The moment we returned to the orphanage, I called a full assembly.
The common room had never looked so full. Children sat cross-legged on the threadbare carpet, whispering excitedly to one another. Vale leaned casually against the far wall, arms crossed in silent curiosity. Lysandra took her usual seat—on top of the armrest rather than the actual cushion—exuding disinterest that fooled no one. Even Matron Celine wheeled in with a suspicious gleam in her eye, clearly sensing this wasn't going to be one of my usual "explain why you found three gold missing from the kitchen" speeches.
At the center of the room, I unfurled a city map across the table. Stacks of scribbled parchment and two open ledgers surrounded it like fortifications.
"Alright," I said, tapping the map with a quill, "let's talk about the festival."
Syd raised his hand. "Do we get free sweets?"
"No. But if this goes well, we'll be able to buy sweets. As many as we want. And possibly the bakery."
That got their attention.
I cleared my throat. "The Leonid Festival will last an entire month. That's a month of increased foot traffic, foreign visitors, competitive merchants, and nobles drunk enough to buy two copies of the same book just to say they have the 'better edition.' It is, in short, a battlefield."
"And let me guess," Lysandra said, drumming her fingers on the table, "you want to win the war."
"No," I said, flashing a grin. "I want to monopolize the battlefield."
New Quest: "Orphanage Inc."
Objective: Expand both bookstore and preserve operations to capitalize on festival economy.
Rewards:
Gold
Increased Reputation
Access to Advanced Economic Tools
???
Optional Karma Bonus: Empower Orphan Workforce Fairly(Subtext: Bribes will be penalized.)
"I've outlined two primary income streams," I continued, flipping to the first ledger page. "One: the bookstore. Obvious, already booming. But during the festival, we're going to expand outside the physical shop. "Temporary street kiosks, foldable shelf racks—anything mobile enough to chase crowds but sturdy enough to hold our inventory."
"Pop-up book stalls?" Vale murmured, intrigued. "Could be viable—especially if we rotate locations by week."
"Exactly. And we lean into the trends. Mystery bundles wrapped in wax seal. Genre-based 'starter packs.' Premium leather-bound editions for nobles who want to show off."
"And the second stream?" asked Matron Celine.
I turned to the next map—a layout of Alcasa's central merchant quarter.
"Fruit preserves."
There was a moment of silence. Then—
"You want to sell jam," Syd deadpanned.
"Not just jam," I corrected, tapping the ledger for emphasis. "Flavored syrups. Glazed treats. Tarts. Candied fruits. I've run the numbers: during last year's festival, food vendors earned a combined profit of over 800 gold—from sweets alone. If we scale up..."
"Umm... Eamond?" Pip piped up, raising her hand like we were in a classroom. "What's a tart?"
I paused. "...Right. Of course you wouldn't know."
Even Vale looked confused. "Is that... a type of fruit?"
"No," I said, suppressing a sigh. "It's a kind of dessert. Imagine a small, shallow crust of buttery dough, baked until golden, and filled with sweet things—jam, cream, fruit... That's a tart."
Blank stares all around.
"So... it's like a sweet bread bowl?" Jake asked, tilting his head.
"Kind of. But crispier. And delicate," I said. "It's like a—hmm—okay, imagine if you made a tiny, open-faced bread thing, but instead of meat or soup, you filled it with honeyed berries and custard. It crumbles in your mouth. Soft on the inside, flaky on the outside."
"Oh!" Pip's eyes widened. "So like... a fruit nest!"
"Sure," I nodded. "A fruit nest. With a cookie as the nest."
. "Wait. You're saying this tart thing doesn't exist here?"
Vale leaned forward, brows drawn together. "Not as far as I've seen, the closest they've got are honey loaves and fig bread."
"No pastry crusts. No fillings. No pies either." I asked again
"Pies?" Vale repeated slowly, as if testing the sound.
"A bigger tart, with a lid," I explained. "Filled with spiced meats or sweet fruits, depending on the recipe. In some places, we served them during holidays. Some nobles paid chefs absurd amounts just to get the crust right."
Vale's eyes lit up. "So you're telling me... we could sell something completely new at the festival? Something even the nobles haven't tasted?"
I gave him a slow smile. "I guess we are."
"Oh, they'll eat that up," he said, already flipping through the inventory list.
"Team Tart!" Pip cheered, holding up a little fist.
Mira leaned over and whispered, "We're going to need a lot more flour."
