Chapter 142 – Three Dads and a Market Crash

  The effect of Ivaline’s appearance in Corvix’s radiant masterpiece did not fade overnight.

  It escalated.

  Frontier Town had never seen anything like it.

  A single girl in a vibrant, jewel-toned gown strolling through the streets with effortless composure — stopping at shops, sipping tea elegantly in front of a boutique like a noble on holiday.

  The idea itself was simple.

  Too simple.

  And yet no one had thought of it before.

  Corvix stood inside his boutique with his hands behind his back, smiling like a victorious general.

  Orders piled in.

  Customers flooded through the doors.

  His staff moved in controlled panic.

  But the true architect of the strategy stood quietly at the side.

  Nasha.

  Corvix had given her a generous bonus for the idea. She sent most of it home to her family to help rebuild their struggling business.

  She should have felt proud.

  Instead, she stared at the street outside where Ivaline had sat the day before.

  “…I don’t know whether to celebrate or cry,” she muttered.

  This was only the beginning.

  A second wave was already forming.

  The Second Commission

  The next morning, Mireya slid another sealed note across the guild counter.

  “Another personal request.”

  Ivaline glanced at the name.

  “Ah. This time it’s Daddy.”

  Mireya’s smile twitched.

  “I assume you already know what this entails?”

  “Yes. He asked me yesterday.”

  Stamp.

  Seal.

  Quest accepted.

  As she left, her gaze drifted briefly toward the guild clinic.

  Father had not issued anything yet.

  Not yet.

  Tomas’ Hesitation

  Inside Tomas Bakery, Tomas clutched a neatly folded bundle of cloth like it was fragile porcelain.

  He had commissioned it.

  Designed it carefully.

  Reworked the stitching twice.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  But now doubt crept in.

  What if it was too plain?

  Too simple compared to yesterday’s brilliance.

  What if she wore it just to be polite?

  What if she smiled kindly while secretly disappointed?

  The bell above the door rang.

  “I’ve come, Daddy.”

  His worries scattered instantly.

  He hugged her first.

  Then followed her gaze to the folded outfit.

  “Is that my costume?”

  “Yes… but you don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.”

  Ivaline picked it up without hesitation.

  “I’ll try it.”

  She disappeared into the back room.

  Moments later—

  She stepped out.

  And the entire bakery shifted.

  Soft cream and warm brown tones. Puff sleeves. A fitted bodice with a white lace-trimmed apron. A knee-length skirt of cotton and linen, comfortable and inviting. A small ribbon tied neatly at her collar.

  Yesterday she had been overwhelming.

  Today she was devastating in a different way.

  Warm.

  Approachable.

  The kind of beauty that didn’t command a room—

  It melted it.

  “…It suits you well,” Tomas said quietly.

  “Thank you, Daddy. Should I stroll the town like Papa asked?”

  “No! No strolling. I cannot survive that volume.”

  He handed her a basket of freshly baked bread.

  “Stand near the entrance. Offer samples. Smile lightly. Say, ‘Welcome to Tomas Bakery, please try our free sample.’ That’s all.”

  She blinked.

  “That is enough?”

  “It is more than enough.”

  Ivaline in Tomas costume.

  Author: this's also an overkill...

  He underestimated.

  Severely.

  Within minutes a crowd formed.

  Her gentle smile.

  The soft way she extended bread.

  The subtle tilt of her head.

  People lined up.

  Bread vanished faster than Tomas could bake.

  By noon the shelves were empty.

  The “Sold Out” sign went up.

  Tomas collapsed onto a chair, wheezing.

  Ivaline fanned him with a cloth and wiped sweat from his brow.

  Chronicle whispered gently within her thoughts.

  “He needs help.”

  She nodded and suggested hiring temporary assistance.

  Tomas agreed.

  Quest complete.

  Payment delivered.

  And permission to return anytime she wished.

  Guild Hall Chaos

  When Ivaline entered the guild hall in the baker uniform—

  Silence.

  Then eruption.

  “Yesterday was divine.”

  “Today is superior.”

  “No, yesterday was queen-level!”

  “This is wife-level!”

  “What does that even mean!?”

  Arguments escalated.

  Challenges were issued.

  Actual duels began.

  Mireya calmly signaled Garrick to intervene.

  Then she slid another sealed request toward Ivaline.

  “From Dr. Suniel.”

  Her smile strained.

  'If this continues,' she thought.

  'We may need riot control.'

  The Third Strategy

  Inside the clinic, Suniel observed her baker attire without comment.

  Tomas had chosen wisely.

  Not overwhelming.

  Enhancing.

  He handed her a folded garment.

  “My turn.”

  She changed quickly.

  White and blue. High collar. Silver embroidery. Long sleeves. A clean, refined silhouette. A subtle insignia over the chest.

  Professional.

  Elegant.

  Untouchable.

  Ivaline in Dr. Suniel Costume

  Author: what's this destructive power?

  Bubble stared.

  Then received her own version in a purple color palette.

  Suniel had prepared two.

  Fairness mattered.

  Bubble in Dr. Suniel Costume

  Author: Now there're two of them... Clinic will become a battlefield soon.

  News spread instantly.

  Two angelic nurses now worked at the guild clinic.

  The quest board was emptied within minutes.

  Adventurers returned from trivial errands with scratches and splinters.

  At first, the injuries were real.

  Minor.

  Tolerable.

  Then came the fakes.

  Phantom pain.

  Imaginary sprains.

  An arm that worked perfectly until Ivaline approached.

  Suniel stepped forward.

  “Fascinating,” he said mildly.

  “You appear to be in excellent health.”

  The adventurer sweated.

  “Since that is the case, we shall conduct a demonstration.”

  Outside.

  A flash of controlled magic.

  A very real sprain.

  He healed it immediately.

  “Now you understand the difference.”

  From that day on, the rule was clear:

  Fake injury?

  Receive a genuine one.

  Educational purposes only.

  The guild never doubted him again.

  Nightfall

  Ivaline returned home with two completed quests.

  Two new outfits.

  Two payments.

  Seraphine nearly ascended from joy.

  She memorized every detail of both costumes as though engraving scripture.

  Chronicle watched in silence.

  Once, Ivaline had worn rags.

  Now three fathers competed to dress her in devotion.

  Not possession.

  Not vanity.

  Love—expressed in fabric, flour, and discipline.

  Frontier Town trembled not because of politics or monsters.

  But because three men had decided—

  Their daughter would shine.