Chapter 246: 246 : Opening Shop and Increasing Harem Members XXIII
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Sera looked at him. "Do not thank me like I saved you. I only pushed the door open. You are the one walking through."
John nodded slowly. "I will not waste it."
Sera’s gaze softened. "I know."
Fizz cleared his throat dramatically. "Lady Sera has earned many snack points. She is now a favored ally of Lord Fizz."
Sera smiled. "Then I will continue earning them when I can."
Fizz’s fan club students looked like they wanted to applaud but feared it would be inappropriate to clap in a shop.
Gael cleared his throat gently, returning the room to business. "John," he said, "do you have any backers."
John’s eyes flicked toward Sera, then away. He kept his voice calm. "Yes. We do not have to worry. When the papers are done, I will inform you."
Gael studied him. He did not push. He simply nodded, accepting that some supports are safer when hidden.
Kel said, "And the guns."
John kept his face steady. "I will create them. I will attend classes. That is my plan for now. Your job is to run the shop properly, build reputation, sell practical goods, keep the ledger clean, and do not let anyone push you around."
Orna smiled like she had been waiting for permission to be dangerous. "Anyone tries, I will convince them."
Fizz floated higher. "Team Lord Fizz will convince them."
Kel muttered, "I thought we were a business."
Fizz replied, "Businesses are wars with receipts."
The afternoon passed quickly. The fan club students bought small things, mostly tools and minor items, because they wanted souvenirs from the holy land of commerce. Fizz guided them around the shop like a professor giving a field trip.
"This is a hammer. It is shaped like destiny."
"That is a knife. It is shaped like consequences."
"This is a broom. It is shaped like punishment. John knows."
John tried not to laugh.
Sera stayed for a while longer, talking with Gael about the village, asking about the others who remained behind. She spoke to Orna briefly, politely. She nodded to Kel. She did not speak much to Edda, but she did not treat her coldly either. She simply treated her like a person John trusted, which was a powerful kind of kindness.
Inside John, tension remained, but it did not explode. It simply sat there like a stone in his pocket, heavy but manageable.
As evening approached, Sera rose.
"I should leave," she said. "If I stay too long, the academy students will invent a story I do not want to hear repeated."
John walked her to the door. "Okay, you should go. Thank you again."
Sera looked at him and lowered her voice just enough. "I am proud of you."
John’s chest tightened. He nodded. "I will see you soon."
She smiled once, gentle, then stepped out into the street and merged into the capital’s movement like a white thread in a dark cloth.
Fizz watched her go and sighed. "She is dangerous," he said quietly.
John glanced at him. "Because of her status. She is from the Black house. She is the temple priestesse."
Fizz shook his head. "No. Because she cares too much for you. Caring makes people do foolish brave things. You should watch out for people who will come after you. Because of her."
John did not answer, because he felt that truth too clearly.
Night crept in.
John and Fizz stayed long enough to talk with Gael, Orna, and Kel about stock and simple plans. They discussed what to sell, what to repair, what to avoid. They agreed on one rule, spoken and unspoken.
No one mentions anything private.
No one turns this business into a battlefield of emotions.
When the street lamps outside began glowing, John stood.
"We have to return to the academy," he said.
Gael nodded. "Go. Study. We will hold the shop."
Fizz puffed. "Yes. Study. Become strong. Buy me pastries."
Kel said, "He will become strong so he can survive you."
Fizz accepted that as love.
John and Fizz left, the city air cooler now, the road back quieter. They returned through the academy gates, showed their passes, and walked back through the dorm corridors.
Ray was in bed already, asleep like a man who had decided reality was optional.
Fizz whispered, "He sleeps like he is hiding from responsibility. Should we wake him up?"
John whispered back, "No. Let him be. We all hide from something."
In their room, John did not sleep immediately.
He pulled out materials. He pulled out parts. He went to work with careful hands, shaping two more guns by night, moving quietly so Ray would not wake.
"Let me do some work before sleeping." John said.
Fizz hovered nearby, eyes bright, whispering jokes as if humor was a lamp.
"If you make too many," Fizz whispered, "I will start calling you the Gun Baker. Because you are baking violence."
John did not smile, but the corner of his mouth lifted anyway.
He finished two more.
Not tested.
Not fired.
Just created, clean and waiting, like sleeping teeth.
John wrapped them and stored them safely.
He sat back, exhaled slowly, and felt the weight of everything he was building.
A shop. A name. A future. A dangerous product. A secret support. A complicated heart.
Fizz drifted down and settled near his shoulder like a warm scarf.
"You are doing good," Fizz said quietly, then ruined it instantly by adding, "But if you forget my snacks tomorrow, I will become your enemy."
John whispered, "Goodnight, Fizz."
Fizz yawned. "Goodnight, disciple of Lord Fizz."
John lay down.
The ceiling above him was plain and unambitious, which helped. His thoughts slowed, stacking themselves into neater piles. Outside, the academy bells marked the hour without urgency.
Somewhere across the city, the shop rested with its door locked and its future humming softly behind the wood.
John closed his eyes and let that knowledge settle, the way you let a blade cool after the forge, trusting it would hold its edge in the morning.
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