Side Chapter: When a Small Prayer Reaches the Heavens

“I hope...that one day, the world will be free of such misery...”

A young girl looked up at the empty sky, willing her quiet prayer toward the invisible ears of heaven. Her dress, regally crafted to befit the attire of a princess, was marred with mud. Before her lay the emaciated body of a little boy whose arm, moments before, had been outstretched. She’d wanted to answer his plea. To take his trembling hand in hers and offer...something, if not help then at least words of comfort. But she couldn’t. By the time she’d knelt beside him, he was gone.

That scene, like many others she witnessed visiting famine-stricken villages, had stuck with her—an ache in her heart that time could not allay. So, she prayed, again and again, each time more earnestly than the last. But the ears of heaven seemed deaf to her pleas, and its celestial whims inscrutable and cruel. Famine continued to befall her country, striking without rhyme or reason, as if her land and people were but playthings for a sadistic and mercurial deity. In time, she began to wonder. Were her prayers even reaching God? And if they were, did he, sitting in his lofty throne, even care?

So be it. If God wouldn’t do anything, then she would. If he saw fit to leave them to their fate, then she would take it upon herself to rid them of their misery. The young girl gave herself to her cause. She allowed it to consume her, offering her every waking moment to the enrichment of her country and the feeding of her people. But in the rush of hard work and struggle, she left something behind. It had slipped out of her, like a coin from a pocket, unseen and unremembered. She forgot her wish. She abandoned her prayer.

It was customary for Perujin princesses to return to their homeland before the summer break. This was so they could stand with their people and lead the harvest. Furthermore, during the harvest festival, they performed rites at shrines, serving as maidens who thanked the heavens for a bountiful season and prayed for continued fortune in the subsequent year. These duties were recognized by the Central Orthodox Church to be part of their official function, so they were permitted by Saint-Noel Academy to leave early.

This did, of course, prevent them from participating in pre-summer events such as the swordsmanship tournament, but for Arshia Tafrif Perujin, never once did she mourn the loss. Perujin’s fate was inextricably tied to the quality of its harvests. Poor yields would cost countless lives and could even lead to the collapse of the nation. Therefore, praying for good harvests was a duty that Arshia considered paramount. School functions were trivial in comparison.

The first time her sureness in her priorities wavered was the year she turned fifteen. Specifically, it happened the day she came across a field of study known as botany. Its focus on plants piqued her interest. So, taking advantage of the wealth of information that Saint-Noel offered, she delved into the subject. What she discovered shook her to her core. Knowledge, she realized, was instrumental in determining the quality of a harvest. Knowledge accrued through the tireless efforts of her own people. Knowledge that she, their princess, did not possess.

A deep shame had filled her heart. At the same time, she felt that she’d found her calling: immerse herself in the field of botany, absorb its knowledge, and apply it toward the improvement of Perujin produce. She was going to rid her country of famine and bring prosperity to her impoverished people.

From that day forward, she devoted herself to her studies. Her efforts were rewarded, and it wasn’t long before her expertise rivaled that of her teachers. With her newfound knowledge, she would enrich her homeland. She could grow more resistant wheat. Improve farming efficiency. Reform agriculture from the ground up. On the day of her graduation, she could barely contain herself. She was full of emotions—excitement, anticipation, and most of all, hope. Buzzing with energy and motivation, she returned home...to the dissonant edict of her father, the King.

“Prepare yourself for marriage. There are many promising candidates among the foreign nobility. It is time you wed one of them.”

Arshia protested, of course. She was a researcher. She had expertise. She wanted to help her country through her skills and knowledge. Didn’t they understand?

They did not. From her mother, she received admonishment. From her older sister, subtle reproof. No matter where she turned, her wishes were ignored. Day after day, she weathered their disapproval. And so, weathered she became, her passion doused by the unending drizzle of opposition. She began doubting the virtue of her cause. Perhaps, she reasoned, they were right, and what she was trying to do was little more than a vain attempt to satisfy her own ego, like the seeding of salted earth. The only person who stood by her was her younger sister, Rania, who’d remained firmly supportive of her studies. And as she began to sink into the mire of despair, it was her little sister who grabbed her hand.

