Tools, Threats, and a Ton of Trouble

Minjae stood in front of the entrance to the rickety storage shed behind the old gas station. By day, it was just that—a storage shed for cleaning supplies and rusty tools. But with a twist of the rusty valve hidden beneath a loose floorboard, a ripple spread across the wooden planks like a heatwave on pavement. The portal opened with a whoosh, revealing the swirling tunnel of energy that led to the other world.

He glanced around. No one. Not even a squirrel.

"Alright, back to fantasy land," he muttered, stepping through.

The instant he emerged on the other side, Minjae was hit with warm, herb-scented air and the distant sound of a blacksmith hammering metal. He blinked in the sunlight—he'd exited directly into the forest clearing he'd unofficially claimed as his arrival zone. His leather backpack was already heavy with items he planned to sell in the real world, but today, he had another goal.

He needed to stock up on raw materials—mana stones, herbs, metals—the kind of loot that didn't exist back home but sold for eye-watering prices online once disguised properly.

He started walking toward the nearest village—Talren, a trade town that had recently warmed up to him after he saved their well from collapsing with a structural reinforcement potion (which was, in truth, just cement with a mana glow stick inside it).

But halfway down the path, he heard the crunch of leaves.

Minjae paused. His hand drifted instinctively to the side pouch where he kept his emergency gadgets: one mini smoke bomb, one basic illusion charm, and a taser that worked on fantasy wolves about 80% of the time.

Another crunch.

He ducked behind a tree and peeked around it.

A cloaked figure with a bow slung over their shoulder was crouching over something on the ground. Minjae squinted. No, not something—someone.

He stepped forward, noiselessly, until the bark beneath his foot snapped loudly.

The figure turned.

Minjae raised his hands. "Hey, uh, friendly guy passing by. Definitely not a thief or a bandit or anything that usually gets shot."

The figure stood up slowly and pushed back their hood, revealing a grizzled face and a streak of gray hair at the temple. "You're the outsider. The one with strange tools and strange clothes."

Minjae sighed. "Look, can we skip to the part where I say I'm not a threat and you realize I'm just trying to make money without dying?"

The man didn't smile. "You've disrupted the market in two towns already. Word travels fast, especially when you're the only one selling pre-packaged salted seaweed snacks."

"That was one time, and it sold out!" Minjae defended.

The man stepped aside, revealing the body on the ground—a young man with a deep gash on his leg and faint glowing cracks on his armor.

Minjae's instincts kicked in. "He's poisoned."

"You can tell just by looking?" the man asked.

"No, I can tell because there's a glowing green trail leading from his wound up to his neck. Pretty obvious."

He dug into his bag and pulled out a travel-sized antidote he'd brewed with filtered water and some leaves he hoped were medicinal. "This might save him… or make him burp glitter for three hours. Fifty-fifty."

The man raised an eyebrow. "You risk the latter often?"

Minjae knelt and administered the potion. "Only when I can pretend it's part of a magic ritual. Works wonders for reputation."

The boy coughed. Color returned to his cheeks.

"You saved him," the man muttered.

"Great. Does that get me a free lunch in Talren, or is there a separate form for that?"

The man stared at him, then extended his hand. "Derrik. Mercenary. Currently working on behalf of Talren's elders to investigate something… unusual."

Minjae reluctantly shook it. "Minjae. Freelancer. Currently running an unofficial import-export business between worlds."

Derrik gave a sharp look. "Then you might want to know: there's a bounty posted on your head."

Minjae froze. "What?"

"Well, not you specifically. Just 'the outsider who carries tools that defy explanation.'" Derrik gave him a long look. "Guess how many people that describes."

"Okay, maybe... one. But that could be anyone!" Minjae laughed nervously. "There's a lot of weird people around these parts. I met a guy last week who used a talking goose as a scout."

"Then you'll need to lay low. Or wear a hood."

Minjae scoffed. "Not my style. I like people to see the smugness when I outsmart them."

They began walking toward Talren, the injured boy carried between them.

---

When they arrived, Minjae saw that the market was swamped with new guards. He immediately ducked behind Derrik.

"I thought you said this was a casual bounty," he hissed.

Derrik shrugged. "Looks like the situation escalated."

Minjae scanned the stalls. Several of his "suppliers" were still open—Alra, the elderly herb seller; Bix, the dwarven blacksmith; and Lena, who sold magical trinkets that occasionally exploded.

"Stick close," Derrik said. "If anyone asks, you're my assistant."

Minjae nodded. "Cool. Do I get a uniform or…?"

"No."

He sighed.

---

They reached the apothecary's back alley. Inside, Minjae bartered for a fresh batch of mana-soaked pine resin and a half-dozen ore chunks that glowed faintly. Perfect for "charging stones" back in the real world, where no one knew what the glow meant but still paid extra for it.

But something was bothering him.

"Why the sudden bounty?" Minjae asked as they walked out.

Derrik didn't answer immediately. "You know how sometimes, when you touch something, it changes without meaning to?"

"I'm going to pretend that's not the creepiest way you could've phrased that."

Derrik looked serious. "There's a cave. Northeast of the village. A few days ago, someone reported a distortion there. Mana patterns shifting, natural laws bending."

Minjae tensed. "Portal-level weird?"

"Possibly."

That was bad. The portal was supposed to be his thing. If some natural anomaly or other traveler started opening similar gates...

He'd lose his only edge.

"Guess I'll need to investigate," Minjae said.

"You're a merchant, not a mage."

"Correction: I'm a multi-talented, world-traveling entrepreneur with a mild hero complex."

---

Two days later, Minjae stood at the edge of the cave.

He'd prepped his usual gear—flashlight disguised as a magic torch, a wristwatch that doubled as a mana detector (read: a glowing children's toy with beeping sounds), and two protein bars. Also, a crowbar, because fantasy caves didn't come with OSHA compliance.

As he stepped in, the air chilled. The glow from his "torch" flickered against the walls.

And then he saw it: a rift. Smaller than his portal, hovering mid-air, crackling with purple static. It wasn't his portal, but it was dangerously similar.

Someone—or something—had been trying to open their own gate.

Minjae stepped closer.

The rift pulsed, almost like it recognized him.

He felt a tug in his chest. Not magical—instinctual. Like a deep alarm bell ringing.

"Not good," he muttered.

He threw a small tracker beacon into the rift—it beeped twice, then vanished.

At least he'd know if it reappeared in his world.

For now, he turned and left. Time to make some changes. Some upgrades.

And maybe, just maybe, time to stop treating this like a side hustle.

Because someone else might be trying to make it their main job.