CHAPTER 42: CAPITALISM

Riley was still laughing by the time he managed to exit the den.

He had been holding it in since Orien started worrying—genuinely worrying—about whether he could eat another burger within the next two centuries.

Two. Hundred. Years.

And Riley thought that was peak exaggeration until Kael, in all seriousness, decided to explain.

"No. Humans have those buildings that sell the ingredients. And considering how short their lifespans are, most of those items must grow in less than one hundred years."

Orien gasped, scandalized. "Uncle, less than a hundred years? That can’t be right. Even that special moss we tried needed one hundred fifty years! And it tasted extremely vile. So how could those round things take less time?"

"Use your head. If it takes that long, who would make another batch after he’s long gone?"

Riley, who had just sat down to rest his spine, nearly keeled over again.

Were they seriously calculating his lifespan based on burger-making viability?

He stared into the void, wondering if it would be wrong to hide a rock inside the next burger. Just to see what their reaction would be.

But honestly, even the rock might refuse. For self-preservation reasons.

With a long-suffering sigh, Riley decided he had to intervene before they started theorizing about burger reincarnation.

"My lord," he said, rubbing his temples, "the fresh ingredients usually take months. Maybe a year, depending on the type. But humans have industrialized the process. We preserve, store, and ship ingredients year-round."

"Year-round?" Orien echoed, sounding personally attacked.

"Yes," Riley said, pulling out his phone. "Let me show you."

There was no signal, of course, but the app had some cached photos.

"This is a grocery delivery app. A lot of people use this outside to order food supplies. These are some of the ingredients used for the burgers."

Orien’s eyes lit up like twin stars. Kael leaned over from behind them like a suspicious tree. Sure enough, there were photos of everything Riley had pulled out earlier.

The dragonling tried to hide his awe. He blinked rapidly, tilted his head like he was unimpressed, and crossed his arms. Just a dragon being a dragon. Totally normal.

He was absolutely not captivated by a grocery list.

Still, he had to ask, "So you’re saying we can’t do this from here?"

"No," Riley said. "This place blocks even basic frequencies. So both the console and my phone only work in offline mode."

What he didn’t say was that it was a miracle his phone had survived this long. The average lifespan of any device near Kael was somewhere between a sneeze and an accidental fireball. Riley had just become really good at shielding his things with his body, which unfortunately explained a lot about his recurring shoulder pains.

But Orien squinted at him.

"Then how come you haven’t bought anything else? If you can access this outside?!"

Riley blinked.

Oh. So we’re back to brat mode, huh?

One moment, this kid was adorable and fragile. The next, he was delivering full-on cross-examinations like he was a royal accountant auditing his soul. He’s not bipolar, is he?

Riley wanted to hold up a hand to say, ’Because I wasn’t expecting to take care of a young dragon who treats my burgers like a sacred treasure and my grocery habits like criminal negligence, that’s why.’

Orien looked at him as if waiting for a legitimate response.

Kael didn’t say anything, but Riley could feel his stare.

Great. Now he was being silently judged by a literal fire-breathing apex predator and his overly passionate nephew.

"Apologies," Riley said, already mentally budgeting his week. "I haven’t had the time to do a bit of shopping. The schedule’s been tight. But if there’s something you want, then I suppose I can schedule it... provided the Dragon Lord authorizes it."

There. Take that. Go ask your terrifying uncle for snacks.

Riley thought it was a reasonable way to deflect responsibility.

He was wrong.

He had clearly underestimated the shamelessness of dragons—especially ones with secret weapons.

"Uncle," Orien said, all innocence and calculation, "would it be alright if we scheduled something? That day is coming up... and I thought maybe... I wanted a different experience."

He even looked glum about it. Which was alarming, because Riley had no idea what that day was. Did he miss a festival? A ritual? A world-ending prophecy that was enough to make Orien look like that?

"Fine," Kael said without hesitation. "Buy whatever you think is necessary."

Riley straightened. Wait. That didn’t sound like a conversation he should be excluded from.

"My lord," he said carefully, "what necessities are we talking about?"

Kael didn’t even blink. "For his birthday."

Oh.

Oh.

Right. That was a thing. He just didn’t expect this particular dragon lord to actually celebrate that? Because he doesn’t even remember his boss celebrating his own birthday in the last five years he’s worked for him.

Riley turned to see Orien staring at him with the fiery intensity of someone who knew he now had leverage.

And he used it.

This brat!

But honestly? Respect. The kid knew how to strike when the iron was gold-plated.

Still, Riley wasn’t about to be outdone. If Orien was a birthday capitalist, then Riley was a fully licensed member of the hustle economy. Especially after a certain dragon lord handed him yet another bag of gold with all the ceremony of someone dropping off dry cleaning.

Where was the list? How many deliveries? Did it matter?

No.

Because Riley was ready to go back and forth five times if that’s what it took. He would get this done. He would fulfill this noble mission.

And that was how Riley ended up nearly dead just as he pushed the cart out into the parking lot.

Okay, maybe not dead-dead.

Or not just yet. But surely if he continued on this path, he’d end up dead.

Because once again, he smelled fish.

Not the normal kind of fish smell. Not the faint, slightly metallic scent of fish sticks and frozen salmon.

No.

This was the kind of fish smell that brought the entire ocean with it.

Riley stopped walking.

He sniffed again.

Oh no.

Not this again.

Why was it always fish? And why did it always feel personal?