I look at Quintus with a frown.

“What did you just say?”

“Joey, there’s a mob!” He takes my arm, shaking me. “They are going crazy!”

“What the hell? Why?” I say, looking at Stan, who just shrugs in response.

“Word just came that Plinius, the guy who was made [Captain], was assassinated: he was poisoned with a cake, and they say it came from our bakery!”

I recoil at the information, looking wildly at the man in front of me.

“Ok, I’ll come out in a second, Quintus. Get the ex-[Soldiers] to stand their ground and tone down the spirits.”

“Come out?! Joey, they think you did it!”

“Quintus,” I take the man’s hands and take them off my shoulders. “I can take care of the mob even if it gets violent. Now, get out there; try to make some order. Tell them that I’ll personally come out and give statements. I need a word with Stan first, though—and get Clodia and Flaminia, please.”

Quintus nods shakily and turns, gathering all the men in the bakery.

“Ideas?” I turn to Stan.

“Not hiding is a good choice,” the giant Elf says. “But if you lose your temper, things will become ugly.”

“True,” I say, placing my hand in my hair.

“Listen, I came here to ask about the wheat. I know you know something I don’t, Stan. I’d like to discuss... your ideas. We can’t afford to spend any more gold on it, but giving it up would mean not tapping into our strongest selling point. We have bigger problems than the mob—we need the wheat.”

Stan looks at me, peering deep into my soul with his gaze.

“Joey, I think we should finish that conversation we had when you came out of jail.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

...

Two months prior

Joey, after you are done, there’s something I need to tell you.

Those were the words Stan said to me before I got my business license and citizenship certificate from the Town Hall.

We are standing alone by a bench in the Pratus, far from his usual spot under the statue of [Prince] Vespasianus.

“So,” I say, looking at the man who hasn’t said a single word since we sat down.

Stan takes a big breath and nods slowly, “Joey, I wasn’t always fond of Humans; to be honest, I’ve still some reservations for most of your kind, save for you and... my benefactor.”

“Benefactor?”

“One of the first times we met, I mentioned that a woman gave Grigio his name and... the name Stan to me. I had another name that I had abandoned together with my old life.”

“Yeah, I figured... and you were the one responsible for the hot [Princess] to come and rescue me from jail, weren’t you? Me getting pardoned didn’t happen just because I make good food.”

“It didn’t,” he exhales, looking at the sky. The words don’t come easily to him.

“Stan, man, I know you are a hidden expert,” I tell him with a pained smile. “I’ve known since the first day I saw you. I even have my conjectures on what class you might have. I want to thank you for what you did for me, but if you don’t feel this is right, you don’t have to say another word.”

Stan does something surprising. He slowly leans back, extends his long arm, and pats my shoulder, “You are kind, Joey Luciani. Too kind. You have prompted me to do the right thing up until this moment. The Human woman, unlike you, was less kind but not less right. I have debts too big to ever repay, but it is time I stop wallowing like a [Beggar]. I won’t ever resume my past duties, but I... I need to do this. I want to come and work with you.”

My eyes widen.

“Really?! Damn, let’s go, baby!” I pump a fist in the air. “So, this chick changed your mind? You, what, met her again? Is she around? I definitely need to thank her.”

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Stan squeezes my shoulder, and I hiss in pain when I meet his stern gaze, “do not be disrespectful to her, Joey.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” I say, shimmying out from his grip.

Damn. Even with all my training and levels, he almost broke my shoulder.

Stan removes his hand and nods to himself.

“Good. And yes, I will come. I understand you might need help managing the rehabilitation of our friends.”

“Are you going to tell me how you got the [Princess] and the royal family to pardon me and get me the first Human citizenship in Elven history?”

“My past is complicated,” he explains, “and you would be roped into bigger things than you can imagine by just knowing about it. Penelope, the other Human, knows things about me that put her in danger. I will tell you when the time is right if you don’t mind.”

“Nah, I don’t mind at all! It’s great that you came around, though! Man, the bakery is going to be pure fire!”

...

The present

Clodia shadows my steps as I open the door that brings to the front of the bakery. A cacophony of shouts hits us like a physical wall, and I have to steady myself to avoid stumbling.

Jesus Christ.

