“You haven’t gotten the [Baker] class yet, Joey?”

That’s Tiberius asking the question.

“Nope. Leveled the [Mage] class, but haven’t gotten much to show for baking so far. Hell, I might get a [Barber] class after all this work. Or a [Gardener] one, considering what I’m cutting here,” I point down at a chuckling customer who probably has the single worst hair I have seen so far. I was actually tempted to just try and shave him bald.

“Don’t worry, kid,” the latest customer says, “you’ll get it. You definitely deserve it.”

This is certainly the nicest guy I have had so far.

After shaving both Tiberius and Quintus and giving them the Peaky Blinders’ haircut, everyone asked me for one as well. Sadly, cutting hair is not that easy.

“I’m afraid I might have to go after this one, boys. Or just do one more, perhaps,” I say to the crowd that instantly looks disappointed. But before anyone can say anything, I add, “I’ll come back tomorrow. I work at night, though, and I need to get some rest if I don’t want to drop dead at work. I’ll even bring you some fresh bread, how about that? I have been working on this specialty of mine. Or are you afraid the big bad Human will poison y’all?”

I get several laughs, and only a few of them stare straight at me, having yet to drop their animosity toward me. But listen, I got enough of these people to trust me to be satisfied with day one.

“Don’t promise anything to these people,” I hear Tiberius say from the side in a hushed tone. “They will be more than disappointed if you don’t show up. Some of them might come looking for you.”

“So?” I keep cutting the messy hair as I flash my custom wink at Tiberius. “They’d be right to do so.”

I look toward the others and smile widely, “give you my word, I’ll be back, peeps! Free haircuts and bread for everyone!”

But before I can get any cheering going, a very thin man wearing consumed leather armor looks at me with disgust. He has one arm missing, and his other hand only has three fingers.

“Why should we trust a rotten worm to help us? We haven’t needed help so far. Why are you all trusting this slimy idiot—”

And that’s when some bad poopoo goes down.

Out of nowhere, Quintus swings at the complaining Elf. But then, almost out of nowhere, Stan catches Quintus’s swing.

Shoot.

“Quintus, Arminius. Our friend here is cutting hair for free and has used several golds worth of soap on you. Both of you, don’t make any trouble. If he comes tomorrow, good. If not, that’s it. This generosity is still beyond what most other Elves have ever extended to us. Fighting over it is the most foolish, green-eared thing any of you could do.”

Quintus slowly retracts his arm, and the Elf wearing the faded leathers, Arminius, steps back, still glaring daggers at me.

Suddenly, Tiberius changes the topic.

“Golds? Wait. How much soap have you used?”

Everyone looks at the ground, noticing an oily film covering it.

Soap, sadly, is way more expensive than you might imagine. And yes, not just several golds—I probably used a good ten-gold-coins worth of it.

“Heh, don’t worry, boys. I got a lot of soap for an extremely cheap price,” I say with a sneaky smile. “I have enough to wash everyone's head and more.”

“And if anyone’s got any ideas about trying to steal it and sell it,” Stan adds with a deep voice, “I’m sure Grigio will certainly help you in doing so.”

The massive dog-wolf steps forward and gives everyone a low growl to punctuate Stan’s words.

Yeah, I thought about that. Coming here with all this soap might have been a bit much. People could think I’m loaded with money... which I’m... not? No idea, honestly. I told Clodia to let Flaminia help me manage the money, and I also get the pink-haired woman to go shopping with me when needed. I don't know the prices of things around here, and I don't really want to spend much time learning about them.

“Hey, Stan,” the fat, messy guy on the chair speaks to the giant, old Elf, “why don’t you get a trim? You could really use it. And with all you do for us, I’m sure no one would mind, right, guys?”

Every other homeless guy nods quickly, and Stan suddenly looks uncertain.

“I won’t if you don’t want to, don’t worry,” I say to the big old man.

Plus, I’m really getting ‘mysterious hidden expert’ vibes from him. And nope, Lady Luck, I’m not going on any world-saving missions.

I want a bakery, a family with a big-bosomed woman, and lots of horizontal tango with the aforementioned creature; some of it to make cute children, some for purely recreational purposes.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

No hero stuff for me.

Case in point, I refused a sword and a grimy altar, and the stupid book kind of did everything on its own, didn’t it?

I feel a spark of electricity on my skin and shut the trail of hateful thoughts for the book immediately. Damn mind-reading tome.

“I could use a trim,” Stan says, caressing his dirty beard.

...

It took me a good half an hour to finish this man. Now, I’m starting to feel really tired. I’ll take a nap at the bakery anyway.

Now, Stan sits on the worn-down wooden chair, and I can feel some of the initial pressure. Even though this guy is a homeless person, his hair and beard don’t look nearly as bad as these other people’s. Plus, I think it really suits him. I’m not going to make him into a Peaky Blinder.

“I’ll start with your hair,” I say. “I’ll trim your beard as well. But I think you should keep the beard—it gives you that wise look.”

“That sounds fine, friend.”

I raise my eyebrows at his warm tone. I wonder who this guy is—nope. Nope. Joey, don’t let yourself get roped in any crazy adventures. Don’t ask. Don’t. Don’t do it.

“Well, let’s get to it, then.”

My hands are hurting, and they are all pruny after wading through the warm, soapy water.

