As I step out of the dimly lit bakery, the faint glow of dawn greets me. The orange hues of the rising sun stretch across the sky, casting a melancholy light over the empty streets. A chill runs down my spine as the cool morning air fills my lungs, carrying with it the familiar scent of loneliness. I stand there for a moment, lost in thought, as the world awakens around me. The birds begin to sing their mournful songs, and the leaves rustle softly in the breeze. As I set off on my morning walk, I can't shake the feeling of sadness that hangs over me like a heavy cloud. The new day feels full of promise but also tinged with the gloom of another lonely dawn.
The weight of regret feels heavy on my shoulders. The anger that had fueled my words earlier feels hollow and empty now. I can't shake the feeling of shame as I first replay the argument with Lucinda in my mind, then the one with Flaminia. The nap had done little to alleviate the turmoil that still churns inside me. But it's the words of Flaminia that truly haunt me as I stand on the sidewalk, surrounded by the peaceful silence of the dawn. Her harsh words cut deep, leaving me feeling wounded and alone. The pink and orange hues of the rising sun only serve to highlight the emptiness inside me as I set off on my walk, consumed by my own melancholic thoughts.
I kick a little stone on the ground while the guilt over my use of swear words oppresses me. My mother's words echo in my mind, reminding me of the promise I made to her to watch my language.
The silence between Flaminia and me during the night shift was palpable; the tension between us could be cut with a knife. Even Raissa, usually chatty and friendly, seemed distant and preoccupied.
Perhaps, I shouldn’t have called Flaminia’s work ‘sloppy’ to her face.
But was the work actually sloppy?
I sigh.
Depends on your standards.
This world probably has more to worry about than just perfecting their cooking skills. On Earth, you'll find people who have dedicated their entire lives to it, working hard to pass their knowledge down so that new generations can build on the shoulders of giants.
Amorium, and probably all of this world, is lilliput. When you rely so much on skills, what do you think you’ll pass down? Stupid protocols about not joking about those with more levels than you?
Goddammit.
I have never complained out loud before. I thought I would have just waited and slowly worked my way up the ladder.
The fact that these people barely have any refined cake speaks volumes about their average dishes. Their cookies are drier than you would expect, and their bread is not that good. Without skills, their cuisine would be terrible. With skills, it becomes average.
Average.
Not good.
Average.
A decent housewife can do what most Happy Bakery bakers are doing. Hell, she could probably do even better than them.
Raissa is a full-time employee. For all I don’t want to cast shade on her, she is clearly clueless about her job. Which, on its own, would even be fine. The fact that there’s no guidance and course correction from the people in the bakery is the greatest problem.
I take a long, deep breath.
I don’t know.
I seriously don’t know.
While I’m about to go through the Pratus, I hear my stomach grumble.
Right, I usually eat something at the bakery, I think.
However, this morning I totally forgot. Look, don’t blame me, ok? I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
Damn, I’m really hungry.
I stare back for a moment, pondering whether I should go back. Shrugging it off, I decide to try out another bakery.
There’s some guilt associated with the thought of going somewhere else to eat—until today, I had considered myself a newly-found organ of Happy Bakery.
Was I wrong?
If I win the bake-off by too big of a margin, I might still be forced out, right? So, perhaps it’s not a bad idea to check out the competition.
The rose... What’s the name of the place again? Shoot, my head feels super-muddled right now.
Taking a second to assess my body’s condition, I do notice the typical tightness in my shoulders and chest that comes with heightened states of anxiety.
It’s all good. It’s normal to feel anxious in these moments, I tell myself.
I start walking on the outer ring around the Pratus, trying to admire the statues in the sparse morning traffic.
One wonders what these people did to get a statue, right?
How can I get one myself? Will it be enough to win the bake-off? Do I actually need to become a [Hero] or something? Can’t a guy just live his life and get a little statue—even one that he could just put in his garden or something?
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I keep my stride measured, trying not to get in the way of people until my gaze rests upon some sculpted roses and a bunch of white-iron tables; they are outside the place, like in a Parisian café. There are already many people sitting down and enjoying some hot beverages and a small variety of pastries.
Huh, is this the rose place?
I look up and see a giant rose with a carved red script.
“The Three Roses,” I mutter.
Yep. The rose place.
I wade through the sitting crowd and resist the impulse to plop my ass right onto one of these chairs because I really want to check out the inside. As I open the door, a familiar bell sound goes off.
For a second, it’s as if I was teleported back to Earth. I see visions of any average deli in New York and waiters running to make coffee as others dish out fresh pastries from behind a glass.
Then the intense smell of roses hits me like a truck and brings me back to the present. The first thing anyone would notice about this place is not the looks of it but the overwhelming smell of roses. It’s like being in the Abercrombie of bakeries, to be honest. The second thing I notice is the relative lack of people. There are only four customers inside the store, and they’re all old women.
The Three Roses is clearly a table-serving business, unlike the bulk-order specialty of Happy Bakery. But the outside tables are the hip ones, while the interior seems to be reserved for the old customers and me.
The decorations are fairly simple, with plain white walls with roses painted all over them. The counter is made of white-painted wood, and behind it are shelves filled with all kinds of pastries. They are all probably sitting on some preservation runes if I have learned anything while I’ve been here.
I approach the counter, and the woman behind it gives me a warm smile.
“Welcome to The Three Roses. What can I get for you?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, looking at the selection in a glass display at the entrance. “It’s my first time here, miss. What do you recommend?”
