Outside, Emilia walked with nearly dancing steps, swaying with pride, as if performing a victory dance visible only to herself. She came to a halt, placed one hand on her hip, and with the other, toyed with the coin pouch—tossing it lightly into the air, letting it rise slightly before catching it in her palm. The clinking of the coins was music to her ears—a triumphant tune she believed she had composed with skill. Then, she extended her hand toward Ace, offering him the pouch with a smile.
"I may not have gotten you the best deal, but this amount is decent."
Ace thanked her and took the pouch, pulling out a few coins. They were silver and gleamed under the light, revealing faint engravings. The craftsmanship wasn't particularly refined, so he understood why both the girl and the man who had seen them earlier had been surprised by the intricate detailing of his own foreign coins.
The silver coins were lightweight and square-shaped—perhaps to reduce their volume or to make storage easier. All those factors had clearly been considered. Then he asked, with a hint of curiosity in his tone:
"How much exactly is this worth? I mean, in terms of what I can buy or trade for it?"
Emilia thought for a moment, brushed her fingers over one of the silver coins, then lifted it and began to explain:
"Well, to make it simple—ten apples cost one silver coin. So, a single apple goes for one bronze coin. And one hundred silver coins equal a single gold one. That means you have more than half a gold coin's worth."
Ace quickly processed her explanation and began mentally comparing the purchasing power of his small fortune. True, it wasn't a large sum, but it was certainly a promising start in a distant land. He then recalled the paper currency among the items he had exchanged. His thoughts drifted for a moment, and the girl noticed this subtle change in his expression. She raised her eyebrows inquiringly:
"Is something wrong?"
He thought about explaining, but decided against it, not wanting to dampen her sense of victory by telling her that the money she had exchanged would've bought him a ton or two of fresh red apples back in his homeland.
"No... nothing..." he replied, pausing as if remembering something. Then he added, "Actually, I'm thinking about visiting those shops you mentioned—the rare goods trading places. Are they really what their name suggests?"
The girl smiled lightly and said:
"Yes! They're shops travelers go to in order to exchange their strange belongings for items they might need—or to sell them if they want." Then she added with a teasing tone and a playful wink, "Shouldn't a traveler already know that?"
Ace chuckled softly, admitting to himself that she was right. He masked a slight embarrassment behind a smile, then said:
"I'd like to try trading a specific item."
She raised her eyebrows, looking at him with curiosity since he wasn't visibly carrying anything.
"And do you have something to trade?"
Ace reached into his pocket and pulled out a broken watch. It had once been elegant, though now its glass cover was cracked, and its hands were frozen. It had lost its ability to tell time, yet still retained a fragment of its former charm—something that, perhaps, a merchant might find valuable. Emilia reached out and took the watch from him, running her fingers over the fine cracks in the glass and the metal body, which she initially thought was gold. She quickly realized it wasn't.
As she examined the watch closely, she didn't seem particularly impressed—perhaps because she didn't understand the device or its purpose. After a moment of contemplation, she looked up and said:
"I know just the place to sell something like this—a small shop down a nearby alley. It's one of the better ones. Let's go there."
And so, the two of them moved through the narrow alleys, passing cracked walls and uneven stone paths. The air was filled with the scent of spices, wood, and fabric. After several minutes, they stopped in front of a shop that looked like a portal to another dimension. Its door was round, unlike any other store, and vines crept over its façade, thriving in a damp environment shielded from sunlight.
Emilia opened the door quietly, revealing shelves crowded with all kinds of items—strange statues, tools, and miscellaneous objects arranged so tightly that moving around was difficult. Some items, despite their oddity, suggested possible uses, while others were shrouded in mystery.
At the back of the shop sat an old man behind a small wooden table. He rested on a worn-out chair of little worth. His face bore the marks of time, and his eyes hinted at someone who had seen too much. He greeted the two visitors, and Emilia responded warmly before placing the broken watch in front of him. His eyes sparkled momentarily, though he quickly masked his intrigue with a faint smile. He picked up the watch slowly, as if handling a priceless artifact, turning it in his hands in silence. His rough fingers passed over the golden frame and the ten markers spaced around its face. He paused at the three frozen hands, as though listening to their silent lament, then sighed and said in a soft, seasoned voice:
"This is an intriguing piece, truly. But its condition isn't good. The glass is shattered, and the hands don't move. I'm not sure anyone would be interested in buying it."
