Aisha hadn't slept this comfortably in ages.
Sure, the Dragon's Nest was nice, but it wasn't a human city. It always lacked a certain sense of security.
And there weren't any goblins or ghosts sleeping next to her there. Not that she was prejudiced or anything—but honestly, they were creepy as hell.
She stretched contentedly.
Warm sunlight poured in from the left and bathed the blanket, instantly lifting her mood.
On the right... a wrinkled brown-green face grinned at her menacingly.
Wait—what am I looking at?
Aisha shook her head, blinking herself awake. Nope, not a dream.
A sharp nose. Narrow pupils. A mouth full of saw-blade teeth. That was definitely a goblin.
"R-82?!"
"When did you get here?!"
"Last night. Renovations. Toy store. Can't show up in daylight."
Officially, Twin Towers City welcomed all races equally. But if a gang of goblins showed up on the main street in broad daylight, every shop they entered would basically have to put up a Closed sign right after.
Discrimination wasn't always obvious, but it was always there.
"And I didn't hear a single thing?"
"Undead. Cursed you. Hearing gone."
"…"
It was hard to describe how she felt about being cursed just so she could sleep. Well... at least the intention was good.
"Tell the undead I said thanks."
Aisha stepped out of her room. The entire building had been transformed—her underlings' efficiency remained terrifyingly high.
The walls on the first floor were now painted a pure white. Aside from a few long wooden tables, the space was empty.
Each table had a yo-yo placed every thirty centimeters on a sleek little stand, with a neat white card below listing its name and price.
Most were priced between a few to several dozen copper coins. According to Zog's master plan, the yo-yos would be released in sync with the comic's storyline. Start cheap to hook the public, and once it became a cultural phenomenon, certain rare models would be sold as luxury goods.
In Tesserian, the word "popular" literally came from "infectious disease." When applied to culture, it felt... oddly fitting.
Zog was always coming up with weirdly appropriate metaphors like that.
On both sides of the room, wood racks lined the walls, organized by color, displaying yo-yo strings, gloves, and storage pouches—a dazzling rainbow of gear.
Honestly, it felt less like a toy store and more like a high-level magic armory.
The second floor was divided into private rooms offering custom paint jobs and special effects—prices listed in gold coins.
Aisha still couldn't believe the illusion spell she once used to confuse kobolds was now worth that much.
In one of the rooms upstairs, she ran into someone unexpected.
The half-elf tour guide from yesterday.
Toto's dark circles were so intense she looked one blink away from death, standing listlessly in the middle of the room, clutching a "Firepower Warrior" yo-yo.
She still couldn't understand—was forcing people to play with toys some kind of new noble pastime?
From what she'd heard, those jobs weren't supposed to involve this kind of toy…
Behind her stood two drow. In front, a drake. Next to her, a goblin in a business suit. This wasn't a toy store—this was clearly a bandit den!
"Magic yo-yo," came the voice.
She finally got it: the dragon was the leader, and the goblin was the translator.
She recalled the moves—
Sleep stance. Index finger flick. Wind the line with the other hand. Hands together. Catch. Release again.
"Not bad. Cradle."
"Eiffel Tower."
"Launch Shot."
…
The tricks grew more and more complex.
Sweat started beading on Toto's forehead. She didn't know many more.
"Cross Bounce."
Lift the line. Set the line. Circle. Bounce. Switch hands. Catch. Bounce again—
Oh no!
Her hand trembled. The yo-yo veered off its path, grazed the string, and fell.
Click.
She heard the sound of a crossbow being loaded behind her.
The room fell silent.
Welp. Guess she wouldn't be seeing the sun tomorrow.
A few seconds later, a contract was slapped down in front of her.
"Getting that far with a Firepower Warrior on your first night? Impressive. Starting now, you're a toy store employee. Monthly base salary: three silver coins. Every new trick not listed on this sheet: bonus of five silver."
Zog's own yo-yo skills were elementary at best. He needed someone who could invent new moves—otherwise the comic's plot would hit a dead end.
And honestly, Toto's performance was impressive. Firepower Warrior had one of the hardest designs for trick setups.
Zog was beyond curious to see what kind of next-level moves would be invented in a world filled with supernatural powers.
"You're here," Zog said after settling things with the half-elf. He turned to Aisha. "Time to find an illustrator."
Zog actually spoke several languages fluently, but his dragon vocal cords didn't support those pronunciations. So he had to bring Aisha along as his mouthpiece.
He wasn't looking for a famous artist—any average illustrator would do.
They headed to a street known for its portrait painters and chose the shop with the fewest customers.
If they had a storefront, they'd met the minimum skill level. No business? Probably not that great—easier to haggle.
In truth, ever since cameras had been invented, portrait painters had been having a rough time.
Cameras were the product of a collaboration between the Society of Technology and the Mages' Guild.
The scientists contributed mechanical parts and optics; the mages refined the photosensitive material.
People were thrilled about this new invention—everyone except the painters.
In this city, painters mostly made their living from portraits. Not the creative kind, either—the more realistic the better.
Now that job had been completely replaced by photography.
Some people would blithely claim artists who couldn't adapt deserved to be weeded out.
But on a personal level, change is never that easy.
Zog and Aisha entered the shop.
Ding-ling~
The bell above the door jingled. The hunched painter jolted up from his canvas, bloodshot eyes wide as if awakened from a coma.
"Hello! What kind of portrait are you looking for? I specialize in oil paintings, any angle, any—"
"No need."
The moment Aisha said that, the painter visibly deflated. In a hoarse voice, he asked, "Won't you at least take a look? That wall's full of my samples…"
"I don't need a portrait. I need a comic artist."
"...A comic?"
The painter looked torn. He knew what comics were—but he was a painter. Painters didn't draw comics. At least, he didn't think they should.
"Yes, comics. I've got rough drafts ready, and I'll deliver new ones weekly. It's a long-term gig."
The painter nervously rubbed his hands. A steady job sounded very appealing. Times were tough for his peers too. Artistic ideals didn't fill your stomach.
But if he really did draw comics, he'd lose all respect from his teachers and peers. If the industry ever rebounded, he'd be blacklisted from the art world.
"You're already eating black bread."
"...What?"
That line caught the painter off guard.
Aisha pointed to the bitten piece of black bread on the table.
It wasn't something people ate for fun—dry, sour, sticky. Swallowing it took real effort.
"I remember artists used to use black bread to erase sketches. Now you're eating it."
The painter looked embarrassed, regretting not hiding his food.
Aisha drove the point home: "So you don't have a choice. Or I can just find another painter on this street who's tired of eating black bread."
The painter eventually gave in. Drawing comics still beat choking on coal dust in a factory.
He also asked to remain anonymous. Zog sincerely wished him a future where he wouldn't regret this decision.
Turned out, hungry painters were incredibly productive.
In just three days, he finished the first chapter—faster than manga artists in a certain island nation who had entire assistant teams.
Strong. Incredibly strong.
After reviewing the work and confirming there were no issues, Zog sent it out to every newspaper in the city. He declined any payment and gave open permission for reprints and derivative works.
After all, this was about marketing yo-yos. The more papers that ran it, the better. Every reader was a potential new player.
Two days later, the first long-form comic in Feline Continent history—Firepower Yo-Yo King—officially began serialization.