"Be careful when you leave this chamber, Shoes. Grease has followed you into the woods, though he is not yet aware where you disappeared to. Instead of descending back down to the riverbed, climb further up over the rocks and circle around the large oak tree, if you wish to avoid him."

— Instructions from Shoes, to Shoes

"This is going to be a frustrating day," Bezel said to himself as he looked down at Shoes's corpse. The brightening sky and the pleasantly warm weather did nothing to alleviate the horrific sight.

He hated killing with his own hands. No, he hated killing, period. But if he had to do it, pulling the trigger was easier. Sadly, it was noisier too—something he couldn't afford at the moment.

Bezel fastened the stones onto Shoes's body, then lowered him into the river. He washed his hands and donned his uniform. His old garb fit him surprisingly well; it had been a while since he last wore it.

Taking the servant's corridor to the kitchen made up for the minutes he had lost, because Shoes always took his time sneaking through the courtyard. Although it wasn't necessary for Bezel to be punctual, he tried to keep himself to the original timeline as much as possible. Not meeting Grease or Old Cook would cause dramatic changes later on.

He ignored one of the servants who tried to stop him, and shouldered his way past another. He had figured out long ago that these actions didn't really have any consequences, so he didn't bother acting shy or respectful.

Bezel barged into the dining area with an apple and a piece of bread, sat down at the nearest table, and waited. He wondered if anyone would recognize that he looked older than usual. Keeping his head bowed helped, though not as much as he would have liked. His height ensured that people would be looking up at him.

"You are in my spot, dumbass."

"Sorry, I'll move over," Bezel replied automatically. Even if he hadn't done this for a while, some things were hard to forget. As he tried to stand up, Grease put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

"You call that an apology?" Grease asked, then smacked the bread out of his hand.

"I'm terribly sorry. I didn't know you usually sit here."

Grease opened his mouth to retort, but a loud crash interrupted him. Everyone turned to look at the servant sprawling on the floor, lying amid broken jugs and a spreading puddle of milk. Perfect. Grease's buddies were busy gawking at the poor fellow, so when Grease leaned in to whisper into Bezel's ear, Bezel took this opportunity to kick his legs out. Grease stumbled, and Bezel grabbed the side of his head and smacked him against the edge of the table. He slumped to the ground without even uttering a cry, already unconscious.

The others turned back as they heard the thud, but Bezel was already leaning back, biting into the apple.

"He just sorta fainted and fell over," Bezel said as they watched him and Grease in confusion. So much for keeping himself to the original timeline, though it was well worth it. Even after so many iterations, this scene was satisfying for him to watch. It would have consequences later on, but this was actually one of the most peaceful ways to take Grease out of the picture.

Before anyone could figure out what to do, Bezel stood up and made a swift exit towards the kitchen.

"Young man, is that you?" Old Cook hobbled towards him as he entered, looking him up and down. "I may be half-blind, but you seem to be somehow . . . different today."

"Morning to you too," Bezel replied. "Don't worry about it, it's nothing. I'm just a little sick."

"Well, you should be sick more often then," Old Cook cackled. "You look positively mature this way. Look at that! Even your bearing has changed."

Alright, that concerned Bezel a bit. Old Cook knew him well, but never before had he mentioned outright that he had changed. He wondered if he could still steer this conversation back on track. He shifted the cooking pot back in place while he considered what to say.

"Well, there are a few things that happened to me recently..."

"Oh?"

"Grease was trying to get on my case this morning," Bezel said as he grabbed a bucket and poured water into the pot. "You know, he is the one who had been called Shoes before I got my name. I wish I could give him back this . . . title. I understand why Mistress handed it to me, but to be honest, I really hate it."

"Oh, pish posh!" Old Cook replied. "A stupid name should be the least of your worries. Just look at me, Shoes. Do you think I wanted to be Old Cook?"

Bezel grinned. "No, of course not. I know you want to be Young Cook."

"Hah, very true!" said Old Cook jovially, flashing him a toothy smile. It was only moderately toothy.

Bezel emptied one more bucket, then turned to the old man. "Tell me, Old Cook. If you had to give me a name, what would it be?"

It might have been a bit too blatant, but Bezel couldn't handle it better on the fly. He didn't want to skip this part of the conversation either. Not because it was necessary for the timeline to remain the same. No, it wasn't necessary at all. But it was the best part of the loop by far.

“Hmm. That’s a good question, Shoes. I think . . . I’d name you Carrot. Because carrots are orange, and orange is my favorite color."

"Are you serious?" Bezel asked, feigning confusion.

“No, I’m not,” Old Cook said, cackling. “Hmm, let me think… Do you know how people sometimes compare each other to various types of precious gems? Ruby, sapphire, emerald? Each of them has a unique meaning.”

"Yes, I heard of it."

"Well, you are none of those gems."

"Hey! Stop being mean..."

Old Cook laughed some more. "No, none of those gems, but something just as good. Something that is often overlooked, but also important. You're a bezel."

"Bezel?"

"Just so. Solid, dependable, always there when it counts. You might not be as shiny as a gemstone, but you make those gemstones all the more beautiful."

Bezel smiled, and couldn't contain himself anymore. He stepped closer to the old man, and gave him a big—but gentle—hug.

"Thank you, Old Cook," he said as he stepped back, holding the confused old man's shoulders. "Sincerely, thank you. I think that's the best thing anyone has ever told me."

"Now, now, let's not exaggerate," Old Cook coughed in embarrassment. "My memory may not be the best, but I know I've told you better things before. Your favorite line used to be: dinner is ready!"

"I like that one too, but it's only second best after Bezel," he replied with a smile—though his smile had a bitter edge to it. "There is only one thing that concerns me about this name. I fear that I may not be able to live up to it in the future."

"Really? Why is that?"

Because nothing was real in this world, apart from Bezel. Because everyone was constantly returning to their previous selves, and it didn't matter if he helped them or harmed them. Because he was alone, all alone, and he was losing sight of what he should be.

"It's just a . . . feeling," Bezel replied.

"You gotta have more faith in yourself, young man!" Old Cook chided him. "You can achieve great things, even as a slave. You just need more confidence."

Bezel sighed, then went to put more wood under the pot. "That was a really cheesy advice, old man."

"Oh, what do you know about cheesiness!" Old Cook griped. "I am the one who's been working with cheese all these years!"

Bezel shook his head in amusement, then crouched down to ignite the fire. He sat down after he was done, watching Old Cook preparing the ingredients.

"You know, Bezel," the old man spoke up after a while, "I'm curious too. If you had to give me a name, what would it be?"

"Oh, that's easy," Bezel answered proudly, "I think you know it already, Father."