When Grandma launched herself forward, she shot through the opening in the wall then smashed past the shimmering barrier beyond it. She hit the ground rolling, letting the momentum carry her across the floor and dispersing the impact. In one fluid motion, she swung her left knee under her, planting it firmly, while the right leg drew up toward her chest. Her torso stayed low, hands poised, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to strike, evade, or pivot at a moment's notice.
She had landed into a different world, one that seemed completely sealed off from the outside.
The street looked at first glance, like any ordinary road though the technology here was sparse. Instead, the place pulsed with life. The air carried a blend of sweet incense and something faintly metallic, as if the scent of coins themselves lingered in the breeze. Lanterns of deep crimson and pale gold swayed overhead, hanging from iron hooks, their light catching on wind chimes made of bone and crystal.
"So old fashioned," she muttered under her breath.
The street resembled a marketplace, but nothing about it followed normal rules. Stalls and shops lined both sides, though none revealed what they sold. Thick curtains half-hanging from above, stopping around the middle of each doorway, hid their interiors from sight.
People moved in and out with quiet efficiency, their expressions neutral, almost guarded. No goods were visible in their hands, yet their pockets seemed heavier, their eyes sharper. Occasionally, faint whispers would trail from inside a curtain, only to vanish the moment someone stepped out.
Grandma's gaze wandered from one strange doorway to another, trying to make sense of it, when the crowd ahead thinned revealing four figures moving toward her. Two remained behind, watching, while the other two closed the distance.
They were humanoid, perhaps even human, but their skin carried an odd, greenish-blue hue. Their ears had a subtle elvish taper, and their purple-red eyes gleamed with an alert, almost predatory curiosity.
The one in front wore a simple white shirt beneath a black open buttoned shirt and oversized dark blue trousers, hands casually in the pocket as if strolling through any ordinary street.
He tilted his head, the faintest smirk curling at one corner of his mouth. "New to the market?"
Grandma gave a simple nod, her eyes scanning each carefully.
Beside him, a broad-shouldered guy wearing nothing but a white tank top and khaki pants stood with his arms crossed, gaze narrowing as it swept over Grandma. A faint glint of metal winked from a small chain around his neck.
Behind them, the third figure shifted his weight lazily from one foot to the other like someone waiting for the word 'go.' While the fourth kept the hood of a patched leather jacket pulled low, his gaze glinting faintly from the shadow, a soft tuneless hum escaping him as if murmuring to himself.
The double-shirted speaker's gaze drifted past her to the barrier she had broken through. From here, the gaping hole in the wall was perfectly visible, its edges smooth and circular, as if someone had traced it with a compass rather than shattered it.
She gave a simple wave-off. "Oh, that? I've always wanted to do that."
The guy tilted his head a little more. "So… you pierced a hole through a black market wall just because you felt like it?"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation.
Her answer painted her as the sort of person who'd break a law or commit a crime merely because her heart willed it. And in a place like this, that was enough to erase suspicion. After all, if someone had the audacity to tear open a forbidden wall just for the thrill, they probably belonged here.
Reaching into her pocket, Grandma pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I'm looking for this place," she said, holding it up.
The double-shirted guy scanned it then simply pointed straight ahead without even glancing in the direction of his finger. His eyes never left Grandma's.
She didn't argue, didn't linger, just walked past them, her stride steady, trying to carry the air of someone who belonged in this place.
Once she neared the two who stayed behind, the hooded figure flicked something toward her. Her reflexes kicked in, and she snatched it out of the air. It was her ticket out since it was her first time in the market. A brown plain button, nothing engraved on it, nothing decorative, just a simple, unremarkable button with a faint gold aura swirling around it.
The four of them were the ones who maintained this end of the walls; they handled this sort of transaction constantly.
She held the button tightly, heart racing, knowing this tiny object might be her only way to escape the place alive.
Once she was gone, the four exchanged a look. A low chant slipped from their lips, words curling in the air like smoke. Their bodies blurred, fuzzing through the barrier and then through the wall to repair it from the outside.
But when they arrived, something was wrong, the wall's fragments were missing. Not a single particle lay scattered on the ground. It was as if the very matter had been pulled away… shifted or transformed to some distant place.
The man in the white tank top muttered under his breath, "Is she for real… How did she even get through the barrier?"
---
High above, on the roofline, the massive green-skinned creature that had been watching Grandma from the start turned and began to walk away. Tied discreetly to its side, Grandma's silk belt still clung there, unnoticed.
He was 'J.'
J took a few steps back, then veered to the right and stopped, looking below at another alley with a narrow, dim passage where the lantern light from the main street barely reached. The walls here were rough stone, mottled with dark stains and damp streaks that glistened faintly. Pipes ran overhead, dripping water into shallow puddles that mirrored the faint green glow of fungus clinging to the cracks. The air was cooler here, sharper, carrying the faint scent of rust and smoke.
Straight to its left at the far open end was a street bustled with others of its kind, each similar in stature and form, yet distinct in clothing, markings, and bearing. There were men, women, and children among them.
