Chapter 258: 258: Customer in Lines
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Then he checked the door again. After that he checked the void thread.
Nyx was still hidden. It was still safe. It was still quiet.
The dorm room looked normal.
But John knew better now.
This was not only about hiding Nyx from students.
It was about hiding Nyx from the kingdom.
And maybe, if John’s instincts were right, hiding Nyx from Snake too.
Because Snake’s smile had been casual.
But the way he had said "I saw everything" had not been casual at all.
It had been ownership, pretending to be kind.
John sat down slowly on his bed.
Fizz hovered beside him like a guard who had decided this was war now.
Neither of them said more.
Ray Flame was still absent.
The academy corridor outside was quiet again.
And John stared at his own hands as if they might reveal the next mistake before he made it.
The next day, John left the academy under Snake’s pass and did not look back.
He walked like he belonged outside the walls. He did not hurry. He did not drift. He moved in the steady way a man moves when he knows he is being allowed something he did not earn in public.
Fizz floated beside him, glowing brighter than he should have. He looked like a child going to a festival, and he behaved like one too.
"Shop day," Fizz whispered like it was a sacred holiday. "Commerce day. Snack day. Glory day."
John did not answer. He kept his eyes on the road and his mind on rules.
He did not bring Ray. He did not bring classmates. He did not bring anyone who could turn this into a story.
Only him. Only Fizz. Only the quiet knowledge that Nyx existed, hidden, stored, anchored to his chest like a second secret heartbeat.
The city air hit them the moment they passed the academy gates.
Warmer. Dirtier. Alive.
The capital was already awake. Carts rattled. Vendors shouted. A baker’s smell wrestled with a butcher’s smell. Guards stood at corners looking bored and expensive.
John reached the shop and immediately knew something was wrong.
Not wrong like danger.
Wrong like movement.
The street outside Fizz Holdings was crowded.
Not a riot. Not a stampede.
A line.
A real line.
People stood with arms folded, coin pouches in hand, eyes fixed on the door like the door might hand them luck if they stared hard enough. Some looked like workers. Some looked like travelers. Some looked like men who paid other men to stand in lines for them.
Fizz hovered higher. "Oh," he breathed, voice full of reverence. "We are popular."
John’s chest tightened. "How many."
Fizz’s eyes scanned. "Fifty. Maybe more. I cannot count past snacks properly."
John muttered, "Sixty."
Fizz beamed. "Even better."
John pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The shop was louder than it had ever been.
Gael was behind the counter, sleeves rolled, jaw set, moving like a commander in a battle made of coin and complaints. He was speaking to one customer while already reaching for a ledger entry without looking down. His voice stayed calm. His eyes stayed sharp.
Kel stood to the side with the ledger book open, writing fast, counting faster. His face was flat as a stone. His pen moved like it had personal grudges against slow math.
Orna was near the display racks, arms folded, posture proud, watching the room like a bouncer who had decided to be polite today only because politeness was scarier.
Edda was not there yet.
Two customers were arguing over who had touched a dagger first. A third customer was trying to haggle like he had never met steel prices in his life. A fourth customer was staring at a tool kit like it was a miracle.
Gael saw John and did not stop moving. He simply nodded once, quick and heavy, like a man acknowledging reinforcements.
"Boss," Gael said, low.
Fizz floated above John’s shoulder and announced to the room, "The founder has arrived. Behave. Or Orna will convince you."
Orna’s eyes flicked to Fizz. She did not smile. She did not need to.
Half the room went quiet for a second.
Then the noise resumed, but it had changed.
Now it buzzed with curiosity too.
Some people recognized John. Some did not.
But everyone recognized Fizz.
Because the rumor had spread faster than steel.
People came for knives.
But they stayed to see the floating orange spirit with opinions.
Fizz began drifting through the shop like a tour guide again, pointing at goods and making dramatic statements.
"This hammer is honest. Unlike some of you."
"This knife is balanced. Unlike your budgeting."
"This broom is shaped like punishment. John knows."
John did not laugh. He could not afford to laugh. He had to read the room.
Sixty customers in one day was not normal for a new shop.
It meant someone had talked.
It meant someone had spread the word hard.
It also meant eyes would follow the trail back.
John moved toward the back room, where the crafting table waited under cloth like a sleeping monster.
Gael noticed and spoke without turning his head fully. "We need more stock by next week."
John nodded once. "I know."
Kel muttered without looking up. "We will also need more patience."
Orna said, "We will need a bigger sign that says we do not bargain with fools."
Fizz called from the front, "We will need more sweets."
John ignored all of them and slipped into the back.
The moment the door shut, the noise dimmed.
The back room smelled of metal, oil, and controlled danger. The semi automatic crafting table sat in the center like a loyal beast. Its rune rings were quiet now, not moving, resting.
John pulled the cloth off and checked the assembly pieces he had stored.
The guns he had made last time were still wrapped.
He unwrapped one.
He held it in his hands.
It looked almost ordinary. That was the most dangerous part.
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