Even though getting more girls is an interesting prospect, I prefer playing the long game. In the end, the more you live, the more you get. If you spend all your capital without investing it, it may seem that you are getting more than others in the short term, but one day those who made wiser investments will look down at you from their golden towers.

That’s how I picture myself. On top of a golden tower, surrounded with fully nude—well, let’s not explore the details.

I chomp down on some bread with jam and dried fruit on top of it. I don’t know what these specific dried-up fruits are, but one thing is for sure, they are delicious. They also have a soup with a thick spicy undertone. I don’t mind spices, but I’m not a spice-nut.

Have you ever seen those people who brag about being able to eat super-spicy food. ‘Oh, I grow up my own *insert very spicy variety no one knows or is interested in*.’ What’s these people’s problem?

Listen, I’m a baker and I cook for a living. I even doubled in some restaurants when someone asked me for a favor. I have formal training in lots of preparations. But to be honest, I have never really identified my whole persona with my work. Am I not passionate enough about it? I don’t know, maybe.

I just don’t understand bragging.

Am I becoming an old goat who complains about everything and everyone?

But I like it.

Let’s keep it going.

What about people who read?

I read, sure. I read a lot. But do I feel the constant need to remind everyone around me? No, hell no. I think we should be allowed to pepper-spray people who brag about reading. It’s retribution, you know. You like bragging about reading? Well, then you get the pepper.

You like bragging about eating spicy food? Again, you get the pepper.

‘Well, I read over 300 books this year.’

I don’t care.

I truly, really, massively, superciliously, don’t care.

If you read more than a hundred books a year and you are not wise enough to avoid bragging like a child, you are either reading the wrong books or you are—how can I put it in gentle terms, very resistant to smartness. Yeah, sounds about right.

But among all the people on Earth, the worst spawn of all is the fandom of that wretched British book full of goddamn Elves.

Read. Another. Book.

I don’t care. I don’t care about the history in it. I don’t care about the philological effort. I don’t care about the films, the lore, the whatever you want to call it.

It spawned decades of fac-simile riddled with the stupid goddamn Elves. Sometimes I find myself wishing that witch-hunts had still been a thing during 20th century Britain.

Fans of that disgusting British guy are the most annoying things ever. They are capable of talking about those books for hours and hours without taking a break. Some of the upper echelons in that hellish hierarchy even learned a fictional language; and they are proud to showcase it.

If I ever learn a fictional language – French, let’s say – someone please whack me to death. Literally, take some blunt object manufactured in the US and just enjoy the same unbridled violence that our great country was built upon.

“He’s been staring at the wall and smiling for almost five minutes now,” I hear Domitilla whisper to her aunt.

“He’s touched in the head, Domitilla. Don’t mingle with the crazies.”

Agostina is praising my qualities as usual.

I went on a silent rant against a few things without even noticing. And I have to say, this one was quite angry by my standards. I’m usually not this belligerent. But you know, the most evil enemies drag you down into the abyss along with them.

“So, Joey, were you thinking about becoming an adventurer?” Julia asks me with a sweet smile.

“What?” I snort so strong I think I hurt my nose. “I’d rather chomp on a few glass jars and lick a cactus. I mean no offense, obviously. It’s just that I’d never risk my life just because.”

Julia raises an eyebrow at my words, surprised.

“Well, I partially agree with you. Instead, Domitilla here always wanted to become an adventurer. You should probably spend more time with her to show that people can conduct other lives as well and that adventuring is not the only option in the world.”

Well, if Julia wants me to spend time with her smoking-hot daughter, why not? Who am I to deny such a lovely lady all my wisdom?

“Adventurers are brave heroes, mom. They protect from monsters and threats of all kinds. And you, Joey, you should treat them with more respect.”

She looks irritated by my previous remarks.

“Oh, I’m not saying they don’t deserve respect. I’m just saying I don’t want to partake in that; I don’t want to take away the respect from them. They can have it all.”

Domitilla looks at me with a frown, unsure about my irony maybe.

To be honest, I don’t have anything against adventurers. It was mostly a joke.

“Sorry, sorry. I went too far, I think. It was just a joke. I’m a bit upset today that I didn’t get to go ahead with the negotiations. I had an idea this morning and I thought it would solve my problems with Happy Bakery and the Three Roses. That’s all, I’m sorry. If you want me gone, I can just go back to my apartment; I have to practice some magic stuff anyway.”

As if all I said before ‘magic’ did not exist, Domitilla asks me with wide eyes: “You know magic?!”

“He does, and he also put a hole in the wall with the stupid magic of his,” Agostina grumbled. “What spell did you use anyway to do that?”

My landlady looks a bit more interested in the discussion now that she’s shifted it toward magic.

“Oh, it was just a rogue [Light] spell, no biggie.”

Their joint reaction almost makes me jump out of my skin.

Out of nowhere, they start laughing out loud. They are almost crying after a few seconds. What? Have I gone crazy? Am I having a seizure and my brain is slowly dying but also showing me a delightful last scene before my untimely death? And why, if I’m dying, my brain shows Domitilla still clothed?

I am not dying, right?

“What?” I ask, truly confused.

“Oh, Joey, I didn’t know you picked up some [Mage] humor. Sure, you did it with a [Light] spell.”

Even Agostina was laughing.

I’m—I’m—I’m…

What?

“The boy could kill a dragon with [Light] spell, for sure,” Agostina snorts while starting to get back her composure. “It’s so funny hearing a Human crack some elven joke.”

A joke?

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

I don’t ask that question out loud because I am very clear of Agostina’s tolerance for jokes. I mean, I thought I was, at least. But now, they are all recovering from a massive laugh.

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 a common joke about it. The joke goes like ‘well, he’s so strong he could kill someone with a [Light] spell or something’. Or at least that’s what I gather from the context.

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