The Morning After the Miracle
The next sunrise found the Mirror Bazaar humming with gossip.Apparently a "mysterious alchemist of House Nihilum" had created a recovery tonic that didn't explode, melt, or curse anyone.That alone qualified as headline news.
I woke to a stack of envelopes on my desk—orders, IOUs, and one unsigned love letter that smelled faintly of fox perfume.
Ayaka's tails flicked from the windowsill. "Your fan mail's getting impressive. Should I start screening your admirers?"
"I'd rather you start screening my debts," I said, flipping through the stack. "Half of these are requests for bulk orders. I'm not a factory."
"You're an entrepreneur now," Daniel said, appearing from the wall like a polite haunting. "And entrepreneurs delegate."
He tossed me a parchment embossed with the sigil of House Noxis Finance Guild.
Contract Proposal: VALENTINE ELIXIRS LTD.Shares – Daniel 40%, Lumiel 40%, Ayaka 20%.Motto – 'Half Science, Half Miracle, Zero Refunds.'
I blinked. "You made us a company?"He beamed. "It was that or a cult. Paperwork's easier."
Paperwork and Potions
By midday we had turned my dorm's lower level into a workshop.Cauldrons floated in neat rows, each labeled with Daniel's calligraphy: Productivity Elixir Beta, Hangover Aid Deluxe, Possibly Legal Courage Potion.
Ayaka handled marketing, summoning tiny fox-spirits that danced above the cauldrons holding miniature banners:"DRINK THE IMPOSSIBLE!"
I handled quality control, which mostly meant convincing the Nihility Fire that ingredients were not prey.
"Small sips," I told it. "You refine; I sell. That's the deal."
The flame shimmered like it understood. The cauldrons glowed. A faint hum spread through the workshop—Celestara's mirrors tuning themselves to watch.
The Audit Division
That evening, three spirits materialized at the door.Official seals hovered over their translucent heads.
"Audit Division," the tallest intoned. "You are conducting commerce without academy oversight."
Daniel smiled the way wolves do before tax season."Gentlemen, I have receipts."
He produced a ledger bound in living ink. The numbers rearranged themselves politely whenever an auditor looked too close.
Ayaka added illusions of glowing compliance stamps for good measure.
After ten minutes of circular bureaucracy, the lead auditor sighed.
"Everything appears… distressingly legitimate."
"Music to my ears," Daniel said, shaking the spirit's hand before it could fade.
When they left, I exhaled. "We just out-paperworked ghosts.""That's capitalism's true art," Daniel said.
Profit and Reflection
We made more coin in a week than most upper-house heirs spent on lunch.Daniel tracked earnings on a mirror board: numbers glowing crimson, steady rise.
Ayaka kept the atmosphere chaotic but lively.She perched on a cauldron, tails twitching, sipping one of her own concoctions."So what'll you do with your first profits, Nihilum Boy?"
I looked at the coins, then at my burned gloves. "Buy ingredients that don't scream."
She laughed. "Ambitious."
When the laughter faded, the mirrors around us showed flickers of light—my reflection holding the same coin, whispering something I couldn't quite hear.
Keep building, it seemed to say. Creation is how you outrun the void.
I touched the glass gently."Noted," I whispered back.
Closing Time
That night we locked the workshop.Daniel vanished into the Bazaar to handle suppliers.Ayaka lingered, tails glowing faintly in the dark.
"You're happier," she said. "The fire listens now."
"Maybe it likes profit margins."
"Or purpose," she said softly. "Even nothingness wants meaning."
I didn't answer—because for once, the silence between us didn't feel empty. It felt like the start of something solid, built from smoke, laughter, and the slow burn of creation.