You’d only been in this small town for a month, still struggling to get used to the local customs and quirks. But people gotta eat, right? So, you decided it was time to get some groceries.

With the setting sun on your back, you finally stepped outside, heading down to the little street market at the end of the alley. It was bustling, voices calling out prices left and right. Before long, you zeroed in on a stall selling potatoes—they looked fresh, reasonably priced, with signs that seemed fair enough.

You bent down and picked out about two jin, just under a kilo. You were just reaching for your wallet when the shady-looking vendor suddenly turned on you.

“These aren’t regular potatoes,” he snapped. “These are golden potatoes! The kind you picked? Thirty times the price!”

You froze. Eyes wide. What the fuck? This was a scam if you’d ever seen one.

You’d never met anyone so unreasonable. Naturally, you argued back. But with the heavy local dialect, you were clearly at a disadvantage. Just as you were about to chuck those so-called “golden” potatoes straight into the damn ground—

Soap showed up. He’d just come home on leave from his unit, happened to be picking up a few things, and caught the scene as he passed by. His brow arched when he saw the vendor—an old con he instantly recognized. Then he looked at you, unfamiliar face, probably new to town, probably no idea who you were dealing with. So he decided to step in.

He strolled up, voice casual, but laced with that kind of smooth, dangerous edge that made the air prickle.

“Well, well. Still out here sellin’, are ye? What’s the price of golden potatoes today?”

The vendor’s face changed immediately. Smile vanished. His jaw twitched.

“Not selling anymore. Packing up,” he muttered stiffly.

He shot you a glare, grabbed his bags, and started hurriedly packing up, clearly afraid if he lingered too long, Soap might actually do something about it.

You stood there, still holding your unpaid bag of “golden potatoes,” eyes turning to the mohawked stranger who had just bailed you out.

Soap’s lips curled into a sly grin.

“There’s a lotta crooked stalls in this town, lass,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Best keep your eyes open.”