"Don't worry, it's not mine," Albrecht said, stepping into the shop.

  "Sorry for the mess. I'm kind of in a rush. Are the clothes ready?"

  Isla's face, still pale from the initial shock, slowly regained some color. She blinked a few times and gave a small nod.

  "Uh… yeah. Right here."

  From behind the counter, she pulled out a neatly folded set of clothes wrapped in dark blue fabric.

  A few other customers had gone completely silent, staring wide-eyed at the bloodstained customer. Albrecht ignored them.

  Isla unwrapped the bundle and handed it over.

  The undershirt was a pale gray, tight-fitting, and stitched from breathable material with light silver threading.

  Over it came a sleeveless, deep midnight-blue tunic with silver-trimmed edges designed for both mobility and durability.

  The flexible but sturdy trousers were tucked into reinforced black leather boots. A thin, white cloth sash tied at the waist pulled it all together, subtle yet striking.

  "Wow… these look amazing," Albrecht said, genuinely surprised and excited.

  "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

  Isla smiled, pleased at his reaction.

  "I'm glad you like them. My mother didn't have time to enchant them with protection spells yet, so if you want to wai—"

  "Sorry," Albrecht cut in, already reaching for the clothes.

  "No time. I've still got something else to take care of."

  Isla opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, Albrecht had already pulled off his bloodstained shirt.

  Isla immediately turned her head to the side, flustered.

  "You could've at least used the fitting room…"

  Albrecht noticed that his left side—just beneath the ribs—was tinged a deep blue-purple, already blooming into a nasty bruise from the first mace strike that he didnt properly dodge.

  He winced slightly, brushing his fingers over the spot.

  Albrecht slipped into the new clothes as quickly as he could. It wasn't that he wanted to rush off, but after the chaos he and Thereon had left behind, it was only a matter of time before someone came asking questions.

  He felt especially bad about Isla. She had clearly poured effort into these clothes—the stitching even matched the color of his hair.

  Finishing something like this in just half a day was impressive on its own, though Albrecht suspected she might have used a bit of magic to speed up the process.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Not that he minded, of course. Magic or not, the care she'd put into them was obvious.

  Once he finished changing, Albrecht stepped up to the counter and, without overthinking it, leaned in to give Isla a quick hug across it.

  "Eh—what are you doing?!" she squeaked.

  But she didn't pull away.

  If anything, she just stood there, flustered and frozen, more embarrassed than upset—especially with a couple of other customers now openly staring.

  Her cheeks turned bright pink as she glanced at them, then back at him with wide, confused eyes.

  "I hope we see each other again someday!" Albrecht called out, already running toward the door.

  "Wait! You said you'd come back to pay me soon!" Isla shouted after him, but he was already sprinting down the street.

  'Someday, I really hope I will.' Albrecht thought as his boots hit the cobblestone.

  He didn't run far—just across the quiet street to the inn where he had first awakened in this world. He rushed inside and made for the stairway near the front, the one that spiraled upward toward the second floor.

  The upper level was lined with sleeping quarters, most of them modest and empty. But one door stood out.

  His name was carved neatly into the wood.

  'Perfect.'

  He swung it open and quickly tore through the room. He didn't have much time, so subtlety was tossed aside.

  Drawers flew open, clothes were tossed across the floor, and the mattress was halfway off the bed before he finally found what he was looking for: tucked into the drawer of a small bedside table.

  Inside it was a small object—one he'd read about in the library. Something he would need soon.

  Slipping it into his pocket, he rushed back out of the inn, boots thudding against the wooden floorboards.

  He was rifling through the pouch, distracted, when he suddenly collided with someone outside.

  "Ahh! Sorry!" a voice squeaked.

  Albrecht looked up, only to be momentarily blinded by a cascade of soft, flowing hair that shimmered between deep blue and lavender in the fading evening light.

  She stepped back, brushing her hair from her face, clearly startled.

  "Isla, sorry, but I—" he began, but she cut him off.

  "Just take this," she said quickly, voice small but insistent.

  In her hands was a golden medallion. He blinked.

  Inside was a color drawing of Isla, looking a little younger.

  It could have been from a year or two ago, but her striking hair was unmistakable. The portrait had been carefully hand-drawn, sealed beneath a smooth layer of polished glass.

  Albrecht accepted it gently, eyes flicking from the medallion to her.

  "Don't take it the wrong way, okay? It's not like a… you know. It's just so you don't forget to repay your debt." she said, this time with more confidence in her voice.

  Albrecht smiled faintly.

  "I won't forget it," he said.

  Albrecht put the medallion into the same pouch in which he had put the item he had just got.

  Then, without another word, he turned and hurried back across the street. Unfortunately, there was no time for any big farewells.

  Isla reminded him a bit of his little sister. She had also always been bad with words, just like him. In that way, they were all pretty similar.

  He and Thereon had agreed to meet at the marketplace. And while Albrecht didnt have any good memories of it, he at least knew the way.

  By now, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the town of Vaelmont in a dusky orange and violet hue. The evening air was crisp and laced with the faint scent of baked bread, burnt oil, and market spices long since packed away.

  The marketplace felt like a stage after the play had ended—curtains drawn, actors gone, and only the faint impression of drama lingering in the air.

  There were still many wooden stalls, just no people.

  Albrecht suspected that it wasn't because it was already somewhat late but rather because of the events that had been happening that day.

  'It certainly has been crazy,' he thought, amused.