The papers lay spread across my desk as I read the figures.
Hannah sat opposite me with her arms on her lap, quietly staring as I finished reading the last paper for the seventh time.
"Haaah..."
I rested my elbow on the desk as I leaned into my palm, my eyes feeling heavy from the fatigue.
"...Have you finished reading the report?"
Hannah asked carefully as my gaze shot up to meet hers. She was staring at me with her big beautiful black eyes with a calm expression—the complete opposite of mine.
"We've already blown through a third of the budget for renovations," I said helplessly. "If the carpenter backs out now, we won't have enough funds to get the remaining supplies and hire labor."
"Mhm."
Hannah nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression showing on her face. "Then what should we do now?"
Her question sent me into another bout of silence.
'Indeed, what do we do now?'
"...Do we know why the merchant alliance is threatening him and how?"
"The merchant alliance has always been excessively greedy. If they're threatening him now, it's either because there's money to make or—"
"—He's infringing on their profits."
Cutting Hannah off, I finished what she was going to say. Seeing her nod slowly, I sighed as she continued her explanation.
"Indeed, I did some investigation. Do you recall the reason why we chose this particular carpenter as our vendor?"
"Because his prices were cheaper than the rest of the market—"
I immediately stopped, a thoughtful expression crossing my face.
"...So that's the reason why they're after him."
It was a classic case of a larger corporation suppressing a smaller business that was selling cheaper than them.
"Is his woodworking of higher quality than the alliance's?"
"They're about the same, but the carpenter doesn't cut corners like the merchant alliance often does."
I clicked my tongue but didn't stop pondering.
"There's just one thing I don't understand—how did they manage to make the carpenter listen to them?"
"..."
Hannah didn't immediately speak, instead carefully gauging my reaction as she replied slowly.
"...From what I heard, it seems they're threatening his family."
"...Is that so?"
A sharp glint flashed in my eyes as understanding dawned on me.
My eyes naturally trailed toward the door, or more accurately, the figures sitting on the opposite side of it.
"That makes things significantly easier..."
****
The following morning, the smell of sawdust lingered thick in the air.
Thin ribbons of light leaked in through the cracked slits of the workshop's windows, catching on floating motes and the sweat clinging to Master Ken's brow.
He stood beside his worn workbench, hands clenched around the edge, thick calluses pressing into the grain.
The place was somewhat small—a common trait in the slums. The building was split into two sections: the front where the work was done, and the back where he and his family lived.
A single curtain was all that separated his family from the workshop.
And behind it... he could hear his wife hushing his two kids into silence.
He wanted to check on them. But he couldn't. Not with these bastards in his shop.
"You've been very difficult to reach lately, Master Ken," said the man leaning against the shelves near the front door. His coat was lined with silk trim, the collar folded sharp, like a gentleman's. But his boots were dirty, and his hands were too clean for honest work.
"It's beginning to feel like you're ignoring us."
The other one—the younger of the two—was picking his nails with a slim-bladed knife. His voice hadn't yet lost that nasally pitch of someone too proud to speak softly.
"You signed with someone else, didn't you? Is that what this is?"
Ken didn't answer. He stared past them, at the unfinished table he'd been working on just this morning. Although he hadn't signed the contract, he had already started work knowing the terms.
Even if the contract fell through, he could've still sold the table to make a small profit, but it seems that these bastards had seen through him.
Both men didn't say where they were from, but they didn't need to. Everyone in the district knew who was pulling the strings and forcing small vendors like him either to ruin or to work for them as slaves.
The Merchant Alliance.
"I—I haven't signed anything yet," Ken managed, though his voice came out too low.
The knife paused.
"But you planned to. That's enough to make it a problem."
Thud!
The knife stabbed into the wooden frame of the workbench, causing small splinters to splatter all over Master Ken.
"Eek!"
A shrill scream came from behind the curtain followed by a rushed hushing sound.
Unfortunately, the silk-collared man didn't miss the noise, his eyes trailing to the swaying curtains.
