I am half-asleep on a chair when someone starts banging at my door.

“Human! Open this door!”

“Auntie, don’t bang on the door like that,” a feminine voice says.

“Agostina, please, can’t you behave normally? Let go of the [Barbarian] in you, sister.”

“Shut up, both of you! Luciani! Open the door!”

“What if he’s not inside?” The younger feminine voice says.

“He is,” Agostina scoffs from behind my apartment door, “I know for a fact.”

Still in a daze, I approach the door with bleary eyes and open it to find three different women in front of me. One of them is Agostina, my landlady. I’ve become quite used to her antics by now and don’t bother saying anything. A woman around her age stands beside her—she looks strikingly similar to Agostina but without the same wrinkled frown. And last but not least, there’s a much younger, attractive Elf with a prominent pair of—

“Hello?”

Before I can say anything, Agostina pushes, whom I assume is her niece, almost against me.

“How you doin’?” I say, now more sober, adding my custom wink for the attractive Elf.

“My niece, Luciani,” Agostina says, “is here because she wanted to invite you to have dinner with us. Today is the Day of Ancestors, and we are celebrating the victory over the filthy—enemies.”

She was about to say Humans, wasn’t she?

But honestly, I don’t mind.

I look at Agostina’s niece and wonder what they’re feeding these Elven girls. If I ever return to Earth, I must get at least a couple of barrels of it.

Also, I’ll be extremely honest with you.

I had some prejudices here, okay? When Agostina first told me she would marry me to her niece, I thought I’d have a Legally Blonde type of chick in front of me. But no, this is far from Reese Witherspoon – with all due respect to her. We’re dealing with some serious Serena Van der Woodsen vibes. And I mean, like, top-notch, better-than-Blake-Lively-photoshopped-on-the-cover-of-Vanity-Fair kind of vibes.

“Hi, I’m Domitilla,” the gorgeous Elf says with a smile.

“Hi, I’m Deadpoo—sorry, Joey. Joey Luciani,” I shake her hand while staring at her massive t—eyes. Yep. She has some incredible eyes, indeed.

Domitilla flashes another radiant smile at me, nearly sweeping me off my feet.

My goodness.

Hold on.

Could this be a scheme devised by Lady Luck herself? A future princess-in-distress situation, perhaps? Well, if this enchanting beauty is the princess in question, I'm all in.

“My aunt mentioned you were home alone for the Day of Ancestors, and I insisted we invite you. Just ignore the other nonsense she’s been spouting,” Domitilla says.

“Arranged marriages are the backbone of a—” Agostina tries saying before the other woman pinches her side and sighs at me.

“Hi, Joey. My name is Julia. I’m this rascal’s sister. We brought and prepared plenty of food. Would you care to join us?”

...

“Why is it called the ‘Day of Ancestors’? Shouldn’t it be ‘Ancestors’ Day’ or something?” I wonder aloud.

I mean, you don’t say ‘Day of Thanksgiving’ but ‘Thanksgiving Day,’ right?

“I’m confused. And if not that, why not ‘Day of the Ancestors’? Or is it because it’s not about specific ancestors? Does it encompass all ancestors? And which ancestors are we referring to anyway?”

In my opinion, these are valid questions. However, one of my listeners begs to differ.

“On second thought, can I toss him out by those wretched ears?” Agostina asks her sister.

Julia smirks in response as she and her daughter set an array of steaming hot dishes before Agostina and me. As the homeowner, Agostina seems exempt from serving the food—seniority may play a part, but I don’t want to call her old in this context. Especially with knives present. As for me? They insisted I was a guest and shouldn't lift a finger. They busily fill plates with delectable dishes in Agostina's kitchen before bringing them to the table. I find it intriguing that they don't allow pots, pans, or shared plates at the table.

Is it because people get sick if they contaminate each other’s food? I mean, that’s what these customs are usually rooted in—safety. But God knows when it comes down to the Elves.

“You always go easy on green-eared idiots, Julia. I wonder if it’s because of all the Adventurers you manage.”

"Oh, come on, Agostina, don't be so harsh. The poor boy didn't know it was our holiday. Besides, we're supposed to celebrate by sharing food with those we love and those without anyone to share it with."

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

My goodness, Agostina’s sister is so sweet! What happened to this pair? Was one of them left to fend for herself in the forest with just a Mana potion in her pocket while the other was raised as a charitable princess?

"So, Joey," Domitilla interjects, clearing her throat and taking a seat directly across from me, "my aunt believes you're such an exceptional [Baker] that I should marry you. Is there any truth to this rumor?"

“Baker without the class,” I smile. “You know, me and your aunt don’t often agree, but she is a venerable elder with much wisdom to spare. Would I remit myself to her judgment? Well, in this case, most likely.”

Agostina looks at me through half-closed eyes, wondering how much of that was serious and how much was just me being cheeky.

“The boy’s got some enchantment,” Julia wiggles her eyebrows at her sister, who is clearly unhappy about being called a ‘venerable elder.’

I look around the dining room, which is separated from the living room I saw the last time I was here. When my eyes roam on the wall, they find a massive sword there.

"Wow, that's a big sword."

"My sister is obsessed with all this Vanedeni crap."

"It's a historical artifact, Julia. Do you know how rare it is to find a real Vanedeni sword?"

"Wait," I say with a frown. "Where did I hear about these Vanedeni before?"

"The greatest warriors, mages, and crafters of all," Agostina exhales. "There's something going on around Kome at the moment. No one knows what's happening, but no one can reach the continent anymore. There's a magical phenomenon so strong around it that it pulverizes anyone who tries to come close."

