of playing selfless when you’ve barely crawled out of the muck. Spare me the heroics and reconsider this offer.”

He expected me to back down.

I didn't give him the luxury.

“No,” I said, firmer this time. “And that’s final.”

He stared before sighing.

All the man could be bothered to say before he departed the room was a “tch.”

It was so, so annoying to not have a single antagonist I can point to for all my problems in this story.

Instead, my story’s antagonist is the entire system.

After he departed, everyone seemed to look at me with a new lens.

Then I felt the nun come behind me.

She did the unexpected: she hugged me.

“That was the most foolish thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. And the most noble. No matter what that man said about you, that is undeniable. He looked ready to give you Posteria’s Moon.”

"N-No... problem."

“You may call me Mistress Laura.” She eyed me. “And believe me when I say you’re not off the hook yet, child. Harming a Matron purposefully or not comes with serious consequences!” I couldn’t help but shiver. “And since you’ve got a lot of power in you, child… your punishment must be specially tailored.”

I straightened, hands curling. I braced for the worst.

“As your punishment… you’ll be coming with me.”

"I'm ready for your any punishment you thr—"

“To run errands.”

...

…What?

Two sharp raps echoed from the door. 

The nun sighed. "Come in!" 

The door opened to show another nun holding a small figure who was clutching his belly. He was a wolf beastkin child, about eight years old.

The poor kid looked like he was going through the worst time of his life! "Ah… it hurts…!"

"Mistress Laura, the boy is suffering severe abdominal pain."

“Gastric cramping.” Laura's expression darkened. "Of course. He's a wolf beastkin—he needs meat to survive. Stoneroot can only sustain you so long; ground vegetables make a pathetic substitute for proper beastkin nutrition." She turned toward the door. "I'll need to go out and find a seller selling some old pigs or cattle. But with the trade restrictions and 'purity taxes' on anything that might benefit non-humans, the prices are absolutely insane."

This was it: the system in miniature. 

The merchants probably knew exactly what they were doing, pricing meat beyond an orphanage's reach while selling cheap grains that would slowly kill anyone who wasn't human.

I needed to help. But what could I possibly do? People hated me here because of my race. The merchants would probably charge me double just for walking through their doors.

And even if I had money—which I didn't—throwing coins at the problem wouldn't fix the underlying issue.

We needed to somehow convince them to see past the politics, if my assumptions were correct.

Still... I had to try. Because if I'd learned anything from my previous life, it was that the system counted on good people doing nothing while telling themselves they were powerless.

Not this time.

\\

The real East Gate was still a sight to behold; despite everyone here doing their absolute best to make it not so.

It was a town of contrasts; that was undeniable. Moody greys. Gothic sensibilities. It had picked an aesthetic and stuck to it with death-grip commitment. If I squinted past the grime, it really was gorgeous. In a crumbling, fallen-from-grace sort of way.

And the air was fresh. So fresh it almost offended me. Tokyo’s metallic haze had trained my lungs to expect assault. Here, the scent was almost earthy.

Well, aside from the occasional trash pile or puddle of deeply suspicious liquid seeping out near a doorstep. The mountains which overlooked us were far from ungraceful, however.

But I couldn’t admire how picturesque the local street rats were until I stopped to take a breather.

I huffed and puffed. My arms ached from the filled-out baskets. We’d already stopped by quite a few shops to pick up our shipments. While I appreciated the effort, I don’t know how this was enough to feed an orphanage’s worth of stomachs.

This body needed more conditioning. Seriously. Elf body or not, cardio was cardio.

“This is the Old Town,” Mistress Laura told me. “And unfortunately, our part of the district is on the even older side.”

No kidding.

Then, we made our final stop. Vegetables for the vegetable stock. But the pick-up wasn’t arranged prior. Which meant…

“Shopkeeper Marin!”

A tall, sharp-cheeked human woman leaned out from under her shop underneath a structure so similar to many we passed by earlier. “Good to see you, sister. And… who’s the elf?” Her tone clipped oddly on elf.

“A child to you,” the nun said coolly, “Now: what selection do you have today?”

The shopkeeper raised a brow. “That depends. Coin, credit or barter?”

“Barter.”

At the sound of barter, my ears perked up.

Oh, I was built for this. Negotiation? Strategy? Market dynamics? I passed all those units in university with flying colors!

I couldn’t wait to see how people in a fantasy world navigated the age-old dance of trade. Was it really like the movies? The shows? Some charming haggling, a clever trick, mutual respect?

\\

As it turned out, it was neither.

“We don’t make enough coin to agree to these prices,” Laura said incredulously. “You are basically extorting us.”

“That’s what the market’s going for nowadays, unfortunately. I am trying to make a living too.”

“But our kids will starve!”

“I am aware,” the shopkeeper said. She took a deep drag on whatever she was smoking. “But put yourself in my shoes; would you want to be known as the shopkeeper who sells to the orphanage with violent beastkin who do drugs? I mean, I would—girl’s gotta make a living—but not for some cheap willy-nilly price!” 

Laura nearly went cross-eyed. “What drugs??”

“Y’know… Pleasundry.”

“I know for a fact we don’t do any drugs because we can’t afford the damn drugs!!”

It was much worse than I anticipated. This was an unmitigated disaster!

Was it my presence making things awkward? Probably. I was a Crystal Elf.

But even then… Laura wasn’t making much effort to parlay either. Just straight to the jugular.

I’d done enough exam questions on negotiation theory to recognize every red flag in an interaction. Zero trust-building. No discovery questions. This was the makings of, as the business industry called it, a classic doomed interaction.

But do I act on it? What if I step in and we’re banned from bartering with this shopkeeper forever? That’d only make things worse, potentially.

“Who’s spreading these rumors, Miss Shopkeeper?” I asked.

“Grapevine has many grapes. I could be the fifth grape on the metaphorical line, kid. Just overheard people talk about it, ‘sall.”

God, East Gate was out to get us like we owed them money. All for the crime of having beastkin in our walls? Nah, there was something deeper running through the sewers.

I just can’t prove it!

“Ugh, I was always worse at this than Martha,” Laura whispered. “I’m afraid we cannot go forward with these discussions any longer. Let’s go, Cotter. We will try again another day.”

We were giving up already?!

I shook my head and put on my game face. I probably looked ridiculous. If people saw me now, they’d point and laugh—this skinny elf boy trying to play merchant.

But I needed to believe in myself. Despite my lack of grasp in Common.

I needed to push my luck.

Here goes.

“Miss Shopkeeper?”