Chapter 2

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: The Princess Only Deals in Genuine Goods: Chapter 11

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh my, I'm so sorry for taking up so much of your time like this. But talking it over made me realize this watch really shouldn't be sold.”

“No worries at all, ma'am. It wasn't a consultation—it was just an entertaining chat.”

“Thank you for understanding. It brought back memories of when I first got it. I'll bring something else next time.”

“Come back anytime!”

I waved with a smile right up to the end.

Calling it an “entertaining chat” was part sales patter for keeping potential customers happy, but it was also sincere.

Even ordinary-looking items each had their own stories.

And hearing those stories let you see not just the items, but the customers too.

Spotting the sparkle of excitement in an elderly noblewoman's eyes, the flicker of passion in a weary office worker's gaze, or the childlike wonder peeking through the cynicism of a world-weary adult—it was something special.

One of the reasons I love running this pawnshop. I wonder if Grandpa feels the same way.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was closing time. Time to start cleaning up, I thought, turning around—

Ding-a-ling—

The bell rang ever so faintly. Whoever it was must have opened the door with extreme caution.

“Welcome...”

I started to greet them but froze.

“...in.”

Oof, you scared me.

A figure cloaked head to toe in a pitch-black robe loomed there.

And it was swaying in place, too.

Sway, sway. Like the Grim Reaper himself. I swallowed hard.

Don't tell me it's here to drag me off because my return to the past disrupted the natural order or something?

Well, if people could regress, why not a reaper?

Should I pray? Would that save me? Or run? Is it only visible to me?

A whirlwind of thoughts raced through my head when—

“Is... is this... a pawnshop?”

The tension snapped like a taut string.

The voice leaking from under the robe was a woman's, quivering and weak.

Good thing I didn't blurt out something stupid like, 'Sorry, could you come back in a few decades?'

I flashed my practiced sales smile and slipped on my gloves.

“Yes, it is.”

“If I... bring you something, could you... take a look at it?”

“Of course. What have you got? Just set it here on the velvet.”

My smile faltered for the second time when I saw what she pulled out.

Oh my god.

It was a locket pendant, designed to hold something inside.

Pendants themselves weren't rare, of course. The material was what mattered.

And this pendant was carved entirely from a single emerald.

A meticulously cut and shaped emerald, fashioned into an openable locket.

Wow, this thing must be worth a fortune...

And on top of that, it was a holy artifact infused with sacred power.

I couldn't even begin to imagine the effort that went into creating it.

A wave of reverence washed over me, but then I noticed her hand—peeking from under the robe—trembling slightly.

Ah, so that's why she was swaying like that earlier? She was shaking in fear?

My first thought was stolen goods. Trembling from fear of getting caught?

Procedure demanded I check. I asked carefully,

“Ma'am, do you have a certificate of authenticity or a guarantee? It's needed for the appraisal.”

“...No... I don't have anything like that.”

“What about a purchase receipt or auction record?”

“...I... don't know. This gem is all I have. ...Isn't this enough?”

A madman's words suddenly flashed in my mind.

“They say you're picky about what you accept. Looks like you can tell at a glance if it's stolen or not.”

No certificate, no receipt—logically, I should refuse.

But for some reason, I wanted to hear her story.

I can't judge an item just by looking, of course. But people? I get a feeling. Whether they've got ulterior motives or not.

Besides, she'd asked if I could “take a look” at her precious item. She wasn't trying to sell it outright.

I set a warm cup of tea down in front of the woman, who had her head bowed low.

“So, what's the story behind this gem and you?”

“Uh... huh...?”

“You seem to know its value without me telling you. It looks incredibly special.”

“...It does, doesn't it. Yeah. It's special. Really special.”

She murmured softly, clutching the teacup.

On the ring finger of her right hand gleamed a faintly glowing blue ring.

“It was a gift from my mother. I was so happy when she gave it to me. Not because it was beautiful, but because it was from her. That's what made me happy.”

Why bring something so precious to a pawnshop?

The craftsmanship suggested a prominent family. Had something happened at home? Bankruptcy? Need for cash?

As I pondered, her voice grew thick with tears.

“But... someone wants to take it from me.”

“What?! Who?”

“My uncle... He says someone like me doesn't deserve it, that he can't understand why my late aunt gave it to me... So he's going to take it back. He'll snatch it away soon.”

This was insane.

I barely swallowed a curse.

She sniffled.

“That's why I came here. You can leave valuables at a pawnshop, right?”

Strictly speaking, pawning wasn't storage—it was using the item as collateral.

Her story was heartbreaking, but she seemed to be misunderstanding, so I started to explain—

“I know if I can't repay by the deadline, the gem might be sold. But I won't repay it.”

“Pardon? But if you know that, why pawn something so precious and irreplaceable...”

“As long as it doesn't go to my uncle.”

She grabbed my hand tightly.

“Just keep it out of my uncle's hands. If I keep it... I'm too weak. He'll definitely take it from me.”

I felt her trembling through our clasped hands. It was fear.

“So if you... find someone worthy of this gem, someone who'll treasure it more than I do... sell it to them.”

Beneath the hood, I glimpsed tear-filled green eyes.

“It's valuable. Whoever can buy it must have money and power... That person could protect it from my uncle. They wouldn't let it be taken like a fool like me. Please, that's all I ask...”

I let out a deep sigh.

She looked at me, expectant—or tense—as her words trailed off.

Finally, I spoke.

“Excuse me, ma'am. What on earth are you talking about?”

I released her hand.

It dropped limply.

Even shrouded in that dark robe, I could tell.

She was in despair.

“Then... what am I supposed to...”

Tears plopped from under the robe.

I shook my head, rubbed my dry face, and said,

“Ma'am, how could I possibly sell something so precious?”

I slid a box of tissues toward her.

She clutched them in bewilderment, slowly grasping my meaning.

“So...”

“I don't know what your mother was thinking when she left you this gem. I can't fathom why that damned... er, that awful man covets your belonging. But one thing's for sure.”

I carefully shone a light on the pendant's hinge—the most intricate, most delicate part.

I handed her the loupe so she could see clearly.

“Emeralds are fragile gems. The slightest impact leaves a mark. A hinge like this would show it even more. But look.”

The pendant was pristine.

Not a single flaw.

“'Sell it to someone who'll treasure it more'? No one could treasure it more than you do. That's why I can't sell it to anyone.”

“Ah...”

“I might look like a pushover, but I'm not a total sucker. I don't snap up items no one else wants.”

I hammed it up a bit.

To the woman staring blankly at me loupe in hand, I gave a small smile.

“So you protect it, ma'am. Cherish it like you always have—and always will.”