It wasn't like I had had any experience nor specialization carried over from my previous life. I had been an ordinary student in my short-lived life. Unlike the protagonists in the vast majority of the isekai novels and mangas, I was not an otaku. Nor had any advanced knowledge or techniques in odd fields, which turned out to be very handy in their new fantasy worlds. Nor was I given a cheat skill by the goddesses during my reincarnation. I had nothing and was given nothing. I had to do with what little I had and knew, and if I didn't know about something, I sat down and thought about it. And that was more than enough in this world. What was considered the common sense in the modern society of my previous life, and what little I remembered from the basic education were more than adequate for daily dealings of this world's simple tavern.

It was a late morning in the spring. There weren't any patrons at this hour, so I took the opportunity to sit down at a table near the entrance. I wanted to take a look into the ledger that I had been keeping.

At first, father was reluctant to spend money on papers, which were expensive, only to have them filled with rows and columns of incomprehensible words and numbers sheets after sheets. As far as he was concerned, papers were luxury, which had no place in a simple tavern like his. Eventually, he changed his mind as my record keeping and larder tracking had vastly improved the overall efficiency of our expenses. The business was doing good. Father was immensely proud, and whenever he had the chance to, he bragged about how his little forty months old son helped the family make more coppers and silvers. Soon the shopkeepers and craftsmen in the town were sending their sons to our tavern to have me teach them the trick, which turned out to be very difficult as the majority of them were illiterate.

Merchantman Ado, on the other hand, was a smart man who knew the letters and the numbers. His family handled vegetables and fruits a couple of buildings down the street. Father was sourcing more than half of the larder from Ado, so we had this symbiotic relationship. Ado, instead of sending his son, came to learn the art of bookkeeping himself. I thought we had become friends, he and I, but alas, I did not foresee it would come back to bite me.

I was going over the records and our stock status, trying to figure out an issue that had been puzzling me for weeks, when the Baron walked in. He was accompanied by his treasurer and the manor's cook. Father and the Baron's cook were good friends, for they shared the same passion for cooking.

The spring festival was coming up, and, as usual, the Baron was footing the bill for the foods and meads that were to be served during the massive festive dinner where everyone was welcomed. Father and mother were part of the whole thing and had been extra busy in preparation. The Baron, apparently, wanted to talk to father about projected expenditure on our part so he could appropriately provide in advance. The cook came along because he wanted to discuss a new recipe he had come up with and wanted to hear father's opinion.

After the initial greeting and bowing, I went back to my work and paid no attention to the adults' business. I had finally cracked the mystery and was steaming, furious. Ado pretty much knew our daily consumptions of potatoes and onions. Up to a certain point, we had been buying three sacks of potatoes, thirty per sack, each week. As for the onions, it had been two sacks of twenty onions each. Thanks to my larder tracking and record-keeping, we had been keeping our stocks lean on a just-in-time basis. Then something changed. We were suddenly buying four sacks of twenty-nine potatoes each and three sacks of nineteen onions per sack. The unit prices were lowered slightly, reflecting the reduced number of potatoes and onions per sack, so on the surface, nothing was foul. However, every week, near the end of the week, father would find we were short of a few potatoes and onions. My siblings would then be dispatched to go buy the stuff from the merchant; and that was how he was selling extra sacks of potatoes and onions every week, forcing us to tank the excess stock of perishables and increased costs. I was furious. I raged and called for my elder brothers. They emerged from the cellar and the kitchen and came rushing to find their toddler brother throwing fits. I waved the sheets in front of them and screamed and yelled and explained how we were being ripped off.

"Brothers, grab your clubs and go tell master Ado if he ever does this again-"

I realized the tavern had become very quiet. I suddenly remembered we had a noble guest, none other than His Lordship the Baron himself. I could feel my face turning bright red, and it was very hot. I lowered my head and looked at my feet, embarrassed and ashamed. Somebody was drumming their fingers on the wooden table.

"Is that the son who made this?"

It was the Baron's voice.

"Yes, milord. The little one."

I raised my head and saw the adults sitting at a round table. Father looked angry but was trying to maintain his composure. But the Baron and his treasurer were watching me with curious eyes. In the Baron's hand was the large sheet I had prepared for father. It detailed the item by item breakdown of our projected expenses for the coming festive dinner.

"Come over here, boy. And bring those with you." The treasurer beckoned me. I grabbed my sheets from the table and walked over and stood in front of him. To a little toddler me, he was a freaking giant, and this giant smiled and took my ledgers.

He took his time studying the records I had scribbled with my tiny hands. In the meantime, the Baron was studying me intensely. At last, the treasurer laid the sheets on the table and sighed.

"Well?" The Baron inquired.

"Milord, the boy is right."

"Is that so?"

The treasurer rubbed his eyes as if he was suddenly tired.

"Milord, as much as I like to encourage our merchants and traders to explore new ways of profiteering, I believe," he waved his hand over my sheets, "doing so at fellow tradesmen's expenses shall be frowned upon."

The Baron knocked on the table.

"Exactly my thoughts. Would you be so kind and have a word with this man Ado?"

"I would gladly, milord."

With that, the Baron and his men stood up. They were leaving, but the Baron stopped at the door, still holding the expenditure sheet I had made, now rolled into a scroll. He turned around and faced me.

"You, boy, what is your name?"

"His name is René, milord," father answered instead as I was standing there blushing. The Baron gave me a small nod.

"Little son René, we shall meet again."

And then they left. Well, OK, not the cook. He stayed behind and started to discuss his new recipe with father.

Shortly before lunch, Ado came with a bouquet of flowers.

"These are for the lady of the house."

He sat down with father and me and apologized for his ungentlemanly business practices. "I don't know what I was thinking. Trying to rip off my most valuable friends." He shook his head in shame and offered compensation. Father declined and instead suggested they share a jug of mead.

By the afternoon, father and Ado were drunk and friends again. Red-faced, the merchant ruffled up my hair.

"Of course, you saw me through, didn't you, little boy?" He chuckled and turned to my father. "You are a lucky man, mon ami."