“Hey Arshia, you know how they’re building a new academy city in the Tearmoon Empire? Do you want to try being a teacher there?”

Barely a day after Rania’s return from Saint-Noel, she approached Arshia with a proposal. Taken completely by surprise, Arshia blinked in confusion.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

After learning the details, she nodded in understanding. Rania had, in the course of her studies, apparently acquainted herself with Princess Mia of Tearmoon. According to her, Mia held Arshia’s expertise in very high regard. It was a nice thought, even though it seemed blatantly obvious that Rania had forcibly wrung the idea out of the Tearmoon Princess in an attempt to help Arshia escape her current circumstances.

“As a princess, you’ll be able to make all sorts of connections teaching at Princess Mia’s academy,” urged Rania. “Way more than if you were married off to some random noble. It’d strengthen ties between Perujin and Tearmoon. Also—”

“Thank you, Rania. But no. I can’t.”

Arshia interrupted her younger sister with a glum shake of the head.

“...Wh-What?” asked a slack-jawed Rania. She hadn’t expected Arshia to turn down the offer. “How come?”

“Do you really need to ask? After being humiliated like that, do you seriously expect me to go work for the Princess of Tearmoon?”

Back when Arshia had organized Perujin’s produce showcase party, the Tearmoon nobles in attendance had made no attempt to hide their contempt. She could still remember their scornful remarks. Crops as paltry as their country. Food fit for cattle. They’d taken the literal fruits of Perujin farmers’ labor and thrown them on the ground. Even now, the memory still made her seethe with anger.

“She might be your friend, Rania, but she’s not mine. I have no reason to help her, and I don’t want to either. Please kindly inform Her Highness that I have no intention of accepting her offer.”

Rania’s letter arrived in Mia’s hands two days later. After trekking all the way to Viscount Berman’s domain and successfully recruiting Ludwig’s former master, the wise old Galv, Mia had been looking forward to some well-earned rest and recuperation back at the capital.

“They did what?! For the love of— What in the moons did those idiots think they were doing?! Augh! I can’t— Just— Augh!”

She threw aside Rania’s letter, planted her face in her bed and kicked while holding her head. Then, still unsatisfied, she propped up her pillow and started punching it. Only after thoroughly thrashing her bedding had she vented enough frustration to think straight again.

“Let’s see... Given the circumstances, I think the first thing I should do is issue a formal apology.”

Mia had no qualms about saying sorry. She’d say it as many times as necessary. Words were cheap, after all, and Mia liked cheap things. It was, in her opinion, better to say sorry than be sorry. Not that she had any shortage of things to be sorry for, but anyway...

She quickly penned an apology and sent it off to Perujin on the fastest horse she could find. Unfortunately, the problem proved too stubborn to be solved by a single letter.

“Well, that figures, I suppose...” she said with a sigh after reading Rania’s response.

The message relayed Arshia’s stance, which could be summed up as, “It’s fine. I don’t need you to apologize. Now go away.” Needless to say, no progress was made. Words were indeed cheap; a brief apology wasn’t going to pay off a years-old debt.

“Like I thought, the apology has to be earnest...and it has to come from the people who committed the offense in the first place.”

With that in mind, Mia concocted a plan. Basically, she was going to round up the knuckleheads who’d made fun of Arshia during her party, make them acknowledge the quality of Perujin produce, and then have them admit to their profoundly poor judgment in a formal apology.

“Tons of things grown in Perujin taste really good too. It can’t be that hard to cook up some impressive dishes...but then again, those nitwits don’t seem like the kind of people to appreciate good cooking.”

Many nobles in Tearmoon were predisposed to harboring an irrational hatred toward agriculture, which tended to foster a disdain for produce as well. As a result, even if the food was so delicious it moved them to tears, they’d claim to be crying from sheer disgust. Wrangling an honest compliment out of them was going to be like pulling teeth, and reaching into their metaphorical mouth cavity seemed highly unappealing. She needed a plan.

“If they’re not going to voluntarily say good things about the produce, then I”ll just have to put them in a situation where they have no other choice.”

Delicious crops alone weren’t enough to earn their praise... But what if she appended an adjective? What if they were delicious grown-in-Tearmoon crops?

“Or even better... ‘Delicious Tearmoon produce sourced from the humble country of Perujin.’ What if I go with that?”

