“See, that’s the big difference. Semolina bread is harder to work with because you need a lot of strength to knead the dough for much longer than usual. And the difference in the little holes you see when you cut the bread can tell you much more than you’d think. For example...”
As Lucinda listens to my explanation, she nods from time to time.
“You seem to know what you are talking about. Is it true that you don’t have a class yet?”
I shrug.
“You interrogated me with a truth-stone, didn’t you? I come from somewhere where classes were not a big thing.”
“But you do understand how they work now, right?” Lucinda looks at me with her big, purple eyes.
“Sure,” I smile at her.
“Do still you believe you are better than someone who has thirty levels on you, then?” Lucinda asks as we each eat a big slice of bread with some jam while walking.
“Believe?” I smile. “I don’t want to offend Flaminia, to be fair. But believe? I am certain that I’m the best baker in Amorium. I’d actually be surprised if there was a better baker than me on the whole continent.”
Lucinda looks at me and sneakily looks at her truth-stone.
“You know, Clodia explained the truth-stone etiquette to me,” I say with a sneaky smile.
“Oh, I—”
“No worries,” I shrug. “I’m just surprised about this custom. I had no idea Flaminia would get so angry because of a joke.”
“She is your boss, and you were calling her Flam in front of everyone else. Have you been doing that this whole time?”
“Huh,” I slowly chew on the tasty Altamura bread. “I guess so.”
“She probably didn’t say anything because, well...”
“Because I’m new,” I finish her sentence.
And because I’m bringing them a lot of money, even though I have been undermining her leadership, I think to myself.
“So, you can probably understand why she reacted the way she did,” Lucinda nods.
Do I, now?
“I understand it, yes. Do I condone that scene?” I shrug. “Not as much. But what can you do?”
“Apologize, start addressing her properly, and be respectful?”
I mean, I could challenge Flaminia to a bake-off, Shokugeki no Soma style. I would show Flaminia and Clodia who’s boss, but that would go against the initial point. I promised I would take on the humble jobs without complaining. I’ve done that for a good chunk of my life, in fact. It’s just that...
“It bothers me,” I explain to Lucinda as we walk toward the [Enchanter]. “I haven’t gotten the [Baker] class yet and that is extremely confusing to me. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m a baker, and a damn good one. Whatever God dishes out classes here would do me a big favor if they finally recognized that.”
“It is unusual, to say the least,” Lucinda nods carefully. “But not completely unheard of. There are many folk tales about people not being able to get the class they thought they wanted.”
Huh? What’s that?
“Thought they wanted?”
“There’s a children’s fable about a woodworker who was enamored with singing. He would sing every day while cutting down trees, hoping to get the [Woodcutter] or [Woodworker] class. But he would only level in his [Singer] class. Since he was the first son of the village chief, a very high-level and proud [Woodcutter] himself, he felt endless shame for it. But one day, a horde of snakes came to the village, and people started dying to their bites in droves. That was until the son of the village chief started singing. All the snakes stopped to listen to his beautiful voice. After that, the [Singer] started walking away from the village with all the snakes in tow, ensnared by his music; and he sung for seven days and seven nights, briefly falling asleep for a few seconds on the way and leveling up like crazy. Then, he finally reached a cliff and jumped down with all the snakes, saving the village but losing his life in doing so.”
I stop walking to look at Lucinda.
“What?” She asks.
“This is a children’s fable? A guy who must die to save people after his father didn’t allow him to be what he wanted? What the—what’s the moral, even? Sacrifice yourself for the people who never recognized your natural predispositions?”
Lucinda sighs.
“Children’s stories are meant to teach them to become what the classes are telling them. Classes don’t lie, Joey. If you are not getting the [Baker] class, maybe you never wanted to become a [Baker].”
At that, I actually laugh out loud.
“Really? I had this passion since I was a little child. I was twelve, or maybe even younger, when I won a baking competition for adults. I’ve always had a knack for it.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Lucinda nods as we resume walking.
“Anyway, I heard that the speciesist [Soldiers] who insulted you at the Watch are being released today. Be careful and don’t provoke them. Not even the Watch can do much with them. It’s unlikely that they will assault you, considering the consequences. But they might try and provoke you into acting.”
“Heh, don’t worry. I can take care of that,” I say with a wink.
Scoffing and shaking her head, the purple-eyed woman decides to change topic.
“Did you get any other class?”
As she asks that, I actually remember that yes, I did.
“Well... let’s say I’m some kind of [Mage],” I say, a bit embarrassed. I know about the taboo surrounding [Light Mages] and Lucinda looks like someone who would judge me very harshly for it. Better not tell her about the specifics until I can actually do some cool stuff with magic.
But what surprises me is that no questions come after that. She doesn’t really look as interested as I pictured she would. I mean, I’m a [Mage], and she’s obsessed with magic. Isn’t that...
“No questions?” I ask Lucinda, who looks at me with a bored expression.
“You look like you are really good at your job,” she says, sighing. “This bread... it’s the most amazing bread I have ever tasted. I didn’t even know bread could actually taste of bread until now. When you say you are a marvelous [Baker]—well, baker, I believe you. I was just caught up in some thoughts...”
“What kind of thoughts?”
“I wish I could meet someone as passionate about and proficient at magic as you are at baking,” she says, shaking her head.
Ouch.
“How old are the students there anyway?”
I’m pretty sure Lucinda is twenty-ish. Or something like that. Four or five years young than me. Which, following the boy-girls standards, is pretty much perfect.