"Shame," he said, pushing off the shelf. "You've got such a nice little setup here. It's cozy and private, with little noise to distract you from work. Even got a family living with you. Would be a real shame if something happened to it."
Ken's jaw clenched, sensing the underlying threat behind the man's words.
"Please..." he muttered. "Don't involve my family in this. They've got nothing to do with it."
The knife flicked closed with a snap.
"Everyone's involved, Master Ken. Especially in this neighborhood. You think you'll be able to work without the Alliance's help? When you can't even get nails or lacquer?"
The man's tone was somewhat disdainful, somewhat pitiful, and mostly arrogant.
"I have a business to run," Ken continued to plead, but the silk-collared man wasn't having any of it.
"And we're trying to help you keep it. You sign with the Alliance. You get safety, steady pay, protection. You sign with someone else..."
The threat didn't finish.
It didn't need to.
Ken already knew the price of signing with the Alliance. He had seen too many honest merchants fall to their schemes, but in this situation, he truly didn't see a way out.
If he refused, he'd have to face the combined might of the Merchant Alliance pressing down on him. Most of the suppliers in the city already belonged to them, and if they were to stop supplying him, he wouldn't even survive to the end of the month.
Not to mention the threat these men posed to his family...
As Master Ken felt his stomach twist at the difficult decision he would have to make, he suddenly heard his front door creak open.
Blinking, he turned to see who dared to enter his store given the current circumstances.
The two enforcers also turned, frowning toward the morning light spilling in.
A figure stepped into the frame—a tall, bony silhouette wearing a heavy coat despite the warm heat, shadows cutting clean across his eyes.
He didn't speak. Didn't even glance at the three of them. He just stepped inside, hands buried in his coat pockets, and stood there for a moment, taking in the room like he was shopping for furniture.
Ken's first thought was that he was some kind of drifter. A thug. The kind that hung around guild pubs or waited near courier posts looking for pickpockets.
But something about him was off. Not wild or dirty. But... still.
Too still.
His movements were slow. Deliberate. Like a cat watching a nest.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" the knife thug asked.
The stranger didn't answer.
He just looked at Ken.
Their eyes met for half a second.
Then, slowly, the man drew a parchment from his coat and laid it on the workbench.
The wax seal on the paper was black. Cracked with a rose pattern.
Ken's heart stopped.
The enforcers must've recognized it too—both took a single step back, instinct more than fear. The air shifted in the room. No weapons were drawn. No voices raised. But everything had changed.
"Leave."
The stranger finally spoke, his gaze shifting slightly to meet the two thugs. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. But there was something heavy in it. Something that didn't invite repetition.
"I won't say it twice."
The man with the knife frowned and opened his mouth.
But the other one grabbed his sleeve.
"Let's go," he muttered.
"What? We can't just—"
"I said let's go."
The two enforcers retreated like rats finding themselves in the wrong alley, both casting a final glance at the black-sealed parchment on the table.
When the door closed again, the silence returned.
The stranger didn't move.
Ken looked at him, throat dry.
"...You're with the Guild?"
Still no answer.
The man just turned to the side, gaze flicking briefly toward the back room. The curtain swayed slightly.
"The deal's still on," he said at last.
Then he moved to the bench, tapped the parchment with two fingers, and walked to the door.
Before he left, he spoke one last time.
"Sign it before nightfall."
Then he was gone.
And for a moment, Ken just stood there—surrounded by silence, sawdust, and the lingering scent of oil and leather.
His hands trembled.
He reached out slowly... and touched the parchment.
The seal stared back at him.
Black Rose Guild.
He swallowed nervously as his wife finally stepped out from behind the curtains, along with his two sons following behind her.
"Honey, w-who was that?"
Her voice was trembling, still affected by the earlier atmosphere.
"Hahaha..." Ken laughed dryly, his gaze shifting to the letter in his hand before returning to his wife.
"Our benefactor..."