A few minutes later, Scorie returned, practically vibrating with energy. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, and her breath came in short, athletic huffs.
She looked like a refreshing sports star—if you ignored the refrigerator-sized paper bag strapped to her back, and the faint, lingering swirls of wind still dancing around her boots.
But then, the air changed.
"Watch out!"
A small, beastly shadow leaped from the brush, tailing her like a hungry ghost.
"Beasts attracted by the scent of bread! It's a Bread Wolf!"
The Bread Wolf lunged toward the massive paper bag, its jaws snapping at the air! However, Scorie didn't panic. Clutching the oversized bag to her chest, she kicked off the ground.
Trailing glowing streaks of wind, she soared into the air, performed a perfect mid-air somersault, and stuck the landing with grace.
The beast didn't hesitate; it lunged again the moment her boots hit the dirt. But Scorie was one step ahead. She tossed a single, crusty-looking loaf of bread to a spot a few meters away.
The Bread Wolf’s eyes tracked the falling carb. It snapped its jaws around the "bread" in mid-air—only to emit a sickening CRACK as its teeth struck solid stone.
"Rhyolite Wind!"
As the wolf reeled from the shock of biting a rock, a violent gust laced with jagged shards of volcanic stone slammed into it like a battering ram.
Pelted by the stone-laced gale, the beast let out a pathetic cry and scrambled back into the forest, probably missing a couple of teeth.
"Phew... Glad I could protect the precious Brick Bread."
"You're actually strong, Scorie. But wait... what happened to that bread you threw?"
I looked over at the "loaf" on the ground. Up close, it wasn't bread at all. It was a literal brick, magically shaped and colored to look like a delicious pastry.
"Oh, that? Just a fake I whipped up with composite magic. I'd never throw away a real Brick Bread, chief! That’s practically a crime!"
"You have a very specific set of high-level, useless skills, don't you? Ever thought about being a mercenary?"
"I tried! I failed every single interview!"
She brushed off her tragic past as easily as dust on a sleeve. Then, with the eager hands of a child opening a Christmas present, she pried open the massive bag.
Inside were loaves of bread shaped like small bricks.
"This is the best bread in town—”Brick Bread”! I snagged fifty loaves at the wholesale price! Payment is due at the end of the month, chief!"
Wholesale price? She’s surprisingly business-savvy. Though, I wonder if this struggling shop can even afford the bill...
Normally, I’d have complained, but the aroma was intoxicating—a heavenly marriage of sharp cinnamon and zesty citrus. I picked one up; it was heavy, solid, and still radiating the warmth of the oven.
"Delicious!"
The crust gave way with a satisfying crunch, revealing a dense, nutty whole-grain interior that danced with the refreshing scent of orange peel. It was exactly my kind of bread. I decided to make this my breakfast before even looking at the price tag.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
"Mind if I have this for breakfast?"
"Sure thing! I bought milk too. The pairing is legendary, chief!"
She held up a glass bottle of milk with a smug grin. ...Is she actually better at this business thing than I am?
"Umu. Well done," I said, trying to sound like a dignified boss as I enjoyed my elegant breakfast.
"Oh, I'm good. I ate at home, and I eat this bread all the time anyway."
She turned down my invitation. I’ve never had a woman say 'yes' to a meal invitation, so it didn't even hurt.
"But man, this is good. Really good."
I poured milk into a terracotta cup I’d fashioned myself. It was a bit crude—the surface was slightly uneven, and the clay felt warm and porous against my palms.
Still, I sighed in admiration. To think I'd find bread this good in another world.
Back during my convenience store shifts, I used to hope for leftover bread just to survive, but I never got a single crumb.
"By the way, how much was this?"
"It’s 90 gels per loaf at the wholesale rate, provided we buy at least fifty. Usually, they retail for 280 gels in the town bakeries," Scorie replied, watching me eat with a satisfied smile.
"That’s a great price for this quality. Let's sell them here for 280 too. Our new star product is decided!"
"Yay!"
I wasn't sure what she was so thrilled about, but she seemed happy.
"Alright, I'll go make some plates for the bread. Scorie, you arrange the loaves neatly on the back shelves away from the sun, and keep an eye on the shop. The price list and change box are under the counter."
"You got it!"
I wrote 'BRICK BREAD: 280' in large letters and posted it at the entrance, looking down at the cobblestone road where mountain workers passed by early in the morning.
"By the way... can I ask what kind of 'illness' you wanted to cure with that Moon-Evening Grass?"
"What do you think it is, chief?"
I expected her to look away and say 'I don't want to tell you,' but her playful response caught me off guard.
"Uh... severe migraines?"
"Wrong!"
"Osteoarthritis of the knee?"
"Eek, that sounds scary. Wrong again!"
"Lower back pain?"
"Wrong... Are you only listing old people's problems, chief?"
"Don't underestimate back pain! It's the most terrifying ailment known to man! A fate worse than death itself!"
"You sound like you have personal experience."
"In my previous life, I spent so much time hunched over a screen that my back was a wreck."
"I'm giving up. Just tell me."
Scorie sat behind the counter, squinting at the blue sky through the window, and whispered mysteriously.
"Well... it's the disease of being unable to stop 'simping,' I guess."
"..."
"The weather sure is nice today."
"It sure is, chief."
We gazed at the clear blue sky together. Somewhere in the distance, birds were chirping.
"So... who's your 'Oshi'?"
"It's a secret!"
She cupped her flaming red cheeks with her hands, her body squirming in a mix of agony and ecstasy.
"Wait, so you wanted to cure that?"
"Moon-Evening Grass wasn't enough! No... this is fate. God is telling me to keep on simping! Trying to cure this holy devotion with medicine would be a sacrilege!"
"You went into debt for a... sacrilege?"
"Compared to what I’ve spent on my Oshi, Moon-Evening Grass is pocket change!"
She leaned back, looking down at me with unearned pride.
"I'm scared to ask for the total, but I'm glad you're not depressed. You'll be working it off for the next five months—well, at half-pay anyway. You okay with that?"
"Sourcing bread and watching the shop? It’s my calling!"
Leaving the counter to the overly energetic Scorie, I used my magic to whip up ten sets of plates and cups in record time. Once they were finished and the flyers were written, I headed straight down to the village.
***
I started handing them out in the square of Slowtown Village at the foot of the hill.
"I was no master potter, just a guy with a bit of magic and a lot of clay."
Since my skills were still green, I had no choice but to go big on the promotion and hope someone would take the bait.
"Flyers here! Freshly baked bread and handmade ceramic sets now available at the shop on the hill! Perfect for your mountain hike!"
The villagers accepted the flyers more positively than I expected. But as I handed them out, a realization hit me.
The supply chain was set. The strategy was solid. The weather was perfect... but...
"Wait... we don't have a shop name, do we?"