When Pola returned, he saw Derek's empty plate and a smile spread across his face.

But if he'd noticed Teresia secretly wiping her mouth nearby, that smile would have vanished.

Derek now held the auction item list. Scanning unfamiliar names, he asked, "Pola, what's this for? Trying to tease my appetite early? Teasing Derek Wudewen is dangerous..."

"Young Master Derek, you misunderstand—I'd never dare. This list is for your priority picks. If you want anything, just name a fair price beforehand. Take it without bidding."

Pola rubbed his hands, his smile thick with flattery.

"Oh? Is that proper?"

"Besides royalty, who in the capital would foolishly anger you?"

Pola spoke vaguely, but Derek got it. The royals had already picked through these items. Nothing conflicted with them. Derek could choose freely.

He scanned the list carefully. Most items were famous artworks. He didn't know R18 world masters. Art meant nothing to him—he skipped them. Weapons and armor followed, with flashy names he'd never seen in games. Pola explained their grand histories: used by legendary adventurers, generals, or family heirlooms. But this made Derek even less interested. Weren't these just second-hand goods? He valued practicality over stories.

Soon, the key items ended. The rest were low-value lots, per the appraisers. Derek held little hope. Then, a casual glance caught something familiar—Hohenheim's Alchemical Notebook.

"Young Master Derek, about this," Pola began slowly. "Sterga Trading Company bought it cheaply from an adventurer. Our appraisers can't confirm its worth. It's just notes by an alchemist named Hohenheim. Old items gain value only if tied to great figures. First, we don't know Hohenheim. Second, we can't verify its use. Third, its formulas are odd—like altering soil. So, we expect little interest. Only curious nobles or alchemy fans might buy it."

But Derek knew better. He'd cleared all seven routes in "Fate." In every path, this notebook was a crucial quest item. Giving it to a skilled alchemist yielded a special potion. Useless in battle, it was key to stopping the Witch Cult's expansion. Derek had to get it. He might gift it to Leon later, earning a favor and helping clear his name.

"Pola, I love such curiosities."

Pola smiled knowingly. "Want this notebook? If it's just this, I'll gift it free."

"Free?"

"We paid little. Besides, Wudewen's friendship with Sterga Trading Company is priceless."

"Pola, you're a shrewd manager."

"Thank you, Young Master Derek."

After a day of browsing, Derek finally had a win. His mood lifted. He'd scanned the whole list—nothing else caught his eye. Time to leave.

"Young Master Derek, not staying longer?" Pola urged.

"I've seen all listed items. Nothing interests me. Why stay?" Derek stayed cold.

Pola didn't flinch. "True, you've seen the listed lots. But what about unlisted ones? Care to view them with me?"

"Unlisted?"

Pola glanced at Xinzel and Teresia beside Derek. "Yes. Familiars and slaves..."

Derek narrowed his eyes slightly.

Familiars were tamed magical beasts, enslaved by alchemical collars. Slaves... sadly, Doranbar Kingdom's system. No elves or beastkin here—no pointy-eared beauties or exotic beast-eared maids. But Derek thought he'd look. His duke's mansion servants were plain except Teresia. A pretty, gentle older sister might improve his villainous lifestyle.

First, familiars. Derek found the strange creatures novel at first glance. But he wasn't impressed. Caged beasts were mostly weak wildlings. The only decent griffin was reserved by royalty—disappointing. After touring the section empty-handed, he followed Pola to the slave area.

Hopeful before arriving, Derek was crushed upon entry. All slaves were burly men. Pola called them valuable combat slaves—criminals or debtors. But Derek had Xinzel. Why buy men who'd crumble before him? Walking further, no gentle beauty appeared. Derek thought Pola incompetent.

Then Pola stopped abruptly.

"What?" Derek asked, puzzled.

"You've seen all auction slaves, Young Master Derek."

"Aren't there more ahead?" Derek nodded at cold cages holding people.

"Those aren't auction items. Regular stock. Not worth your time."

"Not worth it?" Derek didn't grasp it. He strode forward—Pola wouldn't dare block him.

After a few steps, he understood. These slaves were worse: old, weak, sick, or disabled. Filthy and broken, they hung their heads, eyes dull like lifeless things. Derek stopped, frowning.

Then he spotted a frail girl in an iron cage. Her face wasn't striking, but her green agate eyes still held a faint glow. In this wretched place, that light felt special. As he stared, she seemed familiar—he just couldn't place her...

Pola, thinking Derek was interested, eagerly explained, "Her gambler father sold her here. Name's Sophia."

Sophia?!

Derek's heart jolted. He remembered now.

That girl was...

"The Spendthrift" Sophia!