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CHAPTER 15
🕑 Added 2025-04-30 09:51:37 +0000 UTCThe Illusion Crystal was even more convenient than a projector. It could not only store images but also directly cast and play them without needing any fixed medium.
As more and more yo-yo instructional videos were released, demand for the once-obscure illusion crystals surged until they were completely bought out. Illusionists became critically understaffed.
To keep production going, Zuo Teng sent Aisha to recruit students on campus. She was told: "Grab as many underclassmen as you can."
But the problem was, each year the illusionist program only produced one or two graduates—and some of them had already switched majors and bailed. With no other choice, they turned to the overpopulated spellcasting and evocation departments. Making illusion crystals wasn’t all that difficult; a bit of training would do.
These two schools churned out over a thousand graduates each year. Many had originally picked those majors thinking they’d be easy to find jobs with—only to realize later that while there were lots of positions, there weren’t enough to go around. They had to pivot.
As it turned out, the job market had a delay effect. Just because something was trending when you enrolled didn’t mean it would be profitable when you graduated.
And of course, there were the eternal losers of academia—like necromancy. Useful? Sure. Popular? Never. That department was probably full of poor souls who couldn’t get into anything else.
Even after recruiting from other schools, training still took time. In the meantime, while they couldn’t keep up with material supply, help came from a surprising source:
Young Master Craig.
To ensure wide distribution of his own yo-yo tutorial, Craig’s Arcane Tempest, he donated a huge stash of illusion crystals—torpedoing his family’s master plan to corner the market.
Zuo Teng warmly called this move: “selling grandpa’s farmland without flinching.”
But they didn’t see Craig again for several days. Maybe he got grounded. Hopefully he was safe. The economy needed generous idiots like him to keep circulating money.
Zuo Teng, naturally, wasn’t satisfied with short-form videos. The camera upgrades were progressing fast—it was nearly commercial-ready. But the big question remained: what long-form content should they shoot?
To spark ideas, he started flipping through the “serious” newspapers, hoping to latch onto some trending headlines.
“Pope of Saint Deno Claims Divine Revelation.”
“First Railway Line Completed—Now Only 25 Hours from Twin Tower City to Holy Mountain!”
“Joint Military Drill Between Loman Empire and Virian Republic…”
All too serious. His journalism professors would be ashamed.
Meanwhile, the shop was buzzing again like the early blind-box boom days. For one, they’d set up a shaded outdoor tent where the yo-yo tutorials played on loop—drawing crowds of kids who couldn’t afford illusion crystals.
Second, the toy puzzle bounty program was a huge hit. One gold coin for solving a puzzle? That was legit incentive. Plus, it gave grown-ups an excuse to play with toys.
“It’s not slacking off—it’s earning money!”
“Success! 9 minutes 59 seconds! Record it! First one to solve the magic cube—Twin Tower Guardian, King of Defensive Spells, Red Drag—”
“Have some shame,” Aisha coldly cut off Soren’s victory cheer. “You’re a half-famous guy, and you cast six layers of Haste just to solve a Rubik’s Cube?”
“So what? Haste is my own skill!”
Aisha rolled her eyes. Did this legendary mage seriously have nothing better to do?
Then a fresh commotion erupted outside.
“My yo-yo isn’t fake! Waaah! You’re all bullying me! I’m telling my teacher!”
“Hah, poser! Always running to the grown-ups. Doesn’t matter if you have a yo-yo—no one wants to play with you.”
“I’m not a poser! Aaaah!”
Useless life hack: if you ever wonder what a banshee’s scream sounds like, just pick on a kid whose voice hasn’t changed yet. Instant answer.
Another kid fight. Aisha rushed out to intervene. Better stop it before someone threw a punch—last thing they needed was angry parents. That’s the real final boss.
Being a toy store manager basically meant being the store’s Swiss army brick: go wherever you’re needed.
Covering her ears against the ear-piercing shrieks, Aisha located the screaming mini-mob.
“What’s going on here? Bullying isn’t cool, okay?”
“She’s using a fake yo-yo! Confiscate it! Ban her from the store!”
“It’s not fake!”
“It is fake!”
“Is too!”
“Is not! Aaaah!”
Aisha was starting to think Zuo Teng owed her hazard pay for hearing loss.
“Enough! Anyone who keeps yelling—Toto won’t teach them how to play anymore!”
Ah, the legendary Toto. Her name carried massive weight among local kids these days.
The group finally quieted down. Aisha took the accused yo-yo for inspection.
It was Silver Thunderstrike, the brand-new model released just last week. Looked identical to what they sold in the shop.
To be safe, she strung it up and launched a move—the few tricks she actually knew—and the illusion it created checked out.
Seemed legit.
“Why do you say it’s fake?” she asked the boy who first called it out.
“She couldn’t afford a Silver Thunderstrike. If it’s not fake, then she stole it!”
He had a point. The toy was pricey—not because of production cost, but because Zuo Teng had intentionally kept supply low to keep the top-tier item exclusive.
Aisha took a closer look.
Specs—correct. Material—correct. Design—correct. So what was the issue?
Wait. That rune…
She squinted at the sigil carved into the bearing. The design was hers, but the carving stroke had a slightly different flair.
Someone had copied her design and made their own carving mold.
Technically, it wasn’t a fake. It just didn’t come from their shop.
Her first suspect was Akreight Toys—especially that guy Hakan.
But… no. They were across the street. If they were pushing knock-offs, she’d have noticed earlier.
She calmed both kids. Told the girl her yo-yo wasn’t fake—it was just one of the shop’s rejects someone had picked out of the trash and sold. If she could say where she got it, the shop would give her a brand-new one.
Then she gently scolded the boy: defending the toy store was fine, but bullying others wasn’t. If he saw something like this again, just tell a grown-up. She gave him a drawstring pouch printed with the Jiang Hai team logo.
Sigh, kids were exhausting.
Soon enough, the bootleg Silver Thunderstrike landed on Zuo Teng’s desk.
He wasn’t even surprised—he’d expected copycats by now.
Yo-yos made up over half of Twin Tower City’s toy sales these past two months. And toy designs weren’t protected by patent law.
Until now, most copycats only borrowed general ideas without directly ripping off the Fire Yo-yo King brand. Those leeches just slurped soup from Zuo Teng’s pot.
But this one? This one brought its own chopsticks to steal meat from the bowl.
Time to strike back—hard.
With a snap of his fingers, the Drow Team assembled.
Zuo Teng sternly instructed:
“Find out who made this knockoff. Don’t act rashly. Seriously, don’t act rashly. We’re legitimate businessmen now. You—put that crossbow away. Just track him down and wait for my call.”
The night belonged to the Drow. By morning, a full report landed in Zuo Teng’s claws.
“Oh great Zuo Teng, the target has been identified. We have profiles on his parents, wife, three mistresses, and five children. Just say the word.”
“I said we’re legitimate businessmen! Why are you stalking his whole family?!”
Aisha watched in disbelief as a dragon lectured a team of Drow on business ethics.
Seriously, were any of them even human?
Zuo Teng opened the report.
The first image showed a pudgy, big-eared middle-aged human man:
Ragu Kurman, potion merchant.
