The morning air was crisp and biting, but Kenta couldn't feel the cold. He was practically vibrating with adrenaline.
He secured a heavy wooden lid tightly over the bucket of Emily's sweet, frothy milk, making sure not a single precious drop would spill. He hauled it up, grunting slightly at the weight. Two gallons of pure, magical Holstaur milk. To anyone else, it was breakfast. To Kenta, it was his first step back to the top of the social ladder.
Before stepping out into the morning light, he turned back toward the dark interior of the barn.
Emily was still sitting in the hay, looking beautifully disheveled. Her massive, bare breasts rested heavily on her plush stomach, the faint sheen of milk and sweat making her pale skin glow in the dim light. She looked up at him, her cow ears perked up attentively.
"Take care and rest well, Emily," Kenta called out, giving her a reassuring wave. "And remember the rule: don't come out of the barn until I come back, okay? Stay hidden."
Emily smiled, a sweet, radiant expression that made the golden bell around her neck jingle softly. "Understood, Master. As you say. I will wait right here for you." She raised a soft hand, waving back. "Best of luck to you!"
"Thank you, Emily," Kenta replied.
He turned around, pushed the heavy barn doors shut behind him, and secured the rusted iron latch. He looked down the overgrown dirt path that led toward the village on the outskirts of the Murkwood territory.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh, pine-scented air.
"Alright," Kenta whispered to himself, a fiercely ambitious grin spreading across his face. "Here I come."
He took off at a jog. The heavy bucket sloshed against his leg, but the physical exertion felt surprisingly good. The lingering rush of energy from swallowing that small spray of Emily's milk was still pulsing through his veins, giving him the stamina of a trained athlete.
Within twenty minutes, the dense forest thinned out, revealing a quaint, bustling fantasy village. Smoke curled from stone chimneys, and the smell of baking bread and woodfire filled the air. The cobblestone streets were lined with neat, whitewashed cottages with thatched roofs.
It was the perfect, untapped market.
Kenta didn't waste any time. He marched up to the very first respectable-looking house on the main street and knocked firmly on the thick wooden door.
A moment later, the door creaked open. A middle-aged woman wearing a simple linen apron peered out, wiping flour off her hands. She looked at Kenta, then down at the large wooden bucket he was carrying.
Her face broke into a polite, if confused, smile. "Ahh, you must be the milkman. But I've never seen you before. Are you new to the territory?"
Kenta straightened his posture, putting on his most charming, salesman-like smile. "Good morning, ma'am! Yes, I am new. I am Kenta, the owner of a brand new, premium milk dairy just outside the village limits."
The woman's smile faltered slightly, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "A new milk dairy? Here? But... we already buy our milk from the Silver Hoof Dairy. It's run by Madame Valerie."
Kenta's smile froze on his face.
Oh, fuck, Kenta thought, his stomach dropping. In all my excitement, I completely forgot about basic economics. Of course there's already a competitor. People drink milk every day!
"Madame Valerie?" Kenta asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
"Yes," the woman said, leaning against the doorframe. "Surely you know of her? Madame Valerie controls all the dairy supply for this town and the neighboring estates. She's a very... formidable woman."
A flurry of rumors and residual memories from the original Kenta's brain suddenly unlocked. Madame Valerie. She was a forty-eight-year-old widow. She was incredibly wealthy, ruthlessly dominant in business, and notoriously beautiful. She was a spectacularly curvy, imposing MILF who ruled the local trade syndicate with an iron fist and a velvet glove. Men feared her, and they lusted after her in equal measure.
Damn it, Kenta cursed internally. I'm trying to start a business, and I'm already up against a mature, dominant cartel boss.
Kenta quickly forced his charming smile back into place. "Oh, of course! Madame Valerie is legendary. I'm sure she is the absolute best. But, ma'am, you can at least try our milk today. Just a small sample! I am completely certain you will like it."
The woman sighed, shaking her head. "I appreciate the offer, young man, but what could possibly be so special about your milk? Milk is milk. Madame Valerie has supplied this whole town for years. She provides good, steady quality. We are her loyal customers. Why should we trust someone new, especially someone who looks like a noble playing in the dirt?"
Kenta gripped the handle of the bucket tighter. "You're right to be skeptical," he said smoothly. "But I assure you, I am not some fraud. The cow I have... she is actually one of the absolute best, rarest breeds found in the entire kingdom. The milk she produces is incredibly sweet, rich, and gives you energy like a magic potion. It's only available from me. Just one taste, and-"
"No, sorry," the woman interrupted, her tone turning flat and dismissive. "I don't need 'magic' milk. I need the milk I ordered from Valerie. Have a good day."
BAM.
She slammed the heavy wooden door right in his face.
The sound echoed sharply down the quiet morning street.
Kenta stood on the cobblestone porch, staring at the grain of the wood. The charming salesman smile slowly melted off his face, replaced by a dark, simmering irritation.
He turned around, marching down the steps. As he reached the street, he violently kicked a loose cobblestone.
"Fuck!" Kenta hissed, watching the stone bounce into a puddle.
His grip on the bucket handle was so tight his knuckles were white. "That's not fair. She could have at least tasted it! If she just let a drop of Emily's milk touch her tongue, she would have bought the whole bucket."
He took a deep breath, forcing the anger down. This was just a minor setback. Rome wasn't built in a day, and an illegal monster-milk empire wasn't going to be built on the first knock.
"Never mind, Kenta," he muttered to himself, shaking out his shoulders. "We have many more houses in this town. We just need one person to take a sip. Once the addiction starts, word of mouth will do the rest."
He looked down the long, winding street of the village, his eyes locking onto the next house.
"Haha... be positive," Kenta chuckled darkly. "Madame Valerie might own this town right now, but she doesn't have a Holstaur tied up in her barn."