The bell over the door chimed, clear and perky—way too cheerful for how much Lara hated mornings.
"Thank you for your purchase, madam. May the sun bless your digestion," she said, handing over a tightly wrapped bundle of starfruit and pretending she wasn't already dead inside.
The woman gave a quick curtsy and waddled out, basket in hand, as Lara exhaled and slumped behind the wooden counter. She peeled off her business smile like a tight corset.
"That's the sixth fruit basket today. At this rate," she muttered, "I'll be rich enough to retire by twenty. Again."
Her shop—Lirindelle—sat modestly at the edge of the Darian marketplace. From the outside, it looked like your typical quaint merchant stall: weathered wood, ivy creeping along the awning, baskets overflowing with produce. But inside? Hidden enchantments. Spirit wards. A floorboard that opened into an illegal vault of mana stones. The usual.
And Lara, a seemingly sweet eighteen-year-old with a neat apron and an innocent smile, was in fact:
Reincarnated royalty
Moon-blessed spirit heir
Occasional mana smuggler
And absolutely done with everyone's shit
But no one needed to know that.
She leaned back and stretched, her bones audibly cracking. Her long dark hair was pulled into a messy braid, and her sleeves were rolled up past the elbow—not because it was hot, but because magical fruit juiced themselves violently when they were angry. The Pico berries had a temperament.
"I swear if one more noble lady comes in here asking if my peaches help with fertility, I'm going to start charging for sarcasm," she muttered.
A voice behind her chuckled. "You already do."
Lara didn't flinch. Seph had that talent: appearing silently, smugly, and usually while holding a cup of steaming tea. The gryffin-born bastard looked far too elegant for someone raised in the wild.
"News?" she asked without turning.
He nodded, setting the tea beside her. Jasmine. Two drops of truthroot. He always brewed the same blend when things were about to get annoying.
"There were inquiries this morning," Seph said. "Not about the fruit. About you."
Lara blinked. "From?"
"Two men in travel robes. Unmarked, but military posture. One had a concealed blade sewn into his sleeve. The other smelled like lavender, bloodroot, and royal anxiety."
Lara sipped the tea. "So, noble?"
"Worse." Seph's tone dropped. "Imperial."
Her cup stopped halfway to her lips.
"Say that again," she said, too calm.
"They're asking for a merchant girl with 'moon-colored eyes' and a strange aura."
Lara froze, then scoffed like she wasn't sweating through her blouse. "Right. Because that doesn't scream 'run, your past is catching up.'"
She set the cup down with a quiet clink and pulled out a drawer beneath the counter. Inside, a stack of scrolls glowed faintly in response to her touch.
"Should I prep a relocation?" Seph asked, already eyeing the vault entrance beneath the fruit crates.
"No," she said. "Not yet. Let's see who shows up first."
The bell rang again.
They both went still.
Two men stepped into the shop—hooded, robed, and humming with suppressed power.
The taller one looked around and approached the counter.
"We were told this shop sells rare fruit," he said.
Lara smiled sweetly. "You were told right."
He pulled out a piece of parchment and slid it across the counter. A crude sketch of a spiky fruit—Pico. Common in the North. Nearly extinct in the East.
"I'm looking for this. And the girl who grows them."
Lara's smile didn't falter. But her heartbeat did.
"Well," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're in luck. We specialize in fruit… and secrets."
----------
Cloak Guy #1 stood in front of her with all the charm of a broken sword. Tall, pale, angular face—one of those types that looked like they hadn't smiled since birth. Cloak Guy #2 hovered near the crates, clearly casing the shop. Rookie mistake.
Lara's fingers itched. Not for a weapon—she wasn't Seph—but for the emergency scroll under the counter marked "Get Me the Hell Out, Vol. II."
"Where did you get this sketch?" she asked casually, tapping the parchment. "It's… close. Good shading. But this fruit's not exactly common in these parts."
The taller man's eyes didn't blink. "We were told it grows only in the North. But someone said you have it. That it appears here… when you want it to."
Ugh. Mysterious gossip. The worst kind of marketing.
Behind her, she could practically hear Seph mouthing do not engage, do not engage from the storage room door.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter, and gave the stranger her best Retail Smile™.
"Well," she said brightly, "someone is clearly overhyping my produce. What am I supposed to be, a fruit sorceress?"
He didn't smile. They never did.
"Perhaps you could simply tell us your name," he said.
"Oh, that's easy," Lara replied. "It's Banana."
Pause. Blink. Beat.
"…Banana?"
"Lady Banana, to you. Duchess of the Fruit Cartel. Queen of the Eastern Citrus Line."
Behind her, something thumped—Seph had hit his head on the doorframe trying not to laugh.
The man's lips twitched. Slightly.
"I see," he said. "And your real name?"
She tilted her head. "I'm sorry. Do you normally walk into shops and demand names from fruit vendors? Because that sounds like someone's never worked retail."
