Specialty
His original plan for the day had been to sell his crops in the morning and take a nap on the beach in the afternoon. “······Haaah.”
After his conversation with the soldiers, Patrick’s afternoon schedule had completely changed. When they were renovating the buildings to turn them into the Village Hall, the Village Chief had kindly said, “A teacher ought to have an office of his own,” and given him the sunniest room. But Patrick, never much of a passionate researcher, had never so much as glanced at the office bearing his nameplate. Yet here he was, hours later, door locked, shut inside, staring at a sheet of paper without moving an inch.
— Specialty.
Only that single word was written on the otherwise blank page.
“Specialty, specialty······”
Of course, it was all for the sake of coming up with a plan to meet the conditions for a pardon that the veteran soldier had mentioned.
“I mean, I’m good at everything, right? There’s nothing I’m particularly lacking in.”
Patrick genuinely believed that. His character, his personality—weren’t they decent enough? Besides, he was a mage, wasn’t he? Someone everyone looked up to. And that wasn’t all. How well had he grown the crops in his garden? Watching the children now all writing and doing arithmetic, he seemed to have a fair talent for teaching as well.
“······But I’m not sure if any of that counts as a ‘specialty.’”
Thanks to whatever conscience he had left, he couldn’t bring himself to list those things as his actual specialties.
“They’re not going to pardon me just for teaching the kids a bit, are they?”
His days had been filled with modest goals like “pick a basket of tomatoes” or “check on the beehives.” Now a new goal had appeared: “pardon” and “restoration of status.” But if earning merit were easy, there wouldn’t be so many exiles who lived out their lives in lonely sorrow before meeting their end in solitude.
‘Isn’t there some way?’
No matter how long he gripped the pen, no answer came.
“Teacher.”
“Aack, you startled me.”
Patrick, who had been half-sprawled over his desk staring blankly at the ceiling patterns, spotted the children plastered against the window.
“What are you doing? Why didn’t you come through the door?”
“The grown-ups told us not to bother you.”
“Then why are you bothering me?”
“We thought you might be lonely by yourself.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“We’re going to check the traps. Want to come with us?”
“Traps?”
Now that he thought about it, it had been a long time since he’d set any traps himself. He used to make good use of the ones he’d received as gifts, especially before summer, to keep the table well-stocked. But as the saying went, if the bowl leaks inside, it’ll leak outside too.
“Teacher, let’s go check the traps!”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I walk all the way to the beach just to set them and then walk all the way back to collect them? I’d rather just not eat.”
“······Lazybones. You’ll turn into a cow if you keep that up.”
“Moo.”
The moment life became comfortable, he had bid farewell to the traps that required more than an hour’s round trip.
“It’s only ten minutes. We threw them right in front of the hall.”
“······You sure?”
“I’m telling you.”
Ben knew exactly how to get Patrick moving.
“Come on! We put in plenty of conch shells, so something’s bound to be caught!”
“Maybe I will, then.”
Staring at the paper wasn’t going to make any ideas appear anyway. A change of scenery couldn’t hurt.
“Didn’t you say ten minutes?”
“Ah, we’re almost there. Stop complaining. Walking a little more is good for your health anyway.”
They’d said ten minutes from the Village Hall, yet once again he’d been tricked.
‘Ah, this is my lot in life.’
He’d raised tiger cubs, all right. Grumbling to himself, Patrick still followed the children.
“By the way, Teacher.”
“What?”
“What’s this about a specialty?”
“You peeked at my desk, didn’t you? You little rascal. You’re in for it now.”
“I didn’t peek, it was just visible. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
The word “specialty” scrawled on the blank page seemed to have caught Ben’s curiosity.
“Just wondering what I might be good at.”
“I’m good at making bread!”
At that moment, Amy suddenly poked her little head out and chimed in.
“Everyone said the bread I made was delicious! They asked me to make it again next time!”
Amy’s cheeks flushed pink as she twisted her body shyly. It must have been quite a shock—in a good way—to have someone outside her family pay money for bread she had made.
“My drawings too! I even got a commission, Teacher!”
Not to be outdone by Amy’s bragging, Tommy clung to Patrick’s left arm and boasted.
“Ben’s dad asked me to draw the brewery. He said if it turns out well, they might make prints for the packing boxes!”
After having fun adapting the children’s handwriting for wine bottle labels, he seemed to have come up with an interesting idea. Learning didn’t only happen inside the classroom, after all.
‘Well, not every manager graduated from a business school. You learn things by bumping into them with your body.’
And knowledge gained that way tended to stick.
“By the way, Ben.”
“Yes?”
“About your family’s brewery. They’re paying attention to the boxes too?”
“Ah—I don’t know the details, but they said they’ve got a lot more clients now. And the clients want the boxes and bottles decorated. What’s so pretty about an empty bottle, anyway? Weird, right?”
“······Whoa.”
