As they wandered, the young girl suddenly broke the silence with a question:
"What do you intend to do in town, Mr. Ace?"
The question caught him off guard. He paused to think for a moment before replying,
"I suppose I'll look for a place to stay first, then I'll figure out what to do next."
As he said that, he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small black leather wallet—simple in design. He opened it and retrieved a bundle of paper money. He extended his hand toward the young girl to show her and asked, already suspecting the answer:
"Can I use this in any way here in town?"
The girl stepped closer, leaning slightly toward his hand—just enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath. Her wide eyes fixed on the paper bills. She then looked up at him innocently and asked,
"What are these?"
"They're banknotes used in my country."
After he spoke, she cautiously reached out her hand, her small fingers grazing the surface of the bills. She felt a curious texture—an odd mix of roughness and smoothness. Her fingertips slowly traced the intricate engravings and delicate lines, while her nose picked up the distinct scent—not just of ink and paper, but something unfamiliar, something she had never smelled before.
The colors of the notes reflected in her eyes—shades of green, blue, and violet blended in an elegant harmony. In the center of one of the bills, there was the image of an older man with stern features. She studied the portrait closely, noticing its detailed features so finely rendered that she could almost see every wrinkle, as if she were peering at him through a window in time.
Her eyes had not yet taken in enough of the notes' beauty when Ace pulled out another set—this time, round metallic coins. He placed them in her palm, and the girl immediately felt their weight and coolness. She examined them, her eyes catching the gleam of light reflected off their surfaces. These weren't ordinary coins; they were miniature works of art. Their engravings were astonishingly detailed—some bore the likenesses of people, others were adorned with mysterious symbols, and even their edges carried ornate markings only visible upon close inspection.
In that moment, the girl felt as though she were holding a treasure crafted by skilled hands that had spent days, perhaps weeks, engraving every detail. Emilia hadn't yet lifted her eyes from the coins when she whispered, barely audible:
"These coins… they're amazing! I've never seen anything like them before."
She looked up, her eyes filled with wonder, as if trying to comprehend how such things could even be made. Ace then replied in a calm tone,
"These are official currencies used in my homeland. I know this might be a silly question, but is there any chance I could use them here in town?"
After his question, Emilia glanced again at the money. She inhaled the scent of paper and metal once more before answering confidently:
"In our kingdom, we don't use paper money. Only solid coins made of precious metals are accepted. So, these paper bills might not hold value here, despite how finely crafted they are. But…"
She paused, seeming to weigh her words, then continued in a more assured tone,
"They can't be used directly, but I think you could exchange them at a currency shop. I'm sure showing them will pique interest. It'll probably be easier with the metal coins, too."
Ace considered her words, furrowing his brows slightly as he asked,
"Do currency shops accept coins they don't recognize or know the value of?"
Emilia shrugged lightly, but her confident tone remained,
"I'm not sure, but I think exotic coins always intrigue exchange shop owners. They may not assess their real value, but their curiosity alone might make them offer a good price. Not to mention, they're finely made. If not used as money, they could serve as collectibles—so the transaction might be more of a sale than a regular exchange."
Her reasoning was sound enough, so Ace nodded in agreement. After that, the two headed to a nearby currency shop. It had a glass storefront, and upon entering, the space turned out to be smaller than expected. At the far end, there was a small counter with a glass barrier separating customers from the shop owner and providing him protection.
Behind the counter sat a man who appeared to be in his forties. His head was already balding, though he still maintained some hair on the sides. His mustache resembled fine threads curled into a rounded shape. His gaze was sharp, trained to seize any opportunity. Behind him stood wooden shelves stacked with old ledgers and small boxes, exuding the scent of aged paper mingled with silver—a combination that gave the place a distinctive character.
As soon as they entered, the man greeted them with a scrutinizing look. The girl stepped forward and placed the paper and metal currencies on the counter for inspection, explaining that they were hoping to get a good price for them. Upon seeing both the paper and metal coins, a flicker of curiosity and greed sparked in his eyes—a glint he tried to hide behind a composed expression, though the girl caught it.
He extended his hands and picked up the coins, turning them between his rough fingers, feigning indifference—as if what was presented to him wasn't particularly interesting. After examining the coins, he looked up, eyes narrowing slightly, and asked in a calm voice laden with unspoken questions,
"Where did you get these coins?"
Emilia exchanged a brief glance with Ace before answering,
"They're currencies from distant lands. We can't reveal more for private reasons."
