What’s up with magic?

I mean, really, what is up with people wanting to do magic?

And don’t tell me that people don’t want to! Hell, Harry Potter! Come on, we both know how famous it is. It’s like a new religion.

Harry Potter outsold faith!

HA!

That’s something, isn’t it?

And when I look at this class that I’ve got, I think, ‘well, that’s something I like.’

Why, though?

I mean, yes, humans are pathetic, for sure. We slogged in the mud for millennia, maybe even more: I don’t watch much National Geographic or whatever you need to watch to know these facts.

But when you really think about it, how come we are so taken with magic?

What is it that grips us by our most precious jewels and never lets go?

My explanation is the following – we want to know that we can do some magic. We are too ordinary, otherwise. Too mundane! If you can’t do some measure of magic, well, you are a failure!

Before coming to Amorium, magic could have been making someone smile with the right jokes or catching a cab without having to scream your lungs out or to violently wave your hand for half a minute.

And that’s why Harry Potter sold!

People need magic! People need to believe they are special!

I hate being special, though. I really do.

But I can’t help and stare at those words in my head.

[Mage…

Emphatic pause.

…Level 1]

And.

[Advanced Mana Sense]

It kind of chokes me.

I can’t… I just can’t.

It’s so, so beautiful.

It’s beyond power. It’s beyond any rational explanation.

I see it, and my heart pours out a joy I never felt before.

Never!

Never in my entire life have I been so happy about something. I kind of hate it, honestly! Why does this make me so happy?!

Magic is a pain in the ass! It’s a shortcut to being murdered before my time would come! No, thank you, I don’t want to be murdered!

Why, do you want someone to stab your eyes out while trying to steal the ultimate magical device you happened to find by mistake?

Be my guest, by all means.

Magic is basically women.

They choke me, they make me flushed, they throw a wrench in my life in a way that no other person or thing could ever do.

If I even won the lottery, I wouldn’t care that much. Sure, I would buy some amenities for my place. Maybe a bigger couch. Not one that you can open; I don’t want people sleeping over. Now that I think about it, I would probably buy a couch that disappears inside the floor. That way, I would hide it every time someone comes over to bother me.

Imagine that.

They would go ‘oh, shoot, there’s no couch here, I can’t sleep over, I cannot impose like the little imposing, clingy, and annoying thing that I am’.

Then, I would probably do some 007 stuff to my bed too. Like, unless I need to sleep on it, it will be super uncomfortable and thin. Maybe make it 80% of the size of a single bed. Yeah. Enough so that you can do the dirty deed on it without falling, but not enough to have someone sleep over.

Here we go.

I just had a billion-dollar idea and I can’t sell it to anyone in this place.

Or can I?

…

“Yeah, it’s super small unless you want to sleep on it. So, if you have someone over, they cannot possibly – at least in good conscience – ask you to sleep on such a small bed!” I explain to Flaminia.

The woman starts laughing so hard that, as per usual, Clodia comes over with her military strut.

“What’s so funny?” the chef asks with a reproachful stare.

See, me and Flaminia, we work really hard. We are so good at our job that we can easily joke around and still be much better than everyone else. So, Clodia doesn’t really have that much purchase on us.

“I think I just had the most genius idea of my entire life. A couch that disappears when you have people over, so they can’t ask if they can crash at your place, and a bed that becomes thinner – too thin to think that two people could ever sleep there, but thick enough to… you know, do the thing.”

Clodia frowns for a second, before slowly fishing out the big wooden spoon.

“I really want to beat you up, Luciani. Is there something you screwed up today, perhaps? Flaminia, did he mess up something?”

“Clodia, leave the poor kid alone. He’s fun, he’s a hard worker. Don’t bother him, come on.”

Flaminia nudged Clodia with her elbow. Her hands were still sticky and covered in dough and flour.

“Luciani, we are going to talk shop in a few days. Please, do mess something up before then. I promise, it won’t interfere with our talks, but it will certainly help me scratch a certain itch,” she pointed her words by slapping the wooden spoon on her open hand.

“Sure, boss,” I smile at her and give her my signature wink.

“Good,” she starts walking back.

Not even two seconds after I silently make an irate impression of Clodia to her back, the woman throws her wooden spoon with a deadly precision and smacks my forehead right on.

“OUCH!” I grab my forehead.

“Thank you, Luciani, much appreciated,” Clodia smirks and goes back to her office.

Man, it really hurts. What the hell!

“You are going to bruise if you don’t apply some potion on it,” Flaminia snorts.

“You laugh at my plight?” I ask, seemingly offended.

“Sure, Joey. It’s very fun, trust me.”

These damn sadistic Elves.

Sexy sadistic Elves.

Goddammit, Joey, you disgust me.