Chapter 88 “There is 1 Genuine Item”

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The elderly man stepped into the quaint antique shop, his eyes meticulously scanning the environment as if searching for something elusive. The display windows were noticeably aged, their luster long faded. Iron shelves held an array of items that were haphazardly labeled as “antiques,” but they only seemed to capture the underlying deception of the shop. Practically everything in the establishment was a counterfeit—a sham—except, of course, for the very real money that the shop managed to collect from its patrons.

Despite the obvious fakery, the older gentleman, who was dressed in a style that noticeably distinguished him from the regular denizens of the lower-income part of the city, remained intrigued. He continued to survey the items with a keen eye until Duncan, the shop’s owner, decided to break the silence from his vantage point behind the counter.

“An interesting phrase you have there,” the elderly man commented with a warm smile, “‘to take away what is fated for you.’ Even if the merchandise is questionable, that sentiment has a beauty all its own.”

“Ah, but fate alone isn’t sufficient; one must also possess the financial means,” Duncan retorted with an equally amiable smile. “But don’t worry, the items here won’t break the bank. Have you spotted anything that intrigues you?”

“Actually, I didn’t come with the intention of making a purchase,” the older man hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

Duncan, sensing a potential sale, interrupted him eagerly, “Well, purchase or not, there’s no harm in browsing. You never know; you might stumble upon something that catches your fancy.”

A look of resignation flitted across the older man’s face. “But, you must understand… everything here is counterfeit.”

“Exactly!” Duncan exclaimed as if this was self-evident. “Do you really think I could afford to showcase genuine antiques? I don’t even have a security system in place. My entire business model is built on making it unprofitable for anyone to rob me.”

The elderly gentleman looked visibly taken aback, clearly unprepared for Duncan’s candid admission. After a brief pause, he managed to say, “…So, what’s the real point of this place?”

“Some customers prefer to delude themselves into thinking this is a legitimate antique shop, seeking the satisfaction of imagined authenticity,” Duncan elaborated. “Others are more realistic and consider this a kind of general store, appreciating the affordable prices. And then there are those who are both pragmatic and a bit fanciful. For them, finding the one genuine item amidst the fakes is like discovering a needle in a haystack; it’s their destiny. You come to this shop for the experience and happiness more than anything else. Even if you end up with a fake, you’re only out a hundred pesos at most, and you still walk away with a functional item made through modern industrial methods. When you put it that way, it’s not such a bad deal, is it?”

As Duncan passionately defended his unconventional business model, the older man appeared stunned, processing the information. It was then that his eyes inadvertently wandered to a secluded corner next to the counter. His expression shifted subtly, becoming more focused.

Duncan, who had been entirely wrapped up in the art of persuasion, detected the change in the elderly man’s countenance and instantly became alert. Before Duncan could inquire further, the older man extended his arm towards that corner, saying, “This item here…”

Hidden amidst a clutter of various objects, he had found a dagger. Its design was archaic, yet its condition was remarkably well-preserved.

With reverence, he picked it up.

Unbeknownst to Duncan, the gentleman had just laid hands on one of the only two genuine antiques in the entire store—an heirloom originally from the legendary Vanished, carefully concealed amid the replicas and facsimiles.

The second authentic artifact in the shop was an iron cannonball, discreetly hidden deeper within the heap of random goods that filled the space.

Initially, Duncan contemplated steering the older man away from the genuine antique he had discovered, the ornate dagger. However, he noticed the expert manner in which the gentleman inspected the intricate designs carved into the dagger’s sheath. Duncan’s instincts kicked in: this elderly man seemed to be more than just a casual observer; he might very well be an expert in the field of antiques.

Duncan’s eyebrows knit together, his gaze momentarily shifting to the dagger. Despite its origins from the legendary Vanished, the dagger was not enchanted, cursed, or connected to any “maritime oddities.” It was fundamentally just an antique, indistinguishable in essence from other genuine relics he had possessed at one time or another.

Creating a fuss over an item that was, in the end, quite ordinary would be unwarranted.

“This item…” the elderly man started again, lifting his eyes to meet Duncan’s, expressing a subtle surprise. “Is this also considered part of your shop’s ‘merchandise’?”

His choice of words was diplomatically nuanced, but the question was pointed: How did a genuine antique end up among an assortment of replicas and fakes? Was this an error?

Understanding that the man before him likely had specialized knowledge, Duncan realized that playing dumb wouldn’t serve him well. Shifting his facial expression from joviality to a more enigmatic seriousness, he responded, “It appears you’ve stumbled upon something that’s meant for you, haven’t you?”