“You can enter as early as fourteen years old. But most do it when they are at least eighteen. You are already required to have knowledge of magic. The academy will elevate said knowledge. But they don’t teach beginners.”
“Huh,” I say, scratching my head. On the one hand, I would like to ask more questions about the academy, but on the other, I get the impression, the same way it had happened before, that it would trigger some sort of a side-quest. And you know what? I’m good.
“I’m sorry about before, anyway. Sometimes, I get caught in my own thoughts. About the [Mage] class... Did you start your [Light] practice yet? Do you need any pointers?”
She really loves magic, doesn’t she? If I don’t become a [Mage], she’s not going to be interested in me, is she? I mean, she recognized that I might actually be a tremendous baker, but her reaction was like, ‘yeah, well, you are not as good of a [Mage].’
Damn.
“Still practicing,” I say with a smile, even though my stomach is not feeling great now.
Magic?
I mean, magic is cool. But I’m not going to go to any magical academy of sorts. I’m a baker, whatever this stupid world says. I love my craft and I want to die as a baker. An easy life with a big-bosomed wife – or two – and some cool children—that’s all I need, really.
I’m not one of those types, looking for happiness in stuff like super big adventures. I don’t need to feel like I’m changing the world. I can help some people and be nice to those whom I meet on the way.
I’m no hero. I’m no villain.
I’m Joey Luciani, grandmaster of baking and skirt-chasing, baby.
I sigh again. I’m a bit discouraged now, to be honest. Sure, I can learn some magic to impress her. But I really don’t want Lucinda to think I’ll ever embark upon the same path as her.
“Do you need some help with it? How’s the visualization going? Have you formed any shapes at all? If you want, I can check the quality of your spellbook. [Light] is the foundation of everything. If the book you have has poor descriptions of it, you might—”
I get distracted by the slight mote of electricity on my skin.
Goddammit, book, are you for real?! We are not even home yet! And I didn’t say anything, she did! Why are you thinking about zapping me?!
As I zone out, I feel a hand on my arm.
“Don’t worry. Magic is hard. And it’s not like you are trying for the Nine Towers Academy. You can take all the time in the world.”
The redhead Elf is giving me a smile that melts my bones. Her touch puts a 300-pound stone in my throat and double that in my stomach. There’s something about our chemistry that I’m sure she has noticed as well.
Our gazes linger for a second too long—too long to be just friends talking about magic. And as soon as she realizes it, she quickly retracts her arm and clears her throat.
“Let’s go; we need to fetch the spellbook,” she says, somewhat embarrassed.
“Sure.”
...
Lucinda is talking to the master [Enchanter], followed by a twenty-year old apprentice right after.
I ignore their boring technical speech—yeah, I do. Listen, the book talks enough magical trash for an entire lifetime, ok?
ZAP!
Damn it! I always forget! I rub my belly and exhale from the pain, earning myself a few weird looks from the others.
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Try being zapped by a psycho-book and acting normal. At least, it didn’t bother me with more homework since I last opened it. It looks like if you don’t trigger it, it doesn’t say anything, if you have completed the quest.
Also, I don’t care about whatever they find in the book—as long as no one gets disintegrated, obviously. Well, if it’s Lucinda arresting me, I wouldn’t really mind that much. But I get the feeling it wouldn’t be her, but some sweaty brute like Antoninus.
Now, the problem is Lucinda. And I know; it’s a very pretty problem. But what happens when this girl wants to go the Nine Towers Academy? Do I go along and open my own bakery over there? Well—actually, that sounds like a plan.
Boom.
Problem solved.
Now, I just have to convince her that marrying another obsessive [Mage] is much worse than marrying a resourceful baker like me. And you know how I can do that?
Eheh.
“Officer Lucinda,” I say to the woman with a bright smile on my face, interrupting whatever nonsense the [Enchanter] was talking about. “May I have a word?”
“Joey, the details here are important. Master Iacchus said he’s going to do everything on the spot and he asked me to wait with you while he works on it. Apparently, the spellbook has barely any magic on it and it shouldn’t take long. I’ll send a message to the Watch and tell them I’ll be there after lunch.”
Oh, yeah, baby.
“Well, I just wanted to say I would love to cook you something for lunch if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, whatever. Now, please, let us finish sorting this out.”
Lucinda resumes talking about boring magical details as the guy, Iacchus, looks at the spellbook with an annoyed look.
“This doesn’t need any extensive checks, dear. I can tell you at first glance. It’s one of the most pedestrian spellbooks I have ever encountered. I’ll still do it out of respect for you, but I fear the Human might have exaggerated its potential—perhaps, he wanted to impress you.”
The [Enchanter] looks at me with a mix of pity and annoyance. “You are too good for you own good, Lucinda, dear. You know how young men are—especially Humans; they are terribly driven by impulses. But don’t worry, you know I’m a professional.”
“Claudius,” he turns back to his apprentice, a guy who actually seems interested in the spellbook, “get me the sea salt. We are working a basic enchantment on this book to assess for any rogue enchantment that could start a fire.”
“Master, I am getting a weird feeling from the spellbook,” Claudius says. “Are you sure that we shouldn’t perhaps take a better—”
“Claudius! Please!” Iacchus replies theatrically. “This again? Not every piece of trash we get is a relic. I’ve already told you a dozen times, young man. Get me the salt and stop complaining.”
“Sure, master,” the apprentice replies, depressed.
As the guy follows the master through a backdoor, I smile to myself. It seems that one of them actually knows what’s what.