His voice was cold and sharp as he began negotiating, tossing out numbers like pebbles into still water. Emilia, however, wasn't about to let the matter go easily. She had noticed that glimmer of admiration in his tired eyes. She didn't want to win the deal entirely in her favor—she just wanted the merchant to get a fair price for the peculiar device. So, her negotiations were friendly rather than forceful.
After several minutes of back-and-forth, the two exited the shop. Emilia crossed her arms and sighed, a mix of satisfaction and disappointment in her breath. She turned to Ace, who walked beside her quietly, and said in a voice tinged with unmistakable frustration:
"We only got ten silver coins! I was negotiating well, but you, Mister Ace, agreed too quickly."
Ace looked at her with his usual calm smile and replied, trying to console her:
"I think the price is fair, considering the condition of the watch. Back home, this amount would be reasonable."
Despite his words of comfort, Emilia couldn't entirely shake her mild irritation. But she soon reminded herself that the shopkeeper was a kind man who deserved a good deal. She smiled, then pointed to the book Ace had bought for five silver coins and asked:
"Are you interested in collecting old books?"
Ace turned the worn leather-bound book in his hands, a smile forming on his lips—one that hinted at something deeper than casual interest. As he examined the book, he said:
"Actually... yes. Or at least, I used to be."
The girl didn't fully understand what he meant, but something in his tone suggested he wasn't really looking at the book—rather, he was lost in an old memory. They returned to the main market street, bustling with activity. Ace asked if there were any jobs available in town—anything with decent pay, regardless of how tiring it might be.
Emilia answered honestly, masking the disappointment in her voice with a calm realism, as though trying not to be too harsh with the truth:
"Shielda is a beautiful town, but it's not ideal for those seeking good job opportunities. The chances here are very limited."
Her response wasn't just a casual remark—it revealed the deeper reality of daily life in town. Despite its charm, it couldn't offer everyone what they were looking for. She continued, glancing at the surrounding shops:
"Store and restaurant owners here prefer to hire locals over outsiders—not to preserve tradition, but to keep their businesses stable."
She paused briefly before continuing in a quiet, resolute tone:
"Workers from outside always resemble migrating birds. They come for a short while, earn what they need, then leave without warning—leaving behind a void that's hard to fill. The employers who trusted them are left in a cycle of instability, constantly having to find replacements. So, hiring outsiders has become quite difficult—there's simply no trust in their long-term commitment."
Ace felt the weight of her words. Things weren't as simple as he had hoped. What made the truth even more bitter was the town's clear distance from any modern technology—he wouldn't even find the basic tools needed to fix his vehicle, the one object standing between him and the continuation of his journey.
Thoughts spiraled in his mind. Should he leave and look for another place? He considered asking the girl if there was anywhere with advanced technology—but then realized she likely wouldn't understand the question. Not because she was too young, but because the level of civilization here was entirely different.
As he sank into thought, silence fell between them. The girl watched him with eyes that seemed to pierce through his thoughts. Suddenly, she lit up with a childlike smile and said with unexpected enthusiasm, as if she had found a magical solution:
"Don't worry! I have a suggestion you might like."
Ace snapped out of his deep thoughts, lifting his head as though her words had pulled him from a trance. He looked at her with anticipation and asked:
"What is it?"
"You can stay at my house for a while. You won't have to worry about food or a place to sleep."
Her words struck him like lightning. He stared at her face, searching for any sign that she was joking. But her expression was completely serious. His face twisted into a mixture of surprise, concern, and unease. The simplicity of her offer carried layers of complications he wasn't ready to face.
"Thank you for your generosity, but... don't you think letting a stranger stay in your home is risky?"
