"This—this," Peach Fox picked up a crimson boxing glove and gave it a little squeeze, the soft leather creaking under her fingers. She turned to Yarrow, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "This glove is very powerful. It can automatically attack opponents. Put it on, and boom—instant boxing master."
Her voice dipped slightly on that last word, as if teasing something more. Yarrow raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but not entirely by the glove.
"Sounds useful," he said, taking the glove and tucking it into his storage bag. His hand brushed hers in the exchange—warm, lingering longer than necessary.
To make things easier, he gently patted her shoulder. The touch lingered just a beat too long as he copied her appraisal ability. Peach Fox blinked, her tail twitching. She bit her lower lip, but said nothing.
A flood of item information shimmered into Yarrow's vision. The sheer volume should have made his head spin, but perhaps due to the lingering strength of the dragon bloodline within him, he remained steady. Sharp. Focused.
Well… mostly focused.
Some items were familiar just by shape. Others were total mysteries. He even spotted that ridiculous pot that could never boil water—utterly useless, unless someone had a fetish for frustration.
He searched for anything valuable, anything powerful. Nothing obvious revealed itself.
Then—
"Yarrow, look at this! It's so magical!" Peach Fox called out, her voice lilting like a melody. She was wearing a glove now, and when she touched a battered old chair, it shimmered—and transformed into a small sheep.
Made of wood, of course.
"This glove turns things into sheep!" she giggled, eyes wide with wonder. She looked back at him, glowing with excitement. "Isn't that amazing?"
Yarrow chuckled, stepping closer. "Anything you touch turns soft and fluffy, huh?"
"Mm-hmm," she said, wiggling her fingers at him suggestively. "You wanna test it?"
He smirked, then turned back to the piles of props. There was still so much to sort through, and he had time. His storage bag could take it all, even if his patience couldn't.
Just as he reached for something odd-shaped, his Finder's Watch buzzed. The sudden vibration jolted him slightly—though not as much as the sight that followed.
He rounded a ridge and came to a halt.
The good news: he'd found the box Lawrence wanted.
The bad news: there were hundreds of them. Stacked like a wall of secrets, each one identical. Leather-bound, heavy, locked tight.
"No way," Yarrow muttered, jaw dropping. "Why are there so many?"
He examined one of the boxes. The appraisal read:[Special Combination Box (Replica)]
"Replica?" he repeated, brows drawing together.
Peach Fox appeared at his side, her hips swaying lazily as she walked. "Maybe because of that," she purred, pointing to a clunky machine nearby.
It looked like a printer mated with a funnel.
Yarrow stepped closer.[Item Copier: Can duplicate objects, but copies are always inferior. Don't even think about banknotes.]
Understanding dawned. "Lawrence needed Peach Fox's ability to find the real one," he murmured.
The mountain of boxes was likely the work of greedy explorers—trying to clone the treasure inside for personal gain, unaware that the copies were worthless.
Still, the copier itself… it was a dangerous thing. Even an inferior replica of something powerful could cause chaos.
"We'll find the real one," Yarrow said. "We have time."
"Hmm…" a sleepy voice murmured behind them. Rene sauntered up, yawning, her shirt hanging off one shoulder. "So we're not leaving yet?"
"Not until we find the original," Yarrow confirmed.
Rene groaned. "Then I'm napping. Wake me when you crack it."
With that, she curled up like a cat and dozed off on the spot.
Finding the right box by hand was a slow grind. Yarrow wandered the room again, scanning for anything that could help.
"Yarrow!" Peach Fox called again, breathless.
He turned—her cheeks were flushed, and she grabbed his sleeve with both hands. Her eyes were wild with anticipation.
"There's something strong over there. Really strong. It feels… good."
He didn't ask questions. He followed.
They climbed a mountain of discarded props. Near the top, something sparkled. Something calling to them.
"That's it!" she whispered. "It's… auspicious."
Yarrow stared up at the precarious pile. "Too unstable. Climbing it might—"
Then he remembered. The Feather Potion.
He uncorked it and drank. A tickle raced through him, and the world shifted. Lighter. Softer.
He stepped onto the pile—graceful, almost floating. As if gravity had forgotten him.
Near the peak, among the discarded cans of magic grass, he spotted the source of the light.
A crystal kettle, humming with an inner glow. It looked warm. Seductive.
Yarrow reached for it, fingers brushing the delicate glass.He saw the label:
[Wishing Pot: A crystal kettle that grants wishes. Use requires the consumption of Wish Spirits. The more Wish Spirits stored inside, the greater the wish that can be granted. Theoretically, with a full reservoir, any wish permitted by the laws of existence may come true.]
Yarrow stood at the summit of the prop mountain, holding the crystal kettle like it was a lover's gift. Its surface was warm to the touch, pulsing faintly in his palm—like a heartbeat. The glow inside shimmered, suggestive, almost inviting.
He stared at it in stunned silence for a long, breathless moment before whispering:
"…I'll be damned."
Had he really stumbled across a divine artifact?
Not just any artifact—a Wishing Pot.
Not three wishes, no restrictions, no genie bargaining in riddles—just a clear promise: as long as you had enough of these mysterious Wish Spirits, this pot could grant anything. Anything.
His imagination wandered dangerously. Endless power? Eternal youth? Or perhaps... something more decadent.
"Yarrow! Did you find it?" Peach Fox's voice carried up to him, slicing through the haze.
"I did!" he called back.
He cradled the pot tightly, then leapt.
His body floated downward like a feather on the wind, graceful and light—his coat fluttering open, revealing a strip of toned abdomen. Peach Fox tilted her head, eyes lingering for a moment too long.
He landed gently before her, holding the crystal pot with care. She immediately stepped close—too close—and took it from his hands, brushing his fingers with her own. The air between them crackled.
She read the information aloud, her breath quickening. "A kettle that can grant any wish…?"
Yarrow gave a slow nod, eyes on her parted lips.
Peach Fox looked up at him, the glimmer of temptation dancing in her gaze. "So… if I wished to become an immortal sex goddess… that's within reach?"
"Theoretically," he murmured, voice deep, "as long as the pot's full of Wish Spirits."
Her smile curved. "Wish Spirits... sounds like something you'd harvest during a long, sweaty night."
Yarrow laughed, but the sound caught in his throat. "Wouldn't surprise me. But I've got no idea what they actually are. The pot didn't exactly come with a manual."
Peach Fox leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper, "Maybe we need to… rub it the right way."
Yarrow blinked at her, then turned back to the pot in his hand. "Only one way to find out."
He rubbed the smooth glass surface slowly, his fingertips tracing its curves. No reaction. He tried the spout, brushing it lightly with his thumb—still nothing.
"Maybe I'm doing it wrong," he muttered.
Just then, a window popped open in his vision like a sudden spark in the dark.
[The mysterious girl in front of you doesn't seem to want to talk to you. Find a way to make her… interested.]
"…No way," Yarrow breathed, staring at the kettle in disbelief. "System, are you serious?"
He turned it over in his hand, watching the faint inner glow pulse stronger, almost like it was listening.
"You bound me to a pot?" His voice was strangled, half-laugh, half-groan. "You turned a divine wish artifact into a flirty system girl!?"
Peach Fox giggled, licking her bottom lip. "So the kettle has… personality? What a naughty artifact."
She leaned in again, this time close enough that he felt her breath on his neck.
"Maybe," she purred, "you just haven't turned her on yet."
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