Quintus mentioned a mob, but this is more like a full-blown siege. The streets are packed with an agitated crowd with torches painting angry, dancing shadows on the bakery walls. Some brandish makeshift weapons – sticks, stones, and whatever else they could find. Banners with hastily painted messages condemning the bakery and I flutter in the chilly evening breeze. At the front are several of my employees, trying to placate the throng with limited success.

Quintus and the ex-[Soldiers] have formed a protective barricade outside the bakery entrance. Their disciplined formation provides a thin line of defense against the chaos. They’re doing their best to keep the crowd at bay, but the tension is visibly escalating.

As I step forward, there's a sudden hush, followed by a crescendo of jeers and accusations. People point fingers, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear, anger, and confusion.

"Murderer!" someone yells.

"It's all his fault! He poisoned our [Captain]!" another voice joins.

"Justice for Plinius!" the crowd chants.

Well, this is bad.

“Has anyone called the Watch?” I ask Quintus, who’s holding a wooden club, scanning the crowd with his only good eye.

“We have sent word. They will be here in a few minutes.”

A rock suddenly flies in my direction, but I snatch it mid-air and look at the guy in leather armor who threw it.

These fucking idiots.

“The crowd will cause a stampede, and people will die if they don’t calm down,” I mutter.

Below my countenance, I feel the same anger that has been persecuting me since the day I got out of the Dungeon, since the day I failed to refuse the offer from the Goddess.

Do these racist pieces of shit really think I give two shits about killing Irene’s brother?

I’m showered in cold sweat as soon as I remember about Irene.

Oh, shit, I need to check on her.

But first things first. I get a Mana potion out of my bag of holding and down in it a few gulps—I usually wait for my Mana to regenerate naturally, but I don’t have that luxury at the moment. I erect two shields around the front of the bakery, funneling the people at the center and stepping there.

Old man, can you magically amplify my voice, please?

You should just get rid of these idiots.

Please?!

A Vanedeni shouldn’t have to deal with this mass on their treacherous terms.

But I still feel the magic flowing through my body and a [Loud Voice] spell being cast.

“Alright, people! Listen up! We are just as saddened and shocked as you are! I just heard about what happened! We are not responsible for it!”

“You killed him!” I see a [Soldier] with his sword out, stepping forward, charging at me.

Oh, shit.

I point a finger at him, ready to shoot, when I remember the consequences that it would have. That’s why I step back and erect another shield in front of myself.

He barges against it and swings his sword, the whole crowd watching and holding their breath.

Alright, time for another trick.

Magister Mulligan has been very kind with his teachings since I have been unlocking a heap of knowledge he wasn’t privy to.

I release the full power of my aura, trying to direct it first at the man, then at the crowd. The man’s eyes go wide, and he suddenly freezes mid-swing, stepping back in fear. The whole crowd seems more muted, meeker now.

Alright, this is my chance.

I take down the shield.

“The Watch is on its way! All of you crowded together like this represents a danger to you! Stay in order, and do not move rashly! Women and children will get hurt if you charge or run away! Please, have some common sense! If you want to see me dead, we can arrange for that later! For now, SCATTER!”

Without even realizing my crowd-control effect, some snap back to their senses and start walking to the edges of the road, the overall density of the crowd diminishing.

In the distance, I can hear the thumping boots of an entire platoon of the Watch marching over.

Let them deal with this shit, I turn and gesture to my employees to get back inside, erecting another shield to block the way.

...

“They are blocking the entry to our bakeries in the Pratus,” Clodia says, looking at a message we received from our employees there. “And people are already organizing to boycott us!”

“Joey,” Flavia says from the side, “our margins...”

“Are too thin to survive a boycott without borrowing more money,” I say, looking grimly at the management of our bakery—Aurora’s Bakery.

Well, mom, I could have used some of your mafia-adjacent strategies for this, I think to myself. Naming the bakery after her was the most natural thing to do, especially since Aurora also means dawn in the ancient tongue of the Elves.

“If we don’t resolve this situation, we are going bankrupt,” Flavia says grimly.

“I know,” I bite my lower lip, trying to scramble my brain for any ideas, but I keep drawing blanks.

...

“Joey,” Flaminia walks to me after a very unproductive meeting and tugs my sleeve to lead me to a secluded corner of the bakery.

“What, Flam?” I ask tiredly.

“Joey, we have to talk.”

“Again? We just discussed—”

“No, about something else,” she looks around multiple times before speaking in a barely audible mutter.

“I did send Plinius a cake.”