I'm walking back to Happy Bakery alone. Stan stayed behind to talk to the other homeless people; they had some things to sort out. At least I told them I'd bring more food as soon as I could.

As I cross the bridge in the Pratus to reach its outer ring, I feel the hustle and bustle of the city around me. The market stalls, with their wooden frames and colorful awnings, line the cobblestone streets, beckoning me to explore. I can hear the chatter of merchants and customers, and the smell of freshly baked goods fills the air. I can't help but smile as I take in the sights and sounds of this vibrant city.

As I stroll through the bustling market, I keep wishing I had my comfortable sneakers on instead of these stiff, formal leather shoes. These shoes may look practical, but they're not exactly made for long days of walking. I can already feel my feet starting to ache, and I haven't even walked that much.

Oh, how I wish I had worn my trusty sneakers on the subway instead of those fancy, uncomfortable shoes I had at the funeral! Sneakers are so much more practical for city life—even if it’s medieval-city life.

My feet are already starting to blister. Ah, well, live and learn, I suppose. Next time I get shuttled to another dimension, I'll make sure to wear my sneakers.

The boots I'm wearing, with some socks, leave a lot of space at the front. The shoemaker said it's best not to constrict the foot. I'm not sure what that means, but my feet feel a bit lost in all this space. To be honest, I'd rather get bunions from a new pair of Jordans than feel like I'm walking in this... void.

I take a deep breath as I finally reach the buildings surrounding the market. The road is lined with two rows of stalls on either side and beyond the outer row of stalls, there might be another double row of stalls or a clear road, depending on where you are. At the edge of the Pratus, the line of buildings forms a boundary. Relatively close to Happy Bakery, there are several other bakeries. I stop in front of a random one, even though it looks closed. I can hear clamor and laughter coming from inside, and shadows move across the windows. It sounds like the Elves inside are having a party.

I wish I could join them.

As I linger, hoping to catch a glimpse of what they're doing, someone suddenly shouts at me.

"Move, Human! You're blocking the way!"

I know it might sound irrational, but I feel a surge of anger and confusion as the words hit me. The inflection on ‘Human’ tells me all I need to know about this guy.

But what the hell?

I step away from the window, looking at the Elf who just shouted at me with a frown.

If I had big, pointy ears, I would look exactly like any other Elf. And yet, they treat me with such disdain, as if I'm some kind of an inconvenience. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of it all.

Why are Elves like this?

For some reason, it hits harder than any speciesism I have been subjected to so far. How can they be so full of spite? There’s something about today that just feels so wrong. I try to push the thoughts out of my head, but they keep coming back, fueling my inner turmoil.

I feel an outpouring of emotions as the Elf walks past me, scoffing. Anger, confusion, and hurt mix together in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Just because I'm Human doesn't mean I'm not entitled to stand here, right? And why does he assume that I don't belong here?

And what’s all this trouble, yo? I lived in NYC. People walking the curbs there are not exactly the epitome of kindness, if you know what I mean. I should be used to negativity.

So, I try to push the emotions down, but they always bubble up, making it hard to focus on anything else, as if I had a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I can't help but feel like an outsider, like I don't belong in this world. The Elf's words have shaken me to my core, and I don't know how to move past them.

I give one last look at the closed bakery, feeling a pang of envy. There’s a whole little world there where people are laughing and having fun.

I look at myself.

My own little world has very little laughing and fun at the moment.

I’d like to be partying with someone; I find myself thinking.

I look around, trying to imagine how many of the Elves look fun enough to party with me. It’s like a little game I play with myself at times, you know? How many of these strangers could I party with?

But after a few minutes, I really haven’t had any fun with it. Looking at others was not the greatest idea, it seems.

Up until this point, I had never really noticed the way people looked at me. There’s a general lack of trust in people’s eyes that is perhaps rare even on Earth. Maybe I never noticed because I never belonged to a minority, but even then, the Elves only have different ears, don’t they?

Why, all of a sudden, do I feel like an alien? What’s going on?

Is it because of Lucinda? Is it because of the small fight with Flaminia? I am truly lost, I swear.

I wish there were a reset button that could just rewind the day—just go back and fix it, you know? Why isn’t that possible? And what’s this sinking feeling in my stomach?

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Stan and the others were still nice, weren’t they? Even Quintus, who initially seemed significantly offset by my presence, has apparently warmed up to me. So, shouldn’t it just be a matter of time until people start to accept me? Isn’t that how it works?

I mean, let’s say there’s a foreign group that you don’t like because they either look different or speak another tongue. Wouldn’t it be enough to start communicating with them, understanding who they are and what cultures they belong to?

Am I being stupid here? Am I just overthinking?

Come on, Joey, relax. It’s all in your head.

I bite my lips as I keep walking, actively avoiding the people around me. I shuffle left and right, Matrixing my way through the Elves. Call me crazy, but it’s as if I could feel their disgust at the sole thought of them accidentally touching me.

I am not truly naive, to be honest with you.

I have spent a fair bit among Italians, and I can assure you that I saw scenes involving racism that would make any American’s toes curl. I should be more desensitized to it, or maybe it’s just because I was only partially the target of it over there and for the most part just a spectator.

When I first met the homeless crowd in Amorium, I thought that they were the ones starved for touch; but as I look back to where I just came from, I wonder if it’s not the other way around. Maybe that’s what I should have told Tiberius when he asked me why I do what I do.

