Ren barely waited five minutes before heading right back to the auction house.

  If anyone had thought he was done after one sale, they were badly underestimating him.

  He pulled up the listings with a sharp flick of his wrist and grimaced slightly.

  Prices had already gone up.

  About 20% across the board.

  ‘Figures,’ he thought. ‘Success breeds parasites.’

  Still, even with the price hike, it wasn’t enough to cripple his profit margins. He could absorb it easily. Especially since the entire newbie town was now desperate for potions and willing to pay whatever it took.

  Ren swept through the auction house like a shark for the third time, snatching up all the herbs he needed — the Tier 1 basics that everyone had overlooked until now.

  Each swipe of the buy button tightened his available cash, but he didn’t even blink.

  Next stop: the Alchemy Guild.

  This time, he had to rent an alchemy lab properly.

  Being a Junior Instructor gave him two free hours a day, but after that, it was a flat rental fee — a fair price, based on time used. Nothing outrageous, but enough to remind him that nothing in life was free.

  He didn’t mind.

  He already knew the next batch was going to sell out just as fast, maybe even faster.

  Because the vultures had already swooped in.

  On the way back from the auction, Ren spotted it: players in the plaza selling his potions at double the original price.

  Double.

  And the worst part?

  They were actually succeeding.

  Players—especially guild members who now had bosses breathing down their necks to level faster—were throwing silver around like it was nothing, desperate to get an edge.

  Sure, to a casual observer, it might look like a bad deal.

  Double the price?

  For a potion that technically only healed a little faster?

  But if you were bleeding out mid-fight and had a 20% better chance to survive because of an instant heal, you didn’t give a damn about cost.

  ‘Greed is a hell of a drug,’ Ren thought, amused.

  And that greed would be the key to his next wave.

  What the crowds didn’t know was that more potions — many, many more — would hit the market in exactly three hours

  He checked his internal clock.

  Almost shift change time.

  Smiling, Ren pushed open the heavy alchemy lab doors, herbs packed into his bag, and got ready for the next brewing session.

  ‘Let’s see how crazy they get when I flood the market twice in one day.’

  With only one hour left after another brewing session, Ren decided it wouldn’t be a bad time for him to take a break. He had been running non-stop for hours, and even though it wasn’t physical labor, potion crafting was an enormous drain on his stamina and mental capacity.

  He could feel it too. His focus wasn’t as sharp, and even though the mistakes hadn’t come yet, he knew better than to push it and ruin a good streak.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  What was a nice bonus, though, was the EXP stacking up on his sheet. Towerbound was divided into two progression systems.

  There was General EXP, which went toward leveling up a character’s main class, and Secondary Profession EXP, which pushed secondary jobs like alchemy, blacksmithing, tailoring, and the rest.

  That was one of the big reasons why, in his first life, he’d been a level 10 cleric but an insanely high-leveled alchemist.

  He hadn’t cared about leveling up and fighting. He had cared about potion perfection and not getting murdered.

  Ren pulled up his message list and fired off a quick PM to Folo.

  Ren: Hey, I’m heading back to real life early. I’m dead tired. I’ll be offline for about an hour.

  Folo sent back a laughing emoji and a thumbs up.

  Folo: All good! Having a blast here. I’ll log out after the hour’s up so we can pass the helmet.

  Folo was having a blast in-game, and there was no way he was giving up the hour he had left. This was it—his scheduled fun, his one slice of escape from real life. Hell, his original fight with Kanuka had started because he tried to jump the queue. Things had smoothed over since then, but one thing hadn’t changed: Folo wasn’t giving up a single minute early. Not for free. Not for anything.

  Ren smiled a little. ‘Good. Everything was going according to plan.’

  Before logging out, he sent one final group message to the Scrap Rats.

  Ren explained to the Scrap Rats that he’d be offline for about an hour, but before he logged out, he made sure everyone knew the plan.

  “Enjoy your potions,” he said, waving toward the bundles they’d all received. “And keep grinding. The next phase of our money-making scheme is almost here.”

  They’d each gotten twenty potions—ten healing, ten either mana or focus depending on their role—but he reminded them that twenty potions at twenty-five copper apiece wasn’t anywhere near the four gold they’d each contributed to the guild’s shared fund.

  The only ones who hadn’t chipped in the full four gold were the two new mages, Cade and Marlow. They’d sent money, sure, but not enough to cover the cost of full stacks. As a result, their potion packs were a little lighter than everyone else’s. Nothing personal. Just math.

  They all nodded. They understood.

  This was a business. A slum-born, potions-fueled empire in the making.

  A flurry of excited pings followed.

  Some were just happy to have their potions incoming.

  Some were happy to know their credits hadn’t mysteriously vanished.

  And some, like Mira, just sent back “About time!” with twenty exclamation marks.

  Ren chuckled, leaned back, and logged out.

  For it was time for a well-earned break.

  Ren pulled off his gaming helmet with a tired sigh, blinking as the bright fluorescent lights of the dormitory stabbed at his eyes.

  His muscles ached, his brain felt like a wrung-out sponge, and the gaming helmet was slick with honest, hard-earned sweat.

  He wiped it down with a battered rag — it was practically a dorm rule at this point — and set it gently aside.

  The gaming helmets allowed a person to play for 18 hours a day safely—without frying their brain or overtaxing their neurons. But technically? They could go for a full 24 hours with no noticeable degradation in performance. It was that extra six hours, that edge, that had sparked the entire idea behind the 10-man dormitory system.

  And it was already paying off.

  Not in credits—yet—but in something harder to measure and far more valuable: morale.

  For the first time in forever, every single person in the dorm had a shared goal. A reason to get up. A reason to take turns and work hard and keep the cycle going. It wasn’t just a game anymore. It was hope. It was momentum. It was the first step in crawling out of the gutter with something other than bitterness.

  They didn’t have much—but now they had each other, a plan, and a reason to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time it’d be different.

  Folo was still logged in, hammering away happily in the game for the final hour of the shift.

  That left Ren in the dorm, finally able to breathe.

  He glanced at the time: he had a full hour before the next swap.

  Enough for a quick shower, a drink, and maybe — if he was lucky — some glorious unconsciousness.

  Still, duty first.

  He pulled out the helmet that had been passed around and prepped it for the next person: Peter.

  Peter was one of the newer guys in the dorm, barely nineteen, with sharp eyes and the kind of energy that made Ren think of a cat about to knock something off a table.

  Big muscles, gentle hands. Thinks “tank” and “gardener” go great together. In real life, he harvests plants around the slums for food or trade. In-game, he planned to tank monsters in the morning and picks herbs in the afternoon. A walking contradiction with a mortar and pestle.

  Smart move.

  Herbalists could make serious money supporting alchemists like Ren later on, and Peter clearly had his eye on that long-term payout.

  “You ready for this?” Ren asked as Peter came bouncing over, practically vibrating with excitement.

  “Born ready, boss,” Peter said, grabbing the gaming helmet.

  He barely grimaced at the lingering sweat before wiping it down and strapping it on.

  Ren chuckled.

  “You’re tougher than me.”

  “I figure a little helmet sweat’s the price of greatness,” Peter said, grinning.

  “Good attitude,” Ren said, already stretching out his stiff arms.

  “And hey — tell the Scrap Rats when you see them that more potions are coming soon. Just had to take a little break.”

  Peter gave a salute and dropped into the login interface like he was diving into a pool.

  Ren watched him vanish into the virtual world and smiled to himself.

  ‘Phase One: a success. Phase Two: profit and domination.’

  He headed off toward the showers, every step aching but his spirits flying high.

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