Leo didn't float all the way home; reality caught up to him about halfway there. A dollar fifty was great, but it was still just a dollar fifty. His bank account now stood at a majestic $13.97. He was still desperately poor. The difference was, now he had a path. A weird, probably illegal, water-smuggling path.
He spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of frantic energy, pacing his apartment like a caged tiger. He needed better containers. Mr. Kim's final words, "Find some real bottles," echoed in his head. Selling otherworldly magic water in used milk jugs felt sacrilegious anyway.
He did the only thing he could think of: he went dumpster diving.
Feeling only a little bit of shame, he spent the next hour canvassing the recycling bins behind the nicer apartment buildings three blocks over. People in those buildings bought fancy juices and expensive glass-bottled teas. Their trash was his treasure.
He hit the jackpot behind a small, upscale café. A sturdy wooden crate held two dozen empty, long-necked glass bottles that once contained Italian soda. They were elegant, clear, and most importantly, free. He even found a roll of discarded twine that would be perfect for tying on tags. It took him three trips, but he hauled his entire score back to his apartment, his arms aching but his spirit soaring.
He spent the next two hours in what he internally dubbed "the bottling plant." He washed and scrubbed each bottle in his kitchen sink until it gleamed. Then, he began the process.
Open the door to the twilight forest. Fill two bottles from the crystal-clear stream. Carry them back. Cap them. Repeat.
He developed a rhythm. The world of his drab, cramped apartment became a logistics hub. The world of impossible beauty became a water source. Back and forth, back and forth. The mundanity of the task was almost comical given its fantastical context. He was doing manual labor in Narnia to avoid doing manual labor at the warehouse.
As he worked, he noticed something. Each trip into the forest felt… good. Breathing that clean air, feeling the cool moss under his sneakers, hearing the gentle sounds—it was like charging a battery. When he was in the forest, the perpetual weariness that clung to him like a second skin seemed to melt away. By the time he'd filled all two dozen bottles, he felt more energized and clear-headed than he had in years, despite the physical exertion.
He lined the full, sparkling bottles up on his kitchen counter. They looked magnificent. Professional. This wasn't milk-jug water anymore. This was a premium product.
Just as he was admiring his handiwork, there was a knock on his apartment door.
Leo froze. No one ever knocked on his door except the landlord with an eviction notice. His heart hammered in his chest. Was it Mr. Kim? Did he get in trouble? Did the FDA have interdimensional water cops?
He crept to the door and peered through the peephole. It was Mr. Kim. He was standing in the dim, dingy hallway, looking deeply out of place and profoundly impatient.
Leo took a deep breath and opened the door. "Mr. Kim! Uh, hi."
Mr. Kim's sharp eyes immediately darted past Leo and fixed on the two dozen glass bottles sparkling on the kitchen counter. A look of immense satisfaction crossed his face.
"Good," he said, skipping the pleasantries. "You have more."
"I, uh, yeah," Leo stammered. "I found some better bottles."
"You did," Mr. Kim said, his tone all business. "I sold the other two. To a man named Frank. He came back for more. He paid five dollars for the big one."
Leo's jaw went slack. "Five... dollars?"
"He would have paid ten," Mr. Kim stated flatly. "This water... it's special. People feel it. We have a product, Leo. A real one. But we can't be selling it out of my back room forever." He walked past Leo into the apartment, his gaze sweeping over the stacks of ramen and the threadbare mattress on the floor. His expression softened for a fraction of a second.
"Kid, where are you getting this stuff?" he asked, his voice losing some of its edge. "And don't tell me 'upstate.' I've been in business for forty years. I know when a twenty-two-year-old kid is lying to me."
Leo's mind raced. He couldn't tell him the truth. "It's… a family secret," was the best he could come up with. "A private well. Very hard to get to."
Mr. Kim stared at him, his gaze piercing. Leo felt like he was being X-rayed. Finally, the old man grunted. "Fine. Keep your secrets. I don't care where it comes from, as long as it's clean and it keeps coming."
He pointed a finger at the bottles. "We need to make this look official. Labels. A brand name. People pay for a brand name."
"Labels?" Leo asked, bewildered. "How do I get labels?"
"You're the chosen one with the magic water source, you figure it out," Mr. Kim shot back, the sarcasm thick. "Print them at the library. We need a name. Something that sounds... healthy. Pure."
Leo looked at the bottles of impossibly clear liquid, shimmering with light from another world. He thought of the forest, the glade, the dawn light.
"How about... 'Clarity'?" he said, the word just popping into his head.
Mr. Kim tested it on his tongue. "Clarity... I like it. Sounds expensive." He nodded. "Okay. Clarity it is. I'll give you three dollars a bottle. Cash. I'll take all of them. And I'll need at least two more crates by tomorrow."
Leo's brain struggled to do the math. Three dollars times twenty-four bottles. That was... seventy-two dollars. Seventy-two dollars. It was more money than he'd had in his bank account at one time in over a year. And Kim wanted more tomorrow.
"Tomorrow?" Leo squeaked.
"Demand is demand," Mr. Kim said, pulling a thick wad of cash from his pocket and beginning to count out bills. "Frank the construction worker has a very big mouth. The word is already getting out."
He handed Leo a crisp fifty, a twenty, and two ones. The feel of the money in Leo's hand was electric. It was real. This was happening.
"Now get some real labels," Mr. Kim ordered, turning to leave. "And get some sleep. You still look like hell, even if you are selling miracle water. Don't be late tomorrow."
He left, closing the door behind him.
Leo stood alone in his apartment, clutching seventy-two dollars in one hand, staring at two dozen bottles of magic on his counter. For the first time, the path forward wasn't just a fantasy. It was a production line. And he was standing right at the start of it.