"My bread is too hard!"
In a small bakery called 'Wheat Tail' in the royal capital, former Sixth Princess Pavoria Reine is walking a new path in life. But her peaceful bakery is suddenly overrun by a cast of eccentrics. There's a wizard from the next town trying to save on food expenses, a former hero who can't read the menu despite legendary swordsmanship, and the castle's head maid who somehow gets mistaken for a customer. Every time someone asks Reine for softer bread, her kneading hands get
Pavoria Reine's Tomorrow: Which Way? - Empty Shelves and the Day I Couldn't Say Sorry
Clank, clank——.
"[excited]Welcome!"
Her voice echoed through the empty workshop.
No one was there.
Reine wiped the glass of the showcase with the edge of her apron.
Inside, sixteen loaves of bread she'd baked that morning.
The color wasn't quite what you'd call golden brown.
But still, they were properly baked bread.
"[whispers]Today, they will sell."
Even though no one was there, she put strength into her voice.
Maybe everyone would forget about yesterday's glowing bread.
She hoped so, anyway.
She swung the door wide open.
The morning breeze drifted in.
From Craftsman's Row, the sound of the blacksmith's hammer, the scent of mint from the herbalist's shop.
A normal morning.
But—
The people on the street walked right past Reine's shop.
All of them, heading toward Mule Highway.
Toward Tolm.
Toward Panifique.
"[serious]Good morning! Freshly baked bread, would you care for some?"
She called out to a woman passing by.
The woman glanced at the shop, then shook her head with an awkward smile.
"…Ah, no, not today."
"[gentle]I see. Another time, then—"
Before she could finish, the woman hurried away.
—That shop, they say she put out glowing bread.
—A child saw it and cried, said it was cursed.
She felt like she could hear those voices, carried on the wind.
She couldn't really hear them.
But they kept playing in her head, over and over.
Reine stayed bowed for a long moment, unable to move.
"[whispers]…It's not true. It wasn't a curse."
Her murmur was drowned out by the sound of the hammer.
She returned to the counter.
The clock hands moved painfully slowly.
Eight o'clock.
No one came.
Nine o'clock.
Just the neighbor's dog, sniffing at the front of the shop.
Ten o'clock.
"[surprised]Oh!"
A small shadow stood in front of the shop.
The same boy who'd come to the back door yesterday.
"Good morning, little one."
She made herself smile. A dimple appeared on her left cheek.
But the boy took a step back.
"…This is the glowing bread shop, right?"
"Huh?"
"Mommy said I can't go near it. She said I'd get cursed."
He said just that, then ran off.
Clank, clank.
The door bell chimed faintly.
Just the wind.
Reine put her hands on the counter.
Then, she rested her forehead against it with a soft thud.
"[whispers]…A curse."
She tried to laugh, but couldn't manage it.
A shop that scared children.
A shop no one came to.
All the bread still sat lined up on the shelves.
In the empty shop, sixteen hard loaves of bread.
They seemed to be staring at Reine.
Past noon.
Clank, clank.
The door opened, and two men entered.
Both were middle-aged, neatly dressed.
Dark jackets, with badges from the Forna Bakers' Guild—silver pins shaped like wheat.
They gleamed at their collars.
"[gentle]Welcome. Today we have—"
"You are Pavoria Reine, correct?"
The taller man cut her off.
"We are inspectors from the Forna Bakers' Guild. We've come to conduct a review of your establishment today."
"[surprised]…An inspection?"
"Yes. The Guild has a duty to uphold the quality of Forna's bakeries. We ask for your understanding regarding these periodic reviews."
The man held documents in his hand.
At the edge of the paper—
Reine's eyes stopped.
『Reporting Party: Sein』
Her heart gave a violent thump.
"[serious]…That is—"
"We have received a report from Mr. Sein of Panifique, expressing concerns regarding hygiene and quality."
The other man approached the showcase.
He poked a hard loaf with his finger.
"…Hmm. Hard."
Reine bit her lip.
"[serious]Hard bread is our specialty. It's filling, and the craftsmen—"
"No. This is too hard."
He shut her down flat.
"It is difficult to say this was made using proper methods. As a bakery of Forna, this quality is problematic."
"That's—"
"We will also be checking your ledgers and the condition of your oven. That is acceptable, yes?"
She had no right to refuse.
The inspectors strode right into the back of the workshop.
They peered into the oven, touched the bags of flour, flipped through the ledgers.
Reine just stood beside them.
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
Opened it, then closed it.
The words wouldn't come.
(My bread is… a problem?)
She woke up early every morning, kneaded, baked.
And they—
"…If no improvement is seen at the next inspection,"
The man who'd closed the ledger said in a mechanical voice.
"We may issue a recommendation for suspension of business."
"[scared]…!"
Her breath caught.
Suspension of business.
The end of the shop.
"Well then, we'll be on our way—"
—BANG!
The door flew open.
"Just wait a moment!"
An elderly woman with streaks of white in her hair burst in, out of breath.
She looked to be past sixty.
Her back was bent, but her eyes alone blazed fiercely.
A worn-out apron, hands covered in flour.
It was immediately clear she'd rushed out in the middle of work.
"Chairwoman Golda…?"
For the first time, confusion colored the inspector's face.
Golda Meizen.
The chairwoman of "Golden Tip," the oldest bakery in Forna.
