When I signed the lease, the real estate agent told me the shop space was "full of character."
In hindsight, I think he meant "full of screaming adventurers bleeding out on the doorstep."
I'm Ryu Hanseok, proud owner of Ryu's 24-Hour Potion and Provisions, which sits about twenty meters from the gaping, ominous entrance to Floor One of the Grand Dungeon.
I opened this place because rent was dirt cheap and I thought "how bad can it be?"
Very bad, Hanseok. Very bad.
The day starts with a guy staggering in at 7 a.m. arrows sticking out of his legs like some sort of medieval porcupine. He collapses on the counter and groans, "Potion..."
I glance up from my book. "Red or blue?"
He glares at me like I just asked if he wanted milk in his cereal. "Red. Obviously."
"Don't be so sure" I say, rummaging under the counter. "Last week, some idiot said red and meant mana. Chugged the whole thing, passed out mid-battle and his party had to carry him back like a sack of potatoes. I'm still finding scorch marks on the doormat."
He groans louder, so I slide a bottle over with a bartender flourish. He downs it in two gulps and limps toward the door.
"Hey" I call after him. "That's five silvers."
He waves vaguely. "Put it on my tab."
I flip open the Dungeon Incident Ledger. His name goes under the column marked: Will Definitely Never Pay Me Back. It's getting crowded in there.
Outside, the dungeon yawns like a hungry mouth, occasionally spitting out adventurers, lost tourists, or suspiciously clean laundry.
The bell jingles again and in waddles... a goblin. Wearing a hoodie and flip-flops.
It slaps a gold coin onto the counter and whispers, "Three beef jerky. No questions."
I blink. "....You do realize this is a human shop, right?"
The goblin leans forward. "You do realize this is goblin gold, right?"
Fair point. I bag the jerky.
An hour later, a knight in full armor clanks in, trailing dirt and what I really hope is jam. He peers into the fridge. "You don't happen to sell dragon milk?"
"No" I say. "Also, that's not a thing."
"It is" he says solemnly, "if you believe hard enough." Then he leaves without buying anything.
I don't even bother writing him in the ledger. He's a lost cause. By midday, I'm running low on potions because apparently half the population of the kingdom decided today was the day to get stabbed. I'm restocking when the bell slams open like someone's trying to break the sound barrier.
A young mage bursts in, panting, clutching a glowing mushroom the size of her head.
"Quick!" she gasps. "Do you have a bag big enough to hide this from the Floor Boss?"
I blink. "....Why would the Floor Boss care about your mushroom?"
"It's his lunch."
Before I can respond, she dives under the counter like a startled cat.
The ground shakes. The door creaks. A shadow falls across the shelves.
I look up. There's something huge in the doorway. Horns. Glowing eyes.
A voice rumbles: "Excuse me... do you sell loyalty cards?"