Kestia stepped out of the study, her mood easing slightly.

Her nerves had been taut for days.

Strolling through the manor grounds, she spotted Lanche lounging in a pavilion courtyard. He sipped tea while reading, sprawled on a wicker chair—a lazybones lifestyle, yet his expression radiated pure contentment.

Sometimes, Kestia felt a flicker of envy.

But she knew she could never be so carefree. Too many burdens weighed on her heart.

As she approached, Lanche noticed her and sprang up with a bow. "Good afternoon, my lady wife. Care for some tea?"

His smile was impeccably polite—a manner even Ms. Jelins, the Bolnors Family’s strictest etiquette tutor, couldn’t fault.

Kestia gave a quiet nod and sat across from him.

*Just cracked a joke, and she actually wants tea? How odd,* Lanche thought. But since she’d settled in, he poured a cup.

They sat at the stone table in silence.

Lanche assumed she’d wandered over idly. After serving her tea, he returned to his book.

Kestia sipped quietly, her gaze fixed on him until he grew uneasy.

"Is there something you’d like to say?" he finally asked.

"Nothing." Her eyes drifted away, calm.

"...’ Lanche fell silent, sensing something off.

"How’s business?" he tried.

"Not smooth." Her reply was flat.

"Oh." He didn’t press. No need to invite trouble.

Silence thickened again.

"Do you dislike talking to me?" Kestia suddenly asked, eyes locking onto his.

"Huh? Why’d you say that?" Lanche blinked.

"You’re quite the charmer with Lekui. Why so quiet around me?" Her tone stayed light, detached.

"Huh? Are you blaming me?" Lanche tensed, half-expecting domestic violence.

Kestia lowered her head, silent again.

*Blame?* She wasn’t even sure what she felt.

"I just thought... you could talk to me too," she murmured.

"What do you mean?" Lanche frowned. Even with his self-proclaimed emotional intelligence, teenage girls were a mystery. He’d always struggled with them—even back in school.

"Nothing." She sipped her tea, quiet once more.

"Right." Lanche let it drop.

"The plan you mentioned to Lekui... we’ve hit a snag," Kestia finally said softly.

It wasn’t truly a problem—just mounting pressure, uncertainty about where this path would lead.

"Speculating on Gelute herb? Expected," Lanche shrugged. "People always chase bubbles—stocks, houses, gold. Even tulips or rocks, if marketed right."

"Not our concern. Gorde’s digging his own grave." He waved dismissively. When bubbles burst, someone had to go bankrupt. Just not them.

"Explain it to me?" Kestia studied him curiously.

"Simple. Human nature."

He sketched a rough explanation of economic bubbles and price manipulation—just surface-level stuff. He wasn’t an economist, after all. Just a former internet surfer.

Kestia nodded slowly, still puzzled. "You have no talent. How do you know so much?"

"Just idle thoughts. I’ve got time to spare," Lanche grinned.

She watched him, nodding faintly.

*Talent* meant little to her. Dragonfolk were born powerful—crafted by gods that way. Humans alone had such uneven gifts. Yet no matter their strength or skill, humans all shared one certainty: death. Equality in the end.

"What’s wrong?" Lanche touched his cheek. Her stare felt strange.

"Nothing." She looked away.

*His talent doesn’t matter. I’m strong enough for both of us.*

*So... he could stay my husband.*

"I know what to do now." Kestia rose to return to work.

"Mm. Don’t let the door hit you," Lanche waved.

She paused, glancing back. "Next time... we can have tea again."

Then she walked away without another word.

Lanche shrugged, sinking back into his lazy afternoon.

---

Kestia moved swiftly to burst the bubble.

Foamy malt wine hit the city markets.

Branded as "all-new malt wine," it drew eager crowds. One taste, and drinkers raved about its charm. Word spread like wildfire.

Kestia’s stockpiling paid off—her launch flooded every tavern overnight.

This brew dwarfed ordinary malt wine. Taverns without it lost customers overnight. Orders poured in, frantic.

Even Daes beamed at Lanche, securing another discount batch.

Overnight, ordinary—and even "new"—malt wine vanished from shelves. Those who’d tasted foamy malt wine (beer) bowed to its crisp, bitter-refreshing allure.

All four Claire Family breweries ran nonstop to meet demand.

Semos Trading Company and smaller merchants stared in horror. Their ordinary malt wine turned obsolete overnight.

"How do they still have Gelute herb for brewing?!" Old Man Semos slammed things in his office.

Ordinary malt wine spoiled in a week—turning to sour vinegar if unsold. Their capital would drown in waste!

"Prepare the carriage! To the Count’s manor—now!" he barked at his son.

Ron Semos scrambled to obey.

The elder Semos hesitated, then pulled out his last savings for a gift.

Facing total ruin, he pinned his final hope on Gorde.

*Claire’s foamy wine still needs Gelute herb. There’s still a chance.*

But Gorde, as lord, could easily switch sides to the Claires. Semos had to offer everything he had left.

"Semos Trading Company... cannot die with me." His wrinkles trembled. His hands shook.