Episode 10
The sound came exactly eight times.
Barnes flipped open the first page of his ledger and slid the booth window open.
With his usual businesslike tone, he asked:
“Nickname, item, price. Are you buying or selling?”
“……”
“What, first time here?”
When no reply came, Barnes repeated the question irritably.
As a broker in the Deep Market, he hated dealing with newbies more than anything else.
They always asked a million dumb questions or just wandered around cluelessly.
But since brokers were bound by rules, he had no choice but to explain.
“Pick a nickname, doesn’t matter what. Just don’t be stupid and use your real name. Now, are you buying or selling?”
“I want to meet the Witch.”
“You don’t know the rules? Figures, since you don’t know the basics…”
Barnes stared at the fool on the other side of the booth.
The rule was simple: knock on the squid carving eight times, and the booth would open.
Word of mouth always drew in rookies, but more and more of them were asking the same nonsense—trying to meet the Witch directly.
“Listen. Rule number one in the Market: nobody asks about personal info. If you want to meet the Witch, you’ve gotta buy one of her items.”
“Is there one up now?”
“Nope. And even if there was, you’d never get it as a newbie.”
“Why not?”
“Because every broker here scrambles to snatch her stuff before anyone else can.”
He rubbed his fingers together, hinting at a bribe.
In truth, brokers often skimmed items from popular sellers, pocketing them and reselling privately for a fat fee.
And the Witch? She was one of the hottest sellers around—showed up at Barnes’ booth pretty often.
“How much?”
“For the Witch? About this much…”
Barnes chuckled, holding up three fingers.
But suddenly, a scarred hand shot through the window, gripping those three fingers with crushing force.
“Argh! Wh-what the hell?!”
“Pretty cheap for a life.”
The man yanked Barnes’ arm through the narrow slot, dislocating it with brutal ease.
Barnes screamed, his arm dangling uselessly outside the booth.
His skin was torn and scraped, but the worst pain came from his shoulder, twisted and broken.
Barnes wished someone—anyone—would call the guards.
But this wasn’t some shop on the main street.
The Deep Market existed in dark alleys, far away from prying eyes.
Choking back sobs, Barnes begged:
“What do you want? Spare me, please! If you want to meet the Witch, I can make it happen!”
“How? Didn’t you just say identities are secret here?”
“T-Today’s the day she’s supposed to drop off goods! She’ll be here soon!”
“There are 150 broker booths in the capital. What makes you so sure she’ll come to this one?”
Oh shit.
Barnes froze.
The man knew the number of booths? His heart pounded as he stretched his leg under the counter, groping for a hidden button—the emergency call to summon the Market’s enforcers, the “Whales.”
If he pressed it, maybe he could survive.
“She comes here regularly, I swear! She’ll be here tonight!”
Click! He pressed it.
‘Hah! You’re finished, bastard. Once the Whales arrive, you’ll be nothing but paste.’
He forced a smile and tried to reason with the man.
“If the Witch sees me like this, all beat up, she’ll run away instantly. So let go of my arm first, and we can talk properly.”
“…Fair enough.”
The man released his grip and leaned casually against the undamaged wall.
“Description?”
“She always wears a black cloak. Never seen her face. She’s taller than you, and her voice—definitely a man’s.”
“A Witch that’s a man? If you’re lying, that won’t end well for you.”
‘Damn bastard! Maybe he’s a man who wants to live as a woman. Ever think of that?!’
Barnes swallowed his anger.
Why weren’t the Whales here yet? Hurry up, damn it!
“He’s… eccentric, you know? Only someone that weird could brew potions that good, right?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“H-haha…”
Barnes cursed silently.
This newbie was sharp, unpleasant, and worst of all, not hiding his face at all.
He had a perfectly ordinary look, nothing worth remembering.
He glanced toward the alley behind the man—still empty. Not a soul around.
‘Useless Whales. Charging half my fees and can’t even do their job.’
Barnes’ nerves frayed.
He was running out of lies about the Witch.
Finally, the man finished his questions and said flatly:
“Oh, the Whales won’t be coming. Patch that booth up.”
Barnes’ blood turned cold.
“If the Witch notices something’s wrong and turns back, you’ll die right here.”
Barnes’ face went pale.
The truth didn’t matter anymore.
This wasn’t some newbie—it was a predator.
Gritting his teeth, he shoved his dislocated arm back into place, trembling as sweat poured down his face.
Thinking of his sharp-tongued wife and his rabbit-like kid waiting at home, he forced himself to move.
He grabbed spare wood, nails, and a hammer, patching up the broken booth.
The man leaned casually against the wall, watching.
Then, with an effortless jump, he climbed onto the roof.
Before disappearing, he called down one last warning:
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
In the silent alley, the sound of desperate hammering echoed.
Halloween? In this world?
After taking her disguise potion, Lindsay stepped into the dark alley and stopped.
Booth #7—the one she usually used—looked… different.
The walls had been patched with wooden planks, still smeared with bloodstains.
It looked like a haunted house set piece.
All it needed was cobwebs and a pumpkin lantern.
…No way.
There was no such thing as Halloween here.
No pumpkins, no spooky costumes. Something was definitely off.
Sensing trouble, Lindsay turned to head for Booth #11 instead.
But—
“!”
“So you’re the Witch who’s been selling illegal potions?”
A man blocked her path, sword raised at her throat.
Lindsay calmly pushed the blade aside with her fingertip.
Thanks to her magic, her hand didn’t bleed.
Still, it had been a long time since anyone treated her so rudely right from the start.
“So it is you.”
Even without her answering, the man sounded certain.
His gaze was fixed on her hand—the hand that had just pushed his blade away.
Lindsay sighed.
She understood. It was the flaw in her disguise potion.
The potion, called “Grow Bigger,” had one fatal flaw: while her body inflated like a balloon, her hands and feet stayed the same size.
She always had to hide them under her cloak.
Her slender, pale hands were a dead giveaway.
Lowering the blade with her delicate fingers, she made the man drop his weapon slightly.
“Looks like you’ll have to come with me, Witch.”
