Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 77 --

"That’s fine. Quality over quantity today. We’re proving concept, not maximizing revenue."

She descended to the ground floor. The main entrance was controlled chaos—guards letting people in slowly, others monitoring the crowd, making sure no one got crushed or caused problems.

Inside, the supermarket was already packed.

People moved through the aisles with wide eyes, touching products, reading prices, comparing goods. The produce section was swarmed. The household goods area was nearly as busy. And the drink section—

Elara walked over. Empty. Completely sold out within the first hour.

"Dimitri."

He appeared immediately. "Your Highness?"

"Send runners to the warehouse. Bring every remaining bottle we have in storage. This section doesn’t stay empty."

"That’s our entire reserve stock—"

"Bring it."

He bowed and left.

Elara continued through the space, observing. The food court was packed—every table occupied, people standing while eating, others waiting in line. The smell of fresh pizza, burgers, and fries filled the air. She watched a family of four share a meal, the children’s faces lit up with delight at food they’d clearly never tasted before.

Revenue data. Not emotional reaction. She was observing consumer behavior, nothing more.

A woman approached her—middle-aged, well-dressed but not noble. "Excuse me, are you the owner?"

"I manage the establishment," Elara said carefully.

"This is wonderful. Truly. My family runs a small bakery three streets over, and I was worried you’d destroy our business, but..." She gestured around. "This is something else entirely. You’re not competing with us—you’re creating something new."

"Thank you."

The woman smiled and moved on.

Elara filed the interaction away. Positive reception from local merchants. Good. Less resistance than projected.

She was heading back toward the stairs when someone screamed.

Not fear. Anger.

Elara turned. Near the household goods section, two women were fighting over something—pulling, shouting, drawing a crowd.

She walked over quickly. The guards were already moving, but she arrived first.

"Enough," she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but something in the tone made both women stop. "What’s the problem?"

One woman held up a bar of soap—one of the specialty items Elara had added to inventory. "I had it first! She tried to take it from my hands!"

"Liar! You grabbed it after I set it down!"

Elara looked at the soap, then at the shelf. Empty. She turned to the nearest vendor—a nervous man in his fifties. "How many of these did you stock?"

"Twenty, Your Highness—I mean, ma’am. All sold within an hour."

She turned back to the women. "The item is out of stock. Fighting over the last one is pointless." She held out her hand. "Give it to me."

Both women hesitated, then the first one handed it over reluctantly.

Elara examined it. Standard soap, nothing special, but scented with lavender. She handed it back to the first woman. "You had it first. It’s yours."

"But—" the second woman started.

"More will be in stock tomorrow," Elara interrupted. "Twice the quantity. Come back then."

The woman looked ready to argue, saw Elara’s expression, and deflated. "Fine."

The crowd dispersed. Crisis resolved.

Dimitri reappeared. "Your Highness, there’s a problem in the kitchen."

Of course there was.

She followed him to the back. The kitchen was chaos—cooks shouting, orders piling up, someone had dropped a tray and pizza sauce was splattered across the floor.

The head cook—a broad man named Georg who Elara had hired specifically for his experience—looked ready to quit. "We can’t keep up! The orders are coming too fast, we’re running out of cheese, and the ovens are at maximum capacity—"

"Stop taking new orders," Elara said calmly. "Finish what’s already in queue, then close the kitchen for one hour. Restock, clean, reorganize. Reopen at midday with a limited menu—pizza and fries only. No burgers until tomorrow."

Georg blinked. "Just... close?"

"For one hour. Post a sign. ’Kitchen restocking, reopens at noon.’ People will wait."

"But we’ll lose revenue—"

"We’ll lose more if you collapse from exhaustion or the food quality drops." Elara looked at him directly. "One hour. Then you’ll be able to handle the afternoon rush properly."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, ma’am."

She left the kitchen and found Gregor waiting near the storage room. "Let me guess. Another problem."

"Shoplifting, Your Highness. Three people so far. Small items—soap, small tools, food samples."

"Caught?"

"Two of them. Third got away."

"Ban the two you caught. Permanent. Make sure everyone sees them being escorted out." She paused. "And increase visible guard presence. Sometimes prevention is cheaper than punishment."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The morning continued like that. Small fires everywhere, constant decisions, endless adjustments.

By noon, Elara had:

- Resolved two more fights

- Handled a vendor who tried to raise prices mid-day (she terminated his contract on the spot)

- Dealt with a blocked toilet (unglamorous but necessary)

- Reorganized the entry system twice

- Sent three more runners for additional stock

By mid-afternoon, the crowd had thinned slightly. Not gone—just more manageable. The chaos had evolved into controlled busy-ness.

Elara sat in her second-floor office and reviewed the preliminary numbers Mira had compiled.

First Day Revenue: 1,847 gold

She stared at the number.

Her projection had been 600 gold for opening day.

They’d tripled it.

Mira appeared in the doorway, looking exhausted but triumphant. "Your Highness, the numbers—"

"I see them."

"This is extraordinary. If we maintain even half this volume—"

"We won’t," Elara interrupted. "Today was novelty. Tomorrow will be smaller. By week two, we’ll stabilize at sustainable levels." She set down the paper. "But yes. This is good data."

Good data. Not excitement. Not pride. Just useful information.

Mira smiled anyway. "Yes, Your Highness."

Outside, the sun was setting. The crowd had finally dispersed. Guards were closing the doors, vendors were packing up, kitchen staff were cleaning.

First day: success.

But Elara knew the real test wasn’t opening day. It was day seven. Day thirty. Whether this could sustain itself when she wasn’t here to manage every crisis personally.

She had two weeks before the Emperor would likely summon her.

Two weeks to make this place run without her.

The chair wobbled. She ignored it and pulled out tomorrow’s schedule, already identifying improvements for day two.

Success wasn’t a moment. It was a process.

And the process had just begun.

---

Three days after opening, Elara visited Baron Kessler.

She didn’t send warning. Didn’t request a meeting. Just arrived at his residence mid-morning with two beast knights and Dimitri carrying a leather folder.

The butler who answered looked scandalized. "I’m sorry, but the Baron doesn’t receive unannounced visitors—"

"Tell him the Fourth Princess is here to discuss his financial situation," Elara said calmly. "He’ll want to hear this in private rather than public."

The butler’s face went pale. He disappeared inside.

Two minutes later, Elara was shown into Kessler’s study.

The Baron stood behind his desk, face already red with anger. "How dare you come to my home without—"

"Sit down," Elara said.

"I will not—"

"Sit. Down." Her voice didn’t rise, but something in the tone made him hesitate. "Or I’ll have this conversation in the street where everyone can hear. Your choice."

Kessler sat. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair, knuckles white.

Elara remained standing. Dimitri moved to her left, folder held ready. The two beast knights positioned themselves by the door—not threatening, just present.