The moment he heard Ben’s words, the picture became clear. Ben’s brewery was clearly doing proper branding. People collecting the boxes or bottles that once held their liquor meant they wanted to show, “I’m the kind of person who drinks this kind of liquor.”
‘Either the price is high, or it’s something connoisseurs recognize, or it’s rare, or it has some other kind of value.’
Ben’s brewery probably fell into the last category.
“Even though I’m the guy who drinks all day, at least the money I spend on booze is helping the kids chase their dreams!”
It seemed to function as a kind of indulgence. ‘So Ben’s father caught onto that.’ That must be why he’d commissioned Tommy for the drawings. It was quite remarkable that he’d offered payment for a commission to Tommy, who was clearly talented but still just a child.
‘People’s mindsets really seem to have changed.’
Not in a bad way. The people who had once lived on the island, ignorant of the wider world, had learned how the world worked.
Pop!
—Want me to check the traps for you?
While marveling at Ben’s father’s business acumen, a spirit suddenly appeared out of thin air. It was the one contracted to Ben.
“No, it’s fine.”
—Okay. Just let me know if you need me!
“Yeah. Thanks!”
Pop!
The spirit vanished with the same sound of splashing water droplets as when it had appeared. Patrick, who had been staring longingly at the spot where it disappeared, suddenly asked the back of Ben’s head,
“You should ask it to check the traps. Spirits can do that sort of thing, can’t they?”
“They probably can?”
“Then why don’t you ask? Would the spirit hate it if you did?”
The children all turned to look at Patrick as if he’d said something strange.
“What? Why are you all staring like that?”
“It’s weird.”
“What’s weird about it?”
“Checking whether the traps caught anything or not is the most fun part. Why would you ask someone else to do it?”
“No, I just thought it might be more efficient.”
Come to think of it, the most fun part of a lottery was right before you scratched it, and the most fun part of gacha was the moment you pulled.
“Then what about asking the spirit to decide where to place the traps from the start? Wouldn’t the chances be higher if you put them where there are lots of fish?”
Even as he said it, Patrick felt his shoulders straighten with the perfection of his own logic. But the children shook their heads.
“Nah. Then you wouldn’t get better at it.”
“Grandpa said you have to fail a lot before you find your own spot.”
“That’s right. Before you become an adult, it’s more important to throw a lot than to catch a lot.”
“Halmae said the same thing! She said you have to learn what you’re bad at before you learn what you’re good at. That way, you improve at everything.”
“······Improve at everything?”
At the children’s words, Patrick stopped walking.
‘Learn what you’re bad at before what you’re good at.’
He swore he had never heard such a sentence in his entire life, including his previous one.
“B-but you don’t have to force yourself to get good at things you’re bad at, right? I mean, if I’m bad at something, I can just leave it to others and do what I’m good at. That’s efficiency······”
“Still, we want to throw the traps ourselves, don’t we?”
“Yeah.”
“Even if you’re bad at it, shouldn’t you do what you want to do?”
“······”
It was as if hallucinations echoed in Patrick’s mind.
— Do what you’re good at. Do what you’re good at. You don’t have time to waste worrying about pointless things.
— Is your family rich? If not, you should do what you’re good at, not what you want. Don’t you think?
— Baek Do-ik. Everyone else lives that way. Why are you making such a fuss by yourself? You should be grateful you have something you’re good at.
They were all different people, but they had all said the same thing. Do what you’re good at rather than what you want to do. Some teacher whose face he could no longer remember—whether from an academy or school—had crossed out the dream he’d written down with two firm lines, saying, “Dreams don’t put food on the table.”
When he mustered the courage to say, “What I really want to do is actually this,” his friends, seniors, and even his family had all responded with, “You’re still so naive.”
‘Well, they weren’t wrong.’
He didn’t think their words were mistaken. The reality of living as “Baek Do-ik” had been far from easy. Devoting time, money, and passion to something you loved but weren’t good at was nearly impossible for anyone outside a privileged few.
‘Right. That’s why I dreamed of becoming a naturalist.’
The reason he had dreamed of becoming a naturalist struck him like a blow to the head. He had chosen to do what he was good at and received society’s approval, but the adults had been wrong. Doing what you were good at would never lead to doing what you loved. That never happened. Social recognition only brought more work, and more work demanded more and more sacrifices. Time, passion, and eventually, quite literally, his very life had to be burned away.
And the ending was exactly what everyone knew.
Team Leader Baek Do-ik of Planning Team 2 has passed away. We offer our deepest condolences for the deceased.
Perhaps taking pity on him, the heavens granted a miracle at the very last moment of his life. And so he was finally liberated from a life where he had no choice but to do only what he was good at.
‘Then what was I trying to do just now?’
The fog in his mind cleared. A specialty? It was fine not to have one. Even if it was inconvenient, this kind of life—free from anxiety—wasn’t so bad.
“But Teacher, didn’t your parents teach you that?”
“······”
If only he could do something about these little brats who dropped such a line right in the middle of a touching scene.