A method for the problem

The sun blazes overhead, stretching my shadow across the scorching sand. Each step feels heavy, as if the wind-driven sand is trying to bury me, my tattered shoes sinking inches into the dry, golden earth. I pull my ragged cloak over my face—not to shield myself from the sun; my body endures it better than most—but because I don't want anyone to see my expression right now.

In my hand, a small piece of paper trembles with each gust of hot wind. I've read it hundreds of times since leaving town, but the number printed on it remains unchanged. 117 bottles. Profit: less than three silver coins. A disastrous result.

I clench it in my fist, feeling as if the numbers themselves are mocking me. Is this really all I manage to accomplish?

The vision of enzymes becoming a revolutionary product—something I once firmly believe in—now feels like a distant fantasy. I am too optimistic. We haven't done any marketing, we have no brand, no trust. No one wastes their time buying something unfamiliar from a group of strangers. I should foresee this.

The wind shifts, carrying the damp scent of moisture as I leave the desert and enter the swampland. The air grows dense, thick with the smell of moss and stagnant mud. Each step sinks into the soggy ground, cold swamp water seeping through the gaps in my worn-out shoes. The buzzing of insects merges with the sound of water dripping from moss-covered ancient trees.

I take a deep breath, the scent of decaying grass and damp wood jolting my senses awake. Aldo is here.

After hours of trudging, I finally stand before his small wooden house. It looks weathered, yet surprisingly sturdy—a hidden refuge in the middle of the wilderness.

I raise my hand to knock but hesitate. My fingers tighten around the crumpled paper.

What should I even say to him?

"…Aldo, I fail."

The words echo in my mind, unbearably heavy.

I've never been afraid of failure. But this time, I haven't just failed in the eyes of the world—I fail my own expectations.

I stand at the door, my hand suspended in midair. The cold swamp breeze seeps through my worn cloak, but it's not nearly as cold as the feeling gnawing at me from the inside.

I do my best… don't I?

Moment 1: Advertising Before the Crowd

Hurried footsteps rush past, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the bustling marketplace. Hundreds of people pass by, not a single one stopping.

I take a deep breath, force a smile, and lift a bottle of enzyme, trying to sound confident.

—"This… this can help clean food faster! Just a single drop—"

No one cares. They walk straight ahead, not even sparing a glance. I remain there, my hand frozen in place, my smile stiff and lifeless. They don't even bother to ask the price.

Moment 2: Trying at the Herbal Shop

I place a bottle of enzyme on the old wooden counter, facing the shop owner—a middle-aged woman who seems knowledgeable about medicinal herbs.

—"This is a special extract that can—"

—"Not interested."

Her rejection is so blunt that I don't even have time to react.

She glances at me once before shaking her head.

—"People don't trust new things, kid. If you don't have a reputation, no one's going to risk their money on this."

I clench my fist, shame tightening around my throat. I can't argue. Because she's right.

Moment 3: Knocking on a House Door

My hand trembles as I knock on the wooden door of a poor family's home. A thin man answers, eyeing me warily.

—"…I'm not buying anything."

I bite my lip, forcing down the sting of disappointment.

—"No, it's not that… I just want to give you a bottle to try. If you find it useful, maybe—"

Click.

The door shuts in my face.

Back to the Present

I swallow hard.

All those attempts, all those efforts—only to sell 117 bottles and make less than three silver coins.

I grip the paper even tighter, my eyes burning.

Am I really… this useless?

My hand trembles as it touches Aldo's door. I take a deep breath—then stop.

I don't dare knock.

Not because I am afraid of his anger. Not because I fear being scolded.

But because… I don't want to see Aldo's disappointed gaze.

I remain there, my hand resting lightly on the rough wooden door. Cold. Not the chill of the swamp wind, but the cold of fear gnawing at me.

I don't dare knock.

What would Aldo say?

He would probably fall silent for a moment, staring at the numbers in the report. Then, with no emotion, he would say something brutally practical. Maybe: "Worse than I expected." Or worse: "What have you been doing all week?"

I don't want to hear those words. Because I do everything I can.

Memory: Guerrilla Marketing

After being rejected time and time again, I know I can't sell things the usual way. People don't believe in what they don't understand. So, I make them understand.

I set up a small table in the middle of the square, right next to the fountain. No sign. No shouting to attract attention. Just a neat row of enzyme bottles.

Then, I do something no one expects—I take a piece of fatty meat and dip it into the enzyme right in front of everyone.

