The Bakery Girl (2)
The next morning.
I rose before dawn and arrived at the bakery carrying ten bottles of my secret-weapon mayonnaise.
The shopkeeper hurried over, took the box from my hands, set it on the table, and lifted one of the glass bottles. He unscrewed the lid, scooped a generous spoonful, and tasted it. A smile spread across his face.
“Perfect. That’s exactly the flavor.”
“Ten bottles comes to two hundred guilders…”
He counted out silver coins from the register one by one and pressed them into my palm.
“Thank you.”
The ten little bottles—each about a hundred and fifty millimeters tall—had cost me roughly fifty guilders to make. A hundred and fifty guilders was the equivalent of thirty hours of ordinary part-time wages.
Then he set to work building sandwiches with the recipe I had taught him. The shopkeeper had always been skilled; the sandwiches he produced tasted even better than mine.
The power of mayonnaise and sandwiches was formidable. The batch made with those ten bottles vanished from the display the moment it hit the counter. Even the mayonnaise bottles themselves, priced at forty guilders each, sold out in the early morning rush.
“Prepare forty bottles for tomorrow. I’ll pay you twenty-five guilders a bottle.”
The satisfied look on his face lifted my spirits.
Do people in this world just love mayonnaise?
I tidied the shop after the morning rush and drifted into thought.
It was just past noon when the bell over the door chimed and a customer stepped inside.
“Welcome. Fresh-baked bread is just out of the—”
I started the greeting, then the words died in my throat.
A young man stood there whose pale skin and jet-black hair formed a striking contrast.
“You’re… Paul. Paul Lutz?”
Paul Lutz of the swordsmanship department. The prodigy who enjoyed Professor Anton’s favor and whom even upperclassmen supposedly could not touch. I had not seen him since the goblin subjugation support mission.
I stared as if I had seen a ghost, eyes wide, hand flying to my mouth.
“Hello, Miss Blair.”
He offered me a slightly awkward smile.
“Sorry, Miss Blair. Paul suddenly insisted we come together…”
Behind him, the plump figure of Crane Brunner shuffled in after him.
“Oh—no, it’s fine. But what brings you here all of a sudden?”
“I was curious how your wounds were healing. And you’ve been missing class lately, so I wondered how you were doing.”
“Haha, everything’s completely healed. No need to worry.”
I laughed and showed him my right leg, free of any scar.
Paul’s face lit up with a smile so bright it seemed he could not help himself; his gaze dropped to my leg. Crane puffed out his cheeks, looking thoroughly displeased as he dropped into a chair.
“So, what’ll you have? You went out of your way to visit, so today’s on me.”
“Then I’ll take rusk and orange tea.”
Paul ordered the orange tea.
“Warmed milk for me.”
It took quite a while for Crane, who had ordered the milk, to settle down.
“Here you are.”
I set the milk, orange tea, and rusk on the table.
“When will you be back in class, Miss Blair?”
Paul took a sip of his tea and spoke. Crane’s vacant stare swung toward him, the look on his face pure disbelief.
“Well… the hospital bills were steep, so if I don’t work for a while it’ll be dangerous. Still, maybe in about two weeks?”
Paul’s sudden visit left me more than a little flustered. More precisely, the fact that he was thinking about me at all left me dazed.
A literature-department girl whose swordsmanship was still clumsy, no less.
“Paul, you’ve seen her face now. Let’s go. Miss Blair looks uncomfortable…”
Crane’s expression was extremely uneasy. Then he caught sight of the shadow approaching from the front and shut his mouth.
A muscular man in his fifties with a sticky gaze—the shopkeeper of the Twin-Blade Bakery himself.
“Oho… and who is this handsome young man? Miss Blair, introduce me.”
“He’s Paul Lutz, first-year swordsmanship. We’re not actually close, so I don’t know him that well either. Haha…”
“Is that so? Come by often. Handsome young men are always welcome.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes sparkled as he gave Paul’s shoulder a squeeze. He was greeting Paul the way a dog greets its master.
“Yes—hello, sir. Haha…”
Paul shot me a look of pure distress.