The most senior member of the Guild, someone everyone bowed their heads to.
"I heard about this. That young upstart Sein is trying to shut this girl's shop down, isn't he."
"No, we are merely acting on a report—"
"That report came to my shop too, you know. Saying 'Wheat's Tail is selling inferior goods.'"
Golda stood before the tall inspector.
Though small in stature, her presence was far larger than his.
"Did you actually take that seriously? It's a tip born of envy, leaked by an established shop. The Guild's inspections aren't meant for things like that, now are they?"
"B-But—"
"This girl's hard bread is baked with proper technique. I guarantee it. If you like, I'll be present at the next inspection myself. Is that clear?"
Golda's words carried weight.
The weight of forty years spent baking bread.
The inspectors looked at each other.
Then, they let out a small sigh.
"…Understood. We retract today's suggestion of business suspension."
"However, please continue to strive for quality improvement. That is all."
The two of them fled the shop.
The door closed.
Silence returned to the workshop.
"[gentle]Thank you, Chairwoman Golda."
Reine bowed deeply.
Her golden braid slipped from her shoulder.
"Don't mention it. That inspection was completely out of line. You didn't do anything wrong."
Golda's voice was gentle now, a complete change from before.
Her wrinkled hand patted Reine's shoulder.
"But, my bread—"
"Your bread is properly delicious. I know it. It's honest bread that fills your stomach."
Reine looked up.
Golda was smiling.
The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening.
"Well then. If anything else happens, you call me right away."
With that, Golda left the shop.
Her worn-out apron fluttered in the breeze.
That woman had slipped out of her own shop and run here.
For me.
—Again.
Something clicked in Reine's head.
—Again, I made someone run for me.
A heat welled up behind her eyes.
But she still couldn't cry.
Night.
The fire in the stone oven was out.
The workshop was filled with the smell of flour and cold air.
Reine sat on the floor.
Still in her apron.
Only the ribbon was still neatly tied in a bow.
Today's sales: zero.
(It's my fault.)
I made Milphy use unreasonable magic.
I made Golda run.
I scared the customers away.
—Before that. Even before that.
Memories stirred in the back of her mind.
Winter, two years ago.
The kitchen of White Ear Castle.
Back then, Reine was the Sixth Princess, visiting the kitchen every day.
Sein, the Royal Head Chef, always looked annoyed, but he taught her bread-making seriously.
His large hands almost enveloping hers.
—Lady Reine. Isn't it about time you left the castle?
One night, Sein said that.
They were alone in the kitchen.
Only the fire in the stone oven flickered orange.
—You have a path to baking bread more freely. If you remain a princess, you'll regret it someday.
Sein's eyes were serious.
Not his usual teasing look.
—Master… won't you come with me?
When Reine asked, Sein fell silent.
Then, he gave a small laugh.
—I am the Royal Head Chef. I can't simply resign.
—…I see.
Reine looked down.
(Going alone is frightening.)
But she couldn't say it.
From the next day, Reine stopped going to the kitchen.
She began to distance herself from Sein.
At a banquet, she said "there is a problem with Sein's cooking," picked on small mistakes, and reported them to the King.
It was me who put a hair in Sein's food.
And a month later.
—Disrespect toward the Royal Family.
For that crime, Sein was banished.
His position as Royal Head Chef, his honor, everything was taken.
—Why, Lady Reine…?
The face Sein showed at the end.
Confusion, sadness, and anger, welling up in his blue eyes.
Reine gave no answer.
Because she couldn't tell the truth.
"I pushed my master away first, because I was going to leave the castle"—such a selfish reason, she couldn't say it.
She only wanted to protect him.
She just hated the idea that her own selfishness, her whimsical flight from the castle, would make Sein bear responsibility too.
It all backfired.
"[crying]I…"
Her voice trembled.
"[crying]Every time I try to do something for someone… I just break things…"
Tears pattered onto the floor.
Hurting Sein, making Golda run, pushing Milphy too hard—
It all started with me.
For someone's sake.
Every time I wish for someone's sake, it slips through my fingers.
"[crying]I'll end it."
Reine raised her face.
Her face still a mess of tears.
"[crying]Continuing any longer… would just be a burden."
I'll close the shop.
Take down the sign, and close up.
Once she decided, her body moved, strangely enough.
The next morning.
The blue light of pre-dawn filtered into the workshop.
Reine carried a stepladder out in front of the shop.
Tools in her hand.
Her breath was white.
"[whispers]…Alright."
She climbed the ladder.
The sign was right in front of her.
A cat holding a wheat ear in its mouth.
The sign Petro had made for her on opening day.
She placed both hands on it.
The cold feel of the wood.
—Just as she was about to take it down.
Something glinted at the edge of her vision.
On the shelf.
A small hammer sat there, quietly.
A tiny, dinky little thing, but carefully polished.
Something Petro had left behind.
Silently, almost every day.
"…Mr. Petro."
Reine's hands stopped.
Petro had never once said "Do your best."
He just bought bread every morning, and left this hammer.
That wordless sentiment.
Now, it seeped warmly into her heart.
"[crying]…Why."
The words turned to white mist and vanished.
Her hands, reaching to take down the sign—stopped moving.
Atop the ladder, Reine stood frozen.
Forna before dawn was still quiet.
Only the hammer gleamed faintly on the shelf.
Take down the sign, or—
Reine's hands still wouldn't move.
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