Sizzle—

In less than a few minutes, the fat melts away like wax under the sun.

A crowd gathers. People start whispering, curious. I hear their voices:

—"What the hell is that?"—"The meat… it's actually dissolving!"—"Is it magic?"

Good. Curiosity is the first step.

I smile, clear my throat, and speak:

—"This isn't magic. This is an enzyme—a way to break down food faster! Imagine if you want to ferment fruit without waiting a whole week? Or if you want to clean grease in your kitchen in just minutes?"

The crowd is still skeptical, but I see a few people getting interested.

But just then—

—"Stop right there!"

A harsh voice rings out. The crowd scatters.

Three guards approach, their heavy armor clanking.

I clench my teeth. Of course, this is inevitable.

—"Are you selling something without a permit?" One guard glares at me.

—"I'm not selling anything. I'm just—"

—"Doesn't matter." He cuts me off. "We've never seen this before. It could be dangerous."

I have no way to argue. I can only stand there, watching as they start seizing all the enzyme bottles from my table.

—"You'll have to pay a fine. And this is confiscated."

I stand frozen, fists clenched.

Watching everything I work for being taken away.

Back to the Present

My hand is still on Aldo's door. Should I tell him about this?

He would definitely say, "You're an idiot."

And I wouldn't be able to argue. Because… maybe I really am an idiot.

I grit my teeth. I can't just stand here forever.

It is just a failed report.

So why are my legs shaking like this?

I hate this feeling. The feeling of being useless, helpless, stuck. I try. I try my best. But the world doesn't care. It just needs an excuse to push me aside.

I don't want to face Aldo. But… I can't bear this feeling alone anymore.

BAM!

The door swings open so hard it nearly comes off its hinges. I don't care.

I rush inside, my vision blurred with tears.

Aldo is sitting in a chair, his eyes still glued to a thick book. When I burst in, he barely looks up.

I collapse to my knees, burying my face in his lap, not caring about anything anymore.

—"Aldo…!"

He doesn't push me away. He doesn't say anything.

He just sits there, as if waiting for me to spill everything.

And so, I do.

I lift my head, staring at Aldo with eyes still red and swollen.—"You…" I grit my teeth. "Can you care about my feelings just a little?"

Aldo glances down at me as if I just asked him to perform resurrection magic—when he is a magicless fool.—"Feelings won't help us sell enzymes."

I want to punch him.

But my rational mind knows he is right.

I wipe my tears away, forcing myself to regain composure.—"Alright." I take a deep breath. "Then what's the real reason I failed?"

Aldo crosses his arms, his gaze sharp like a blade.—"What do you think?"

I swallow hard. I have been agonizing over this question all week, but now that I have to face it, the weight of it presses down on me.—"We don't have a market," I begin. "The people here have never heard of enzymes, they don't know what they do, and they don't trust what they don't understand."

—"Go on."

—"I tried to spark curiosity. I demonstrated its effects." I frown. "But… no one bought it."

—"So where's the problem?"

I grit my teeth, my thoughts tangled into knots. Then, suddenly, it hits me.—"They don't trust me."

Aldo gives a small nod.—"Exactly. It doesn't matter how good our product is—without credibility, no one is willing to gamble their money on something uncertain."

Credibility.

I hate to admit it, but he is right.

—"So…" I sigh, leaning back. "We have to rely on someone who already has credibility?"

—"Yes."

—"But we don't have anyone!" I shoot up, frustration flaring again. "We have no connections, no reputation, no one willing to vouch for our product!"

Aldo stays silent for a moment.

Then, he picks up the teacup beside him, takes a slow sip, and says casually:—"I know someone."

I stare at the teacup in his hand.

The color of the tea isn't the usual murky brown of swamp herbs. It is a clear, golden hue, catching the dim glow of the oil lamp in the wooden house.

—"What kind of tea is that?" I ask, desperate to pull my mind away from the enzyme disaster.

Aldo glances at his cup, then answers in his usual flat tone:—"Zihao's tea."

I frown.—"Since when does Zihao grow tea?"

—"He doesn't." Aldo sets the cup down. "He has a supplier. Trades with merchants who specialize in tea."

I fall silent, staring at him.—"…Are you trying to teach me something?"

Aldo shrugs.—"You need to know what you're doing."

I scoff.—"I do know! I'm trying to sell enzymes!"

Aldo remains expressionless, unmoved.

His unshaken calm irritates me even more.—"Hey! Say something!"

He still doesn't answer.

My fists clench tighter."You always act like you know everything, but you're not the only smart one, Aldo!"

