The Supply Chain Problem

Two days after the viral video, Leo's world had fundamentally changed. His business was no longer a quirky, high-end secret. It was a phenomenon.

His trip to the Plaza of Wonders had been fruitful. The hooded man, his mysterious "procurer," had not shown up. Leo later overheard whispers in the market that the Night's Eye Guild—a shadowy syndicate of thieves and smugglers—had a run-in with the City Guard. It seemed his shady supplier had been "detained," which was probably for the best. It forced Leo back to his original, more wholesome method: trading Nadles directly for caged fairies. The market had a fresh supply of trappers, and he happily spent all his earnings from the previous day liberating another fifteen fairies of various hues and temperaments.

He also found what he was looking for. A dusty old stall run by a man selling mildewed books and scrolls. Leo spotted a thin, leather-bound book with a single, simple rune on the front that seemed to faintly hum. After a lengthy negotiation involving twenty packets of instant ramen with water (a fortune to the book dealer), Leo became the proud owner of his first grimoire.

He spent an hour back in his house trying to decipher the complex script. After much trial and error, he managed to learn a single spell. He held out his palm, focused his intent, and mumbled the strange, guttural word. A small, warm sphere of pure white light materialized, hovering silently above his hand. It wasn't a fireball. It wasn't a shield. It was a magical flashlight. But it was his. It was proof that he, too, could touch the magic of another world. He felt an immense sense of accomplishment.

But his small victories were overshadowed by the colossal problem at his warehouse.

Everything was sold out. Constantly.

He would bring a massive harvest from the Sanctum—now working at peak efficiency thanks to his growing army of fairies—and Maria would update the website's inventory. Within minutes, it would be gone. The demand was insatiable. Frank Costello stood in the nearly empty warehouse, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Son," he said, holding up a printout of the day's order log. "It's a slaughterhouse. People are buying a hundred bottles of water at a time. The apples are gone in sixty seconds. The comments section on the website is a warzone. People are begging. Some are getting angry. They're accusing us of creating artificial scarcity."

Leo ran a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of stress. He was making money faster than he could count it. After paying his employees' generous salaries, the taxes, the rent on the warehouse—he was still clearing a fortune. But he wasn't happy. He was stressed. He hadn't created a luxury brand; he'd created a source of desperate hope, and he couldn't keep up.

His phone rang. It was Evelyn.

"Leo," she said, her voice full of genuine gratitude. "I just wanted to call and thank you personally. I see the... explosion online. The entire website is a ghost town. But our daily delivery has arrived every single morning without fail. My grandfather and I are deeply, deeply grateful that you are honoring our arrangement."

"Of course," Leo said. "A deal's a deal." His arrangement with Evelyn was his one point of stability. Her daily purchase was immense, but it was predictable.

"The public is growing impatient, though," she added gently. "These products... they're doing more good than you can possibly imagine. But the scarcity is causing problems. People think you're holding out on them. Perhaps... you should speak to them. Reassure them."

She was right. He couldn't stay a faceless entity forever, not with this kind of demand. The silence was being filled with speculation and anger. He hated the idea, but it was necessary. He had to manage expectations. He had to be a real CEO.

He hung up the phone and looked at his father. "We need to put a message on the website."

Frank nodded. "A simple text post?"

Leo shook his head. No, that wasn't personal enough. They needed to see him. They needed to see the person behind the brand they were alternately worshiping and cursing.

"No," Leo said with a sigh of resignation. "I'm going to make a video."

He didn't have a social media account. He didn't have a YouTube channel. But that was about to change. He was going to have to step out from behind the curtain and speak to the world he was accidentally, profoundly changing.