"Of course! I don't let just anyone in. But you're a respectable young man—I can tell. My instincts have never failed me when it comes to people."
There was a calm spark in her eyes and a steady tone in her voice that left no room for misinterpretation. Yet, despite her confidence, Ace wasn't entirely convinced. He felt something contradictory about her—a strange mixture of innocence and certainty, of impulsiveness and wisdom. Part of him wanted to trust her intuition; another part warned him she was still just a child who might make reckless decisions.
He wondered if her maturity was real or just a mask hiding inexperience. But regardless of the answer, Ace realized he had no other options. His situation didn't allow for hesitation—it demanded that he seize any opportunity. He had no choice but to accept the hand offered to him with such certainty. Finally, he broke his silence and asked cautiously:
"And what do you want in return?"
Her eyes sparkled, as if she had been waiting for that question. She stepped closer—so close he instinctively stepped back. Her expression was eager before she proclaimed loudly enough for passersby to hear:
"I want your clothes!"
Time seemed to freeze. Her words unleashed a storm of shock—not just for him, but for the onlookers whose eyes widened in disbelief. Ace stepped back again, his face a mix of confusion and discomfort, and managed to utter a flustered:
"W–what?"
Whispers spread around them as everyone tried to make sense of what was happening between the young man and the little girl. Emilia, realizing the misunderstanding, blushed deeply and waved her hands in a flurry to correct the situation:
"Oh no! That sounded weird, didn't it?"
She rushed to explain, trying to avert the small scandal she had accidentally caused:
"I meant the clothes you left at my house earlier!"
Ace raised his brows, his face flushing with embarrassment as he realized how her words could be taken. The people around them exchanged knowing glances. He quickly grabbed her hand and led her down a nearby alley to continue the conversation in private, while the suspicious eyes of the crowd followed them. Emilia, meanwhile, stared at his back. Her gaze drifted to his hand—his grip was neither harsh nor forceful, but warm and gentle, a mix of firmness and care. It felt like his hand told a story of past experience, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with a strange sense of nostalgia.
Once they entered the alley, Ace let out a long sigh, as if releasing a hidden burden. He turned to her, noticing that she was still looking at her hand, as if recalling an old memory. He said quickly:
"I get it! You want my clothes as payment for letting me stay at your house. But... are they really worth that much? Even if they're not torn, they hold little value."
Emilia smiled and replied:
"That doesn't matter. I just want to study their measurements and details so I can make similar clothes. I'm sure once I finish, I'll have plenty of buyers." She winked and added, "Let's call it a smart investment."
After she said that, Ace looked at her differently again. She wasn't the impulsive girl he had assumed—she had a sharp business mind far beyond her appearance. He wondered how a child could think that way—to see opportunity in what others dismissed as worthless. And yet, he couldn't help but ask another question, as if testing the reality he struggled to grasp. He examined her closely and asked in a serious tone:
"But... is that acceptable here? I mean, inviting a young man to stay with you—won't that raise suspicion and harm your reputation?"
A moment of silence passed before she answered without the slightest hesitation, leaving no room for doubt:
"People might think the wrong thing, sure. But I don't care. I'm a mature girl, and I do what I believe is best for me."
Ace continued to study her confident face, questioning whether her supposed maturity was genuine or just a mask hiding her lack of life experience. He had met many who pretended to be wise when they were not, but Emilia was different. There was something in her stance and gaze that radiated conviction. She then raised her hand, as if cutting through his thoughts before he could object further, and said with an unyielding tone:
"Please, don't think I'm reckless or unaware of what's appropriate for my age. Let me assure you again—I wouldn't have proposed this if I didn't feel you were someone I could trust. And I'm sure of that!"
Ace stood in silence for a moment, then finally surrendered to her unwavering trust. He exhaled softly and said in a low, decisive voice:
"Alright. If that's what you want, I'll accept your offer."
As soon as he said it, her eyes lit up, and a smile bloomed on her lips—not just a sign of satisfaction, but of triumph. A blend of two joys shone through: one she recognized, and another she couldn't quite name.