Finally, he slowly lifts his head, a thoughtful glint flashing in his eyes.—"We can ask Zihao."

I raise an eyebrow.—"Huh? What do you mean?"

—"Zihao has a lot of connections with merchants," Aldo says, his voice as calm as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. "We can ask him to connect us with the right people to sell the enzyme."

I shake my head.—"No way! Zihao only lent us money to start the business and secure our finances, but he never said we could use his resources!"

Aldo chuckles.—"He didn't forbid it."

I open my mouth to argue but freeze.—"…Are you taking advantage of him?"

—"No. This is business. In business, what matters isn't what you have, but who you know."

I am at a loss for words.

He is right. Again.

Crossing my arms, I grumble in frustration.—"Back on Earth, you were such a rule-abiding student. Why are you so different now?"

Aldo just shrugs.—"Oh well."

Then, before I can react, he grabs my hand and pulls me outside.—"Let's go. We're meeting Zihao."

The small boat drifts slowly across the swamp, gliding past clusters of bright green duckweed and massive roots jutting out from the water. The air is humid, carrying the scent of fresh mud and decaying leaves, mixed with the constant chirping of frogs and insects. In the distance, on a small islet shaded by bamboo trees, Zihao's bamboo house comes into view.

I rest my chin on my hand, watching the scenery, while Aldo silently rows forward.—"Do you think Zihao will agree?" I ask.

—"No."

I roll my eyes.—"Then why are we even going?"

—"To negotiate."

I raise an eyebrow.—"Zihao?"—"Yeah. He sells wine and herbal soap. Both have a much higher quality than apple cider and lard-based soap in the market, so they sell like crazy."

I think for a moment, then ask:—"But if the market is that good, why don't you sell those too?"

Aldo places a crate down, looks at me for a second, then says slowly:—"Because it's not wise to compete with your own business partner."

I tilt my head.—"Why not?"

—"Specialization. If we compete with each other, both sides suffer. But if each of us dominates a different sector, we can support each other while expanding our influence. Zihao handles mass consumer goods, I handle raw materials. That way, no matter who grows faster, the other one benefits too."

I ponder that.—"That actually makes sense."

After a pause, I ask again:—"What about wood, vegetables, or meat? Why not sell basic necessities?"

Aldo leans against a crate, folding his arms.—"Have you heard of Coca-Cola's story?"

I frown.—"You mean the soda company?"

—"Exactly. When Coca-Cola is first founded, it isn't powerful at all. They face countless difficulties in their early years. Initially, they are just a small soft drink company with extremely low sales and come close to bankruptcy multiple times."

I raise an eyebrow.—"So how do they manage to survive?"

—"Marketing, widespread distribution, and perseverance. They don't sell essential products like water, tea, or coffee—things that already have too many strong competitors. Instead, they create new demand by marketing their product as something unique: a refreshing and exhilarating beverage. Gradually, they dominate the market and become one of the strongest brands in the world."

I think for a moment.—"Are you saying that Mikhland could become even harsher in the future?"

Aldo nods.—"Selling basic food items might bring quick profits, but it also makes you an easy target for powerful factions. I'm making a bet: to establish a new market before the economic system here becomes too rigid. If we win, we'll secure a solid foothold."

I sigh.—"That sounds really risky."

Aldo shrugs.—"Risk brings high rewards."

I look at him, then back at the rows of enzyme bottles in front of me. There are still so many questions in my mind, but I decide not to ask any more.

Enzyme Sales Report:

Day 8: 120 bottles sold, 30 silver coins in profit

Day 9: 180 bottles sold, 45 silver coins in profit

Day 10: 250 bottles sold, 62.5 silver coins in profit

Day 11: 310 bottles sold, 77.5 silver coins in profit

Day 12: 390 bottles sold, 97.5 silver coins in profit

Day 13: 470 bottles sold, 117.5 silver coins in profit

Day 14: 560 bottles sold, 140 silver coins in profit

(Week 3 – Stronger Growth Trend)

Day 15: 650 bottles sold, 162.5 silver coins in profit

Day 16: 730 bottles sold, 182.5 silver coins in profit

Day 17: 810 bottles sold, 202.5 silver coins in profit

Day 18: 900 bottles sold, 225 silver coins in profit

Day 19: 1000 bottles sold, 250 silver coins in profit

Day 20: 1120 bottles sold, 280 silver coins in profit

Day 21: 1250 bottles sold, 312.5 silver coins in profit