What’s life if not sharing cake with friends at the same table at 2 AM?

For a second, I am a fly on the wall, a painting in the background of a party. Sure, it’s not a party. My friends are just talking about work—but isn’t that the greatest thing? To have a moment like this in a workplace? We all have to work to eat, and if you can make eating part of work, isn’t that the epitome of the Human condition?

What else could you want? Money? Power? Why?

Or worse, an adventurous life?

Nah.

I’m adventurous between the sheets, but I like a quiet life outside my bedroom.

As everyone chats, I let my eyes close for just a while longer than a normal blink. And on the black canvass behind my eyelids, I paint a picture of happiness.

“Joey—Chef, can you explain the variants you mentioned before? The one with twelve layers?”

Quintus’s voice takes me out of my reverie. And out I go with a smile. Once again, business it is.

“Sure,” I nod. “A mille-feuille has only four layers. Twelve is the average for a Napoleon—and that’s the name of a rather famous Human. The concept is essentially the same as a mille-feuille but brought to the extreme. You layer three times as many puff pastry sheets to get a very tall and crunchy cake. The filling, in that case, varies a lot too. In my opinion, the most interesting thing that makes a Napoleon special is that you can use the puff pastry itself as a decoration. You can glue it with glaze or some firm custard to the exterior after breaking it into many flakes.”

Both Tiberius and Quintus look at me and then at each other.

“That sounds… very beautiful,” Tiberius says while looking in the distance.

“It is,” I correct him. “But it’s also very buttery. It’s prettier to look at than it is nice to eat, honestly. And you should make the puff pastry thinner than usual to avoid having a ton of butter in your guts after just one slice—oh, wait! You know what? You just made me think of something.”

I scratch my chin while some fond memories take over my mind.

“There’s a cake called Mimosa. It’s a similar concept, but you use sponge cake instead of puff pastry. You break some of the sponge cake into flakes to make petals. It’s a typical dessert where I come from. We have a day dedicated to women, and the flower, the Mimosa, which is usually gifted to women on this day, gave its name to the eponymous cake.”

“A day for women?” Raissa asks from the side.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t unroot the tree before it bears fruit, Raissa,” Flaminia suddenly puts a hand in front of the diminutive Elf’s face. “Say more about this day, Joey.”

“Oh, yeah. So, Mimosas are these puffy, yellow flowers shaped like little spheres. The Mimosa cake imitates the flower. It’s like this Napoleon I just described, but yellower and fluffy.”

“I meant the day of women,” Flaminia flicks one of her pink locks back as she smirks.

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“Nothing, there’s a day for celebrating women. Where I come from, not all women have always been treated well. Having this day was the first step in recognizing the value of women, I think. But I could be wrong. I’m not an expert on the subject.”

“Humans…” Flaminia scoffs. “You and your disgusting slave issues.”

“Come again?” I blink repeatedly.

“Is it one of the cities that rioted because of slavery? Where you come from, I mean,” Flaminia explains.

“What? No. I come from very far away. Not even close to whatever place you are thinking of.”

Flaminia shrugs, “So your family didn’t own slaves?”

“Holy sh—no! What the hell?! Do all Humans own slaves here?”

“Flaminia, stop,” Clodia says. “Joey, in my office. We need to talk business. Flaminia, you too. The others can stay here and keep up their practice.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

…

Flaminia and I basically get thrown inside the office.

“No slavery talks in this bakery,” Clodia says with a stern face, staring down at Flaminia.

“Clodia, I just—”

“I said,” Clodia raises her voice, “no slavery talks. Did you hear me?”

Flaminia nods hurriedly.

“Good. Joey, perhaps not all Humans have slaves, but slavery is one of the most remunerative practices on Teiko. If they catch any female Elf, they will sell her into slavery. No matter how young.”

I nod slowly.

This is the kind of moment when it’s easy to say many improper things. The best choice is to just keep my mouth shut.

And as I do, Clodia adds a small explanation.

“Some of the girls working here have had bad experiences. Very bad. The Watch has brought here the girls who needed a job after… well, after being rescued. Their business is none of yours. Flaminia, you know what I’m talking about, and you should have known better.”

As I turn to stare at the pink-haired [Chef], I see a red blush on her face.

“I’m sorry.”

Clodia nods curtly in response before sitting down at her desk.

“Joey, you were saying that this puff pastry, sorry, that the cake based on the puff pastry will be easy to sell? Explain what you mean, please.”

“Oh, right,” I sit on the couch standing by the wall, soon joined by Flaminia. “Nothing; you can cut up the mille-feuille into smaller pastries. You make rectangles out of it—that’s it, really. There’s nothing complicated about it.”

