Albert had had the worst month of his life–the worst since the time when he broke his ribs climbing an apple tree–when he was just a kid.

There was just too much pressure. Am I really made out for this life, for being in charge, or am I just a kid biting off more than he can chew?

It had started out so hopefully, from having always been nothing special, just another Salcret [Farmer]’s kid sparing some free time to help out at the brewery.

And then he had been the receiver of a real solid enticer-Skill when he finally got access to Classes. [Fructose Brewing].

It was a perfect fit; apples had tons of fructose and he could level up with the use of a Skill that improved each new batch.

The [Brewmaster] Bunke had it too, as his tier 5, so they all figured Albert’s affinity must be pretty darn good too. His [Farmer] Skill had been nothing special, so he saw this as a real opportunity and took his chances.

Bertrud died just a few years later–making a large part of town end up drunkenly mourning, and suffering temporary depression–only to come out the other side wondering what they were going to do about getting more high quality, System-acknowledged Applebrew?

Albert, was the answer they mostly came up with.

True, a tier 5 Skill for a crafting Class was nothing very special at all–it made it a good choice, not great.

Old Bunke was evidence enough of that, with his bad luck; or rather his adjustment to Bertrud, guiding his capstone Skills.

It was just that Albert did not have a tier 5 affinity, the Skill may have been that tier for his master but it was actually Albert’s tier 4 Skill, and while that meant he had six Skills that were greater as opposed to Bunke’s 5, it also meant his affinity was lesser and that he would likely have a harder time levelling up. All according to common knowledge.

It was fine the first few years, but as more and more people got tired of their beverage-standards slipping, and as the few remaining batches with some magic in them grew increasingly expensive; so did the pressure increase.

Level up.

Make more batches.

Get the right Skills.

All things Albert had no real control over. He was doing everything his master asked, he was putting in the hours and then some, and had reached his first capstone at a very decent clip. He got another important Skill, [Consistent Quality] - making his best batch raise the bar for the rest, but it was still not magic.

Nobody had expected that much this soon, but then when his pace went and stalled… That was when the expectations felt like they were being raised higher with every month.

The final straw had been when everybody started suggesting he leave, as if he was not wanted here without more levels.

No use to them. Go travel, see the world, survive somehow, then come back. How easy they say that when their whole Class revolves around swinging metal in a field.

He got drunk and told them off rudely, one night. And they did lay off him after that. But then came the sixteen year olds, off to do what he dared not. Asking him along, like it was no big deal. Do they not realise where the raids are coming from?

When he grew gradually frosty and then downright rude with them all they eventually took the hint. But so did Albert in the ensuing peace and quiet. Do it alone then.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The pressure did not let up at all. It was still increasing month by month that went by without another level. He was stuck at level 17.

Then months later along came the new group, in the depths of winter and despite Albert noticing on first sight that this lot was a hardier bunch than the lot who came before… He still snapped.

Their different character was even more evident with the calm they managed to present in the face of his frustrated lashing out, but it was too late by then. He could not have managed to bring himself down from his tantrum even if he wanted to, it felt too good to let it all out, like too much of a relief.

He still remembered feeling so relieved like that, even when the smell from the honey he later told his master about had him lying awake at night wanting to beg forgiveness.

His master made it clear what a missed opportunity it was. Fructose? Apple-Brew?

What was that next to a proper flagon of magic mead, from the honey of Cloven bees... If he could create something with that, anything that was actually of a serviceable quality–with such a base–the least of what they could expect was being able to provide the people of Salcret with some variety this summer.

And if you were stuck levelling, might not working with new materials and challenges be likely to be a highly fruitful answer?

The belittling speech his [Brewmaster] gave about how he thought Albert had grown up more than this, and was truly ready to try anything that might work at this point–it bit deeper than the old man could know.

But he would not go ask for forgiveness, not after the way he made such an ass out of himself.

In desperation he was able to cut a deal first: if Albert could level without the magic honey, within three weeks time, then they would leave it - consider it a lost opportunity and go work on finding new ingredients of their own.

He worked himself to the bone–barely sleeping for those three weeks–ultimately it was no use.

Nothing was happening, he was not even learning despite trying to challenge himself to do different things, things that did not even make sense; mixing in berries and citrus, even changing up the traditional sequence of their process… It was embarrassing the way his ideas turned to shit so quickly after he had thought they were brilliant just a minute ago.

When the deadline was up it was time to face the music, with Bunke glaring at him and insisting he get his stuffings in the barrel.

Then the auction was announced, and Albert managed to finegle one last chance from old Bunke to find the special ingredients that might guarantee him a level.

But nothing on offer at this time was that special, not a thing held a hint of magic other than some of Brunner’s evergreen cones and a few of the beasts of burden.

It was over.

He was done, and had to repent and go request that complete strangers show such generosity–not just to a stranger, the way they did the first time–but to a real asshole, a second time.

The day after the auction the two of them went walking up the dirt road leading to the local landmark-orchard where Bunke’s old childhood friends lived.

Albert had taken a fresh bath and put on his finest midsummer clothes, despite knowing the futility.

His only real shot was likely to be the kindly old man standing behind him, ready to wring his cap in his hands and look sad for his pupils' poor behaviour.

This is going to suck.