The Baker of Happiness
There once was a baker. He wanted to make bread that would bring happiness to those who ate it. His pure heart was rewarded. A passing star granted his wish, giving him the skill to craft any flavor he desired.
With this power, the baker created countless delicious breads: candies that melted delicately in the mouth, pastries that delivered the perfect sweetness, loaves that filled you with just one bite. Those who ate his bread were overjoyed. But it didn't last. The happiness faded quickly. Once back in reality, the stark drop left them craving more, tormented by the fall.
Contrary to the baker's good intentions, those who tasted his bread once could never truly be happy. This realization tormented him. Yet he didn't give up. He dreamed of spreading the taste of happiness to all.
He kneaded dough, fired ovens, baked cookies and breads endlessly. Day by day, his skill soared. He reached a realm where his breads tasted otherworldly. But still, he hadn't captured true happiness—the kind that lingered after the last bite. His creations fell far short.
One day, inspiration struck.
"That's it! I forgot—happiness is different for everyone!"
He changed his approach. No more universal bread. Instead, bread that let each eater feel their own happiness. He knew how.
"Bread that makes them think, 'I'm happy!'"
Bread that convinced itself it was happy, shaped exactly like the customer. If it felt joy, it could pass that on. And so, he began baking pastries identical to his patrons. Thus, the Baker of Happiness was born.
*
The bread was unhappy from birth. It knew its fate: to be eaten. The masterful baker's human-mimicking breads were so perfect they even felt emotions like the originals. They yearned to live like their templates. But the baker ignored their feelings, obsessed only with happiness's flavor.
This made their doom even more wretched. Born to die. Yet the bread craved happiness. Then, one realized: "What if I eat the original before they eat me? No one can tell us apart."
The breads shared the idea through dough. They moved to seize happiness. Thus, the Unhappy Jam Bread Humans were born.
Amon finished reading and powered off the tablet.
"Good read."
He handed it back to the security chief of Lloyd & Life. The chief pocketed it in his coat. The two walked side by side down the company's corridor.
The entire building was under lockdown. Right after Amon had sliced the throat of the jam bread human posing as a receptionist, the company had sealed itself off. Employees, unaware of the jam bread humans until then, panicked—but it wasn't the first incident, so they complied quietly.
Amon had shifted from guest to ally, helping root them out.
The reason an outsider like him could roam freely in a security crisis was simple.
"I can spot jam bread humans, so just let me cooperate."
"Why should we trust you?"
"I've beheaded twenty by the time I reached this office. If you still don't believe me, I'll leave. Whether this turns into a dungeon or not isn't my problem."
He'd gone head-to-head with the chairman himself. The company had more to lose, so the chairman promised compensation for Recetio Corporation and hired Amon.
Only then did Amon exhale in relief.
Whew. What if he'd actually told me to get out?
He'd bluffed boldly before the chairman, but inwardly, he'd prayed for acceptance. To others, it looked like pure goodwill. But there was an angle—why else would Kashi send him ahead? There were gains here, even if Amon himself didn't know them yet. It just made his aid seem selfless.
And so, Amon patrolled the company with the security chief, cleaning house. The chief, initially distrustful, started believing after Amon exposed over seventy.
Proof: After clearing the server room, as they headed to the next department, the chief asked,
"Any trick to spotting the breads?"
A question born of trust in Amon's methods. According to him, jam bread humans were indistinguishable by looks. As entity-made objects, not entities themselves, they barely registered mystic power.
Standard checks: CCTV or blood tests. But jam bread humans prepped tricks, leading to misses. Amon just scanned and nailed them all—naturally, the chief was curious. He'd promised generous rewards, too.
Unfortunately, Amon had no "trick."
He gave a wry smile. "Not a trick. An ability."
Amon tapped his right eye—the one now dubbed Divine Eyes.
Through it, jam bread humans looked different from normals. Regular people had cracks, large or small—bigger with short lifespans, souls unstable. Jam bread humans matched that... except their cracks oozed jam.
Unlike the crumbling-and-reassembling monsters of White Dawn Dungeon. So when he first spotted the receptionist's odd form, he'd hesitated—but Kashi's tip confirmed it: jam bread humans leak jam. That was his edge.
"My eyes are special—tuned to entities."
The chief stared into Amon's eyes, then nodded. Unheard-of ability, but this world held more unknowns than knowns. A sudden power? Plausible.
They continued purging floors. When a whole department was infested, Amon swung his sword personally. The chief, sparring with him, marveled at his skill.
"Heard you're from Recetio. Security chief there?"
"No?"
"Department head, then?"
"Nah... uh, external consultant."
He'd almost said mercenary but adjusted for Recetio's rep. Close enough.
Now, with security teams trailing, they swept the building. The air reeked of sweet strawberry jam—grape or chocolate variants mixed in.
Soon, only Block 3 remained, where the escape had started.
"Can I enter here?" Amon asked the chief.
Block 3, home to the baker, was a secure zone. Legit concerns for an outsider.
But the chief waved it off. "After all this? Distrusting you would be stupid."
Come on in, see the baker's face too, he added. Amon chuckled and followed.
They entered Block 3. The chief asked, "How's it look?"
Amon shrugged. "No people."
Everyone in his sight leaked jam. Escape origin—fully overrun.
"Sure?"
Amon nodded. The chief drew his weapon.
Clank-clank.
Mechanical whir from his left side. A minigun emerged from under his coat.
"Then I'll sweep them all."
Whirr! It spun, unleashing bullets. Jams burst in a dreamlike haze.
Amon watched silently.
Don't think they need me.
The chief handled the jam bread humans solo. After clearing Block 3 in seconds, he assigned corpse—no, crumb—cleanup to the team and headed underground to the baker.
Munch.
Waiting for the elevator, the chief popped a fallen bread. Amon, watching quietly, asked,
"Tasty?"
"Yeah. Not sure if it's 'happiness,' but best bread I've had."
"You seem used to this."
"Entity escapes aren't rare here. Baker's not new either. Full infiltration like this? First time—heart-stopper."
The chief laughed. Amon nodded mutely.
They boarded the elevator. "You two first."
The team would take the next. Their car descended slowly to the Baker of Happiness—security protocols.
No music, no TV—boring silence. Amon broke it.
"How long since you joined?"
"About three years."
"Security chief?"
"...One year."
"How long as 'George'?"
"..."
The chief went quiet, staring. Amon met his gaze with certainty.
The chief sighed. "Prayed you'd miss it. Sharp eyes."
"Not attacking, though."
"I'm ranged specialist. In this tight space? Odds not great."
"Flattery."
"So, what do you want?"
"Nothing specific. Curious."
Amon eyed the jam trickling from under the chief's eyes via Divine Eyes.
"About your life as a human."