The next morning the small street was alive with noise. Horses trotted past, children chased each other, and women carried baskets to the well. Clara woke early, cleaned her stall, and arranged her products in rows. She had a plan.

She placed a sign made of wood, burned with the words “Good Soap, Honest Price.” It was simple and direct. People stopped to read it. Some laughed, thinking it was odd for a girl to claim honesty in trade. But a few came closer.

A woman asked, “Why is it cheaper than the other stall?”
Clara answered, “Because I want you to come back. When you return, you’ll find even better things.”

Her tone was calm but confident. The woman hesitated, then bought three bars. Others followed. By noon, Clara had sold almost everything. She took her coins and went to the nearby farms, buying more herbs and fat to make new soap.

She spent nights melting ingredients over a small fire, using her past knowledge of chemistry to mix in flower scent. Soon the air around her stall smelled sweet and clean. Customers began to talk about the “soap girl” whose stall was always tidy.

A week later, she started selling small cloth bags with dried herbs, something she remembered from modern stores—sachets to keep clothes fresh. People found them new and useful. She also offered small discounts for those who bought more than two pieces. Word spread quickly.

One afternoon a man who owned a general store came to see her. He frowned and said, “You’re making trouble for real merchants, girl. Selling too cheap ruins the market.”
Clara looked at him without fear. “Maybe the market needs change.”

The man grumbled and left, but the next day more customers came. Some merchants began copying her ideas, lowering prices. The market became busier than ever.

At night Clara counted her coins and smiled. It wasn’t much, but it grew faster than she expected. She rented a small storage room behind a carpenter’s house, saving space for future goods. She started thinking about sugar, flour, candles—all basic things people needed daily.

Her dream was no longer just survival. It was growth, stability, and improvement. She wanted to build something larger, something that could help the whole town live better.

One evening, as she closed her stall, a young boy approached with a basket of eggs. “My mother said you’re fair,” he said shyly. “Can you trade these for soap?”
Clara smiled and nodded. She gave him two bars and wrote his name on a small piece of paper. “You can pay later when you sell your eggs next week.”

That was how her first credit note was born—a promise based on trust.

As the town lights faded, she sat by the fire, washing her hands in warm water. The scent of herbs filled the air. She whispered to herself, “Someday this won’t be just a stall. It’ll be a market that never sleeps.”

And with that thought, the girl from another world smiled into the darkness, ready to shape her destiny.