Chapter 220
‘Does this man even want to do business?’
At any other time, she would have been offended by his rudeness and left. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to walk away this time.
Eventually, she decided that since she was already here, she might as well look around. Suppressing a sigh, Jaha scanned the shop.
The display shelves were cluttered with all sorts of items haphazardly strewn about, and the wooden shelves looked so rotten they might collapse at the slightest touch. Afraid of being blamed if something broke, she resisted touching anything and only observed with her eyes—until a radiant, shimmering bead caught her attention.
“What is this bead?”
“A subspace.”
Subspace. A familiar term to her as someone who once enjoyed reading fantasy novels.
A device that inevitably appears when the protagonist needs to lug around heavy baggage without looking unsightly—a portable, intangible storage. In short, it’s the equivalent of an inventory system in RPG games.
‘Is this bead the key to opening a subspace? Or is the bead itself the subspace?’
Jaha considered asking the shopkeeper for an explanation. But seeing how he didn’t even glance her way, absorbed in his own work, she bit her tongue. If she asked too many questions and ended up not buying anything, he’d probably scold her for wasting his time.
Better to just look quietly and leave.
But just as she resolved to do so, another item caught her eye—a beautifully crafted flower pin.
‘Is it meant to be worn in the hair? Or is it for holding something else?’
“Excuse me, what’s this flower pin for?”
“Location tracking.”
The curt reply snapped her out of her daze. She had decided not to speak, yet she slipped up. But beyond her mistake, irritation was slowly rising within her.
Few people wouldn’t be offended by such repeated coldness. Not just once or twice, but constantly being addressed in blunt, informal speech with zero sincerity—responses so vague they were barely comprehensible. She had asked politely, yet—
The shopkeeper was still scribbling on his paper, not even looking her way. It was as if he couldn’t care less.
Jaha’s temper flared. Any desire to buy anything had vanished, but walking away now felt like letting him win. If she left like this, she’d be tossing and turning all night, replaying the humiliation.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Since he had spoken rudely three times, she’d repay him in kind. Driven by childish spite, she snapped,
“Handkerchief.”
She could feel the shopkeeper turning his head to look at her. Jaha ignored him, staring only at the displayed handkerchief. Since she was only giving back what she received, he couldn’t complain—just answered in a gruff voice.
“Purification.”
“Button.”
The scratching of the pen nib against paper stopped. Even without looking, Jaha could guess the shopkeeper’s expression.
‘Did you think I’d let you off after just one?’
“Recording.”
“Rags.”
After a brief pause, the answer came, and Jaha immediately fired back.
The long overcoat hanging alone on the stand did show signs of wear, but calling it rags was a stretch. It was clearly displayed with care—she had deliberately insulted it just to provoke him. But now that she had, a wave of self-disgust washed over her.
‘We’re not elementary school kids bickering—this is embarrassing.’
As her anger cooled, regret crept in to fill the void.
Had living in a lavish mansion, pampered by servants, unknowingly stained her with a sense of superiority? Maybe she had grown so accustomed to deference that being ignored stung worse than it should. Back on Earth, she wouldn’t have reacted this strongly—she’d just avoid what disgusted her. “No point risking a fight with someone unhinged.” That had always been her way.
But now, whether from newfound confidence or the arrogance of playing nobility, she’d snapped for no reason.
As she agonized over how to fix this, the shopkeeper slammed his quill down with a sharp thud.
“Unbelievable. Even for a magic-blind fool, to have eyes yet fail to recognize its worth…”
“Excuse me?”
“That is the ‘Robe of the Vanished World.’ I’ve no more words for you—get out.”
The middle-aged man wearing a mask muttered something and waved his hand dismissively. Irritated by the gesture—as if he were shooing away a nuisance—Jaha was about to snap back when her vision spun. And by the time she regained her senses, she was outside the shop.
What the…?
Standing there dumbfounded, Jaha grabbed the shop’s doorknob. But the door, which had opened easily just moments ago, now refused to budge, as if it weighed a ton.
After straining uselessly, Jaha gave up, bending over to catch her breath. She couldn’t make sense of what had just happened.
Magic?
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