How Do I Run a Magic Tavern with No Memory?

Good news: I inherited a magical tavern without lifting a finger.

Bad news: I have amnesia, I can't read, I have no common sense, and I don't even know what this godforsaken place is called.

The System says: Run the tavern well and make sure every paying customer leaves happy.

I say: Can I just focus on staying alive first?

Later, my tavern hired a bunch of strange employees.

An old woman of unknown origins.

A giant with impaired intellect.

An orc mother and daughter hiding their identities.

A low-ranking courier afflicted by a curse.

In short, a bunch of weak, elderly, sick, and disabled people.

The customers who came and went all had their own tragic stories: a mercenary on the run, an ominous witch, a wandering dwarf, a pair of impostor and real heiresses, a singer who had lost her voice...

Thanks to my quick wits, I dug into all their stories one by one.

After all, what's the point of working when gossip is so much more fun?

Just as I was getting ready to enjoy a happy life of gossip, trouble came knocking.

An envoy from the Sanctuary of Reinaka, which monopolized magic potions, looked down their nose at me. “Either stop selling them, or hand over the recipe.”

I braced myself, ready to stand my ground

Then all my weak, elderly, sick, and disabled employees and regulars stepped in front of me.

The giant raised an axe.

The orc mother and daughter bared their claws.

The runemaster brought out a devastating alchemical cannon.

Best of all, the real and fake heiresses teamed up and flipped Reinaka's table.

Weren't you all a bunch of poor souls?

How did you all turn into big shots?