He stepped back, clearly reconsidering his approach.
Smart man.
Lara grabbed a Pico fruit from the counter, cut it open with one of Seph's illegally sharp knives, and slid a slice toward him. "Try it. Best in the East."
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then he picked it up and took a bite.
Chew. Pause. His brows lifted—surprised. It was good. Of course it was. Lara didn't traffic in subpar snacks.
"Sweet," he said.
"Right?" she grinned. "Tastes like a grape had a forbidden affair with a lychee and raised their baby in moonlight."
His companion—Cloak Guy #2—finally spoke. "How did you grow this?"
Lara's eyes sharpened. "Trade secret."
There was a beat of tense silence.
Then—
"Thank you for your time," the taller one said, voice unreadable. "We'll be in touch."
Lara watched them turn and leave, the shop door closing behind them with a jingle far too soft for the weight in her chest.
As soon as they were out of sight, she dropped the smile and reached under the counter.
Scroll. Sigil flare. Silent pulse through the hidden wards of the shop.
Seph reappeared like a shadow. "They left through the market, but they're being followed."
"By who?"
"Not ours. Not Darian soldiers either. Outsiders. Tracking them."
Great. Just what she needed. Mystery nobles, rare fruit drama, and potential government surveillance. All before lunch.
"Get Elira on the perimeter," she said. "No one touches my shop without triggering a vine-based ass-kicking."
Seph gave her a rare grin. "Already done."
She sighed. "I just wanted a peaceful fruit-selling life, Seph. A humble, boring, gossip-free existence. Why is that too much to ask?"
He handed her a fresh cup of tea. "Because you were born cursed."
"Rude."
"Accurate."
Lara groaned, dropped her forehead onto the counter, and let out the kind of long, dramatic sigh only a reincarnated moon princess with an active soulmate curse and a shady fruit empire could pull off.
And outside, the wind shifted.
Something ancient stirred beneath the earth.
The fruit shop was no longer hidden.
-----
Heck yeah, Cathy. Let's wrap up Chapter 1, Part 3 with a bang of spirit energy, some quiet dread, and our girl's classic sarcasm armor slipping just enough to show that soft core. This one ends with a hook and that slow, creeping sense that destiny is waking up.
📖 Chapter 1: The Princess Who Sold Fruit
Part 3 of 3
Lara stared at the closed shop door like it owed her money.
"They'll be back," she muttered.
"Obviously," Seph replied, sipping his tea like they weren't possibly being tracked by imperial agents and ancient prophecies.
Lara turned and began organizing her fruit bins again. Classic stress move.
Grapes? Too squishy.
Pears? Too smug.
The mangoes looked fine, but that might have been a lie.
"I should've poisoned the sample slice," she said. "Just a tiny curse. Nothing lethal. Just something that gives him, like, three days of itchy regret."
Seph didn't dignify that with a response. Which meant he agreed, but also didn't want to deal with the paperwork.
She crouched beside the stock cabinet and opened the hidden compartment beneath. Cool air spilled out, along with a faint pulse of magic—low and quiet, but ancient.
Her mana stones were still intact. The scrolls hadn't been touched. And the vial at the center of it all—the moon crystal her mother left her—glowed faintly, as if aware it had just been mentioned in someone else's fate.
Lara closed it fast and sat back on her heels.
"I hate this," she said. Not loudly. Just… honestly.
Seph glanced at her. "Hate what?"
"This. Being hunted. Being marked. Having to look over my shoulder every time someone asks for a fucking peach."
A pause.
"I liked being anonymous," she added. "I liked being weird fruit girl. That was a great brand."
Seph looked at her for a long moment. Then said, "You were never anonymous, Lara."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You glow in moonlight. Your fruit sings. Your panther hisses at noblemen through the floorboards."
"That was one time."
"You were born to be noticed. Even when you try not to be."
She frowned, stood up, and crossed her arms. "That's dramatic."
"And true."
She hated when he was right. Which was… often.
The shop lights flickered. Just a blip. Probably nothing.
Probably.
She turned toward the window, half expecting to see a spirit peeking through the glass.
Instead, she saw a boy—ten or eleven maybe—staring at the display case with wide eyes.
Lara forced a smile, opened the door, and handed him a mango on the house. He ran off grinning.
The little things still mattered. That's what she told herself. That she could still live a small life. Quiet. Peaceful. Fruit-flavored.
But the wind whispered again.
She felt it—across her skin like a brush of cold silk. And deep in her bones, the way you feel a storm before it breaks.
Then her mark—on her lower back, hidden under layers of fabric—burned.
Only for a second. But it was enough.
She gasped, stumbled back, knocking over a basket of apples.
Seph was beside her instantly. "What is it?"
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Because in her mind's eye, for the first time in years, she saw him.
The masked man from that night.
And this time—she saw his eyes.
Golden. Burning. Familiar.
Her breath hitched.
"I think…" she whispered. "I think he's here."
[End of Chapter 1]