J leapt down from the building to the alley below, landing with a dull thud. The moment he landed, the ground seemed to hum faintly, as if it carried a gravity all its own. Those nearby felt it before they saw the subtle drop in the air, the way their breathing grew heavier as if gravity had lowered oxygen to the ground.
Parents instinctively pulled their children closer or lifted them off the street entirely to pave way for it, others stepping aside without a word. Conversations faltered; eyes dropped to the ground until J passed. J just strolled unaffected by their reactions, standing taller than most, his presence hard to miss.
In the shadowed alley, the silk belt paused. Remaining in its current form would draw attention. With a faint shimmer, it shifted – stretching, reshaping until it resembled one of the street's smaller inhabitants: green skin, pointed elvish ears, and round, curious eyes. Its new form was the size of a child, perhaps six or nine years old.
It now wore short dark pants, scuffed modern white shoes, and nothing on its upper body. The shoes' slight dirtiness gave just enough imperfection to avoid suspicion.
"Now, if someone asks. I'll call myself Ko." He muttered with a wide smile.
No… not Komo.
He brushed the name aside, even though the thought lingered. Komo… the name of Komo, Lord of Monkeys and King of Destruction, the very being Grandma had summoned earlier.
His voice, when he spoke, came out light and bright, full of childlike curiosity, sweet, energetic, and unguarded.
He tugged at his chin, tilting his head upward in thought. Maybe… let's go with Komi.
His eyes softened, a small smile forming—"No"—and he brushed that one off too.
"I should just use my own name," he muttered, the words barely louder than a breath. With that, he stepped out of the alley, falling into step behind J.
Almost at the mouth of the alley, just before stepping into the open, he spotted a teddy bear lying to his right. He paused, then bent down and picked it up.
Blending into the crowd with curious wide eyes scanning every face, Mikko followed J at a measured pace. To anyone passing by, it was just another kid wandering through the market street.
---
Grandma walked straight ahead, directionless at first, her eyes flickering from door to door but never catching a glimpse of what lay beyond. The shopfronts remained curtained, their secrets well kept.
She ventured farther into the street until, suddenly, she veered left. Just a few steps in, she spotted a small door, a subtle shape among the others, with a sign that bore something strikingly similar to the scribbles on the crumpled paper she held. Without hesitation, she pushed it open and stepped inside.
At the threshold, cigarette smoke curled up and kissed her nose, sharp and almost suffocating. She drew in a shaky breath, her eyes blinking to adjust.
Inside, the room buzzed with life; men and women packed tightly, drinking, smoking, chatting loudly. Their style was strange, almost like bounty hunters lost in a dive bar, their laughter and voices weaving into a thick, noisy haze.
The place felt more like a bar than a market stall: dark wood, low lights, the clink of glasses mixing with the smoky haze.
Ahead of her stood an old woman behind the counter not quite ancient, roughly Grandma's age, but with a face that didn't betray the years.
As Grandma approached, dozens of eyes flicked toward her, some curious, some cautious as if they sensed she didn't belong, or perhaps that this was her very first time here.
Grandma strolled up to the woman behind the counter, eyes scanning her from head to chest. Without a word, she slipped a hand into her pocket and drew out a coin slightly large, unfamiliar, but clearly valuable.
"Give me 75," Grandma said, her voice steady.
Brows furrowed across the room; eyes narrowed.
The woman took the coin, turning it over in her fingers. "New in the market?" she asked.
But Grandma ignored the question. "Make it 85," she said instead.
The woman's brows pinched together. Around them, heads turned patrons pausing mid-drink to stare. Most of them were sipping at 25 to 38. Even 40 was pushing the edge for some. But this stranger was asking for 75… no, 85.
"Can you handle 85?" the woman asked carefully.
Grandma didn't even blink; she just increased the number. "Make it 95."
The woman realized that any further questions would only push the strange woman to raise the number again. She shook her head and began mixing. Cups clinked, liquids swirled, then she poured the clear, water-like concoction into a glass.
Grandma took it, lifting it in one smooth motion, and sipped it all at once.
Actually, she didn't even drink it herself. Before it reached her throat, Clara intercepted it, swallowing it down.
Grandma slammed the empty glass on the counter. "Is that all you got?"
She didn't flinch, not even slightly from what had been poured into herself.
The woman behind the counter was speechless.
Someone among the bar's patrons bristled at the display. A man, fingers gripping so tight that the glass in his hand shattered, stared, visibly insulted by the unknown challenger.
Two women sat at the same table, their physiques built like seasoned boxers or bodybuilders. They leaned toward each other, murmuring under their breath.
One set her cup down with a thud. "Whoa… she just broke my record of thirty-six."
The other let her forehead drop to the table, tears sliding down her cheeks. "She broke mine of fifty-two." Her voice cracked on the number fifty-two
"Yeah," the first woman muttered, "last time you hit fifty-two, you were unconscious for two weeks."
Grandma turned her head, scanning them one by one. Their faces told enough, the sour twist in their expressions made it clear they didn't appreciate her challenge to their drinking feats.
She shifted her gaze back to the woman at the counter. "What number are they drinking?"
"None of them is above forty right now," the woman replied. "Only one's at thirty-eight."