The next morning in Luminvale began like any other: birds chirping, bees buzzing, and someone in the distance yelling about jam-related price gouging.
Milo was on his third failed attempt at boiling a foot balm when the shop bell jingled—violently, as if someone had kicked the door open in a fit of rage.
Enter Mr. Bramble, Luminvale's crankiest merchant. A man so perpetually grumpy, used against childern as a threat in bedtime stories.
"Brush your teeth or Bramble will tax your allowance!"
He stomped in, robes flapping, face puckered tighter than a lemon in a windstorm.
"MILO!" he bellowed.
Milo yelped and nearly knocked his entire cauldron over. "Y-yes?"
Bramble slammed a sack of mushrooms on the counter with enough force to knock over three potion bottles and a photo of Milo's late grandma, who looked unimpressed even in the frame.
"These mushrooms," Bramble growled, "smell like feet and regret. I want a potion that makes them smell like money!"
Milo blinked. "You want... money-scented mushrooms?"
Bramble narrowed his eyes. "Not literal money. Just something nice! Sweet! Tempting! Something that makes people sniff the air and buy! Like what you did with that ridiculous love potion last week. The one that turned half the square into emotional jelly!"
Milo coughed into his sleeve. "That... that was not intentional."
"Don't care. Do it again," Bramble demanded.
Milo hesitated. He had some scent-enhancing recipes, most of which were either too floral, too peppery, or too accidentally attractive to squirrels. But this was for business. And Bramble, despite being roughly as huggable as a porcupine, was a major customer.
"Alright," Milo said slowly. "Let me try something."
Two hours later, the lab smelled like a soap factory had exploded inside a bakery.
Luca had his shirt pulled over his nose. "I can taste flowers in my eyeballs."
Milo leaned over a bubbling cauldron filled with swirls of honey mist, spicy cinnamon vapor, and a suspicious note of toasted hazelnut. "Almost there... I just need a binding agent. Something that holds the scent to the mushrooms."
Luca poked a jar. "What about this? Says 'Sticky Extract - Mildly Sentient'."
"That one eats labels," Milo replied grimly.
They settled on using clingroot oil, a substance famous for sticking to literally anything—including dreams and hair.
With a final puff of citrus-scented steam, the potion was done. It shimmered gold with a swirl of lavender.
Milo poured it into a vial, labeled it "Aroma Amplifier 1.0", and dabbed a drop onto one of Bramble's mushrooms.
The result?
The mushroom now smelled like a cinnamon bun that had fallen in love with a fruit tart and was raising three vanilla cupcakes in a nice suburban pastry box.
Luca drooled. "I'd buy ten. No questions asked."
Bramble, when summoned, sniffed with suspicion.
Then again.
Then again, deeper.
He didn't smile, of course. That would shatter the delicate fabric of reality. But his eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, which was basically a standing ovation in Bramble terms.
"I'll take ten bottles," he muttered.
Milo beamed. "Really?"
"Yes. And if it works, I'll even say something less insulting next time."
Progress.
The good news: Bramble's mushroom stall became the most visited stand in the entire village square that weekend.
The bad news: it worked too well.
People weren't just stopping to buy mushrooms.
They were lingering.
Sniffing.
Loitering.
Some curled up near the stall like happy cats. Others tried to lick the air. One woman asked if she could marry a mushroom.
It was chaos.
"Do you smell that?" one villager asked dreamily. "It's like the smell of being loved and financially stable..."
"I cried a little," whispered another.
Bramble returned to the shop the next day, eyes bloodshot, hair frazzled, shirt covered in glitter from an overly enthusiastic bard who had written a ballad about the mushrooms.
"Fix this." he growled, slamming down the now-suspiciously sparkly vial.
Milo flinched. "W-what happened?"
"They won't leave. I had to chase off a flock of romantic poets. Someone knit a sweater for the mushrooms, Milo. A sweater."
Luca chuckled. "You've got fans, Bramble."
"I have migraines."
Milo sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, alright. I'll tone it down. Remove the lingering sweet notes, reduce the cling, and cut the emotional undertones."
Luca blinked. "How do mushrooms even get emotional undertones?"
Milo looked at him. "You don't want to know what whisperroot does at full concentration."
Version 2.0 was less romantic and more... practical. The scent was still pleasant, but subtler—like warm bread on a lazy morning. Inviting, but not obsessive.
Bramble sniffed it. Nodded once. "This'll do."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Still overpriced."
"There it is," Luca said.
Milo waved. "Glad we're back to normal."
Later that evening, Milo sat in his cluttered workshop, sipping herbal tea and staring at his journal of potion experiments.
The "Aroma Amplifier" was officially marked as:
Status: Adjusted
Effect: Highly effective... too effective
Side Effects: Attracts poets. Proceed with caution.
Alma popped her head in. "Did you fix Bramble's stinkshrooms?"
"They're sweetshrooms now," Milo said proudly.
Alma wrinkled her nose. "I liked them better when they smelled like old boots. Less competition for picking them."
Milo laughed. "Sorry. I'll try to invent a repellent version next week."
She perked up. "Can it smell like gym socks and bitter disappointment?"
"Only if you help me clean the cauldron."
She vanished.
Luca wandered in, flopped onto the chair across from him. "Another day, another mildly magical disaster."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Milo said.
Luca grinned. "Nah. I wouldn't live anywhere else."
Milo looked around his little potion shop—half messy, half magical, entirely his.
He smiled.
"Me neither."