Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 69 --

"Doesn’t matter," Elara interrupted. "I’m still royal blood. Attacking me openly is attacking the imperial family. No minor noble wants that scrutiny." She let that settle. "And the major nobles? The ones with real power? They’re in the capital, fighting over succession. They don’t care about a single supermarket in Port Crestfall."

"What if one of your sisters sends someone?" Mira asked quietly.

Elara’s expression didn’t change. "Then we deal with it the same way we dealt with the assassins. Quietly. Efficiently. And we make sure it’s more trouble than it’s worth to try again."

The room went quiet.

Dimitri cleared his throat. "Your Highness, there’s one more thing." He pulled out a ledger—thinner than usual, which meant bad news. "The palace funds still haven’t arrived."

"I know."

"We have enough capital to start construction, but if costs run over—"

"They won’t."

"But if they do—"

"Dimitri." Elara’s voice was calm. "Do you trust my projections?"

He blinked. "Yes, Your Highness."

"Then stop worrying about variables we can’t control." She returned to the table. "The palace is blocking the funds. Fine. We work with what we have. The drink revenue is stable. The merchant partnerships will bring in lease fees before we finish construction. We’ll be solvent."

"And if we’re not?" Orin asked.

Elara looked at him directly. "Then I take a loan."

Shocked silence.

"A loan?" Gregor said carefully. "Your Highness, borrowing money—"

"Is a tool," Elara finished. "Nothing more. If we need capital and can’t access our own funds, we borrow against projected revenue. The merchant guild already trusts us. Torven would extend credit."

"But the interest—"

"Is cheaper than failure." She tapped the architectural plans. "This supermarket will work. I’m certain of that. If temporary debt is what it takes to make it happen, that’s acceptable."

Mira was making notes rapidly. "I’ll draft terms for a potential loan agreement. Just in case."

"Good." Elara looked around the table. "Anything else?"

Dimitri raised one finger. "Timeline. You said six weeks yesterday. Gregor thinks we need eight."

"We don’t."

"Your Highness, the construction alone—"

"Can be done in four weeks if we use beast knight labor for the heavy work and hire skilled craftsmen for the specialized tasks." Elara pulled out another sheet—a construction schedule she’d drafted at three in the morning. "Week one: clear and prepare the space. Week two: structural modifications and kitchen installation. Week three: shelving, counters, and finishing work. Week four: stocking and staff training."

"That’s only four weeks," Orin pointed out.

"The last two weeks are buffer," Elara said. "For delays, corrections, and final preparations. We open in six weeks regardless."

"What if we’re not ready?"

"We will be." Elara’s tone didn’t invite further argument. "I’ve built companies from nothing in less time. This is just retail. It’s not complicated."

She rolled up the architectural plans. "Dimitri, get construction crews hired today. Mira, start vendor outreach. Gregor, handle permit verification—I want confirmation that every document is filed correctly." She looked at Orin. "You’re responsible for equipment procurement. Kitchen supplies, shelving, storage. Everything on this list."

She handed him a densely written inventory.

Orin scanned it and paled slightly. "This is... extensive, Your Highness."

"It’s necessary." She walked toward the door. "Meeting adjourned. I want progress reports daily at sunset."

They bowed as she left.

Elara walked down the corridor, mind already moving to the next problem. The supermarket would work—she’d calculated every variable, planned every contingency. But Gregor’s concern about noble interference was valid.

Someone would notice eventually. Someone would object.

The question wasn’t if. It was when.

And more importantly: who.

She reached her private office and sat down at the broken desk. Pulled out a blank sheet of paper and began writing names.

Local nobles who might care about market disruption.

Merchant families who’d lose business.

Her sisters’ known agents in Port Crestfall.

Short list. Manageable.

She’d deal with each one systematically when they became problems. No point worrying about hypothetical threats when she had concrete work to do.

The chair wobbled slightly. She ignored it and kept writing, expression unchanged, while outside the construction crews began arriving and the first real step toward her retail empire began to take shape.

.

.

The visitor arrived on the fourth day of construction.

Elara was inspecting the kitchen installation when Lisa appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath.

"Your Highness. There’s a nobleman here to see you. Baron Kessler. He’s... insistent."

Elara didn’t look up from the stove specifications she was reviewing. "Tell him I’m occupied."

"I did, Your Highness. He says he’ll wait."

"Then let him wait."

Lisa hesitated. "Your Highness, he brought six guards. Armed. They’re standing in the main work area making the construction crews nervous."

That made Elara look up.

Six armed guards was not a social visit. That was a statement. Possibly a threat.

She set down the documents and brushed dust off her white blazer. "Where is he?"

"Ground floor. Near the entrance."

"Fine."

Elara walked down the partially constructed stairs—no railing yet, just raw wood and stone—with Lisa following close behind. The fox-eared knight who’d been stationed outside her office fell into step behind them without a word.

The ground floor was organized chaos. Workers hauled beams, craftsmen measured wall sections, and the smell of fresh sawdust mixed with stone dust filled the air. In the middle of it all stood a man who clearly didn’t belong.

Baron Kessler was in his fifties, well-dressed in dark blue with gold threading, his belly suggesting he ate better than most. Six guards surrounded him in a loose circle—all human, all wearing house colors, all watching the beast knight workers with barely concealed contempt.

He spotted Elara and his expression shifted—surprise, then poorly hidden disdain.

She looked wrong to him, she could tell. The short hair. The masculine suit. The fact that she was covered in dust and clearly doing actual work.

"Princess Elara," he said, bowing just enough to be technically respectful. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Baron Kessler." Elara stopped a few paces away, hands clasped behind her back. "What brings you to my construction site?"

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. "I’ve been hearing very interesting rumors, Your Highness. About a new... establishment you’re building here." He gestured at the space around them. "I thought I should come see for myself."

"You’ve seen it. Was there anything else?"

The smile tightened. "Your Highness, perhaps we could speak somewhere more private? This seems like a matter that would benefit from discretion."

"No."

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said no." Elara’s tone didn’t change. "If you have business with me, state it here. I’m busy."

Around them, the construction noise had quieted. Workers were trying very hard to look like they weren’t listening.

Kessler’s jaw tightened. "Very well. Your Highness, I’ll be direct. I represent a consortium of local merchants and property owners. We’re... concerned about your plans for this building."

"Concerned how?"

"Your Highness, Port Crestfall has a delicate commercial ecosystem. Established businesses. Traditional relationships. What you’re proposing—a large centralized marketplace—could disrupt that balance significantly."

Elara tilted her head slightly. "You’re worried about competition."

"I’m worried about economic stability," Kessler corrected smoothly. "Many of the merchants in this city have been here for generations. They employ local workers. Pay taxes. Contribute to the community. If a new establishment draws all the customers away—"