The next morning brought the familiar routine of breakfast in the cramped dining room. Sister Agnes stirred a pot of porridge over the fire, the thick mixture bubbling with an unappetizing plop. When she ladled it into Darren's wooden bowl, he stared down at the gray, lumpy mass and felt his stomach clench.
The porridge was bland beyond description—just boiled grain and water with no sweetening, no salt, nothing to make it palatable. As he forced himself to eat, Darren realized something that should have been obvious: there had been no sugar in any meal since he'd arrived. Not just no sugar—no sweeteners of any kind. Kael's memories confirmed it. The boy had never tasted anything truly sweet in his entire short life.
"How do they live like this?" he wondered, taking another reluctant spoonful.
The currency system was copper-based, he noted. Small copper coins changed hands for most transactions, with the occasional silver piece for larger purchases. No one seemed to use gold, suggesting it was either extremely rare or reserved for transactions far above this village's economic level.
The pricing patterns were revealing. Vegetables and fruits were relatively cheap—turnips, onions, apples, and root vegetables that could be grown locally. Grain products like bread and porridge were moderately priced. But meat was expensive, clearly a luxury item. A single chicken cost more than a family's worth of vegetables.
Behind the orphanage, away from the main garden, Darren found a patch of unused ground. The soil was poor and rocky, but it would have to do. Following the AI's guidance, he began preparing the earth, removing stones and breaking up the compacted dirt with a sharp stick.
"The soil needs organic matter for proper nutrient content," the AI advised. "The most readily available fertilizer would be the waste from the toilet pits."
Darren grimaced. Using human waste as fertilizer wasn't appealing, but he understood the necessity. Holding his breath and trying not to think about what he was doing, he collected material from the waste pits and worked it into the soil.
The planting process was methodical. The AI guided him through proper seed spacing, planting depth, and row organization. He arranged the crops to maximize sunlight exposure and minimize competition between plants. It was exhausting work for Kael's frail body, but Darren paced himself carefully, taking frequent breaks to avoid another collapse.
Every day, he tended his small garden plot. He watered the plants with carefully rationed water, pulling weeds that threatened to choke out his crops, and monitoring for signs of disease or pest damage. The AI's knowledge proved invaluable—it could identify problems before they became serious and suggest natural remedies using materials available in the village.
When harvest time came, the results were spectacular. The vegetables were larger, more colorful, and clearly fresher than anything in the main garden. Sister Marta was stunned when Darren showed her the produce.
"Kael, these are incredible! How did you manage this?"
"I just tried some different techniques," Darren said modestly. "Do you think we could sell them at the market?"
Sister Marta examined the vegetables carefully, her eyes widening at their quality. "These are better than anything I've seen the villagers growing. Yes, I think we could definitely sell them."
Darren selected the best specimens from his harvest, choosing varieties he knew would be in demand based on his market observations. He made sure to pick as much as possible—in a subsistence economy, quantity mattered as much as quality.
The next market day, Sister Marta accompanied him to the village square. Instead of setting up a stationary stall, Darren suggested they walk around showing the produce to potential customers.
"Let people see the quality," he explained. "Once they notice how much better these look, they'll want to buy them."
The strategy worked perfectly. As they moved through the market, villagers couldn't help but notice Darren's vegetables. They were visibly fresher, larger, and more appealing than the competition. Within an hour, they had sold everything they'd brought.
Instead of immediately replanting for another vegetable harvest, Darren had a different idea. He took his accumulated earnings and visited the market, purchasing flour, eggs, oil, and two precious apples.
Then he approached the village's baker, a weathered woman named Martha who operated a small bread shop near the market square.
"Excuse me," Darren said politely. "Could I use your furnace? I'll pay you for the privilege."
Martha looked down at the small boy with amusement. "What could you possibly need to bake, child?"
"Bread," Darren replied. "But different from what you make."
The woman's expression shifted to skepticism, but the promise of easy money was appealing. "How much will you pay?"
As the bread baked, an incredible aroma filled the small shop. Martha's eyes widened as the smell grew stronger—nothing she had ever produced smelled this good.
When Darren finally removed the loaves from the oven, they were perfect. Golden brown, with an appealing crust and an aroma that made mouth water. They looked like something from a professional bakery in his old world.
Martha stared at the finished product in disbelief. "How did you do that?"
Darren gave a vague answer about trying different ingredients and techniques. The woman looked skeptical, but when he offered to let her taste a small piece, she couldn't refuse.
The moment the bread touched her tongue, Martha's expression changed completely. Her eyes went wide, and she made a small sound of amazement.
"This is..." She struggled for words. "This is incredible. I've never tasted anything like it."
"Would you like more?" Darren asked innocently.
"Yes! How much do you want for a loaf?"
"Oh, I'm not selling these ones. They're for dinner at the orphanage. But if you want more, you'll have to pay for them."
Martha's face fell, but she nodded understanding. Darren carefully wrapped his loaves and headed home, leaving the baker staring after him with a mixture of admiration and frustration.
That evening at dinner, Darren presented his bread to the assembled orphans and sisters. The reaction was immediate and profound. The children, accustomed to flavorless food, were stunned by the sweet, complex flavor of properly made bread.
"Kael, where did you buy this?" Sister Marta asked, her eyes wide with amazement.
"I made it," Darren replied simply.
Darren considered the request. This was the opportunity he'd been hoping for—a chance to monetize his knowledge on a regular basis.
"I can help you," he said. "But I'll need to be paid for my work."
Martha looked reluctant, but nodded. "Fine. But only if the bread tastes as good as yesterday's."
"It will," Darren assured her.
And so began Darren's career as an undercover baker. Every day, he would go to Martha's shop and produce loaves that sold out almost immediately. The villagers had never tasted anything like his bread—the subtle sweetness, the perfect texture, the incredible aroma that filled the shop during baking.
Most people assumed Martha had suddenly improved her skills, and Darren was content to let them think so. He didn't want too much attention focused on him yet. Better to work quietly in the background, building his reputation and resources without attracting unwanted scrutiny.
As his confidence grew, Darren began experimenting with other baked goods. Muffins made with local berries and his apple-paste sweetener became an instant hit. Scones that incorporated nuts and dried fruits were so popular that people began visiting the bakery specifically to see what new treats might be available.
Martha's business boomed. Customers came from neighboring villages to try the miraculous baked goods that everyone was talking about. The baker woman was happy to take credit for the success, and Darren received a steady income that far exceeded what he could have made selling vegetables.
But as his small empire grew, Darren found himself facing new challenges. The local ingredients were limited, and he craved access to spices and flavorings that could elevate his creations even further. He needed to find suppliers who could provide materials not available in this small village.
More importantly, he needed to start thinking about his long-term strategy. Baking was profitable, but it was still small-scale. If he truly wanted to change his circumstances—and perhaps the circumstances of everyone at the orphanage—he would need to think bigger.
Standing in Martha's shop, watching villagers eagerly purchase his latest batch of sweet rolls, Darren smiled to himself. It was a modest beginning, but it was a beginning nonetheless. For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt like he was truly moving forward instead of just surviving.
The question now was: what would his next move be?