Chapter 8: Foreign Guest, I Am a Foreign Guest

"What?"

In an instant, Stanna nearly felt like she was about to break down.

Those gray eyes of hers were full of fury!

This rotten man!

How could he do this?

Last time it was for a loaf of bread, and now... he wants me to help him sell stockings?!

In this man's eyes, did women even exist?

Actually, Stanna guessed right.

At least for now, Pierre had no space for women in his heart.

He had crossed into another world — who the hell had time to care about romance?

Making money was the real business!

As for the "thanks" he owed the tomboy, well, among her cargo were not only miniature perfume samples and ladies' underwear, but also bundles of long silk stockings — five pairs for ten shillings.

In these times, stockings were very valuable.

But precisely because they were valuable, you needed the right buyers — people who could actually afford them.

If it weren't for the fact that this woman had connections to upper society, Pierre wouldn't have even bothered with her.

Seduce her?

Who cares!

Glaring at the man, and feeling the wave of complicated emotions caused by being so thoroughly ignored, Stanna was left speechless.

Anger, confusion, disappointment...

Just as her mind was overwhelmed with all these feelings, the man spoke.

"This pair of stockings can serve as a sample. You'll get to use it.

Of course, the cost will be deducted from your future wages."

Given to me?

In that instant, Stanna's eyes lit up with a flash of wild joy.

Women, after all, were no match for the temptation of silk stockings.

At that moment, the man's low, enticing voice echoed in her ears again.

"With them, you can reenter the world you once knew so well.

You want to go back, don't you?"

Psychology really was useful.

With just a little observation, it was obvious that this woman's situation wasn't great.

Maybe she had once been wealthy — but now she was just another commoner.

And for people like her, what they craved was not petty profits, but the chance to reclaim the life they once had: the respect, the admiration, the status.

That was exactly why Pierre chose her.

What she needed was an opportunity to regain what she had lost — not some trivial short-term gain.

Otherwise, if he picked someone at random, there was no telling if they'd simply take the goods and run.

Staring at the stockings, Stanna realized she had no reason to refuse him —

in fact, deep inside, she desperately wanted this chance to restore her dignity before those who had once looked down on her.

Still... this man...

Were his eyes really only filled with business and opportunity?

...

Ah!

Could it be that I'm already old?

After the man left, Stanna deliberately went to the bathroom, stood in front of the big mirror, and carefully examined herself.

Her body was still as slender and graceful as in her girlhood — only now it had gained the soft fullness of a mature woman.

Her face was even more beautiful than in the past.

And yet...

How could he not even notice?

For a moment, Stanna's mood plummeted to the depths — but in the next instant, when she thought about the stockings, her face bloomed into a brilliant smile.

Stockings!

They're mine!

With long legs that could easily measure a full meter, Stanna practically skipped back to her bedroom in glee.

Meanwhile, Pierre, descending the stairs, was busy looking at the translucent screen that only he could see.

[Hired one employee. New business chapter unlocked. +20 experience points.]

Hiring employees could actually earn experience points too?

This was too good to be true!

"Huh? No other rewards?"

Although a little disappointed, Pierre was still full of anticipation for the future.

After all, one employee was just the beginning — someday he'd build a multinational company, hiring at least ten thousand people!

"A skyscraper starts with the first stone.

Let's lay the foundation first."

Now that he had a ration booklet to serve as his identification, he could roam London more freely.

Wartime London was full of men in uniform — but even more common were the endless queues outside every shop.

People always craned their necks, trying to see how many were ahead of them in line.

Naturally, Pierre was no exception — he joined the line too.

After all, a man had to eat.

As he queued, he noticed that most of the people in line were women.

The few men were elderly, their hair completely white.

Young and middle-aged men had all been drafted into the army.

A young man like Pierre stood out easily — and sure enough, as he waited, he felt countless gazes fall on him:

lively young girls, alluring young wives —

their looks were sometimes bold, sometimes shy...

It was enough to make a man feel serious pressure.

Still, food remained everyone's top concern — not just whether it was available, but whether they could afford it.

The ration booklet was merely a voucher; you still had to pay real money.

Could you afford it?

Could you even get it?

That was what mattered.

"What? Two ounces of sugar for ten pence? Might as well just rob us!"

A plump old woman near the front of the line shouted angrily.

Others heard and chimed in, voices full of outrage.

"My God, a pound of sugar costs eighty shillings!"

"A pound? You dreaming?"

"Yeah, got that many ration coupons?"

Amid the loud complaints, an old man said:

"Ladies, blame the Germans.

Didn't you read the paper?

Their U-boats just sank a dozen ships again.

Our sugar is probably at the bottom of the ocean now..."

"Damn Krauts!"

In an instant, the crowd exploded in curses — both at the Germans and at the "hair-washers" (likely a slang insult).

Thus, pushed forward by the flow of the crowd, it was finally Pierre's turn.

He handed over his ration booklet.

The shopkeeper gave it a glance, then looked up at him, asking:

"Sir, what would you like?"

"Two loaves of bread, a pound of bacon or ham, and some butter..."

To avoid queuing again, Pierre tried to buy as much as he could.

But he hadn't noticed — both the shopkeeper and the customers were looking at him strangely.

"Alright, sir."

Just as the shopkeeper took the ration coupons, someone behind shouted:

"Harry! Why are you selling him so much? We can't even get four ounces of bacon!"

"Yeah, why him?!"

What was going on?

While confusion flickered across Pierre's face, the shopkeeper explained loudly:

"Ladies, he's a diplomat — using a red ration book..."

At that, the complaining crowd fell silent, staring at Pierre with complicated looks.

So this was what special treatment for foreign guests looked like?

For a brief moment, Pierre was almost giddy inside —

after all, this was the legendary "foreign guest" treatment!

Taking the heavy bag of food and thanking the shopkeeper, he walked away —

amid the crowd's envious, jealous, and — in the case of the ladies — downright flirtatious gazes.

At the corner, just as he was about to look for some fruit to buy, a hoarse voice called out to him:

"Hello, sir — do you have any gasoline coupons?"

Turning toward the voice, he saw a thin, blond man in a short-sleeved shirt and a flat cap, watching him eagerly.

"If you have gasoline coupons, sir,

I'm willing to pay a high price for them," the man said, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a gold watch.

"I have a gold watch, sir — real gold..."