Chapter 64: The Return to Reality
Monday morning. Pasadena shop.
Jake's behind the register, helping a kid pick between two Spider-Man trades. The shop's organized, clean, exactly as I left it.
"Stuart! Hey." He finishes the sale, gives the kid his change, then turns to me. "How was Vegas?"
"Excellent. How was the shop?"
"Oh man, you're gonna love this." He pulls out the weekend revenue report. "We did twenty-three hundred dollars Saturday, nineteen hundred Sunday. Way up from normal."
I study the numbers. He's right. Weekend revenue normally hovers around three thousand total. They did four-two.
"What happened?"
"No idea. Just—busier? Maybe word of mouth. Or the Facebook posts hit at the right time." He grins. "Either way, Marcus and I crushed it."
"You did."
"So—" He shifts weight, suddenly nervous. "—I was thinking. If the shop keeps growing, maybe we could talk about—I don't know. Benefits? Health insurance?"
"Done."
"Just like that?"
"You ran the shop for three days. Revenue went up. You earned it."
"Seriously?"
"I'll have my accountant look into group plans. Both you and Marcus."
"Stuart, that's—thank you. Really."
"Thank you for making this place run without me."
Burbank shop, Tuesday afternoon.
Marcus is unpacking new releases when I walk in. The shop's even busier than Pasadena. Every gaming table occupied. Three customers browsing. Register line four deep.
"Need help?" I ask.
"I got it." Marcus processes the line efficiently. "Hey, check the event calendar. I booked three local artists for signings next month."
He hands me the schedule. All solid names. Good draws.
"These are great. How'd you get them?"
"Asked. You'd be surprised how many artists want to support local shops." He grins. "Plus I mentioned you consult for Marvel. That helped."
"Using my name?"
"Using your reputation. There's a difference."
Fair.
"Also—" He pulls out another revenue report. "—weekend numbers."
Burbank did even better. Five thousand across three days.
"Marcus. This is incredible."
"This is sustainable," he corrects. "I've been tracking patterns. If we do monthly signings, game tournaments, maybe some cosplay events—we could maintain this."
"You've been tracking patterns?"
"Someone has to." He shrugs. "You're busy with consulting and the other shop and your girlfriend. I figured I'd handle the analytics."
"You're hired."
"I already work here."
"You're promoted. Shop manager. Twenty percent raise."
"Stuart—"
"You earned it. Don't argue."
Wednesday evening. My penthouse.
Penny's reading X-Men on my couch. She's gotten through half my trade collection in two months. Currently on the Dark Phoenix saga.
"This is devastating," she announces without looking up.
"Gets worse."
"How can it get worse than this?"
"Keep reading."
She keeps reading. I'm at my laptop, reviewing both shops' financials.
Combined weekend revenue: $9,200. That's thirty-six hundred more than normal.
They don't need me.
The thought should be scary. Instead it's freeing.
I built something sustainable. Something that works without constant supervision. Employees who care about success because I gave them ownership through trust and compensation.
That's actual business success. Not just making money. Building something that runs itself.
"Stuart?"
Penny's watching me over her comic.
"Yeah?"
"You're smiling at spreadsheets."
"The shops did great while I was gone."
"That's good?"
"That's excellent. Means I can take more time off. Spend more time with you. Less micromanaging."
"So you're saying Vegas was productive."
"Accidentally, yes."
She sets down her comic. "You know what I love about you?"
"My natural humility?"
"Your ability to let things be good. Dan would've found something to worry about. 'They did too well, what if they don't need me, what if they leave—'" She waves a hand. "You just—celebrate it."
"They earned raises. I'm giving them."
"See? Good thing happens, you make it better. That's—" She struggles for the word. "—healthy."
"I'm shockingly well-adjusted."
"You really are. It's attractive."
"Everything about me is attractive. Haven't you noticed?"
She throws the comic at me. "Your humility especially."
Thursday morning. Coffee with Leonard at the university cafeteria.
"The gang wants to do monthly dinners," he says. "Rotation. Everyone hosts once."
"Sheldon will have rules."
"Sheldon already has rules. Eighteen of them. I'm ignoring sixteen."
"Which two matter?"
"No shoes on furniture. No discussing politics after nine PM."
"Fair rules."
We drink coffee. Campus around us is doing its morning thing—students rushing to classes, professors looking perpetually exhausted, the strange energy of academic spaces.
"You seem good," Leonard observes.
"I am good."
"No, like—really good. Not just dating-Penny good. Actually at peace."
"The shops are running themselves. I'm making good money. Relationship's great. Friends are happy. Yeah, I'm good."
"Must be nice."
"You're not?"
"I'm—fine. Just—watching you level up constantly is mildly exhausting."
"Leonard—"
"I'm kidding. Mostly." He sets down his coffee. "But seriously. Two years ago you were struggling. Now you're this—successful businessman with industry connections and a perfect girlfriend. How'd you do it?"
Transmigrated with future knowledge and supernatural powers.
"Right place, right time. Good decisions. Better luck."
"That's the most unsatisfying answer possible."
"It's the true one."
"I don't believe that. You did something. Made specific choices. Took specific risks."
"Okay, yeah. I did." I choose words carefully. "I stopped being afraid of failing. Started taking shots. Opening the shop, cold-calling Marvel, asking Penny out—all things I'd have talked myself out of before."
"So the secret is confidence?"
"The secret is action. Confidence comes after."
He considers this. "That's actually decent advice."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm always surprised when you're wise. It contradicts the guy who set his kitchen on fire making toast."
"That was once."
"The fire department disagrees."
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