The ones who’d made fun of Arshia were members of the empire’s central nobility. They were walking, talking bundles of Tearmoon pride. These were people who derived immense pleasure from boasting about their own nation while debasing others.

Which makes them terribly easy to manipulate. Oh, they’ll be dancing in the palm of my hand before they know it!

She grinned like a mastermind who’d just devised a devious plan. Note the simile, like a mastermind. Because she definitely wasn’t one. Regardless, she was now a woman with a plan, and she promptly began putting it into action. First, she would arrange a tea party with invitations for both Arshia and the young nobles who’d mocked her. Then she’d have all the food for the party made from Perujin produce—without her guests’ knowledge, of course.

Finally, she’d casually mention something to the effect of, “My, the vegetables used in these dishes are simply exquisite!” Upon hearing her say that, the nobles would look from her to Arshia, and draw the conclusion, “Aha! So Her Highness is saying that Tearmoon produce is superior to that of Perujin!” It would be the wrong conclusion, of course, but that was the point.

“Considering they’re the kind of people who badmouthed Perujin products at a party hosted by Perujin, that’s definitely what they’ll think. And they’ll follow my lead and start praising the dishes as well. That’s when I’ll spring my trap and leave them speechless. To that end, I’ll have to host this tea party somewhere in Tearmoon...”

The nobility had a very low opinion of agriculture in general, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t speak positively about it in relative terms. If they thought they were comparing Perujin produce to Tearmoon produce, they’d be tripping over each other to lavish praise on their empire. Then, by revealing that everything they’d eaten was actually grown in Perujin, she’d leave them no choice but to apologize to Arshia.

“What would be the best place to do this... Maybe at the Rudolvon’s?”

The Outcount was also a frequent target of their animosity, but he was nevertheless a Tearmoon noble. Unlike Perujin, which they saw as practically a vassal state, they’d still acknowledge the Rudolvons as one of their own, albeit grudgingly. Highlighting the ingredients used in the food they were enjoying would surely lead them to assume the ingredients were sourced locally. Another advantage was the Rudolvons’ proximity to both Perujin and the site of the future Saint Mia Academy. Once she was done with the tea party, she could even ask them to tour the school. The location was perfect.

“To be honest, I’m not exactly looking forward to asking him for help,” she muttered, recalling her last interaction with Outcount Rudolvon.

Regardless, it had to be done, and on second thought, all she really had to do was talk him into going along with her plan. If saying nice things could solve her problem, she’d say them all day. Words were cheap.

“What else is there... Maybe for some extra flair, I’ll bring along some of the kids enrolling in my school. That might up the impact,” she murmured, contemplating the details of her plan with enough meticulousness to almost turn her from a pretend mastermind to a real one.

It occurred to her that even if the nobles apologized, there was no guarantee that Arshia would agree to teach at the school. Therefore, she had to create a situation in which it was hard for Arshia to say no. The plan was simple: have her meet her future pupils in person.

“I’m definitely bringing Cyril. He’s got that smart kid look to him that teachers love. He’ll probably want to ask lots of questions, so I’ll sic him on her and tickle her inner educator.”

She’d allow him free reign over his choice of questions. Not because she was generous or anything, but because she knew next to nothing about the subject matter. As a devout observer of the Mia Method—when in doubt, delegate, delegate, delegate—she was determined to let everyone else deal with the actual knowing of stuff.

“Wagul too. He’s such a nice boy. I bet she’ll take a liking to him. Who else... Oh, there’s that girl from the orphanage. Selia, I think? I’ll bring her too.”

In bringing the two children, she was mostly hoping to use their unfortunate circumstances to earn some pity points. Princess Arshia probably didn’t view Tearmoon nobles in a good light, so showing up with a small army of their kids wasn’t going to make a good impression. It’d be better for Mia to mix in some kids of common blood, thereby demonstrating her willingness to excavate talent from even the lowest strata of society. Perujin royalty reportedly maintained a close relationship with their people. The presence of the orphans would doubtlessly make it harder for Arshia to refuse her request.

Mia wasn’t fond of taking risks. Driven by her inner voice, which was mostly just a bunch of chicken sounds, she steadily and unwittingly adopted the approach of true strategists, who strove to win as much of the battle as possible before any of the fighting even began. After making every possible preparation to increase her advantage, she sent out the invitations and hosted the tea party.

