Just as Pierre was basking in the excitement of making his first bit of money, he suddenly froze in place.
It wasn't from joy — it was sheer shock. Right in front of him, a translucent screen appeared out of nowhere. Through the screen — visible only to him — he could still see the streets of London perfectly, but everything around him had frozen still.
A double-decker bus had come to a halt in the middle of the road.The pedestrians looked like wax statues.Even the smoke he had just exhaled hung suspended in mid-air.
Across the semi-transparent screen, a line of text appeared:
[First transaction completed. Skill 'Business Acumen' unlocked. Would you like to learn it?]
A system?!
Instead of fear, excitement surged through him.So this was his advantage — the special perk granted by fate to every time traveler!
I knew it! No one ends up in another world empty-handed.
"Business Acumen"... what kind of skill was that exactly?Did it even matter?
There was no reason to hesitate.
"If not now, when?"
"Learn."
As soon as he made his choice, a flood of basic business knowledge poured into his mind.
No doubt about it — this was a real system.
Another line flashed across the screen:
[First transaction completed: Sold 12 Camel cigarettes and 1 ZIPPO lighter.Current black market value: 4.5 pounds.Surplus value earned: 120 pence.Reward: 2 experience points.Current total experience: 7 points.]
It even gave out rewards!
[You exploited the buyer's eagerness to negotiate a higher price. Storage space can now be unlocked. Activate?]
Storage space too?
Of course he activated it.The moment he did, a small house-shaped icon appeared in the top-right corner of the screen.
Experimenting a bit, he tried using it on his backpack.With a flash of light, the heavy pack disappeared from his back, and a red dot appeared on the warehouse icon.
His shoulders were finally free!
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
What else could this system do?
Unfortunately, this wasn't the time to find out.
Exiting the system, Pierre — whose stomach was practically folding in on itself from hunger — headed straight for a nearby restaurant.
Now that I've got cash, I'm getting a proper steak.
...
Moments later, Pierre found himself standing dumbly at the side of the street — not even a single cow hair to his name.
"Sir, may I see your ration book?"
Ration book?
Merde, are you serious?"I don't have any ration tickets!"
Looking up at the barrage balloons floating high above, and breathing in the lingering smell of gunpowder in the air, reality slammed into him:
This was wartime.
Nothing was the same here.
Otherwise, how could a few cigarettes have sold for such a high price?
No wonder they were willing to pay so much for them.No ration coupons — and no matter how much money you had, you still couldn't buy cigarettes!
Even if you did have a coupon, you could forget about buying Camels and ZIPPOs.Britain had long since burned through its foreign currency reserves.As for Camels and ZIPPO lighters on the market… well, most of them had been "traded" by British women who'd paid dearly to American soldiers.
Obviously, clueless Pierre had no idea about the real market situation.
In this Britain, cash meant almost nothing anymore.Goods were the real currency.
Still reeling from the shock of this new reality, Pierre clutched his now useless money, stomach growling, and trudged forward along the ruined streets.Along the way, he rifled through his backpack.
It was stuffed full of women's products.
Grimacing, he pulled out a sample bottle of perfume from one of the boxes.His heart sank.
Perfume? In times like these? Who the hell wants perfume?
At that moment, a woman with chestnut-brown hair appeared, walking toward him.
But what caught his eye wasn't her impressive figure — it was the paper bag clutched to her chest. Half a loaf of bread peeked out from the top.
Whether the bread was fresh or tasty didn't matter. To Pierre, it was pure, golden salvation.
His eyes locked onto the bread with undisguised hunger. Saliva pooled in his mouth, and it felt like his stomach had grown a hand of its own, ready to snatch the bread straight from her arms.
After a full day without food or water, he was beyond famished.
The woman, dressed in a blue-and-red floral dress, clearly sensed the desperate hunger burning in his gaze.
But she didn't shy away.She didn't seem offended, either.Instead, she lifted her chin and boldly met his eyes, giving him a slow once-over.
He was young, after all — undeniably handsome.
The raw longing in his gaze made her lips curl slightly.Even her elegant eyebrows seemed to flutter faintly.
The two of them stared at each other, step by slow step, closing the distance between them.
They brushed past one another.Just as they were about to go their separate ways, Pierre, still fixated on the bread, inhaled deeply — and in the warmth of the wheat's aroma, he caught a faint, unexpected off-scent.
His eyes sharpened in an instant.He took the initiative.
"Hello, mademoiselle."
The sudden voice behind her made Stana instinctively tense.Still, she turned her head quickly and responded with her sweetest smile:
"Sir, can I help you?"
Though she tried to appear calm, a flicker of nervousness stirred in her chest.This wasn't her first time being approached by a stranger — but past experiences had been far from pleasant. Most of them… well, they'd been balding old men. Such was the tragedy of their times:The young men were either in uniform — or in the ground.
But this man...He was young.His eyes and bearing brimmed with life.And more than that — he had a truly charming smile.
For a moment, Stana's heart pounded like a startled deer.
"Miss, would you be interested in some perfume?"
What?She blinked, startled — emotions churning inside her.
He called out to her… just for this?
"It's like this," he explained, lifting the small bottle in his hand."I happen to have some perfume. And I thought... perhaps you might like it."
Stana frowned slightly.
The little sample bottle clearly wasn't some cheap knockoff.In these times, perfume was a luxury no one could afford.
Three years ago, Prime Minister Churchill had ordered cosmetics production halted. Since then, perfume had become a rare commodity — almost impossible to come by.
"It's Madame," she corrected stiffly, flashing the ring on her finger.
Apparently just a clumsy mistake, Pierre quickly bowed slightly and corrected himself:
"Apologies, Madame."
Straightening her posture a little, Stana let the thin wedding ring on her finger catch a sliver of sunlight.
"No, I don't need… counterfeits," she said coldly.
"Counterfeits? Impossible."
Pierre frowned.Even if his tomboyish roommate wasn't a perfume expert, she wouldn't have stocked anything fake.
Lifting the bottle, he gave a small spritz into the air.
Instantly, a delicate cloud of floral and fruity fragrance spread around them.The scent was crisp, vibrant — unmistakably genuine.
For a moment, Stana was caught off guard.She inhaled deeply, recognizing the soft notes of fresh fruit and gentle flowers. This wasn't something that could be faked.
The name floated to her lips before she even realized:"Pink Encounter."
And with that scent lingering in the air between them, her thoughts drifted back to the hungry, burning look in the young man's eyes — a look just as vivid as the fragrance itself.
"This perfume… it really does smell lovely, but…"Stana bit her lip, eyes darkening with hesitation.
"But I only have a few pounds left…"
She sighed softly. Perfume like this had to be expensive. There was no way she could afford it now.
Seeing her troubled expression, Pierre immediately understood.
He smiled — warm, easy — and said:
"Madame, I'm not asking for money."
Stana blinked, stunned.
In that moment, she caught the flicker of something in his eyes.
Ah... so that's it.
Men — always the same.
Just as her mind began to cloud with wary thoughts, the young man's voice came again:
"Madame, would you be willing to trade me… some food?"