Clearing his throat, he elaborated, “Most items here are deeply discounted, but there are a few exceptions—like the piece you currently hold in your hands.”

The older man immediately looked back at the cluttered shelves, his eyes scanning the items marked with outrageous original prices only to be discounted to a pittance. Whatever conclusions he was drawing, this discovery added an unexpected layer of complexity to the otherwise disreputable antique store. He gently set the dagger back onto the counter, looking like he was about to inquire about its price when the tinkling sound of a bell from the entrance interrupted him.

Duncan’s gaze shifted to the doorway, where a young woman named Nina was entering.

“Uncle Duncan, I’m back!” she called out, making her way toward the counter without even looking up. “Has Mr. Morris arrived yet?”

“No, I haven’t seen him,” Duncan began, his eyes scanning the room. “Right now, I’m busy with—”

Before he could finish, the elderly man cleared his throat and gestured toward himself. “Actually, I am Morris.”

Duncan: “…?”

“Mr. Morris!” Nina exclaimed in surprise, finally recognizing the man at the counter. Her posture stiffened immediately, much like a student who unexpectedly runs into their teacher outside of school hours. “Good afternoon!”

Confused, Duncan looked from Nina to Mr. Morris and back again, sensing that the atmosphere in his cluttered, deceptive, yet strangely fascinating antique store had just become incredibly awkward.

“At first, I intended to introduce myself,” said Mr. Morris, spreading his hands in a gesture of mild exasperation. “But you pre-empted me, launching right into a presentation of the various items in your shop.”

It was at this moment that Nina pieced together the somewhat comedic situation that had unfolded. She swiftly moved closer to the counter and saw the antique dagger lying there. “Teacher, don’t bother buying anything! All the stuff in our shop is fake!”

Duncan shot Nina a look of puzzlement, silently marveling at her unabashed honesty. She’d just laid bare the family trade secret to her own teacher in the blink of an eye. Then again, considering the dubious quality of the items in the shop and Mr. Morris’s own erudition in the realm of history, her candor probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

Mr. Morris, meanwhile, shook his head softly after absorbing Nina’s cautionary advice. He pointed to the dagger that rested on the counter and stated, “This one, however, is authentic.”

Nina blinked in surprise. “Uh… what?”

Morris took the opportunity to enlighten them: “This dagger likely originates from about a hundred years ago. It was a popular item among sailors from maritime city-states like Pland and Lansa. Sadly, the decline of traditional forging workshops, coupled with the corrosive effects of long sea voyages, has left very few of these relics intact, and most that are found are in terrible shape.” Carefully, he picked up the dagger, partially unsheathing it to admire the blade. “I’ve never encountered one in such pristine condition before. The blade could easily slice through paper, and there isn’t a single defect to be found.”

Sensing an opportunity, Duncan added, “The sheath is also original to the dagger. If you examine it closely, you’ll notice that even the buckle on the back is authentic.”

At Duncan’s prompting, Mr. Morris scrutinized the sheath and its finer details. His eyes widened with each discovery. “You’re absolutely right. It’s as if this artifact was freshly removed from the pocket of a sailor who lived a century ago! If I didn’t trust my own expertise, I’d almost suspect this was an incredibly well-crafted replica. It even sports the distinctive etchings on the hilt and a unique imperfection at the end of the handle!” Visibly perplexed, he lifted his gaze to Duncan and then shifted it to Nina. “So this isn’t a forgery, correct?”

Nina quickly dismissed the notion, “Trust me, Uncle Duncan isn’t capable of creating replicas this convincing.”

At that, Duncan’s eye twitched irritably. “Go upstairs and tackle your homework!”

“I don’t have any homework today,” Nina retorted.

“Then go read a book or something!”

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Nina turned toward the stairs but threw one last glance at her history teacher. “Mr. Morris, remember you came here for a home visit, not for antiquing.”

“Absolutely,” Morris replied, a beaming smile gracing his face. “I have plenty to discuss with Mr. Duncan here. You go read your book. I promise not to divulge any embarrassing stories about you.”

Nina stared, somewhat bewildered, at her Uncle Duncan and her schoolteacher. She’d never anticipated that her scheduled “home visit” would commence in such a peculiar fashion. Then, for some unexplained reason, her face broke into a radiant smile.

Giggling, she scampered up the stairs.

For those that just want to support me, you can follow the link to paypal donating. Sadly you won’t be able to get the benefit of reading ahead 

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