Chapter 7

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: The Princess Only Deals in Authentics 16

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"Would you like to verify it?"

What I pulled out was none other than the pouch of silver coins that Hugo had tossed my way.

The very pouch I'd rummaged through to extract the gold coins from.

'Money really isn't something you just throw away.'

I handed over a print of the fingerprints left on the silver coins, and the bank teller nodded with a dazed look on his face.

While the teller went off to fetch the records, I sank into thought.

'So the Lionet family must have pulled the same trick to check Grandfather's accounts.'

I had Grandfather's seal in my possession.

But I'd wondered how they'd accessed the accounts without it. This must have been their method.

'They thought they knew how much wealth he had, but it was far less than expected, so they came sniffing around to interrogate him about where he'd hidden the rest.'

In the end, this was the spark that ignited the horrific events from my past life.

'But what, you think I can't play the same game?'

Just then, the teller returned and handed me the documents.

Just then, the teller returned and handed me the documents.

"We can only allow inquiries with a voice sample, fingerprints, or power of attorney. If you'd like to withdraw deposits, you'll need to bring the seal."

"That's fine. I only need to check the records. Thank you."

After all, pinching Hugo's meager savings wasn't my goal.

Back at the pawnshop, I reviewed the transaction history.

'Just as I thought.'

It matched my suspicions perfectly.

'Hugo doesn't have much to his name.'

Just from querying the account, a lot came into focus.

'But there's a ton of activity. Big sums come in sometimes, but almost all of it flows straight to his sister.'

From small details like his favorite foods to the bigger picture of how the Hugo siblings made their money.

'Ah, so Rozanne Viscountess is using Hugo for money laundering?'

The sources depositing large sums into Hugo's account varied, but the bank branches were similar. If so?

I pulled out a map of the capital and started drawing lines all over it. Places near those branches where big money might circulate.

The lines converged at a single spot.

"Here it is."

Philosophy Auction House

The auction house was a familiar place to me, even if only by reputation.

Grandfather often went there to offload items he'd acquired. Of course, he'd never taken me along, so I'd only heard stories.

Plus, it was the perfect spot for the Lionets to pull off their shady dealings.

"Which means it's also the perfect place for me to set a trap."

No more waiting around.

Time to make a move.

"Conveniently, there's a night auction tonight. I can head over after closing."

I inspected the Forest of Colonya that Hugo had sent. It was genuine.

I repackaged it along with the other items I'd offer alongside the painting when, right on cue, the rain started pouring.

'Rainy days and overcast ones always draw a crowd.'

Was it guilt over pawning cherished possessions for cash?

Business always picked up when the weather turned foul.

But today, the downpour was excessive.

'Ugh, hope the roof doesn't cave in.'

No surprise, then, that there were no customers—not even pedestrians on the street.

The candy shop across the way had shuttered early.

Still, the pawnshop had to stay open, customers or not.

Grandfather's ironclad rule: open and close at precise times.

"Not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that there's always work to do even without customers."

I decided to sort through the business cards.

I even revisited ones I'd already organized.

It wasn't just tidying up. I was scouting for allies.

'Grandfather knew his stuff and had the experience to appraise everything solo, but I've got weak spots.'

I needed outside experts.

'I'm iffy on luxuries like liquor or cigars, and weapons. I know a bit about ancient documents and magic tools, but advisors would help.'

Wise to admit what you don't know.

Better to seek proper experts than fake it and botch a deal.

"I can pay Emma a fee for magic tools, but who for the rest?"

Flipping through the cards, I paused at one.

A pale blue business card belonging to someone named Alter.

"Hmm..."

Not that I was considering asking that lunatic.

I flipped the card over.

What caught my eye was his affiliation: the Intelligence Guild.

"Maybe pay them a visit? Ask if they can connect me with specialists."

Surely their network beat my tiny circle of contacts—they'd recommend from a better pool, right?

"Bonus: I can confirm if he's really with the Intelligence Guild."

He might just be impersonating one. Warning them would earn me favors.

As I mulled it over, footsteps approached.

A customer? I set the cards down and flashed my salesman's smile.

The figure was cloaked in a raincoat. From the height and stride, a man.

I beamed wider as he approached with eager steps.

'What the...'

Our eyes met, and he froze.

Then he slowly backed away.

'What?'

He stopped retreating and stared at me intently.

Then...

'Seriously, what...?'

He drew closer again.

What was this? Some avant-garde street performance? Rainy-day dance art?

Ignorant of my thoughts, he blurted out,

"You're Michele's granddaughter, right?"

One thing was clear.

Unless this performance artist was nearly blind.

"You look just like Michele!"

This guy was a liar.

"You think I resemble Grandfather?"

First time I'd ever heard that.

Apart from our eye color, we shared zero features—people were always double-checking if I was really his granddaughter.

Even merchants like Helena had been skeptical at first. What nonsense was this?

"Yeah. It's obvious at a glance. I've heard a lot about you from Michele."

"Funny, you were backing away a second ago, sir."

"Cough, got chilled in the rain. Mind if I come in?"

Was he being that obvious about changing the subject?

Ignoring my incredulity, the performance artist cum liar stepped inside and flipped back his hood.

Revealing silver hair soaked from the rain.

"...Here, have a towel."

"Wow, super friendly. Michele would've just told me to talk outside since I'm dripping."

"Yes, dry your hair with it and wipe the floor too. Or take off that raincoat shedding puddles everywhere."

"Stripping for a stranger? I'm a bit too shy for that."

"You flipped that hood without a second thought. Confident in your face if not your figure?"

"Uh, yeah, now I'm actually getting embarrassed."

He took the towel, draped it over his head, and grinned.

"Thanks. First time getting a towel instead of a handkerchief from someone."

"I can swap it for a handkerchief if you'd prefer."

"Everyone knows handkerchiefs are for 'think of me,' right? Can I really take one?"

"Of course. Pay the fee, and it's yours to rent."

I parried with a smile, and he gazed at me steadily.

I met his eyes without flinching. Best time to observe was when being observed.

Through damp silver strands, his eyes were clear, vivid light green.

The mischief faded, revealing sharp, defined features.

'Talking handkerchiefs, but he's got a popular face.'

Did I have a ledger entry matching this look?

Before I could dig through memories—appearance be damned—he cleared his throat and looked away.

"Ahem. Where's Michele?"

"He handed over the shop and is traveling now."

"Huh? Handed it over? Completely?"

"Yes. Whatever your business, you can tell me."

"Well, then."

His brows furrowed slightly.

"So you can appraise items?"

"Depends on what you've brought. Some areas aren't my forte."

"Like?"

The more we talked, the clearer it became.

This performance artist definitely had an agenda.