Garret shot up a hand. "Can I be on Team Tart?"
"No," I said. "You're on Team Sign Spinner."
"What's that?"
"You dress like a giant book and yell promotional slogans." I joked
He slumped, crestfallen. "I want to transfer to Team Jam."
"Denied."
Jake coughed into his sleeve to hide a laugh. Lysandra didn't bother. "Giant book," she repeated, smirking. "Can we add ribbons?"
"I'll fight you all," Garret muttered.
I cleared my throat and unrolled a city map across the table, pinning it down with jars and candleholders. "Focus. The Leonid Festival will span the entire central district, but the foot traffic isn't evenly spread. There are two primary choke points: the Plaza of Echoes—where the opening parade and most of the food vendors gather—and the arena courtyard, where the tournament takes place."
Vale nodded. "And the arena draws the largest crowds day after day."
"Exactly." I tapped both spots with a pen. "So we'll open two stalls. One in the main plaza to draw festival-goers, and another directly in front of the arena to catch the combat spectators."
"Twice the setup," Mira noted, chewing the end of her pencil.
"Twice the profit," I replied.
Matron Celine squinted over her spectacles. "And how do you plan to staff two stalls and run the shop?"
I smiled. "We delegate. Vale, you'll oversee the arena stall. It's a higher-risk, high-reward area—more nobles, more sales, more chaos. Perfect for you."
"I'm honored," he said dryly.
"Lysandra, you'll anchor the plaza stall. Entice the common crowd. Smile charmingly. Threaten them if needed."
"Finally, a job that suits my strengths."
"I'll remain at the shop," I continued. "We'll rotate shifts. I'll also be supervising production in the orphanage kitchen. Mira, you're in charge of pastry testing and equipment layout. Pip—yes, you can help make stars. Jake, handle supply runs and inventory. And yes, Garret, you're still a book."
He groaned and let his forehead fall onto the table.
"Oh, and one more thing," I said, pointing to the arena zone, "we'll introduce a third product exclusive to that location: chilled fruity drinks."
There was a collective pause.
"Cold drinks?" Vale asked slowly.
"Yes. Most vendors will be selling warm food, stews, and fried meat. But after a tournament match, people want to cool down, not sweat more. We'll serve iced berry tonics, spiced lemon water, and citrus slush in carved fruit cups. Refreshing, eye-catching, and an excuse to mark the price up."
"You're insidious," Lysandra said, almost admiringly.
"Thank you," I said with a small bow.
"Do we even have ice?" Mira asked.
"We will. I've a way of getting ice blocks during delivery. We'll carve storage pits in the cellar and wrap the crates in sawdust and straw. With proper rotation, we can keep drinks chilled for most of the day."
"We're really doing this," Jake murmured, staring at the map as if it had turned into a treasure chart.
"Indeed," I said, rolling my shoulders. "If we pull this off, we'll double our profits, spread Phoenix Brand across every corner of the city, and, most importantly—"
"Sell tarts to people who've never eaten one," Vale finished, smirking.
"Exactly."
We spent the next hour strategizing.
Lysandra proposed that we partner with traveling performers, offering discount books in exchange for shouting our slogans during the act. Mira suggested limited-edition festival jams—each themed after a different fable or historical event. ("Blood Orange Betrayal: The Brutus Blend.") Even the younger orphans chimed in, suggesting decorated jars or handwritten labels to 'make them look noble-y.'
"Fine," Lysandra relented. "We do artisan labels."
Jake was already drafting inventory lists. Vale mapped out ideal booth locations. Mira slipped out halfway through to tinker with a collapsible jam-dispensing stand. And Pip announced she'd write a story to go with each jam flavor.
Somewhere in the middle of assigning weekly rotas, I realized I hadn't said a single cynical thing in over fifteen minutes.
Worrisome.
Karma Adjustment: +4 (Exploiting Capitalism...with Heart)
Host Ego: Stabilizing...Attempting Recalibration
Later that evening, as the common room emptied and only Vale remained to help fold up maps, he glanced sideways at me.
"You know," he said, "this is the most I've seen the kids smile since we arrived."
I shrugged, eyes on the ledger. "Excited workers are efficient workers. Though I'll have to refine some of their excited ideas to make it viable."
"Mm. Of course."
He turned to go, then paused. "Eamond?"
"Yes?"
"Don't be surprised if this starts feeling like a home."
Then he left me alone with my thoughts—and a suspicious tightness in my chest I pretended was just indigestion.