Chapter 300: Chapter 300

"A puppet? Do you mean..."

"Yes. It turns living people into puppets and throws them out. The transformation isn't irreversible, but the methods we know of... I apologize, but that's confidential, as it involves other Mysterious Objects. To put it simply, the body of anyone ejected from the shop is turned into a puppet, while their soul is trapped inside forever."

"Trapped in what form? As staff? Merchandise? Or something even stranger?"

Papa Oliver chuckled.

"You have quite the imagination. Is that a prerequisite for becoming a writer? But it's none of those. The souls left behind are thrown into a furnace by the puppet, serving as fuel to keep the shop running. Although there must be a ten-hour interval between customers, if two people were to enter one after the other, and the first failed to tell a story, the second would get to witness that very scene."

Jenkins nodded, finally grasping the nature and function of A-01-1-0034.

"In that case, if you sent a good storyteller inside, wouldn't the shop be incredibly useful?"

If he were allowed inside, Jenkins swore he would clear the place out of everything useful. But another thought struck him immediately.

"Wait, if it includes Series A, B, and C items... then I might encounter..."

Papa Oliver shook his head, a clear warning in his voice.

"I've told you before: never, ever try to exploit a Cursed Item, no matter how safe you think it is. Historical records show that only two percent of those who enter A-01-1-0034 manage to walk out safely with their goods. The truth is, the entire shop is filled with malicious whispers and unsettling murmurs. Not even a cultist's ritual chamber would be more terrifying. If you want to take advantage of A-01-1-0034, being a good storyteller isn't the primary concern. You need exceptionally high mental and spiritual resistance. Otherwise, once you step inside, you can forget about ever coming out.

Furthermore, the puppet is the sole judge of which stories are brilliant and which are just rubbish. Even if you manage to strike a deal with that self-proclaimed 'acting manager,' you still might not make it out. The shop replicates 'every' special item the visitor has ever seen, and it doesn't place any restrictions on them. I trust you understand what that means?"

Jenkins swallowed hard. That meant if he went inside, he would undoubtedly come face-to-face with a replica of A-01-2-0198, the Young Flower Seller. Even as a replica, degraded a thousand times over, she was still the girl selling flowers.

That alone was enough to extinguish any thought he had of seeing the shop for himself.

To prevent anyone with ulterior motives from attempting to use the replica shop, the entire area had been cordoned off under the pretext of "simultaneous gas and steam pipe leaks with imminent risk of explosion." Even residents had been temporarily evacuated. Besides, A-01-1-0034 rarely lingers for long. The longest it has ever been recorded to stay in one place is a mere ten days.

"Goddess preserve me," Jenkins prayed, "don't let me get involved with that thing."

Jenkins piously traced the holy symbol over his chest.

On Saturday afternoon, Miss Mikhail arrived alone to collect the spirit board she had asked Papa Oliver to appraise. He hadn't taken his afternoon nap, but he had been called away during lunch, apparently regarding the matter of some 'enchanted eye'.

In any case, when Miss Mikhail pushed open the door, she found only Jenkins, who was reading a book while idly stroking his cat. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs novelFɪre.net

"Good afternoon, Miss Mikhail."

Setting down the history book, Jenkins came out from behind the counter to greet her. Miss Mikhail waved a hand behind her, and the two maids who had alighted from her carriage followed her inside, though they remained just inside the doorway.

"Please wait here a moment. The spirit board is in the back; I'll go fetch it."

He straightened an armchair that sat askew before the fireplace, then turned to head for the warehouse behind the shop.

The time before last that they'd met, he had been hiding in a wardrobe. Though he hadn't seen a thing, the memory was still profoundly awkward.

"Is Mr. Oliver not in?"

"Oh, Papa Oliver was called away by a regular client to look at some new acquisitions. I hear it's a fresh shipment, so he won't be back until evening. But he left the appraisal results, and I'll bring them to you in a moment."

Seeing Jenkins heading for the back room, his cat, Chocolate, uncharacteristically rose from its cushion on the counter, hopped to the floor, and began rubbing its face against his trouser leg.

Jenkins bent down, scooped the cat up, and settled it on his shoulder.

"Did Miss Hersha not accompany you?"

He asked casually, his attention on the cat, and failed to notice the blonde girl's fingers tremble slightly at her side.

"No, she was otherwise occupied."

Forcibly suppressing the urge to inquire about their relationship, Miss Mikhail stood her ground, watching as Jenkins opened the door to the back courtyard.

Instead of taking a seat by the fireplace, she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, walked over to the counter, and removed her hat. Her gaze fell upon the book Jenkins had just been reading.

"Secrets and Desires: A History of Ancient Spiritualists and the Nobility."

She murmured the title aloud, and after a moment's thought, reached out to flip the face-down book over.

The fact that Jenkins had left it on the counter suggested it was an ordinary book. Its pages chronicled the study of mysticism among the nobility, at least as seen through the eyes of commoners. Naturally, it was filled with tawdry, melodramatic tales—of bored court ladies and servants driven mad by etiquette, who would never pass up such "amusing" diversions as spiritualism.

Throughout human history, the study of the supernatural—both genuine and fraudulent—had always been inextricably linked with the highest tiers of the aristocracy. Papa Oliver's intention in having Jenkins read it was twofold: to supplement his study of noble history and heraldry, and to instill in him a healthy reverence for soul-contacting rituals like spiritualism.

"I've brought everything," Jenkins announced as he re-entered. "The board is over there, and I have the small statuette and the planchette right here. Papa Oliver's written appraisal is..."

Jenkins pushed open the door from the back room. He saw Miss Mikhail looking through his book without permission but didn't mind in the least. Turning, he nudged the door shut with his foot to keep the cold air out and asked casually:

"Papa Oliver lent that to me. He says an antique shop apprentice needs to read at least a hundred history books just to pass muster. What part were you on?"