"Ugh, fine, you guys win, okay? I… I might have a tiny, insignificant crush on Mr. Fool…"
The tavern was loud, overheated, and thick with the scent of spilled ale and reckless choices, and it's exactly the kind of atmosphere that led Fors Wall to slam her sixth glass down onto the sticky wooden table like she was about to declare war.
Across from her, Gehrman Sparrow cradled a single, untouched wooden cup of Lanti proof with the solemnity of a monk and the expression of a man staring directly into the abyss.
"Listen," Fors slurred, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You. You're His Blessed. You have to know… what's His type?"
Silence dropped over the table like a guillotine.
Audrey's glass of sparkling wine stalled midair. Alger buried his face in his hands. Leonard made a sound somewhere between a cough and a panic attack.
Gehrman blinked.
Then, like a marionette jerked by invisible strings, he tilted his head just a bit too far to the side, off in a way that made everyone uncomfortable, and said in a voice flat and cold:
"Not you."
Fors reeled back, hand to her heart. "Rude! I'll have you know I'm very charming when I—"
"You are drunk," Gehrman cut in.
"And you are alarmingly rude for someone who's allegedly a gentleman," she snapped.
Leonard lost it completely.
***
"You awake?" a familiar voice called out, pulling Fors out of her foggy haze. "You better be, it's almost noon."
"What the… huh? Xio? What are you doing in my room?" Fors mumbled, pressing a hand to her temple. She winced as a dull ache pulsed through her head.
"This is the living room, genius. Your bedroom door was locked, so I left you on the couch," Xio said, pouring water into a glass and handing it over. "You… remember what happened last night, right?"
Fors sat up slowly, her brows knitting together as she searched her memory. "We went to that pub, and then…"
The color drained from her face.
The headache was gone in an instant.
She nearly dropped the glass.
"Xio… I—I said something blasphemous, didn't I…"
"I had my hand on my knife last night, just in case Gehrman Sparrow decided to lunge at you," Xio said, clearly at her limit. "Seriously, what were you thinking? We were all in that pub on a mission, and you got drunk and started saying all kinds of weird stuff!"
"Okay, okay! Stop! I don't want to remember any more!" Fors groaned, her face going even paler as the memories trickled back. "I wish lightning would just strike me right now… hold on, doesn't He do that, too?"
"Anyway," Xio went on, dropping onto the couch beside Fors, "the ever-merciful Mr. World will be meeting you in an hour—just like you agreed last night. He said he's taking you to places where you can learn what Mr. Fool actually likes."
"Why… why did Last-Night Fors think saying yes to that was a good idea?!" Fors groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This has 'trap' written all over it. He's going to dump me in the Forsaken Land of the Gods, I just know it!"
"You could always open a Door back, silly," Xio said with a shrug. "Besides… Gehrman Sparrow didn't seem that bothered by what you said. Although…"
"This is scarier than my publisher's deadline, Xio! I'm not making it out of this alive!"
Xio blinked. That was… fair. She went quiet, now seriously considering tagging along to make sure Fors didn't get herself completely obliterated.
"Maybe I should cancel," Miss Magician whispered suddenly, as if the idea had just saved her soul. "Surely Mr. World would be relieved to hear this entire mess is off."
"Oh yeah, definitely," Xio said, nodding way too fast. "He'll probably throw a party."
And just like that, the two of them were filled with a sudden, completely unfounded sense of hope.
***
An hour later, a loud knock echoed through the apartment.
Fors flinched upright on the couch. Xio sighed and went to answer it.
"Good afternoon," said the bespectacled man, pressing his silk half top hat against his chest with his left hand. Both Xio and Fors' gazes were drawn to the Sealed Artifact on it - a voracious glove aptly named "Creeping Hunger", and both were hoping they wouldn't end up being its next meal.
"G-Good afternoon!" Xio stammered, stepping aside to let him in. "Would you like something to drink?"
"I appreciate the offer, but we're on a schedule," he said, then turned his gaze to Fors. "Shall we, ma'am?
His polite tone sent a shiver down her spine. "Y-Yes! Let's… let's go," she replied, forcing a little too much cheer into her voice.
Without another word, Gehrman Sparrow rested a hand on her shoulder, and in an instant, the two of them vanished.
Xio stared at the space they left behind. They didn't even get to tell him they wanted this whole thing canceled.
"…Mr. Fool, please keep her alive…"
***
The sharp scent of salt and fresh air hit Fors like a slap, snapping her out of the daze of teleportation. Yep, definitely not in Backlund anymore.
"This…" she murmured, cracking her eyes open. "The sea?"