“Please accept my warmest welcome, Princess Arshia Tafrif Perujin, as well as my deepest gratitude for taking the time to come here. I know you’re very busy with the harvest festival.”

Arshia regarded the brightly smiling Mia, feeling a growing pang of regret at her decision to come. After declining the offer to teach, she hadn’t had the nerve to turn down the ensuing invitation to tea, but that didn’t mean she was glad to be here.

“Your Highness is most generous with your words. It is an honor to be invited to this occasion,” she replied before glancing at the other guests.

Gathered at Mia’s party were the exact same people who’d mocked her during her own. They even wore the same sneers. It was as if she’d been transported back to that terrible day.

Is this payback? For turning down her job offer? But if Rania is to be believed, Princess Mia isn’t that kind of person, in which case... Maybe it’s the opposite? Is she going to order them to apologize?

She sighed. After all this time, what was the point? Even if they apologized, it wouldn’t change her mind. She had no intention of working for Mia. As the party began in earnest, she was consumed by a profound sense of weariness. The more she observed, the less she cared. It was all so blatant. So staged. All of the food they were being served was made with fruits and vegetables grown in Perujin. It’d taken her no more than a single bite to realize this. She looked to Mia, who was showering the food with profuse praise. Well, when she wasn’t busy stuffing her face with the stuff, anyway. Her behavior was so comically excessive, like visual hyperbole, that it made Arshia cringe.

Ugh, such blatant flattery. It’s so obvious that she’s putting on an act. I mean, it’s a pretty thorough act, but still...

After every bite, Mia seemed to revel in the moment, radiating so much bliss she practically glowed. Arshia watched her with a quirked brow, unsure if she was supposed to be offended or impressed by the display.

“This cake is simply exquisite! The fruits in it, they’re just... Mwah!” Mia exclaimed, making a kissing motion with her hand.

“I agree wholeheartedly.” One of the young nobles chimed in casually. “The empire’s fruits are superb. Nothing like that grub we get from a certain agricultural country I could mention...”

A grin spread across Mia’s lips.

“My, how strange of you to say that...considering all the agricultural products used to make the food you see here were grown in Perujin.”

Ah, so that’s the script they’re following. After being told that the produce they spoke so highly of is actually grown in Perujin, they’ll come to me and apologize.

Arshia observed the theatrics with mild exasperation. Presumably, these nobles were under direct orders from Mia to participate in this clumsy farce and deliver an apology at the end.

This is so stupid. If I’m right about her plan, then Rania seriously needs to have some higher standards for her friends, because this Princess Mia person really isn’t much to write home about.

Of course, she’d have to accept the apology. After they’d made a whole show of it, she could hardly refuse. She might even end up having to accept her original job offer as well. A request from the Princess of Tearmoon was not something she could turn down without due reason, and it’d take them little more than this half-baked travesty of an apology to rob her of it.

They can do as they please... Bully us to their liking... And it’s all because we’re poor, and our country is weak...

She watched them with a scowl as her spirits sank into the gloomy morass of her own bitter musings...only for the proceedings to defy her expectations. Upon being told that the food on which they’d lavished so much praise was actually of Perujin origin, the young nobles proceeded to...pivot.

“Ah, my mistake. It is our chefs then who deserve praise for turning third-rate fruits from Perujin into such fine cake. The empire’s expertise is unmatched.”

“I see,” commented another noble. “In other words, the food on display today was a challenge to see how much flavor could be extracted from inferior ingredients. Most impressive.”

This seemed to catch Mia off guard, and she uttered only a dumbfounded “Huh?” as she stared wide-eyed at the speakers.

Contempt entered Arshia’s gaze as she glared at the nobles, appalled by their contorted reasoning.

Ugh, these people are hopeless...

Even now, they refused to admit their mistake. Was it that hard for them to say sorry? Arshia shook her head. She could see right through their foolish vanity, and it disgusted her. There was, however, someone she couldn’t see through, and that bothered her. She turned toward Mia.

What’s the deal with her? If she wants them to apologize, she just has to say so. She’s their princess, for crying out loud... Why didn’t she just order them to do it?

