"How long will you stay home?" Erika asked, brushing crumbs from Leon's tunic.
Dahlia's birthday was in five days, and Lord Sainsbury was hosting a feast to introduce Im to other nobles. For a remote territory like Sarneth, attracting a mage was a coup—Im would never have stayed if he hadn't been injured, robbed of his chance to advance. The lord's treasury would soon feel the strain of magic experiments, but the snow salt method Leon had shared had earned them a small fortune.
With Im and the others busy, Leon had been given a ten-day vacation to attend the feast—an honor he wouldn't have had if he weren't Im's apprentice.
"About ten days," Leon said. "Dahlia's birthday is in five, then Master's off to the capital for four or five days. It's the first time I've been home since moving to the valley."
It felt strange—like returning from college dorm life. He'd lived in Linden Pine Valley for months, but the short distance hadn't brought him home often.
"Your teacher says the valley's quiet for studying," Erika said, then frowned. "What 'special skills' does he teach that need to be kept secret?"
"Dahlia and Flower learn it too," Leon reassured her. He hadn't told his family about magic—too late to backtrack now.
Erika muttered, "Lord's kids aren't saints." She brightened. "Isabella's accounting lessons were your idea—best decision ever. The bakery's books are finally clear, and we pay less tax!"
That evening, Erika closed the bakery early to make dumplings—Leon's favorite: wild vegetable and pork filling. The vegetables, similar to chives but tenderer with a hint of toon, paired perfectly with fatty pork, which kept the greens moist and flavorful. In the valley, Leon was too busy with magic to make dumplings—rolling wrappers by hand was tedious, and he was lazy.
Leon grabbed a basket to gather wild vegetables outside town—Erika hadn't expected him, so they had none on hand. When he returned, Garin had bought and chopped the pork—marbled with fat, not lean (lean meat would be dry with the greens).
"Fat isn't bad," Leon thought, recalling Earth's nutrition facts. "Sugar and carbs make you fat, not fat itself. Your body stores carbs as fat if it doesn't get enough healthy fats."
The family gathered around the table: Garin kneaded dough, Erika and Leon chopped filling (small chunks, not paste, for texture), and Isabella arrived home from school, surprised to find the shop closed.
"You're back!" she said. "Did your teacher kick you out?"
Leon rolled his eyes. "I'm here for Dahlia's birthday. And I'm your first teacher—remember?" He led her to his room and handed her a fountain pen. "For you. Where's Gage?"
"Mom sent him to the village school—too hard to watch him at the bakery," Isabella said, turning the pen over. "How do you use it?"
"Twist off the cap, dip the nib in ink," Leon explained. "The ink's not perfect yet—rinse it with water, dry it, then cap it. Master's working on better ink." He hesitated, then added, "I taught you and Gage Tai Chi before—keep practicing. Master says it's good for focus."
He hadn't told them about the mana connection—no need to raise questions. He just hoped the slow, deliberate movements would benefit them, even if they never awakened magic.
Over dumplings, Leon gave Gage two practice sheets as a gift—much to the boy's delight. In Etho, knowledge was a luxury; most commoners never learned more than basic literacy, and nobles hoarded advanced teachings. Leon often took his Earth education for granted—twelve years of schooling had given him more knowledge than most people here acquired in a lifetime.
In his free time, Leon baked a cream cake—simple, but grand by Sarneth standards: a large sponge cake frosted with whipped cream, topped with dried fruit (no fresh fruit in the season) and a syrup message: "Happy 10th Birthday, Dahlia." Whipping the cream was tedious, but the bakery made basic cakes, so the rest was easy.
The night before the feast, Leon ironed his plain gray robe—Im had given it to him, as formal attire for mages (no one cared about style, just the robe itself). The iron was a瓢-shaped tool filled with hot charcoal.
Early the next morning, Leon helped the bakery prepare bread and cakes for the feast. By noon, the lord's steward arrived to collect the order, including Leon's cake.
"This is a special birthday cake for Lady Dahlia," Garin said, handing over the box.
The steward opened it, eyes widening at the creamy frosting. "A new creation?" He recognized the cream—used in the bakery's filled rolls—but never in such a large quantity.
"Made just for her," Garin said.
The steward turned to Leon. "Is this your gift, young master?" He'd been told to treat Leon respectfully, though he didn't understand why—a baker's son shouldn't rub shoulders with nobles.
"No, just a family gift," Leon said. "I have something for her in person."
Relieved (a cake from a baker seemed cheap), the steward left with the order. By afternoon, Leon watched as nobles and knights arrived at the manor—guests from Sarneth and neighboring territories, all curious about the mage advisor.
For Leon, it wasn't about the feast—it was about seeing a feudal-era celebration. Back on Earth, he'd only seen such events in movies. As the sun set, he adjusted his robe and headed to the manor, the fountain pen tucked in a leather pouch, ready to honor his promise to Dahlia.