The morning sun filtered through thin clouds, casting a soft golden light over the small field beyond the village. Kurt stood by a group of flat stones he had arranged as a makeshift workspace, sleeves rolled up, mouth twisted in disgust. Next to him, a clay pot simmered over a fire pit that Aria had prepared. Inside the pot was raw animal fat.
"Why does everything in this world smell like death warmed over?" he muttered.
"Because it is death warmed over," Aria replied cheerfully, adding another handful of kindling to the fire. "That came from a wild hog. The butcher was glad to give the fat away since nobody wants it."
"Uncultured swine," Kurt said.
"Exactly! The swine was very uncultured."
Kurt paused and looked at her. She smiled innocently.
"…That was sarcasm," he said flatly.
Aria tilted her head. "Sarka-sis?"
He groaned and turned back to the pot. "Never mind. Just… try not to breathe this in."
"What are we making again?" she asked, covering her nose.
"Soap."
"That still doesn't sound like food."
"It's not food," he snapped, flinching as a drop of oil popped from the pot and nearly hit his tunic. "It's a cleaning agent. Something that will improve personal hygiene in this bacteria-infested world."
Aria blinked. "Hi-gin?"
Kurt closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his mouth. "You know what? Just stand over there. Watch. Learn."
She stepped back, arms crossed. "You always use weird words. Sometimes I think you're making them up."
"I wish I were. Unfortunately, your world is just… underdeveloped."
"Rude."
"Truthful."
He picked up a small bowl filled with ashes and carefully mixed it with water he had collected earlier from a spring. Aria watched him stir it like some kind of secret ritual, muttering under his breath.
"Is that magic?"
"It's lye. An alkaline solution. Strong enough to break down fat. Very caustic. Don't touch."
"Caustic?"
Kurt glared at her. "It burns. Like acid. But not quite acid. Never mind. Just know it's dangerous."
"You're dangerous," she muttered. "Always making things that smell bad or might explode."
"I'm building civilization from scratch. That doesn't smell like roses."
The mixture in the pot bubbled slowly, the fat turning translucent as it melted. Kurt stirred with a wooden stick, checking the thickness.
"Still too thick. Needs more heat. Fan the fire."
"I'm not your assistant."
"You're literally assisting."
Aria rolled her eyes but went to the fire. "You're lucky I like you, weird man."
Kurt didn't respond. He focused now. This was real work. Familiar work. Science. Procedure. It grounded him, something rare in this chaotic, magic-filled world.
He leaned over the pot and mumbled to himself. "Saponification starts once the lye mixes completely. Should thicken over time. God, I need proper equipment…"
Aria was watching him again. "Saponi-what?"
"Soap-making. The fat breaks down, bonds with the lye, and forms soap. Basic chemistry."
She raised a brow. "Kemi-stree?"
He exhaled through his nose. "The study of how things change and combine. It's not magic. It's science."
"And that means…?"
"Order. Rules. Things that always happen the same way. Unlike magic, which is vague, subjective, and untrustworthy."
"…You're weird," she concluded.
"Good weird."
"Still weird."
The mixture finally reached a consistency Kurt found acceptable. Carefully, he poured the goop into a wooden mold he had made from scavenged planks and lined with leaves. He examined it from every angle like an artist critiquing his work.
"There," he said proudly. "Now we let it cool."
Aria peered over the mold. "That's it? Doesn't look like much."
"Once it hardens, we'll cut it into bars. Try it. And if it works, if I got the ratios right, your skin will never feel the same again."
"Why? Will it fall off?"
"No. It'll feel clean. Soft. Healthy."
"…Are you sure this isn't magic?"
"Yes."
"Then why does it sound like magic?"
Kurt threw his hands up. "Because you've never lived in a world with running water, disinfectants, or basic hygiene standards!"
Aria tilted her head again. "An-tee… what now?"
"Never mind."
By afternoon, they returned to Aria's small home. It was a hut with a thatched roof, but it was clean, thanks to Kurt's earlier fits of germ-related disgust. He had swept, sanitized with boiling water, and rearranged much of her kitchen. She didn't complain. She liked having him around, even if he made her feel like a barbarian.
As she chopped vegetables for dinner, she snuck glances at him sitting by the window, sketching something with charcoal on parchment.
"What are you drawing?"
"A design. For a better mold next time. And maybe a water filtration setup."
"You always talk about next time."
Kurt nodded slowly. "Because this is only the beginning."
He looked up and caught her gaze.
"This world… It's like a blank canvas. No one here understands what I do. That means no competition. No copyrights. No PhDs to chase. I can build everything from the ground up."
Aria smiled faintly. "You sound like you're about to become a king."
"God, no. Too many responsibilities. I just want a clean place to live and some respect."
"Respect for… soap?"
He nodded solemnly. "Soap is just the start."
She laughed softly, and the sound made him pause. It was warm. Comforting.
"…You don't really fit in here, huh?" she said.
"I didn't fit in where I came from either," he replied.
That caught her attention. "Where did you come from, anyway? You never say."
Kurt hesitated. For a moment, he thought about answering. Telling her everything. But the prideful curse twisted in his chest like a snake, silent, waiting.
"I'm just… not from around here," he said finally.
She didn't push further. But she didn't look away, either.
That night, as he lay on the straw mat she had given him weeks ago, Kurt stared at the ceiling.
He didn't need to save the world. That was Aaron's job, the Hero. The one written into Hearthia to battle demons, unite nations, and all that epic nonsense.
But here, in this quiet corner of Amasia, no one knew the name Kurt Allester. No one expected anything from him.
And that was freedom.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small pouch Aria had made for him. Inside was the beginning of a label. One word, crudely written:
"SOPA"
Aria had misspelled it.
He smiled. "Close enough."