Morning came early these days.
Before dawn, Ashburn was already up — notebook in one hand, calculator in the other, a half-finished cup of tea sitting beside the ledger. The air smelled faintly of dust and cardamom.
"Another day, another hundred things to fix," he muttered, flipping through the order list.
The store had grown faster than he ever planned. Too fast, maybe. Shelves once half-empty were now bursting. Deliveries came every two days instead of weekly. Even other shopkeepers had started asking for bulk deals.
Sami, however, didn't share the same excitement.
"Why do you look like a zombie every morning?" he asked, strolling in with a piece of toast. "You're scaring the customers."
Ashburn sighed. "Because unlike you, I run a store. You just run your mouth."
"Hey, that mouth brings in charm-based customers," Sami grinned, leaning on the counter. "You know… like the aunties who think I look like a young Salman Khan."
Ashburn raised a brow. "In what universe? Maybe a parallel one where mirrors lie."
Their mother's laughter floated in from the kitchen. "Stop fighting and eat breakfast before it gets cold."
Ashburn smiled faintly. These little moments — the banter, the warmth — kept him sane. Even when his head buzzed with numbers, deadlines, and stock lists.
Still, every tick of the clock reminded him that the evaluation timer was running. Two months.
It sounded generous — until you were the one living every second of it.
---
The morning rush came with its usual chaos.
A supplier was late. A customer wanted credit. And the delivery boy — Arif — had managed to misplace two cartons of biscuits somewhere between the shop and the school canteen.
"Arif!" Ashburn shouted. "How do you lose two cartons? They're the size of your ego!"
The boy looked sheepish. "Sir… the kids offered me samosas to stop and eat. I might've… left them near the tea stall."
Ashburn pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bring them back before they become pigeon food."
Sami chuckled from the counter. "You should start a new slogan — Khan General Store: Lost and Found Snacks Since 2025."
"Keep joking," Ashburn muttered. "Next time you're doing deliveries."
"Nope," Sami said instantly. "I've retired early from physical labor."
Ashburn rolled his eyes, but a smile crept in. Despite the madness, the business was alive. Breathing. Growing.
Still, that growth came with pressure — the kind that sat heavy on your chest.
One wrong delivery, one lost supplier… and all of it could crumble.
---
By midday, the heat had settled like a blanket over the street.
The shop buzzed with chatter, the air thick with spice and cardboard.
He checked the Fortune Ledger — a faint hologram flickered before him.
> [Progress: 27%]
[Evaluation Time Remaining: 37 Days]
[Guidance: None]
"None?" he whispered. "What do you mean none? You usually have at least one sarcastic comment."
The hologram blinked twice and vanished.
It was strange. The system had been… quiet lately.
No prompts, no "tips," not even a hint of what came next. For the first time since it appeared, Ashburn felt alone in his decisions.
He leaned back against the counter, pen tapping against the ledger.
"Alright then," he murmured. "Guess it's just me and my brilliant mistakes now."
Sami looked up. "You talking to the shelves again?"
"Yes," Ashburn replied. "They listen better than you."
---
The afternoon blurred into a storm of receipts and calls.
By the time the last customer left, Ashburn's brain felt like melted butter.
"Expenses… 82,000," he muttered, flipping pages. "Profit margin, nine percent. Delivery costs — still too damn high."
Every day brought a new fire to put out.
And lately, one supplier had started delaying shipments without warning. Ashburn tried to ignore it, but the worry lingered.
He checked his messages again — still nothing from the supplier. The man usually confirmed every Tuesday. Today was Friday.
"Relax," Sami said, noticing the look on his face. "Maybe he's busy."
"Busy doesn't stop payments," Ashburn replied. "If we don't get stock by Monday, we'll have empty racks."
"You worry too much."
"That's why we still have lights," Ashburn shot back.
Still, later that night, when he locked up the shop, that unease returned.
The desert wind was cool, carrying faint laughter from nearby houses. The city wasn't rich, but it was alive — honest, noisy, and full of people trying to make it work. Just like him.
He looked up at the glowing sign — Khan General Store.
"Let's hope tomorrow doesn't bring trouble," he whispered.
---
Tomorrow brought trouble.
The next morning, one message ruined his tea.
> "Delivery delayed indefinitely. Factory shortage. Will update later."
He read it twice. Then again.
"Indefinitely? Are you kidding me?"
Sami looked up from the counter. "What's wrong?"
Ashburn handed him the phone. "That supplier just backed out. That's forty percent of our stock gone next week."
Sami blinked. "Forty? Bro, that's like—"
"I know how math works!" Ashburn snapped, rubbing his temples. "Without those supplies, we'll miss orders, customers will switch, and our evaluation—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Sami frowned. "Your what?"
"Nothing," Ashburn said quickly. "Just… our reputation."
His brother didn't look convinced, but didn't push either.
Ashburn began pacing. "Think. Think. I can't just wait. I need a backup supplier."
"But from where?" Sami asked. "Most local guys buy from the same factory."
"Then I'll go one level up," he said, determination sharpening his voice. "If the river dries up… find the source."
---
That evening, the Fortune Ledger flickered again — faint, almost lazy.
> [System Notice: External disruption detected.]
[No intervention possible. Adaptation required.]
Ashburn stared. "Yeah, thanks for the motivational poster, you glowing parasite."
The hologram blinked once — like it was smirking — and vanished.
He slumped into his chair, exhaustion crawling into his bones.
"How do you adapt," he whispered, "when the whole market shifts under you?"
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the shutters.
Somewhere far away, thunder rolled again — that hollow kind that promised rain but never delivered.
Ashburn stared into the dim shop. The shelves stood like silent soldiers, waiting.
He knew this storm wasn't just in the sky anymore — it was creeping straight toward him.
And this time… the system wasn't going to hold his hand.
To be continued