“That, the chocolate, and the bread,” Clodia sighs and shakes her head.

“Yep.”

“Clodia, I can take on the cake and the chocolate for you. You can just worry about the management.”

That’s Flaminia talking.

“Can I?” Clodia sighs. “I miss being on the floor too, Flaminia. And even if I wasn’t… all of this? Rotten roots. I feel like a green upstart now.”

“Don’t make such a fuss,” Flaminia waves her hand. “We’ll sweep the bread market and slowly move around the Pratus. We’ll be able to employ all the people who need some money and the best [Bakers] in Amorium.”

Damn, maybe if we get The Three Roses out of business for real, I can convince Clodia to hire Irene. Now, that would be cool. Also hot. I can imagine a bunch of roleplays revolving around swapping our work positions.

Hehe.

“Joey, why are you grinning?” Clodia asks.

“Just thinking about the future, boss. Just thinking about the future.”

…

I sit with Flaminia in the breakroom, with her half-asleep on my shoulder while I snore to high heavens.

Listen, it was a very hard night.

If anything, this was the very first night I pushed super hard in terms of baking. Tiberius, Quintus, and Raissa had to tap out before the night ended, and Flaminia herself gave them an out. Us? We stayed up until late to work on chocolate and more puff pastry.

I followed Flaminia’s every step.

While she’s not a top-level chef, all her high levels are not for nothing. In fact, she learned like a sponge. We made a bunch of puff pastry and chocolate pralines. God, we even filled some of those with the faux-Nutella that I’d whipped up before.

It was fun, though.

Flaminia knows her stuff. She might act like a douche sometimes, but I know that deep down, she’s got a golden heart.

…

Few hours prior

“That’s it, seal them up with some more solid chocolate. Use it like glue,” I take Flaminia’s hands and slowly join the praline she’s holding together.

We look at the round confectionery, the first of its kind on Epretos—hell, probably the whole world.

“Amazing,” she says with a slightly consumed voice. We’ve been talking and exchanging pointers non-stop all night. And we’ve been going even harder at it after everyone else tapped out.

“Joey, I’m really sorry about everything again. I don’t even know how you are still standing. I have skills that are letting me put all this time in. What do you have?”

“A good night of sleep?” I shrug. “I don’t know. This feels fun. It’s been a while since I used an entire work session like this. And no offense to the others, but it’s also nice working with someone at a higher level than the average.”

“You must feel like you are playing with a bunch of [Apprentices] all the time, though, don’t you?”

“What? Nah. It’s fine. I enjoy teaching. And with your skills and capabilities, you will improve by leaps and bounds.”

“As long as I don’t turn into a bitch,” Flaminia puts some emphasis on the word.

“Well, hopefully,” I bump into her playfully, but also because I’m about to double over from all this fatigue.

“Thanks, Joey.”

“It’s fine, Flam. It’s fine. Stop feeling bad about what happened. Everyone makes mistakes. You are gifted. As long as you use your gift for good, I’m fine, even if you become a better Baker than me. Without the square brackets.”

My words suddenly strike a chord with her. For a second, I can see her eyes getting a bit wet before she closes them and swiftly shakes her head.

“Thank you,” her words echo with softness. “I never thought a Human could be like you—rotten roots, not even an Elf. You are an amazing Baker. Maybe you never got a class because you are simply too good. Who knows?”

“Who knows, maybe,” I smile back.

…

When I open my eyes, I look at the pink spattered locks over my shoulder and chest.

Flam and I have gone a long way since a month ago, or however long it’s been. She has definitely grown as a person. Not that I don’t blame her for what she did, but I can also see how that would happen. When you’re a big fish in a small pond, it really gets to your head if no one ever prepared you for it.

I had heard that she didn’t really have the best time when she was an adolescent—or growing up in general.

I had my parents beat me blue whenever I let something get to my head. If she never had anyone, it quickly explains how it could degenerate into the crazy behavior she showed back then.

I mean, I’m sure she probably sees that she has a long way to go too. But tell you what, I’m super happy that, at the very least, we patched things up.

All in all, Flaminia is the most talented [Baker] I’ve met so far. Give her long enough, and she’ll become an excellent Baker. She was humble and calm tonight. And she was neither boisterous nor arrogant, not even for a second.

Well, let’s hope she continues down this path.

Right as I finish my thought, I hear the sound of metal thumping resonate in the breakroom.

A full-fledged knight in heavy armor looks at me and booms with his voice.

“Are you Joey Luciani?”