“Our specialty is rose water cake. It’s a bit pricey, but it’s really worth the silver.”
“I’ll take one, then.”
“Very good. That’ll be one silver coin. Are you bringing the cake home or eating it here?”
“Here,” I smile and pay her.
As she hands me the product with a small plate and a spoon, I start examining it. It’s a small cake, not a slice. It has a decorated white exterior that resembles many small roses. The smell of roses is very strong, but it’s not overwhelming.
I bring it to one of the deserted tables inside. I guess that with the good weather Amorium benefits from, only a few would choose to stay inside, huh?
I’ll be honest; this place looks decent. The rose water cake, which is mostly cream on a sponge cake bed, from what I can see, looks decent. The whole rose team is a bit extra for my taste, but it’s not something I can’t stomach. And by that, I mean that if I was fired, I wouldn’t mind coming here.
Anyway, I have yet to spoon the cake when a very pretty, blonde Elf walks up to me. God. I don’t know how it’s possible, but only now do I notice the outfit the female servers are wearing.
Jesus! Those are maid-like costumes!
The serving staff wears a puffy white dress with a decorated, off-white apron over it. They have one of those weird things on their head—what’s the name of that, anyway?
Whatever, this blonde Elf smiles sweetly at me as she asks. “Hello, sir, would you like some tea? It looks like the first time you have come to the Three Roses. It’s on the house for first-time customers!”
As wild fantasies play out in my head, I just smile back like an idiot.
“Sir?”
“Sorry, I thought I was having a seizure. It’s not every day I see someone looking so pretty in a dress,” I smile at her. “And yes, I would absolutely love some tea.”
The woman nods, and, with a flick of her wrist, a teapot appears in one of her hands, while, with her other wrist now flicking, a porcelain glass appears in the other.
Wow, that’s cool.
“I hope it will be to your satisfaction,” the maid says after pouring the hot tea.
What I don’t expect is her standing by my side.
“Hum, yes?”
“Oh, my, are you an adventurer? Sorry, it’s customary for us to wait until you taste the tea.”
“Nah, just your regular Human immigrant,” I say while taking a sip from the hot, minty tea. “This tea is delicious; thank you again.”
“It’s nice to see more Humans coming around,” she says. “I hope you will come back.”
By now, my previous conflict with Flaminia evaporates from my mind as I stare at a kind Elven maid. I’m not sure they tip around here, but I take out a silver from my bag and hand it over to her, nonetheless.
“For the good service,” I say with my custom wink. And she nods gratefully before going back.
That’s when I notice a girl from behind the counter looking at me. Unlike the cute and dreamy Elven maid, she is a brunette but no less cute. She says something to her colleagues before undoing her apron and walking toward me in a white uniform.
“Do you mind if I sit here? I need to take a small break.”
“I mean, I would never—”
Before I can actually reply, this woman is sitting in front of me.
“So, what is a Human doing in Amorium?” She says while looking me up and down. “Are you perhaps the Human all the [Baker] girls are gossiping about, Clodia’s new pet? We don’t get many Humans around these places.”
Now, not that I would mind – in a sexual context, of course – if Clodia put a leash on me, but it’s not that pleasant to be called her pet.
“I didn’t mean anything negative by it,” the woman in front of me raises an eyebrow and sighs. “Go ahead, taste the cake. Tell me what you think about it. I made this batch.”
I do as she says, almost hypnotized by the way she’s dealing with me.
I finally spoon my little cake and break the white, creamy roses on top. I give it a slow bite to test its consistency, and I taste the creamy inside rather slowly. It’s a base of sponge cake layered and filled with rose-infused cream. It’s actually quite good. I savor it slowly while I keep staring at this woman.
“It’s okay,” I say before I can bite my tongue. Damn. Even today doesn’t look like it’ll be my day, does it?
“Too sweet,” she corrects me, “too much rose. The whole rose theme is getting out of hand. Camilla is not hearing any reason, though. I tried altering the recipe, but she won’t have it.”
The brunette Elf clicks the side of her mouth before looking twice at me.
“So, you are the one working at Happy Bakery, right?”
I nod and take another bite of the rose water cake. As she just said, too sweet and too much rose. But that’s from a culinary point of view. It’s good enough for your average customer. Knowing that these people probably haven’t found out about feminism yet, I wonder if they have more female customers than male customers.
“You know what, Human, you are pretty cute,” the Elven girl suddenly says.
“And you are wonderfully straightforward,” I reply with a smile. “Sorry if I’m not great company today—I’m not having the greatest day.
“Clodia’s probably giving it to you hard, isn’t she? Would you mind if I asked what decade your level is at? It’s weird for that woman to hire a male Human. You are either good or a desperate case if she got moved by you.”
“I’m both,” I smile. “Good and desperate. No levels so far. But—”
“Oh, you are one of those who refuse classes, huh? Are people like you more common among Humans? I only heard about it—never seen it with my own eyes,” she punctuates the last words scanning me from head to toe.
“Meh, something like that,” I say, sipping on my tea. “I don’t think having many levels means being the best at something, that’s all.”
“Very radical,” she nods approvingly. “But levels mean you have many more skills on you. And skills make your job easier.”
“Easier,” I nod. “That’s the keyword. Not better.”
For a moment, she stared at me without saying a word before letting out a laugh.
“Damn straight,” she says, extending a hand over the table. “My name is Irene; what’s yours?”
“Luciani,” I shake her hand, “Joey Luciani.”