Casual Heroing

“The reason you didn’t get the class,” Liogi says, “is most likely due to you not identifying your life with baking. There might be something very deep in your soul that denies you the class. Some great [Scholars] have hypothesized that our deeper selves, the parts of our soul that move independently from our thoughts, might be able to refuse a class on our behalf.”

“Now,” Liogi clarifies, “I personally don’t believe there’s any willing and active action on the behalf of the unexplored parts of our soul. I think it simply acts as a gate, keeping out what not even you know is not suited for your unknown depths.”

“But what about someone who has the [Cleaner] class, how does that work? Do they really identify as [Cleaners]? I mean, not to sound like a douche, but I don’t understand that. I can see someone being a [Cleaner], or maybe a [Janitor] to make money. But I don’t understand how their goddamn soul could see them as such.”

“Do you believe everyone is the same?” Liogi asks.

“What? What does that mean?”

“Do you believe that everyone has the same quality of means? Or that they are the same quantity?”

What the hell is this Foxman saying?

“Do you mean, like, if I believe that everyone can do anything? I mean, no. I can’t do a bunch of stuff. I could never be an [Accountant], no matter what.”

“But you can be a [Scholar] and many other things. Including a [Professor].”

“Yeah?” I say.

“[Janitors] might be janitors because they just need money for their family, but nonetheless, their soul sees the alignment of intent and personal quality as coherent. It’s not as intuitive as we would like it to be.”

“Ok, Liogi. You are losing me here, bud.”

Liogi reclines his pudgy body into his comfy chair and crosses his furry hands over his belly, looking pensive. His slightly discolored red, furry ears move back and forth.

“Let’s make it easier, then,” Liogi begins, “you are a [Mage], Joey Luciani. The fact that you are a [Mage] means your soul has seen in the class something it longed for. There’s an alignment of intent and personal quality. You want to be a [Mage] and you can be a [Mage]. When I say ‘want,’ I mean that the part of the soul you have but are not aware of is ‘good’ with you being a [Mage]. Are you following?”

“Ok, so far, yes.”

“You are not a [Baker]. Why are you not a [Baker], even though your personal quality as a [Baker] is clearly good enough to get you past level 40 in the blink of an eye?”

“Are you asking me?” I say, a bit stunned when he stops talking.

“Yes.”

“What? Aren’t you supposed to give me a clear answer?”

“You have all the answers, Joey. Let’s just pry them out of you, if you want.”

I scratch an eyebrow and puff my cheeks for a second, ruminating. Is it a good idea to bare my soul to a guy who looks like a fox? Isn’t there some biblical/mythological reference that makes this a bad idea? Should I get him some grapes just to be sure?

“Ok,” I say, “let’s see if I understand. I dived into baking because it was the one thing that made me feel quite comfortable with myself. I developed mad skills for it, but you are telling me that I have been lying to myself for more than ten years of my life - because I started baking when I was like, eight, I think - and so that makes it almost 15 years of me doing something that I actually don’t want to do?”

“No one said you don’t want to bake. You might actually like it a lot. I’m just saying you don’t see yourself as a [Baker] - never have, and there’s a chance that you never will.”

“So, are you telling me I wasted a huge part of my life?”

“No, Joey. I can’t give you an answer to that. You might have spent most of your life doing something because you didn’t want to confront what you wanted to. Wasted? That depends on how you look at it. Instead of focusing on the past, I’d wonder if baking is what you want to do for the rest of your life; that’s much more time to waste compared to 15 years.”

“Liogi, am I supposed to feel like shit while talking to you? Because it feels like I’m having an existential crisis here, and you are fanning on gasoline-fueled flames.”

“Do you remember the story I told you when you came to consult me for your friend Amelia?”

“Which one?”

“A father killed himself when they tried to snap him out of his delusions.”

“Ok, wow. So, you are basically saying that living in comfort might just be living a lie and now I’m simply... I don’t know, analyzing all the problems I’ve been ignoring?”

“The longer you go without slaying the Dragon, the stronger the Dragon gets,” Liogi smiles. “Haven’t you ever heard of this saying from your Ahali friend? Ariostus told me about your study group. A very interesting dynamic there.”

“Ok, let’s not change the topic now, shall we? Fuck. Don’t you have a skill that would make me feel better? Some anxiolytic stuff? I don’t know [Anxiety Begone]? Isn’t that a thing?”

“It’s not advised to supplement the patient with calming skills in these moments unless the patient is going to self-destruct. I would have used skills and alchemy on the parent in the story, not on you, Joey.”

“Lucky me,” I reply.

“[Mages], at some point, might gain skills that stabilize their mind and their heart, making them more resilient to the common ailments of the soul. You might wish that you gained such skills one day. But they are extremely powerful and rare, Joey. They are a permanent fix, but some have gone mad while chasing them.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Joey, if you want to know yourself better, it’s going to take time. But the sooner you start this lifelong trip, the sooner the blisters under your feet will become callouses.”

“Ok, so, why am I not practicing Light Magic?” I sigh.

“When you first practiced, what was the reason?”

“I think I wanted to hit on Lucinda? Yeah, that might be it.”

“But you got the class, nonetheless. If you just wanted to chase the ladies, it wouldn’t have been enough. You might have gotten the [Flirt] class if that was what you really were. Instead, you became a [Mage].”

“I don’t know, Liogi. Jesus, this is stupid. Who doesn’t want to become a [Mage]? Isn’t every child’s dream to move a wand around and do cool stuff? It sounded cool, that’s all! Why do you have to look for something deeper when it might be simply as deep as a puddle?”

“But many would also like to become [Chefs] when they chop a few vegetables in the kitchen. Anticipating a reward isn’t enough, Joey. Why don’t you think deeper? Have you ever wanted to become a [Mage] before arriving in Epretos?”

I look around, wishing there was a stupid window I could glance at. Sadly, Liogi lives in the basement of the Nine Towers Academy. There’s not much I can distract myself by, and that kind of forces me to look for an answer. See, there’s this weight on my chest, like literally; not like ‘oh, something is weighing on my chest.’ No, no. I feel like my chest is being fucking compressed with a fucking sledgehammer Vanedeni relic.

“I couldn’t manage a bakery on my own, Liogi,” I tell the furry guy. “It’s too much. The taxes, the responsibility. Even the hiring process. It’s a nightmare. Before I came here, my mother was doing that stuff. I focused on baking and having fun; that was all I had to take care of. I would even forget to eat from time to time. And my mother would come to my house and cook me a hot meal. She got really sick, but she still had to take care of me.”

I stop for a second, looking for the right words. Then, something comes out of me in form of a confession.

“I know I’m good at stuff. I know I can be extremely good at stuff. It’s a thing I know, that I’m conscious of. And sometimes I look at the little challenges that stuff like bureaucracy poses, and it makes me mad. It makes me so fucking mad, Liogi, that a person like me can’t fucking deal with them,” I spell the last words with raw, pure anger, while my eyes fill with tears, “so mad, I swear, sometimes I just wonder what the fuck is going on. I have crafted magic, Liogi, that you can’t possibly understand! I made a spell so powerful that I could kill [Archmages]. My talent is out of this fucking world, right?! Then, why do I get a fucking panic attack every time I open a stupid, fucking bill?!”

I start crying wholeheartedly and when I look at my knees, I find another fox-imprinted napkin.