"Joey, I..."

I get lost in her purple eyes, various feelings washing over me. Something seems to grasp at my heart and squeeze it with claws of rusty iron, leaving long gashes as I see Lucinda hesitating multiple times.

Up until this moment, I have not stopped for a single moment since I opened the business. The past two months have been the average whirlwind of American hyper-productivity, countless hours of back-breaking work, and trying so hard to live up to what I thought I could be. But there's a part of me that, in this frozen moment, starts to come out.

As if I was shedding two-month-old skin, I can feel my whole body reinvigorated—Lucinda's red hair becomes even more vivid, the same color of the blood I picture pumping at high pressure through my heart at this very moment.

[Mindful Clarity] has plunged me into the world of being a productive Human being, but then, why does it feel that only now are my previously dulled senses coming back to life? Why do I feel my fingertips tingling? What is it that makes them burn up to my neck as if I was suddenly made of fiery magma? And if I were magma, my heart would be shedding chunky pieces of rock now; a shell that had erected itself before I even realized.

A thought hits me and changes me before I can even do anything.

When was the last time I prayed to my mother?

"Joey, are you crying?" Lucinda snaps me out of my reverie.

I palm my cheeks, feeling a few tears coming down and being unable to articulate any sounds. She looks even more insecure than before, and now, while I can't articulate a good enough excuse to put myself back in the world of those who do things, she looks over my shoulder. I turn, expecting to see someone, but there's no one.

Just like that, Lucinda frets, "I—I need to go. It's... not important."

"W—"

Before I can stop her, she's running away.

And just like that, I feel the rocks encroaching on my heart again.

...

The next morning, I wave away the residues of the spell matrices from my vision, feeling slightly nauseous from overexerting.

You expended too much Mana, young Luciani. Drink a potion.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

A potion materializes on the table beside me in my cramped apartment. I take it without protesting, not in the mood to argue with the old man. But I can't say the same about him.

You should start to focus on your magic only. The letter from the [Captain] made it clear that you might need your powers much sooner than we both expected. This Dungeon... those disgusting beings inside... Trifling with those forces and treating your life like you have unlimited time is doing you no good.

"Old man," I sigh, "please. I'm not in the mood."

You're not in the mood because you are tired. Joey Luciani, your willpower might wane at some point if you don't act decisively. Being a [Baker] is not your destiny—you went down a path that never should have been yours. You were destined for great things. Your talent... you should be leading armies into that Dungeon, expurgating whatever evil is hidden inside. Instead, you plan for cookies, your chocolate, and this silly romance of yours.

"I've been baking for almost twenty years, Magister Mulligan, I—"

Suddenly, the old man with his huge hat materializes in front of me, pointing a long finger at my head, "you cut the braid that I made for you."

"So? What does that have to do with what you're talking about?"

"The Vanedeni wear their hair with pride, they live with purpose, and they fight with all they have. No matter the talent – we have had [Heroes] who were gardeners, foolish boy. And you, you take this great life of yours and waste it!" The [Archmage]'s voice gets so thunderous that the walls of the apartment tremble slightly.

I remain silent. What I do is put a hand in my bag and take out a cookie, looking at it as if I were looking at the prototype of a stealth aircraft. For a moment, I can feel the magic that I felt the first time I decided to become a baker – the first time I understood the real value of sharing food with others and having something that genuinely sparks joy in people. I remember all the times when I spent countless hours perfecting a recipe, all my magnificent creations, the VIP orders that extremely successful people put in with my bakery, trying to strongarm me into making some tasteless statues, and me refusing multi-million contracts with the entertainment industry.

It takes a moment to remember just how good I became at this and how the other chefs around the world have come after me after causing countless trouble for the starred ones. But for all they tried to slander me, people simply trusted their taste buds more than they trusted a bunch of idiots set out for profit only.

This world has real magic, but I've always believed in magic every time I saw a simple cake, the way it made my life so much more beautiful than it had any right to be. I've been invited to weddings where people cried after tasting my bakery's creations.

When I came here, a part of me wished to recreate the same magic here. Especially after knowing what Flaminia is capable of now, I felt jealous. The reason is because she can add the real magic to the magic I've experienced in my past life—and I can't do that. Not before I run through all the Cantrips. And even then, who knows if this world will ever consider me worthy of becoming a true [Baker].

For all I am a Baker with the Capital B, what does it mean when one of the most powerful [Archmages] and the world tells you that you can never be what you thought you always were?

So, I set down the cookie beside the Omnium Compendium, a tome whose creator doesn't even know the depths of it.

And then, as it rests beside the ever-powerful tome, the cookie returns to being a normal piece of cooked dough.

"Who knows, old man," I mutter, "maybe you're right."