With the new headquarters operational and his father competently manning the shipping station, Leo felt the familiar itch of the unknown. He also needed to restock. His initial harvest of vegetables was gone—mostly consumed by his own experimental curiosity—and his water reserves were being depleted daily by Evelyn Hayes' massive standing order.
He walked into the master bathroom of his new house. It was clean and suburban, with a bland floral shower curtain and beige tiles. He reached for the doorknob, picturing the serene, green clearing of his garden in the Sanctum.
He opened the door.
And his brain short-circuited.
There was no forest. No silver-barked trees. No gurgling stream.
He was standing in a doorway that opened directly onto a bustling, chaotic, sun-drenched plaza. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, strange spices, and unwashed bodies. A cacophony of shouts, haggling, and a dozen unintelligible conversations assaulted his ears.
And the people… they were human, but they were dressed in a wild assortment of leather jerkins, homespun tunics, and brightly colored robes. Blacksmiths hammered glowing metal at open-air forges. Merchants bellowed from behind stalls piled high with goods he couldn't begin to identify. The ground was cobblestone, worn smooth by centuries of foot traffic.
"Where the fuck am I?" Leo whispered, his hand frozen on the doorknob.
He stood on the threshold, a man in a modern t-shirt and jeans staring out from a beige suburban bathroom into a full-blown medieval fantasy city.
A merchant with a magnificent, greasy mustache spotted him gawking and boomed, "Fresh Skymetal daggers! Cut through steel like it's cheese!"
Further down, a woman in a purple robe held up a gnarled, writhing root. "Mandrake! Guaranteed to cure what ails ya! Screams so loud it'll deafen your mother-in-law!"
But it was the next stall that truly broke Leo's reality. A short, wiry man was shouting at the top of his lungs, pointing to a small iron cage covered in glowing, angular symbols.
"Fairy! Get your pixie-light here! A living, glowing fairy! Three silver pieces! Last one of the day!"
Inside the cage, a tiny, humanoid figure with gossamer wings and pointed ears glowed with a soft, desperate light. It was real. A tiny, sentient being, trapped in a cage. Leo felt a pang of profound sadness and horror.
His mind was reeling, trying to connect the dots. At his old apartment, the door led to the Sanctum. At his old job, the warehouse bathroom stall also led to a different part of the Sanctum. This meant...
Every new bathroom... leads to a new world. Or a new part of this one.
The realization was terrifying and exhilarating. The door wasn't just a key to a single magical forest; it was a universal skeleton key. And unless he focused his intent—like he had to return to his garden a few times—each new doorway was a spin of the cosmic roulette wheel. He suddenly understood he wasn't just exploring outside the elven dome; he might be on a different continent, or a different planet entirely.
Wait... if he could open doors to other places, could he... could he sell stuff here?
He looked at the stalls. Strange fruits that shimmered with an inner light. Pelts from animals that probably had six legs. Crude-looking metal tools. He watched a woman buy a loaf of dark, dense bread, handing over two dull, grey coins. That was their currency. Silver, maybe?
Then he saw it. A young man in a blue tunic pointed a finger at a cup of water, mumbled a few guttural words, and the water began to steam and bubble. Magic. Real, casual, marketplace magic. This world operated on a completely different set of physical laws.
A new, electrifying thought, born from his merchant's soul, sizzled in his brain.
These people had magic, fairies in cages, and skymetal daggers. But what didn't they have? He looked at their simple clothes, their coarse bread, their primitive tools.
They didn't have mass production. They didn't have refined sugar. They didn't have a million things he could get from the nearest 7-Eleven.
Could I sell them a bag of Doritos? Could I sell them a pack of instant ramen?
To these people, a packet of chicken-flavored noodles, ready in three minutes, might be as magical as a healing potion. A can of ice-cold Coca-Cola might be a nectar fit for their gods.
The business possibilities were so vast, so paradigm-shattering, that he felt dizzy. He wasn't just an interdimensional water bottler anymore. He could become a trader between civilizations. An importer/exporter on a scale that was literally unimaginable.
But first, he needed to get back to his home base. And figure out the currency. He carefully closed the bathroom door, the sounds of the chaotic plaza vanishing instantly, replaced by the humming quiet of his suburban home.
He leaned against the door, his heart hammering. He now had access to at least two different worlds beyond his own: the pristine Elven Sanctum, and a bustling human city with real magic.
His business model had just experienced a violent, exponential expansion. And he was going to need a lot more ramen.