For the next few days, Simon settled into a busy yet peaceful routine.

He rose at dawn to run the shop with Tidris, collapsing into bed exhausted each night.

The ad campaign worked even better than expected—perhaps because Tidris’s “weakest student” image had been so deeply ingrained that the reversal stunned everyone.

Even with purchase limits, all 5,000 packs vanished instantly.

“Huff—last ten packs!” Tidris announced.

She scribbled the final entry diligently at the counter.

Students still craving more turned hopeful gazes toward Simon lounging in the back.

“Shopkeeper Simon… will there be new packs?”

Money didn’t matter—the real joy was the thrill of opening packs.

Simon crushed that hope without mercy.

“Might not be any more.”

A chorus of wails filled the shop. Even Tidris’s voice joined the lament.

“But we *do* offer custom card services. Come anytime with requests.”

Compared to pack-opening, “custom cards” held little appeal.

Soon, students drifted away, returning to their lives.

Once the shop emptied, Simon rolled the ledger and tapped Tidris lightly on the head.

“Why were *you* wailing?”

“Ouch!” The silver-haired girl clutched her head. “I’ve never even *tried* opening a pack!”

Poor Tidris—drowning in post-duel debt, she’d had no coins to join the fun.

“…Warehouse has a few dozen left. I’ll save them for you.”

“Yay!” Tidris cheered, hands shooting up.

Simon brewed steaming coffee, settled into his recliner, and sipped slowly.

“You’ve worked hard. Shop’s closed the next few days—take a week off. Just be back then.”

*Vacation!*

Tidris’s soul leaped. *Praise Shopkeeper Simon!*

These days had drained her—rushing from class to shop, juggling two lives.

Hmm… no classes tomorrow. Shop with Nana? She got summoned home yesterday. *Noble families… so troublesome.*

Or take school commissions to repay Teacher Atris?

After pondering fruitlessly, she turned to Simon.

“What about you, Shopkeeper? What’s next?”

Simon sipped his coffee. “Probably designing new cards.”

The Spark Core didn’t just materialize cards—it fueled a Cardmaker’s creation.

Crafting higher-grade cards accelerated its evolution.

“Anyway, pack sales cover a year’s expenses. Closing the shop? No problem.”

At “closing,” Tidris’s heart clenched.

The topic stirred her hidden question.

“If packs are so profitable… why stop?”

She’d wondered since hearing there’d be no reprint.

*If I earned this much, I’d quit forever—debt gone, future secure.*

…Is Shopkeeper Simon leaving?

“Two reasons.” Simon cleared his throat, raised two fingers.

“First: mass-producing packs needs tons of Grade-E cards. Those 5,000 used my entire stock. Hiring help? Contradicts why I opened this shop.”

*(Truth: most were experimental leftovers—selling them cleared useless inventory. As a Grade-D Cardmaker, reprinting E-grade cards was a waste.)*

“Second: I didn’t come to the Academy for riches. Just an ideal. Money? Enough is enough.”

“The Academy borders the Royal Capital—the fiercest arena. One flap of wings here stirs storms across the capital.”

Simon’s goal was clear: reshape the world with his past-life card game wisdom.

Duel Academy students were the perfect catalysts.

Dueling daily, they sensed card strength instantly. A powerful, versatile new card would sweep campus in three days.

And with their noble ties? The ripple would shake the entire Royal Capital.

*The storm is coming.*

Simon tapped his cup—*clink*—a silent toast.

“Hmm… doesn’t make sense to me,” Tidris murmured.

Too complex. But as long as Shopkeeper Simon stayed… that was enough.

Smiling, she tied her apron, grabbed the feather duster, and wiped shelves.

She refused to become just a customer. Or a stranger who merely crossed his path.

…

Simon’s Card Shop basked in calm.

The Royal Duel Academy did not.

New cards spread unnoticed—until duels transformed:

“I activate 【Counter Spell】! Countering your Fireball!”

“You counter? I counter too! 【Counter Spell】!”

“I… counter again!”

“Crap—same teacher’s cards! Stuck in a loop!”

—“Student duels have turned childish! Will you stand idle?!”

In the council chamber, a middle-aged man slammed the table, glaring at nine others.

Opposing him: Tidris’s homeroom teacher, Atris.

Her usual chill now carried frost-laced resolve.

“Adapting *is* growth. We intervene not.”

“Growth? True talents wither while mediocrities rise!”

Atris’s patience thinned. *He’s Lei’s uncle. Can’t accept House Norflin’s heir losing to a bottom-ranked student.*

“How do you define ‘talent’? If it can’t adapt… let it nourish stronger blooms.”

“You—!”

—“Enough.” A neutral voice cut in. “Vote. The Headmaster entrusted us this authority.”

“Fine! Let the vote decide ‘Simon’s Card House’!” the man snarled, baring his fangs.

*Anonymous vote? No one dares cross House Norflin.*

Atris closed her eyes. To him, surrender.

He already savored her isolation.

Results came fast.

“Headmaster abstained. 5–5 tie. Revisit in one month minimum.”

“A *tie*?!” His glare scoured the room—eyes sharp enough to shred traitors.

“Question the result?” Atris remained perfectly composed.

*They’ve all visited that shop. You’re the isolated one.*

“Reminder: Simon Drait’s license came via Mr. Liszt’s recommendation.”

The name *Liszt* ignited fresh fury.

“You’ll regret this! I’ll appeal to the Headmaster!”

He stormed out. Others filed away. Only Atris remained.

Her gaze lingered on the report… then the name.

*Simon Drait…*

Cheek resting on palm, legs crossed beneath her white pleated skirt, a faint smile touched her lips.

Unaware winds swirled high above because of him, Simon only felt the breeze at his door.

Early next morning, he smiled, holding the invitation pulled from his mailbox.