She nodded toward Ace, indicating he was their owner.
The man studied the young man standing before him, searching his face for signs of ignorance or unease—any clue he could exploit to his advantage—but he found nothing.
The youth appeared calm, indifferent, his face betraying no discernible emotion. To the shopkeeper, he seemed like a difficult prey. Still, he didn't lose hope—he often struck profitable deals when dealing with foreigners from distant lands. The only obstacle was the girl. He knew she was a local, which meant she would be a barrier to any attempt at manipulating the deal in his favor.
Then, with careful deliberation, the man began separating the paper notes and metal coins into two distinct piles, as if marking a boundary between their values. He then raised his head and made his offer with confident clarity:
"I'll pay 10 silver pieces for the whole set."
His offer was quick and direct, as if he wanted to seal the deal before either of them could catch their breath or think it through. He hoped the confidence in his voice would convince them he wouldn't accept anything else.
The silence that followed didn't last long. Emilia's voice cut through the air in protest:
"Are you joking?!"
The man instinctively took a step back but quickly regained composure. Emilia stepped forward, her eyes blazing as she declared,
"Take a proper look. They're worth no less than 50 silver pieces at the very least!"
Her words struck like whips through the air. The tension in the room thickened. The man stared at her small face, struggling to remain composed despite the challenge in her tone. At last, he exhaled slowly and replied in a measured tone, trying to sound reasonable,
"These coins are from an unknown country. They hold no real value here. Even if they're worth more elsewhere, I have no guarantee I can trade or benefit from them. Without any documentation proving their true worth, selling them is a gamble. So… fifty? That's difficult."
His words sounded rational, cloaked in logic that was hard to refute. But he underestimated Emilia's resolve. She stepped forward again, her small hands resting confidently on the counter. Her voice, unfittingly assured for her age, rang out:
"I don't agree! These coins are worth much more than you offered."
Despite his years of experience in haggling, the man couldn't hide his irritation at her confidence. Another silence fell—a brief truce in their bargaining battle. They exchanged sharp glances, each trying to read the other's intent. Then Emilia broke the standstill with a decisive turn toward Ace, speaking with a mix of firmness and temptation:
"Let's go, Mr. Ace. We won't waste time here. There are other exchange shops that might better appreciate your coins. And if not, we can visit one of the rare item trade stores."
It was not a suggestion—it was a declaration of war. The man realized it from the way the girl gathered the coins in her hands and shot him a defiant look. He felt as though the treasure he had held moments ago was being stolen from him.
He watched them head toward the door, his heart aching with regret—an emotion unfamiliar to him. His mind raced, but instinct overtook pride. He shouted,
"Wait! Wait a moment, little lady!"
His voice was hurried, trying to sound friendly beneath a mask of tension. He added,
"Upon further thought… maybe my previous offer wasn't fair. I'll pay 50 silver pieces, as you asked."
Emilia paused at the door but didn't turn immediately. She stood still for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then she slowly turned, a sly smile crossing her lips. Her voice was calm but carried an edge:
"Oh, fifty? That was me being generous."
With those words, the man realized he had walked right into a trap. A trap he hadn't seen coming. Emilia continued,
"Since you refused my generous offer, I won't accept less than 70 silver pieces now."
Her words struck like an arrow to his pride. He couldn't scream, but he burned inside. It felt as if the table had turned—he was no longer the hunter, but the prey, ensnared by a cunning little girl.
He glanced at the quiet young man beside her—the one who hadn't uttered a single word. He knew that had the man come alone, he might have accepted five silver pieces—or even less. But the presence of the girl was a nightmare. She had skillfully taken control of the negotiation in a way he never expected.
Under the counter, his fists clenched tightly, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. Thoughts raced through his mind—should he stand firm or surrender to this merciless girl? He knew if he tried to bargain again, she'd only raise the price further.
Taking a deep breath to steady his simmering anger, he finally said, voice heavy with frustration:
"Fine! Seventy silver pieces. Take them and just go!"
The girl smiled sweetly as she stepped forward to take the small pouch the man had filled with seventy silver coins. Before leaving, she turned once more and threw the man a quick glance—one that carried a victorious and satisfied smile.
He watched them go, his eyes burning with the bitter taste of loss. He knew he could sell the coins for at least a hundred silver pieces if he found the right buyer. But that did little to ease the sting. He hadn't technically lost—but the profit he had envisioned slipped through his fingers, and that alone made him feel utterly defeated.