“And the friend next to him… hmm… could stand to lose a little weight.”
Crane met the shopkeeper’s words with stubborn silence.
“….”
A moment later the shopkeeper came over while I was tidying dishes behind the counter. His glossy black eyes studied me carefully.
“Is there something you wanted to ask?”
“That Paul fellow—how old is he? Where does he live?”
“Pardon? He’s the same age as me. As for where he lives, we’re not close enough for me to know. Probably the dorms?”
“Really? He’s genuinely good-looking and well-built… I like him a lot. And looking at his posture and the mana rolling off him, his swordsmanship must be strong too.”
Satisfaction colored his voice. I startled so hard my whole body jumped.
“Forgive me for asking something like this, but… Shopkeeper, do you… prefer men?”
I asked carefully.
“Hm? I’ve never had much interest in women. You didn’t know?”
While I stood frozen in shock, he turned a cheerful gaze on me.
“Ah… I see. I didn’t know.”
The last of my suspicions dissolved. The easy way he treated me was because I was a girl. The massages, the looks—none of it had meant anything more than friendly interest and closeness…
And that was why Professor Anton had sent me here. The thought flickered through my mind. It was a perfectly reasonable conclusion.
That men who preferred men over women existed in this world too was, in a way, only natural. They simply preferred not to flaunt it openly.
“Back when I was still an adventurer, word of my preferences got around and things got… awkward. So I decided it was for the best and opened the bakery I’d always dreamed of.”
“I see…”
I listened to the shopkeeper’s past with a sympathetic expression. Meanwhile Paul and Crane had not left their seats; they kept glancing my way and talking about something.
“Miss Blair, could you fetch the sunflower-seed oil from the storeroom?”
I nodded at once. Everything felt different now. With the worries and unease that had filled my head gone, both body and mind felt light.
“Yes, right away.”
I strode confidently to the storeroom behind the shop, opened the door, and stepped into the room stacked high with ingredients.
“Is that the sunflower-seed oil jar?”
A small oil pot sat deep in a corner of the shelves. I stretched my arm as far as it would go, but it was out of reach.
“Too far…”
I bent again, this time pushing my head and upper body into the gap to grab the bottle.
“Aaah—!”
A scream slipped out before I could stop it. My hand still could not reach, and my body was wedged in the opening so tightly I could not pull free.
“This is bad.”
I trembled and twisted, but instead of coming loose I only sank deeper until I could not move at all.
“What do I do now?”
I had managed to look thoroughly pathetic. Was it because my chest was too big? I could not quite accept it. Rationally I understood it was possible, but my feelings refused to follow.
Shouting for help was the sensible choice. But if Paul, Crane, and the shopkeeper came and dragged me out, how mortifying would that be?
I braced my lower abdomen and tried to wrench my upper body free.
“Hnn… mmpf!”
Haa… it really won’t come out.
How did this even happen?
I was still fretting when the storeroom door opened and closed again.
“Who’s there? Shopkeeper? I’m stuck in this gap—please pull me out.”
I called out with a relieved expression. Only cold silence answered.
Something felt wrong.
“Crane? Sorry, but get me out. Stop joking around.”
I forced a laugh into my voice, yet the other person said nothing. My eyes flicked backward, but shelves of ingredients blocked every view.
“Um… is that you, Paul? Could you call the shopkeeper?”
Click.
The sound of someone locking the storeroom door from the inside reached my ears. A chill raced down my spine and spread through my whole body.
“Who is it?”
The situation was turning terrifying. I could not move, and an unknown person stood behind me.
“Crane, cut it out. I’m not going to forgive you this time—”
“Kyaa!”
The stranger flipped my skirt up. What touched my bare bottom was someone’s nose.
Sniff… sniff-sniff…
Rough breath tickled my rear. My body shook violently. I had never imagined anyone would press their nose against my backside.
Schluup… mmph…
Regardless of the horror widening my eyes, the stranger freely worked his tongue, ravishing my bottom. Wet sounds filled the air as a thick, slick tongue glided over my skin as if my thighs belonged to him.
“Hey! Stop it!”
My entire body went rigid as I shouted in a frenzy.