Chapter 68: Chapter-68

“The food court won’t just serve customers. It’ll serve our own staff.” She gestured at the trays. “Every employee working in the supermarket gets one free meal per shift. Their choice of anything we offer.”

Confused looks.

“Why?” someone asked.

“Because happy workers don’t steal. They don’t complain. They don’t leave for other jobs.” Elara’s tone was matter-of-fact. “And when customers see our staff eating the same food enthusiastically, they’ll want to try it too. Free advertising.”

Mira actually smiled at that. “Your Highness, that’s… surprisingly kind.”

“It’s practical,” Elara corrected. “Kindness is irrelevant. Results matter.”

But she noted the reactions—softening postures, relaxed shoulders. Loyalty wasn’t built on fear alone. Sometimes you just had to feed people.

Gregor cleared his throat. “Your Highness, when do we begin construction?”

“Immediately,” Elara said. “Dimitri has the location secured. Mira has the vendor contracts drafted. Lisa is coordinating staff training.” She looked around the room. “I want the first supermarket operational within six weeks.”

“Six weeks?” someone sputtered. “Your Highness, that’s—”

“Sufficient time if you stop wasting it on doubt,” Elara said. “The building is already empty. The equipment is being fabricated. The recipes are written. All that’s left is execution.”

She walked toward the door, then paused.

“And if anyone asks what we’re building, you tell them it’s a general store. Nothing more. Let them be surprised when it opens.”

The administrators bowed as she left.

Behind her, she heard them immediately begin talking—excited, nervous, already planning. The trays were completely empty now. Someone was licking cheese off their fingers.

Elara allowed herself a small, private smile as she walked down the corridor.

They’d tasted it.

Now they believed.

And belief, she’d learned, was far more valuable than obedience.

It made people work harder without being told.

.

.

The next morning, Elara spread architectural plans across the largest table in the converted warehouse office.

Dimitri, Mira, Gregor, and three other senior administrators stood around it, studying the hand-drawn layout. The building Elara had selected was a former textile warehouse near the harbor—three stories, solid stone construction, large enough to hold what she had planned.

“This,” Elara said, pointing to the center of the ground floor, “is the food court. Open space. Visible from every entrance.”

Her finger traced outward. “Produce section here, along the east wall. Natural light from the windows keeps it fresh-looking. Household goods along the west wall—soaps, oils, tools, fabric. Daily necessities in the back corner.”

She tapped another section. “Drinks here, right next to the food court. Impossible to miss.”

Dimitri leaned closer, examining the proportions. “The food court takes up nearly a quarter of the total floor space.”

“Yes.”

“That’s… a lot of space that could be used for merchandise.”

“The food court *is* merchandise,” Elara said. “It just happens to be consumable.” She straightened. “Besides, we’re not trying to maximize inventory. We’re maximizing time spent inside.”

Mira traced her finger along the drawn pathways between sections. “The layout forces customers to walk past the food court no matter which section they’re heading to.”

“Correct.”

“And the smell—”

“Will reach everywhere,” Elara confirmed. “That’s intentional. Someone comes in to buy rice. Smells pizza. Decides they’re hungry. Buys both. Average transaction value doubles.”

Gregor frowned slightly, not in disagreement but in thought. “Your Highness, you mentioned yesterday that we’d partner with existing merchants. How exactly does that work with this layout?”

Elara pulled out another document—a contract template she’d drafted the night before.

“We lease shelf space to vendors,” she said. “They stock their goods. We handle the building, security, and sales. They pay us a percentage of revenue plus a small fixed monthly fee.”

“So we’re not buying inventory upfront?”

“Not for most items. We buy direct only for things we can get cheaper in bulk—rice, flour, basic staples. Everything else, the vendors take the risk.” She paused. “We just provide the location and the customers.”

One of the administrators—a thin man named Orin who handled supply logistics—looked up from the plans. “What stops them from just… selling outside the supermarket and keeping all the profit?”

“Nothing,” Elara said. “If they can attract the same volume of customers on a random street corner, they’re welcome to try.”

She let that sink in.

“But they won’t. Because customers will come here. To one place. Where everything is organized, priced clearly, and available consistently. The vendors who partner with us get access to that traffic. The ones who don’t…” She shrugged. “They keep struggling alone.”

Mira tapped her pen against the contract. “Some will resist. Especially the ones who are used to controlling their own shops.”

“Let them resist,” Elara said. “We start with the ones who need stable income. Street vendors. Small merchants who can barely afford rent. People who have good products but no location.” She looked at Mira directly. “Make a list. Prioritize those who are struggling but competent.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Dimitri pointed to a section marked “Loss Leaders” on the corner of the plan. “What’s this?”

“Items we sell at cost or below cost to draw people in,” Elara explained. “Bread, maybe. Or eggs. Things people buy frequently. We lose a few copper per transaction, but they come in for the cheap bread and leave with ten other items we profit from.”

“That’s…” Dimitri paused, calculating. “That’s brilliant, actually. And slightly devious.”

“It’s standard retail strategy,” Elara corrected. “People think they’re getting a deal. We make it back on everything else they buy.”

Gregor crossed his arms, still studying the plans. “Your Highness, I have a concern.”

Elara looked at him. “Speak.”

“What happens when the nobles notice?” He spoke carefully, like he was testing dangerous ground. “Not just minor complaints. Real interference. What if someone with actual power decides this threatens their interests and tries to shut us down?”

Valid question.

Elara had considered it. Extensively.

“What specific interests would we be threatening?” she asked.

Gregor hesitated. “Food distribution. Market control. Tax revenue if shops close because they can’t compete.”

“Food distribution is handled by merchant guilds, not nobles. We’re partnering with guilds, not replacing them.” Elara ticked off points on her fingers. “Market control—we’re creating a market, not destroying one. Tax revenue actually increases because we’re bringing in vendors who weren’t paying taxes before.”

“But if traditional shops lose business—”

“Then they adapt or fail,” Elara said flatly. “That’s not unique to us. That’s commerce.”

Orin spoke up quietly. “Some nobles own those traditional shops, Your Highness. Through proxies or family members.”

Ah. There it was.

“So the real concern,” Elara said slowly, “is that we’ll cut into noble-owned business revenue. And they’ll retaliate.”

Nods around the table.

Elara walked to the window, looking out at the harbor. Ships moved cargo. Workers shouted. The city functioned.

“If a noble tries to shut us down through legal channels,” she said, not turning around, “we show documentation. Permits. Guild approvals. Tax payments. Everything filed correctly.” She paused. “If they try to use force or intimidation…”

She turned back to face them.

“Then I remind them I’m the Fourth Princess. Daughter of the Emperor. Currently operating under his direct authorization after leaving the capital with his explicit permission.”

“But you’re not favored—” someone started.

“Ahem ahem, are you crazy”.

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