If on Earth I have always looked at helping others as a part of who I am, now, I wonder if helping others here is, at least in part, a need. Yeah, maybe it’s just not a must anymore.

Anyway, my mom used to say that I always overthink things. Whenever I was caught in sensitive moments in my bakery, I would mull over the complaints of my employees for entire days. My mother forced me to walk with her every time I was about to spiral. She would reassure me—hold my hand while we walked.

I look down at my hands, slightly cramped from all the hair-cutting, baking, and general work that I have been doing first-hand.

When was the last time I held my mother’s hand?

I now realize I have lost count of how many days have passed since I arrived at Amorium. Has it been a week? Two weeks? A week and a half, perhaps?

Jesus, I sigh.

I find myself in front of Happy Bakery while I’m still deep in my thoughts—well, my mother used to call them ‘daylight nightmares.’

It’s all in your head, Joey. Stop thinking about this. You are making yourself paranoid, as usual. Everything is fine.

I try pulling the door open but weirdly enough, it is closed.

I look through the window and knock on it a few times. A good five minutes pass before someone lets me in.

“They forgot to unlock it,” a female Elf whose name I don’t know shrugs and returns to work.

“No trouble,” I try my best to give her a warm smile, but it comes out half-crooked.

“Aren’t you early for your shift?” She asks as we walk to the kitchen.

“I usually stop by the Pratus to run some errands,” I say, “I like to take a good nap before work starts.”

“You should sleep at your own place,” the female Elf shoots back. “We could use the room for when there’s a shift rotation.”

“Huh, noted,” I say, scratching my head.

I had never heard of this complaint before. Raissa never mentioned it whenever she would wake me up from naps, and when I asked Clodia if it was okay, she said it was common enough. Several smaller rooms in the place had been furnished to give employees a bed to rest either before or after a shift.

But who knows? Considering the staff is mostly made of female Elves, maybe some of them don’t like to go home when it’s dark.

Was I blind to another issue in this bakery? Have I been too self-absorbed? Is there an actual problem here?

I feel my heart beating faster, thumping in my chest.

I take a long, deep breath, honestly not knowing what’s what at the moment. So, I just look around the kitchen and wave at Raissa.

The short Elf looks around for a second before giving me a small smile and a cursory wave. There’s no warmth nor interest, and I notice there are a few other employees shooting glances in her direction.

Really? Is this because of what happened with Flaminia?

It’s as if I were a bastard prince who had fallen out of favor now.

Well, I still have my baking, at least.

In difficult times, it’s common to hold onto one’s fundamental virtues. Baking is mine, I suppose. My mother would also have said kindness.

But right now, it feels like all I have left in me is baking.

Baking is all I have. Let’s cling to that. I am a baker, no matter what the stupid class says... right?

Melina, the [Oven Master], who’s clearly just arrived to take a nap herself, barely looks at me as I cross her path and salute her. She doesn’t even bother to reply.

I go into one of the free rooms and close the open door—that’s the sign someone’s using it. Locking it is considered sort of rude.

As I sit on the bed and remove my shoes, I think of my mother’s words.

‘Kindness, Joey, is reserved for kind people. If someone doesn’t treat you properly, you should not provide them with the right to abuse you. Always fight the people who want to hurt you.’

Talking about her, I join my hands together and subvocalize a prayer to her.

Hey ma’, I hope everything is alright... Yeah, I don’t think I want to tell you exactly what’s going on, but you might have a big ol’ crystal sphere up there, so I guess there’s really no point in hiding anything.

Things have not been going great today.

I mean, I suppose I don’t have much to complain about since this is the only day that, supposedly, is kind of going sideways.

But still, I had a little scuffle with both Lucinda and Flaminia. The first is the hot Elf I want to marry—shoot, you would have loved her, wouldn’t you? You always wished for a daughter-in-law who would not only be able to take care of me but also push me to do better.

Anyway, yeah, that didn’t go too well. I might have compromised our relationship even before it got anywhere close to romantic. And on the first date, nonetheless.

About Flaminia, I thought I just made a joke... well, a joke that was actually not too much of a joke. I said that if Lucinda wanted the best baker in Amorium to bake a cake for her mother, she should have asked me, not Flaminia.

I guess that, in hindsight, I can see how that could have offended her, given the whole level-culture. Ah, about that.

Yeah, I’ve still got no levels in [Baker]. I don’t know why. Does that mean I am not a baker?

A flare of anger takes over my mind and interrupts my prayer for a second.

Nah, you’d get angry if I said something like that, wouldn’t you? I suppose I’m just too good for these people’s understanding of baking. My personal theory is that I might just get a bunch of levels all at once and...

I am at a loss for words here, choking.

Ma’, I miss you. I just miss you so, so much. This all feels like one tremendously long, bad dream.

Tell dad I miss him as well. But I miss you more than any other thing in the world. You always taught me not to be bullied by other people just because I try to be nice. And, in a way, I didn’t get bullied. I kind of stood my ground. Sure, I will reiterate the apology, but I can’t just lie again, can I? I promised it.

Anyway, I miss you. But I’ve already said that. I wish you were here with me. I wish I hadn’t been so blind when you were getting sick.

I feel some tears streaming down my face.

I could have done more. I should have done more.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

If I had become a doctor...

You would still be alive.