"Damn that stingy shopkeeper…" Damon muttered under his breath, clicking his tongue in irritation.
His stomach growled, a sharp reminder of his growing hunger. He'd spent the last thirty minutes inside the shop haggling over the price of a worn-out cloak. The shopkeeper's stubbornness had tested Damon's patience, but every zeni mattered. He couldn't afford to waste money unless it was absolutely necessary.
'I'll be using this cloak for a very long time,' he thought grimly.
The cloak wasn't much to look at—its brown fabric was already fraying at the edges, and it had clearly seen better days. Still, Damon had prioritized durability over appearance, even while being a cheapskate. The hooded cloak reached all the way to his legs, effectively concealing his academy uniform beneath.