Gehrman Sparrow promptly let go of her shoulder, because, of course, a gentleman wouldn't keep his hand there longer than necessary. "Yes," he said plainly. "This is Desi Bay."
Fors blinked, taking in the coastal breeze and the distant sound of waves. "We're not going to be getting Him crude drinks like Lanti proof here, are we?" she asked before realizing— oops . That was supposed to stay in her head.
Mr. World glanced at her with a look that screamed Don't be absurd . He didn't say a word, but somehow that silent stare was enough to make her wish she'd stayed on the couch.
Then he raised his right hand. Fors flinched, only for him to point down the road, not strike her. At the far corner stood a small café with a line of at least twenty people waiting under the scorching sun.
Without comment, Gehrman began walking toward it.
Fors scurried after him. A café? What kind of place is this? she wondered, watching him fall in line and leave just enough space for her to slide in front of him.
"Miss, are you here for the pies too?" asked the old woman in front of her. She didn't sound local… Eastern Loenese, maybe?
Fors froze. Pies? She didn't even know what kind of place this was, let alone why it was worth queuing for.
"Yes. We're here for the pies," Gehrman said smoothly from behind her.
That was all he offered.
Fors swallowed. Not knowing what's going on is so stressful…
The line inched forward, and soon people were filing into the café one by one. Some walked out with small boxes in hand, while others stayed inside to eat, taking seats by the windows or huddled around corner tables.
"They only sell one Desi pie per person here," Mr. World said suddenly, without being asked. "Just order one, have them pack it in a box, then find us a table."
Fors nodded automatically. Orders received.
The queue moved again, and a few moments later, she stepped into the café. The warm scent of fresh pastries and roasted coffee beans wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.
When her turn came, she ordered a Desi pie to go. The cashier nodded, and someone behind the counter handed her a tidy little box, warm to the touch at the bottom, after she paid. She glanced around, spotted an empty table for two near the window, and made her way over. Setting the box down carefully, she sat and waited.
A few minutes passed before Gehrman Sparrow arrived, slipping something that looked like a leather wallet back into his inner coat pocket. He took the seat across from her without a word.
And then silence.
Thirty full seconds of it.
Fors squirmed in her seat, questions bubbling just beneath the surface. What even is this place? Why here? Why pies? What's the point of all this?
Then, catching his unreadable expression, she reeled herself back in. Nope. Doesn't matter. Definitely not going to poke the bear.
"I know you can definitely get some in Backlund," Mr. World said, breaking the silence with a surprising attempt at small talk, "but have you ever had authentic Desi pie before?"
Fors shook her head.
Right on cue, a waiter approached with a tray balanced expertly in his hands. Gehrman gave a small nod of acknowledgment, and the waiter began placing items on the table one by one.
Once the tray was empty and the waiter had left, Fors took stock of the spread: beside her boxed pie sat a four-inch pastry that looked suspiciously like a quiche, a huge plate of what seemed to be battered fried fish with a side of fries, two generous slices of strawberry shortcake, and a pair of iced teas with thin citrus wedges floating at the top.
"This is Desi Pie," Gehrman said, gesturing toward the pastry, palm up like a polite museum guide. "They serve thirty a day, right at 12:30 p.m., except Sundays. You can find Desi Pie at every other restaurant or bakeshop around here, but this café makes the best."
"This here," he said, moving his hand towards the battered fish, "is crispy fried dragon bone fish. You have to remember to drizzle the sauce before eating, it brings out the flavour. Look, it's practically boneless," he continued, cutting through the golden crust with ease using a fork.
He shifted his hand to the cake. "This is their best-selling dessert. There are better ones elsewhere, but it's tradition to try it when you come here."
Then, as if wrapping up the grand presentation: "And finally, sweet iced tea."
Fors stared at him, completely stunned. This couldn't be the same Gehrman Sparrow she knew: the terrifying, unflinching, definitely-not-here-for-casual-lunch adventurer. And yet… here he was, explaining pastries like a local food enthusiast.
Before she could spiral any further, she noticed he was watching her—expectantly, patiently. Oh no.
Just then, her stomach let out a loud, undignified growl. How dare you betray me! she scolded it silently. Of course it would choose now to remind her that she hadn't eaten a thing since last night's drunken disaster. Which, now that she thought about it, was exactly why she was here, sitting across from Mr. World in a café by the sea, praying she'd survive both this meal and the awkwardness of being perceived.
"L-Let me try the Desi Pie first!" she blurted, fumbling to cut a quarter of the pastry. She slid a portion onto her plate, took a deep breath, and finally brought a forkful to her lips.
