The grain shed no longer looked like it was about to collapse on itself. Not quite.
Three days had passed since the purchase, and the crew had thrown every spare hour into making the place usable. Mak-bong and Chae Jin-gu had patched the worst holes in the roof with scavenged tiles. Old Lady Wol directed the work with the sharp efficiency of someone who had rebuilt her own stall more times than she cared to count. Min-seo worked without complaint, sleeves rolled high, tying dried roots into neat bundles with precise knots while sweat darkened the back of her worn hanbok.
Seo-joon stood in the center of the main room, hands on his hips, surveying the changes. The back wall now held three sturdy drying racks made from duplicated lumber. A long table ran down the middle for bundling and labeling. In the far corner sat a heavy wooden chest with a simple lock—already filled with the first premium ginseng bundles they had quietly duplicated two nights ago. The crooked sign outside now read, in careful brushstrokes: "Protected Medicinal Storage – Under Deok-su's Banner."
It wasn't much. But it was theirs.
Min-seo straightened, wiping her hands on her skirt. "We moved the last of yesterday's stock inside. Sales through the door-to-door routes are up twelve percent since we started branding from here. Customers like knowing the roots come from a 'proper' place instead of some beggar's alley."
Seo-joon allowed himself a small, rare nod of satisfaction. The numbers were modest, but they were real—earned through careful pricing, scarcity bundles, and the slow building of trust. No easy wins. Just steady, grinding progress. "Good. Tonight we duplicate another twenty roots. We keep the supply tight. Let the market feel the hunger before we release more."
Wol snorted from where she was nailing down a loose floorboard. "Boy's starting to sound like a real merchant. Careful. That kind of talk gets people noticed."
Before Seo-joon could reply, a familiar small figure darted through the open doorway. Mak-bong was breathing hard, cheeks flushed from running.
"Boss! Merchants from the west road just arrived with fresh gossip. They say the border forts near the Yalu are sending urgent messages to Hanseong. Something about strange ships sighted off the southern coast. Japanese pirates again, but bigger than usual. Some of the older traders are whispering it might be more than raids this time."
Seo-joon's expression didn't change, but his mind sharpened instantly. War. Not here yet, not even close, but the first distant whisper of it. In his old life he had read enough history to know what rumors like these meant: supply shortages, sudden demand for preserved food and medicine, officials scrambling to stockpile. High risk. High reward—if they positioned themselves correctly.
Min-seo caught the shift in his eyes. She set down the bundle she was holding. "You're already thinking about how to profit from it, aren't you?"
"I'm thinking about how not to starve when it arrives," he answered quietly. "If war touches these shores, the army will need roots, dried rations, herbal packs. The court will pay whatever it takes. But we have to be ready before the panic starts."
Wol clicked her tongue. "War talk is cheap until the first conscription notice gets nailed to a post. For now it's just whispers. Let's not borrow trouble before we've even fixed the back wall."
The afternoon passed in steady work. By the time the sun dipped low, the shed felt almost respectable. The first official door-to-door runners had returned with their empty baskets and small pouches of silver. Sales were solid. Not explosive, but steady. Earned.
As the crew was closing up for the evening, a new figure appeared in the doorway.
She was in her early twenties, dressed in a simple but finely cut indigo hanbok that spoke of quiet wealth rather than slum practicality. Her hair was neatly pinned, and her posture carried the confidence of someone raised in a merchant household. A small beauty mark sat just above the left corner of her mouth. Two quiet porters waited behind her, each carrying a modest wooden crate.
"Seo-joon, I presume?" she said, voice clear and businesslike. "I am Baek So-yeon, second daughter of the Baek Merchant Guild's southern branch. Word has reached us that a new player in the poor sellers' row has acquired property and is moving medicinal roots with unusual consistency. I came to see if the rumors were true."
Seo-joon studied her carefully. No flirtation. No coy smiles. Just professional curiosity and sharp intelligence.
Min-seo stepped up beside him, wiping her hands on a rag. Her expression was polite but guarded. "The Baek Guild deals mostly in silk and grain. What interest do you have in slum roots?"
So-yeon offered a small, measured bow. "We deal in whatever turns profit. With the recent rumors from the border, my father believes there may soon be increased demand for preserved foods and herbal medicines. If your supply is as reliable as people claim, we may be interested in discussing a quiet partnership. Nothing binding today. Just… an introduction."
Seo-joon kept his face neutral, but his pulse quickened. A guild connection this early was dangerous. It could open doors far beyond the slums—or it could expose everything if they learned too much about his "endless supply."
He gestured toward the long table. "We can talk. But understand this: we work under Deok-su's banner for now. Fixed fees. Revenue share. No one touches our routes without clear terms."
So-yeon nodded once, stepping inside. "Understood. I'm not here to steal. I'm here to see if we can both profit." She glanced around the shed with genuine interest. "You've done more with this wreck in three days than most men would manage in a month. Impressive."
Min-seo stayed close to Seo-joon's side, quiet but watchful. The air between the two women remained cool and professional—for now.
Outside, the temple bells tolled the evening hour. Distant. Ordinary.
But somewhere far to the south, ships were moving.
And in the capital, officials were beginning to whisper.
The shed creaked softly in the evening breeze, its first real night as the heart of Seo-joon's growing operation.
It was only the beginning.