A Background Character's Path to Power-Chapter 95: Little Moon

And for the next thirty minutes, we moved through the Emporium in strangely companionable silence. Nolan proved alarmingly competent—wiping down shelves with military precision, arranging books with obsessive symmetry, even discovering a cobweb in a ceiling corner I’d sworn didn’t exist.

Does this guy really have a cleanliness complex?

By the time we reached the back storage room, I found myself offering sincere praise. "You’re a natural, Honorary Custodian. At this rate, I’ll have to petition the Town Lord to create a new award for—"

"!"

I caught the rag that was about to hit my face.

I peeled it away to find Nolan smirking, his earlier irritation replaced by something dangerously close to amusement. "Enough flattery, human. Where are the floor-cleaning implements?"

I blinked. Then grinned.

Perhaps this arrangement wouldn’t be as one-sided as I’d thought.

_____

Thirty minutes later.

The shop gleamed under the lantern light, every surface polished to perfection. Even the usually dusty windowpanes now sparkled like crystal. I took a long sip of my juice, surveying our handiwork. "Woah. The shop’s practically shining."

Nolan leaned against the counter, swirling his own glass with elegant fingers. "Naturally," he said, though the slight upturn of his lips betrayed his satisfaction. "Though that room remains—"

"—under someone else’s exclusive care," I cut in smoothly, wiping imaginary dust from my sleeve. "Beneath your esteemed attention, really. Just some old records and supply manifests."

The prince’s crimson eyes narrowed, but to my relief, he let it drop with a dismissive wave. "Whatever you say." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

I exhaled quietly. The last thing I needed was Nolan’s particular brand of charm magic unleashed on poor, skittish Emory. That disaster could wait for another day.

Nolan set down his glass with finality. "Tomorrow, we address the disorganized state of your alchemy section," he declared, as if issuing a royal decree.

"Looking forward to it," I lied cheerfully. "See you tomorrow, Honorary Custodian."

The door clicked shut behind him, his retreating footsteps soon swallowed by the night. I locked up, extinguishing the lanterns one by one until only moonlight remained, silvering the freshly cleaned floors.

Outside, the full moon hung unnaturally large in the sky, its pale glow painting the cobblestones ivory. I paused, staring up at its cratered face as I waited for a carriage.

Moon elves... Was their name literal? Did they hail from that glowing orb above? Or was it their luminous eyes, their pale skin, their mercurial natures that earned them the title?

And that guy, he is probably using a disguise, right? No way his hair and eyes are the opposite of the moon’s color.

The clatter of hooves interrupted my musings.

As the carriage rumbled toward the academy, I leaned back against the worn seat, watching the moon track our progress through the window. Whatever secrets Nolan held, whatever schemes brought him to our shop, I would deal with them accordingly.

In the right way...

_____ ___ _

The carriage wheels faded into the distance, the night swallowing the last echoes of its departure. Silence settled over the empty street—or so it seemed.

A shadow detached itself from the alleyway, stepping into the silver glow of the moon.

Nolan.

His lips curled into a smirk as he watched the carriage disappear around the bend.

"Hmph. Do you really think you can deceive me, human?"

He hadn’t left. Not truly.

The prince flicked his wrist, dispelling the illusion that had masked his presence. The glamour of red hair and crimson eyes melted away, revealing his true visage—hair like liquid moonlight, eyes gleaming silver, his features sharp and regal under the faint glow.

"That manager is hiding something."

And Nolan hated secrets that weren’t his own.

With effortless grace, he leapt toward the second-floor window—the one he’d deliberately left unlatched while the human wasn’t looking. His fingers caught the sill, and he slipped inside without a sound.

The shop lay still, bathed in the pale light filtering through the windows, landing lightly on the floorboards. The room was dark, but to his keen eyes, the shadows held no secrets.

His boots made no noise as he crossed the room, his senses attuned to every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind against the glass.

"What secrets does that room hold?" he mused, his voice barely a breath.

At the top of the stairs, he paused. The manager’s office stood to the left, its door slightly ajar. But his attention was fixed on the other room—the one the human had so pointedly tried to steer him away from. Which only increased his curiosity.

Didn’t the stupid human know about the oldest rule of secrecy?

The more you tried to hide something, the more you made it shine like a moonstone.

A mistake, and one Nolan would gladly exploit.

"Just what could be in there?"

And more importantly...

"Who could own such a place?"

His fingers brushed the door’s handle, his pulse steady despite the thrill of discovery. With a slow exhale, he pushed it open—

And froze.

The room was nothing like he expected.

Neatly arranged documents lined the shelves, their spines meticulously labeled. Tomes of varying thicknesses sat in perfect order, their leather covers worn from use. But none of that mattered—because there, bathed in the faint silver moonlight streaming through the small window, was a figure lounging in a high-backed chair.

Nolan’s breath caught.

"!"

His tongue felt leaden, his throat tight with something between shock, disbelief, and a wild, surging joy. His fingers twitched at his sides, his usually composed expression fracturing.

The figure turned—slowly, deliberately—and met his gaze.

A face achingly familiar.

A face he hadn’t seen in years.

"B-Big Brother...?"

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, raw and unguarded, his voice barely above a whisper.

The man in the chair smiled—a lazy, knowing curve of his lips—and tilted his head.

His silver hair, longer than Nolan remembered, spilled over his shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. His eyes, the same piercing mercury as Nolan’s own, gleamed with quiet amusement.

"Little Moon," he murmured, the old nickname rolling off his tongue like a forgotten melody. "You’ve grown up."