Entering a shop in this world is a weird feeling.

To explain, let’s say you enter some ‘historical’ shop at a fair. Do you know what seeing someone in Renaissance clothes play Candy Crush on a smartphone feels like? I mean, if it’s a goth girl with piercings graced by the Goddess of Fertility in her shapes, one could even appreciate the contrasting image. Otherwise, the immersion is broken as soon as you take the first step.

But here’s the mind trick.

These Elves are not just living in the Middle Ages; they also have skills. And what I really like is how subtle their effect is. A skill makes your job just a little bit easier–at low levels, at least.

And at first sight, you couldn’t really tell the difference between this society and the old, stinky Middle Ages on Earth—which, by the way, weren’t as bad as most make them out to be.

But the point I’m trying to make is that magic is so intrinsically tied to this society that it’s hard to describe how it manifests in normal life.

There are no Fairies dancing around or wizards with pointy hats and long beards. Instead, you’ll find [Mages] scarfing down food at any stall running a sale, stuffing their mouths. And when you see [Mages] in dirty leathers swearing about their plaguing headaches, you really start thinking that there’s nothing magical about this place.

But then, you look closer, and you might see a [Stall Cook] – yeah, that’s a thing – just passing his hand over the cold food and, suddenly, every little sandwich, a morsel of meat, and God-knows-what, is fresh and warm again.

Once you zoom in, you realize that magic is hiding in plain sight and that the wonders of skills and classes never end.

While I wouldn’t mind getting a [Baker] class, Lorenzo reminded me of what’s truly important: my pride and my professionalism as a Baker. Classes and skills give a magical flavor to everything, but at their cores, they simply make things easier. Not better—not necessarily, at least. Try hard at something, and you might get a skill once you succeed—no need to try hard every single time or find workarounds.

Generally, when you are around low-level people, there are not many wonders to observe. A little [Bread: Rise] skill or a variation, [Enhanced Leavening], is nothing that makes my jaw drop to the floor.

But when you get to someone whose level is higher than the average, you might just witness something incredible. And that’s exactly what I’m witnessing as I enter Fulvia’s shop for the second time since I have come to Amorium.

This isn’t the first time I have visited, but somehow, it feels like I missed every single detail of the place the first time around.

In fact, as I step through the threshold, I am immediately struck by the vibrant colors that seem to radiate from every corner of the small shop. The walls are lined with bolts of cloth in every shade imaginable, from deep, rich hues of red and purple to softer pastels of pink and blue. Each one shimmers and shines under the warm glow of the overhead lights, catching the eye and beckoning me closer.

I can see the quality of most cloth at a glance, even though I am by no means a [Tailor].

I approach one of the mannequins that stands proudly in the center of the room, dressed in a flowing gown of shimmering gold. The fabric is so finely woven that it looks almost liquid as it cascades down the mannequin's form, pooling in a glistening heap at its feet. I reach out to touch the fabric, marveling at its softness and how it catches the light. Another mannequin, slightly to the left, is dressed in a shining silver gown with delicate lace and sequins adorning the sleeves and hem. Another one sports a bold red jacket with gold buttons and intricate embroidery along the collar.

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I have to say, the silver robe and the red jacket look pretty rad. But the golden one looks like something that would make Cinderella’s magical gown look pale in comparison.

“Hello?” I call out to the back, unsure if I was allowed to touch these three masterpieces and feeling a little guilty about it. But there’s no response.

As I continue my exploration of the shop, I am drawn to a rack of cloaks in every color of the rainbow. Some are made of a rich material that looks soft to the touch, while others are crafted from shimmering, iridescent fabrics that seem to change color depending on the angle from which they are viewed. I run my fingers over the various cloaks, marveling at the intricate details and the way they seem to come alive under my touch.

Damn. I need to get a cape. This is the one historical era where it might not be frowned upon.

“Yes?!” I suddenly hear a voice from the back room.

“Hi, Fulvia! It’s Joey, the Human! Flaminia’s friend!” I’m not sure about the last part anymore, but at the very least, it should remind the woman who’s talking.

“Oh, the handsome young man! Come, come! I’m drafting some contracts, and I got lost in them!”

Disgusting. But alas, I can’t subtract myself from the sight of the vile things.

“Hi, Fulvia,” I say with a warm smile as I enter the dressing room in the back of the shop. The old woman has a wooden tablet in her hand where several pieces of paper are resting.

“Sit, sit!” She gestures to the bench where she’s sitting.

“I’m not a big fan of bureaucracy,” I say, cringing a little but still obeying. As I sit and she keeps staring at the documents, briefly annotating left and right, I get an idea. I’ve come here for a precise reason, and I might as well use my time productively. “Do you have a spare piece of paper and a pen or a pencil? I need a custom design from you, and I thought I could draw it out.”

“Sure,” she says distractedly. She shuffles the paper until she finds a clean sheet and hands it over to me.

I take a deep breath, surprisingly calm even though I’m quite close to some contracts. I can feel my hands sweating slightly, but that’s the least you can expect when some of those infernal legal terms are this close to me.

I take the small pencil she takes out of her pocket and start drawing what I need.

See, I have a few errands to run. Now, while it’s true that I haven’t slept much - which is becoming more and more of a worrying trend at this point - I need to sort out the preparations for my bake-off with Flaminia. I have very few hours to take care of every element. The right clothing. The right ingredients. The right people.

In my mind, I have a very precise idea of what’s going to go down. Hell, I swear to God, I can feel my blood pumping at the sole thought of it. Seeing Lorenzo has reignited a flame in me that I thought had long been extinguished.

As the pencil moves swiftly on the paper, I remember my art teacher begging me to spend more time drawing. And while I am a huge Raffaello buff, I was never interested in pursuing an artistic career. If, instead of NYC, I had been born in Florence at the peak of the Renaissance, sure thing. But now? Nah. I’d prefer leaving the artist’s job to green-haired people with father-figure issues. And sure, when I was a child, my hands were steadier, and I could put things on paper with excruciating precision. However, things have changed lately. See, I have not drawn in…

I see the design appear on the paper while I’m lost in thought, almost as if it wasn’t me who was drawing.

What the hell?

I stop to stare at the almost-finished piece. It took two minutes to put it down, and I stared at it for a third minute, observing the pencil and wondering if it was magical. I mean, it doesn’t look like it. I also realize I’m thinking a bit more clearly than usual. Must be the Lorenzo-slapTM, huh? I double down my efforts, this time purposefully trying to focus, breathing deeply, and moving my hands swiftly all over the design, adding shades and details that I would have otherwise deemed unnecessary. But today, they are not. And by the time I’m done, I notice that Fulvia has stopped working on her papers and is staring at my design with furrowed brows.

“Are you a [Tailor]?” she suddenly asks.

“Nah,” I say, cracking my neck. “But I can draw decently.”

“Decently?” She repeats the word as she stares back at the page. “This is not decent. This is an [Artist]’s sketch. And what’s that design anyway?”

“Well…”