Chapter 7: Profits, Portals, and Pocket Dimensions
"My… official business partner?"
Her wary, confused gaze met mine.
"Absolutely," I said, flashing my most genuine grin. "You're my market expert. I handle supply, you help me with demand. We'll be a team."
The confusion on her face slowly melted away, replaced by a dawning, brilliant awe. She nodded—a single, decisive dip of her chin—her eyes shining with more than just unshed tears.
"Okay, Kuya Pepito," she said, her voice small but firm. "Okay."
"I will work hard, po," she added, "I'll help Mama pay the rent, po. She gets tired sometimes, especially now that… Papa's not with us anymore, po."
That last bit came out soft—like a whisper wrapped in thorns. She didn't look up, just tightened her grip on the coin like it was armor.
"We'll make sure you both get through this," I told her, keeping my voice steady. "Starting today, I've got your back."
---
The Sarimanook sun dipped below the jagged mountain line, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet. I was dead tired, but it was the good kind of tired—the kind that came with knowing you'd done something right. And profitable.
Marikit, bless her, had helped me tidy up the blanket and count the surprisingly large pile of barya left behind as the crowd thinned out.
"Kuya Pepito, you sold everything! That's like a festival day!"
"We sold everything," I corrected gently. "Your market insights were gold." I counted out one hundred Tanso—a whole, gleaming Pilak coin. "This is for your consulting services. Starting tomorrow, as my official partner, we'll agree on a proper daily wage, okay?"
Her eyes went dinner-plate wide. "One… Pilak?" she whispered. "Kuya, this is… too much!"
"Nonsense," I said, firm as a call center QA during calibration week. "You earned it. Now go on, get home safe. And tell your Mama the good news."
Her tearful, beaming smile was worth more than all the Ginto in the Gloriam Kingdom.
---
Back in Pasig, the familiar humidity slapped me in the face like Manila traffic after a long shift. The cottage's quiet buzz welcomed me home—real world, real problems, real dreams.
I dumped my coin pouch on the bed. Tanso. Pilak. All clinking like music. Kept a float for tomorrow, but this was the bulk.
"Okay, Patas-Timbang," I muttered, eyeing the coin purse. "Do your thing."
Golden shimmer. Poof. Gone.
In its place? A neat little stack of fresh peso bills.
₱5,600.
I blinked. I had just made five thousand, six hundred Pesos. In one day.
And the cost of goods?
₱800.
Which meant... ₱4,800 in net profit.
"Bruh," I whispered to the ceiling. "I just made more than my entire call center salary… in a single day… selling lighters to fantasy cosplayers."
I collapsed onto the bed, laughing like a deranged man.
"Petiks lifestyle, here I come!"
But then I caught my reflection in my cracked phone screen.
Get with the program, Espiritu.
No time for daydreams. Time to reinvest. Time to scale. Time to build the empire.
---
Next morning, clarity hit me harder than a double shift on Christmas week. I grabbed a Grab and headed straight to the nearest hardware superstore cluster. I had coin. I had demand. What I didn't have? Inventory.
Inside, the smell of metal, sawdust, and capitalism filled the air.
There. A gleaming wall of lighters.
I went feral. Grabbed every box of small and big units. Then—jackpot—Stormproof Survival Lighters. Waterproof. Wind-resistant. Built for outdoor ruggedness. Adventurer bait.
Tossed all of them into the cart. ₱5,000 total.
Not a splurge—a calculated move.
Except… now I had two overflowing carts.
How was I gonna get this across the lagusan?
Then it hit me. Like a surprise KPI audit.
The phone. The tampipi app. Lola's "pocket of space."
I opened the app.
SCAN ITEM
Pointed my camera at a box of Stormproofs.
Scanned: Stormproof Lighters (Type S), 100 units
Add to Inventory?
[Confirm] [Cancel]
Confirm.
Shimmer. Gone. Thanos-snapped into storage.
"Holy crap, it actually works," I muttered.
One by one, I scanned everything. Had to duck behind a parked delivery van to not look like a total weirdo.
Finally tapped Inventory Viewer.
A sleek list lit up:
---
> [Stored Items: Phone Inventory]
Lighters, Small (Type A): 200 units
Lighters, Big (Type B): 100 units
Lighters, Stormproof (Type S): 100 units
Canned Goods (Assorted): 24 units
Instant Noodles (Pancit Canton): 30 packs
Candies (Potchi, etc.): 5 bags
Can Openers (Butterfly): 2 units
Picnic Blanket (Old, Plaid): 1 unit
Personal Clothes (Earth): 1 set
Tunic & Trousers (Sarimanook): 1 set
Tanso Coins (Accidentally swept in): 12 pcs
---
I tapped Retrieve (1 Box) under the Stormproof Lighters.
A shimmer. A ripple in the air. Like a Snapchat filter that became solid.
I reached into nothingness.
Pulled out the box.
Cold. Real. There.
"No way," I whispered. "I've got freakin' bag space."
Between Patas-Timbang the coin converter and the tampipi app, I was basically running on fantasy game cheat codes.
Which meant something was probably gonna punch me in the face real soon.
But until then?
I was Pepito Espiritu—Lighter King. Portal-Hopper. Master of the Phone-Based Storage Dimension.
And business?
Business was about to get even hotter