"As long as they don't wage war on anyone else but the Sirens and the Ahali, I'm good," Julia shrugs.

"Sorry, going back to the sword," I say, pointing at the humongous thing. "Is that, like, something a special soldier uses? Isn't it too big?"

Hell, it looks like something right out of a manga. It must weigh two-hundred pounds or more.

Agostina smirks at me while Julia facepalms.

"Joey, let's not feed into the Vanedeni craze today, please."

"That's their common [Soldier] equipment."

"And they still got themselves killed in droves by the Ahalis, Agostina," Julia sighed. "Sure, some weird rot has taken over the continent again. But are we really that surprised?"

"If Mauser, that filthy [Necromancer], hadn't messed with the continent, they would have already destroyed those oversized monkeys," Agostina rebuked."

“Rumor has it that Aureamanus wants to get out of retirement because of him. She put down twenty-five dead royals as an initial investment to increase the production in her daughter’s bakery.”

“Oh, auntie!” I see Domitilla cringe. “Don’t speak like a thug!”

Agostina groans at her niece.

“If the old bag of gold is getting back in business, you must be something, Joey,” Julia smiles at me. “It’s a pity that you are a guest; otherwise, we would have loved to sample some of your cooking.”

“Heh,” I scratch my chin, “it’s fine. If I knew more magic, I could have maybe whipped up something.”

“Really?” Domitilla seems very interested in my food.

To be fair, all women are interested in food.

“What magic do you need?” Agostina looks at me with half-closed eyes.

“If you have some slow-freezing stuff, we can probably make some low-quality gelato after the meal,” I say. “I have all the ingredients in my bag.”

“Mmm, we’ll see,” Agostina says cryptically. “Eat now, green-eared Human. Your yapping mouth is making the food go cold.”

True.

I start eating some sort of fried-lidulae dish that distantly resembles a parmigiana. The food is decent, I’ll say. But what I’m most interested in here is the conversation.

“So, what do you do?” I ask my beautiful Blake Lively in Elven semblance.

“I’m trying to learn some magic,” she says, “but it’s harder than I thought. I don’t want to go to the Nine Towers Academy or anything like that. I’d just like to, you know, get a little job in the Green Stretches.”

“Not like you would pass the entrance exam while slacking this much,” Agostina grumbles while biting into some fruit jelly.

“Shut up,” Julia admonishes her sister.

“Errr, anyway, that’s cool,” I ignore the mean comment.

“I’m trying to do some magic myself. I... messed up a little while doing the First Cantrip,” I say with a smile.

“Don’t worry,” Domitilla says with a knowing sigh, “it’s hard for everyone. It took me a week to make the [Lights] spin.”

Huh?

Come again?

“You mean to find the right speed?”

“No, no. You know how hard it is to move [Light] for the first time? Making them spin was really hard. But I worked my way up to the eleventh Cantrip. It took me two months, though. And they are getting harder and harder.”

“Yeah, harder and harder,” I say with a cough. “Can I ask you to show me your First Cantrip? I’m curious.”

“Sure,” Domitilla shrugs, “after eating?”

“No problem-o,” I smile back.

“So, Joey,” Julia says, “how can you be such a marvelous baker and have no levels in the [Baker] class?”

“No idea,” I say, chomping on a familiar piece of bread, “I don’t really need it, though. I’m doing fine as is. I was worried at the start, but then, I made my peace with it.”

“Nothing lost,” Agostina says from the side. “Useless class. You should become a [Mage] instead.”

“I will,” I say casually. “I’m already a better baker than you are a [Mage]. In a year or so, I’ll be able to say the same about magic.”

The table goes dead still as I keep chewing on the Altamura bread.

“Agostina—” Julia tries to say something, but the landlady looks at me with a smirk on her face.

“I wouldn’t expect any less from my niece’s future husband,” she nods contently, starting to eat with more vigor than before. “How’s magic going, youngster?”

Now, can you explain to me how a reply like that actually made her happier? Is this a [Mage] thing? Are they all psychos?

“All good, all good. I wish I hadn’t messed up the wall while practicing the First Cantrip.”

“It’s fine,” the landlady shrugs, “I have already billed Clodia. And it’s understandable. Punching the wall when you get frustrated with magic is nothing new. I’m surprised you didn’t break a hand. Have you gotten any [Barkskin] or [Enhanced Flesh] skills on you?”

“What?” I frown at Agostina.

“The wall,” she says, slightly annoyed. “How come you didn’t break your hand?”

“Oh, I see. No, no. It wasn’t the wall. I just messed up the spell for [Light]. Put a hole in it because I cast it too quickly.”

Agostina chokes on some lidulae as she starts laughing uproariously.

“Damned molded brain! Luciani, I didn’t know you had a [Mage]’s humor in you!” She even extends a hand to pat my shoulder.

What is happening exactly?

I mean, I know my [Light] might be stronger than usual, but is it this preposterous?

Even Domitilla and Julia are smiling—almost giggling.

“The boy could kill a dragon with a [Light] spell, for sure,” Agostina snorts while regaining her composure and taking a big breath. “It’s so funny hearing a Human crack a Nine Towers’ joke.”

A joke?

I mean, if it’s a joke, do we still have to pay for a new wall?

I don’t ask that question out loud because I am very aware of Agostina’s tolerance for non-magic-related jokes.

So, let me get this straight:

[Light] is not supposed to do what I did with it, is it? And it’s so absurd – again, what I did – that there is a common joke about it. The joke goes something like, ‘well, he’s so strong he could kill someone with a [Light] spell or something.’ Or at least that’s what I gathered from the context.

Shoot, did I just almost give away that I’m practicing some super-weird magic?