And then she froze.
The crust, which was likely infused with animal fat, shattered softly under her teeth, giving way to the rich, juicy filling within. The flavour hit her like a wave.
First came the unmistakable warmth of roasted grains. They were simple, earthy, and deeply nostalgic. The kind of flavour no one could ever truly resist. Then came the savory middle note: a perfectly balanced meat filling, not too lean, not too fatty. As she chewed, it released a flood of pure, honest meat juice that coated her tongue in luxurious flavor.
But it didn't end there.
As she chewed, something unexpected popped. They were tiny pieces of fruit embedded in the filling, releasing bursts of subtle sweetness that danced with the savory meat, layering a different flavour onto the richness. Sweet and salty, crisp and tender, grounded and just a little bit wild. It seemed to pull her deeper in everytime she chewed.
She blinked down at her fork, stunned.
Oh no, she thought, taking another forkful. This is dangerous.
Gehrman watched her with mild interest before taking a portion for himself.
Next, Fors reached out and cautiously cut a piece of the golden-crusted fish, drizzled the sauce just like Mr. World said, and brought the portion she cut to her plate before taking a smaller portion to her mouth.
The moment it touched her tongue, her eyes widened.
Crisp, airy batter gave way to soft, flaky fish beneath. Light, yet full of flavour. The sauce, slightly tangy with a whisper of spice, soaked into the crust just enough to add contrast without turning it soggy. The fish itself was mild but deeply savory, with an almost buttery finish. There were no bones, just tender meat that melted between her teeth. It was simple, but in that honest, confident way only truly good food could manage.
Fors blinked, then took another bite, this time faster. Maybe… maybe this wasn't a trap. Maybe Mr. World actually brought her here to share something he liked.
Fors picked up her glass of iced tea, letting the straw swirl a bit as the ice clinked softly against the sides. She took a sip: sweet, citrus-y, and… yep, just regular iced tea. Nothing fancy. Still, the cold sweetness washed away the richness of the pie nicely, giving her a much-needed moment to reset.
She then glanced out the window.
From here, the view was surprisingly picturesque. The cafe overlooked the port, where a single ship sat docked in the quiet midday sun. No workers in sight, probably off on their own lunch break, same as everyone else. The sea breeze drifted in, light and clean, carrying that unmistakable scent of salt and stories waiting to be told.
A seaside lunch with a mysterious man in a quiet little cafe… She blinked. Wait, haven't I written something like this before?
If anyone she knew happened to walk by right now, they might seriously get the wrong idea.
She turned her head, just in time to catch Gehrman calmly cutting another piece of fried fish and taking a few pieces of fries. In this light, and with a plate of food in front of him, he looked a little less like a walking warning sign and a bit more… human.
"Um, Mr. Gehr—" she started, then stopped, realizing that saying his name aloud in public might not be the best idea.
Thankfully, he seemed to get the hint. He glanced up from his plate. "What is it?"
She leaned in, lowering her voice. "What are we doing here, anyway? I thought we were supposed to be looking for things Mr. Fool likes…"
He didn't answer. Just calmly went back to his food like she hadn't said a word.
Fors blinked.
This man is impossible.
...But the fish was really good.
***
"Afterwards," Gehrman said evenly, "if Mr. Fool is willing to speak with you, He will accept your offering and take you to the space above the grey fog."
Fors straightened up like she'd just been handed a divine summons. "W-Wait, no! I'm not trying to seek an audience with Him!" she blurted. "I just… I just wanted to know what kind of offerings would please Him, that's all! Just to be safe!"
"Is that so…" he murmured. "Then remember three things out of the four we've eaten today: the Desi pie, the shortcake, and the sweet iced tea. I've found those tend to be well-received when requesting an audience. Remember, it has to be sweet iced tea."
Fors nodded slowly, trying to commit them to memory like they were exam answers and not just really good pastries.
Outside, the sun was already on its way down, casting long golden streaks across the bay. The sea glimmered. The breeze was soft. And here she was, holding a box of Desi pie like it was some kind of sacred relic, seated beside the most feared adventurer of the five seas.
This was a dream. It had to be a dream.
She let out a small laugh, the absurdity of it finally bubbling to the surface. "You know, I really didn't expect you to take my drunken nonsense seriously… Everyone probably thought you'd put an end to me on the spot last night."
Gehrman said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Too long.
Oh no.
Fors stiffened. "D-Don't tell me you really did consider turning me into Beyonder characteristics?!"
She stared at him, half-joking, half-horrified.
He still didn't answer.