“How did you come to Amorium?” Stan asks.

By now, knowing that no one else was getting another haircut, the crowd has dispersed a little. But Tiberius and Quintus both stayed behind.

“Some teleportation spell went wild, and I got myself here. Almost got arrested on my first day. Thankfully, I managed to find a job at Happy Bakery, and... yeah. That’s about it. I’m looking forward to settling down in Amorium, you know? Get myself a curvy wife and all.”

“You want to marry an Elf?” Quintus asks from the side.

“Sure. Maybe two,” I give him a sneaky wink before going back to massaging Stan’s scalp. But as I keep working on the old Elf’s hair, a lightbulb goes off in my head.

Stan?

Wait.

I run a quick scan of my Latin knowledge.

Stan is not a Latin name.

“Now, can I ask you a question, Stan? Like. Just one. And you don’t have to reply if you don’t want to.”

“Please, ask.”

“Stan sounds like an unusual name for an Elf. Is that short for something or...”

“Do not let your questions hang out like that,” Stan gives me a side glance. “Do continue.”

“I mean, nothing, really. Is Stan the name they gave you at birth?”

He gently shakes his head as he gets his shampoo.

“No. I wasn’t always at peace with myself in the way I am now. Terrible thoughts troubled me as I was trying to let my body rot away. It was a Human woman who... took care of me. She healed my wounds, and she placated my pain. When I told her that I had abandoned my name, she gave me this one. Stan. And it’s just Stan, nothing more. A simple name for a simple life.”

That’s when I look around at the other homeless people, and I notice that no one, literally no one, is talking. Everyone listens to Stan as if his aura is drawing in all of them.

“Kindness was a resource I had not been graced with when I was younger,” the old Elf continues his fatherly speech, “it took me more than most people’s lives to witness enough of it and be able to reciprocate it. But you, Joey—you seem to be graced with more kindness than most Elves I’ve met in my entire life.”

Now, this is all flattering, interesting, and whatnot.

But there are three questions I’m currently pondering.

One, is Stan one of those hidden masters who pose as homeless people and hermits in video games and stories; the same people who then teach the main character some insane techniques? Would I get some insane skill if I gave him some Altamura bread?

Second, was this woman from Earth?

Third...

“Was this woman hot?”

I hear Grigio growling at me from the side, while the Elf extends one of his exceptionally long arms to pat him on the head and calm him down. What’s with this cuckolding attitude from a dog, anyway? Is it because of the magical steroids they shot him up with when he was a pup?

“Hot?” That’s a clarifying question from Stan.

“Yeah. Hot. You told me a woman changed your life, healed you. Fixed you up, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, those are very motherly attributes. Now, if she’s hot as well, she could be prime wife material!”

While some of the homeless people chuckle, I sense Stan’s voice getting upset.

“You scoundrel! I tell you about a [Saint] of a woman who completely changed my life with her kindness, and you ask if she’s hot?! And right after I praised your kindness?!”

“Whatever,” I huff, “I didn’t mean to upset you—I was just joking.”

“It is unhealthy to chase down every beautiful woman you see. And you better not be disrespectful to my memory of her, child. She was the fairest person I have ever met. And she was about your age. You could learn something from her.”

That sounds wonderful, right? Like, what a life lesson from an old homeless Elf. It should give me pause, and make me reconsider my attitude toward the fairer sex. In fact, one could argue that maybe my own tenacity in pursuing romantic relationships might be a symptom of something. And maybe, digging deeper with the help of a very wise Elf could help me analyze my own shadows, the dark part of me that is hidden behind layers of tomfoolery.

But have I mentioned before that I’m also a pig?

Well, if you didn’t know before, now you know.

My brain translates all those beautiful words Stan just spoke into their crasser equivalent, and I’m finally content.

‘Yes, she was hot.’

...

When I’m done cleaning Stan up, I’m... speechless. Stan’s beard and hair are immaculately white. And, somehow, they were much easier to clean than I expected. It was as if the dirt couldn’t wait to get off him—which makes me wonder how he even got dirty in the first place.

Goddamn, he looks like royalty.

But when he takes a look at the shield, I don’t see any of the emotions I was looking for. There’s no sadness, and there’s no happiness. There’s just... a frown. When Tiberius, Quintus, and all the others looked at the shield, it was as if they couldn’t recognize the person staring back at them. In Stan’s case, however, it’s the opposite. He clearly knows the person he's looking at, and he runs a hand through his beard, almost disgusted by it.

He stands out. Stan’s features are now popping out from the previously dirt-smudged face. Gandalf, by comparison, would look like the homeless person in a contest between the two.

And look, I came here to give back some dignity to these people, so that they could look at themselves and see a Human — well, an Elf staring back, and not just trash — because that’s what a lot of people see in them. Useless trash that doesn’t deserve a single look.

Have you ever heard about one of those megalomaniac actors from Hollywood trying to dress up as a homeless person to ‘live like the less fortunate,’ expecting some idiot to recognize them and put the video on social media? But then, they realized that no one actually looked at them. Not even the people that put some money into their little hats and boxes?

When you are less-fortunate, others make you invisible. You don’t become invisible—let’s be careful with words. The world casts a spell on you because they don’t want to look at you.

And what breaks my heart is that, from the looks of it, Stan is currently wishing he could cast the same spell on himself again.