For all its insincerity, the apology itself should still be warranted. Did she forget to tell the nobles what to do? Surely, she hadn’t expected them to apologize on their own? For someone called the Great Sage of the Empire, it would be ludicrously embarrassing for her to have lacked the foresight to give basic instructions...

“U-Um... Princess Arshia?”

That was when she heard an unfamiliar voice. A young boy approached her. He looked to be a little younger than Rania. Beside him stood a girl and another boy, both approximately the same age. The trio was much younger than the other guests, and Arshia had noticed them as soon as she’d arrived. She’d been wondering what they were doing here.

“Yes? Can I help you, uh...”

She smiled at the boy as she considered him. Assuming this tea party was staged for the purpose of delivering an apology, what was the purpose of these children? Her thoughts must have leaked into her expression, for the young boy nodded and introduced himself as Cyril Rudolvon, son of the local lord. His two companions proceeded to introduce themselves as well. The other boy was Wagul, and the girl, Selia.

“Thank you very much for the courteous introductions,” she said to the trio. “So, how can I help you?”

“Oh, um, yes,” the boy named Cyril said with a stammer. “I was just, um, wondering if...this pasta is made from coldmoon buckwheat.”

“Yes, I believe so...” she replied with a curious nod. If he wanted to know the ingredients, she hardly seemed like the right person to ask. “What about it?”

“Oh, um, I just thought that.. if this is made from coldmoon buckwheat, then, um...it’s pretty amazing.”

“...Oh? Why do you say that?”

Her eyes narrowed. Cyril shrank a little from her gaze and answered in a whisper.

“Because, um, this grain doesn’t grow right now. It’s the wrong season, which means it must have been harvested last winter. But this pasta tastes like it was made with fresh ingredients. I’m not sure how that’s possible. Would you happen to know?”

Arshia stared at Cyril for a brief, speechless moment. This little boy had, in one short question, cut to the heart of the matter. He just distilled the essence of Perujin know-how.

“I’m surprised you noticed. That was very astute of you. It’s because of selective breeding. We developed a strain of coldmoon buckwheat that seeds during slightly warmer weather.”

“Really? You can do that? How?” asked the boy with the kind of astonishment that only arose from genuine interest. He asked another question, and then another, each more involved than the last, until the depth of the botanical knowledge he displayed matched the crease across Arshia’s brow.

Who in the world is this boy?

As if on cue, he promptly delivered the answer.

“We’re all going to be students in Her Highness’s academy.”

Ah... I see. So you’re the ones... The future students... The thought intrigued her. It hovered in her mind, evicting the resentment and indignation that previously occupied the space. Could it be that...the pointlessness is the point? Is Princess Mia trying to send me a message? Tell me that it’s not even worth my time to accept apologies from people like them?

Suddenly, words surfaced in her mind.

I don’t need Mia’s apology. There’s no point.

The one who’d spoken them...had been herself. And that was when, like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place, it all clicked. Forcing the nobles to apologize to her would have been pointless. Worse, actually. She’d have wasted her time listening to disingenuous pleas for forgiveness. That was why Mia hadn’t done this. Instead, she’d posed Arshia an unspoken question.

“In dwelling on such hollow sentiments, you are losing an opportunity to educate many talented children,” Mia seemed to say through pursed lips, “and giving up the chance to continue the meaningful research you’ve been doing. Is that truly what you want?”

But Arshia soon learned that Mia’s true goals were even loftier.

“Still, I do wonder why Princess Mia’s school will be teaching botany of all things?” she said, the question escaping her in a soft, contemplative whisper.

There was a strong tendency in the Tearmoon Empire to look down on everything related to agriculture. Why then would this new and prominent academy, whose construction was being personally overseen by the princess herself, bother with botany lessons? Her answer came from the boy Wagul.

“Princess Mia said... As long as we don’t starve... It’ll be okay no matter what happens...”

The exact quote was actually, “As long as we don’t starve, it’ll be okay no matter what happens. As long as there’s no revolution and no guillotine. That’s all I care about.” Arshia, however, would never learn of the latter half of Mia’s statement.

A bashful smile then spread across Wagul’s lips as he told the story of how he first met Mia after he’d collapsed on the street of the slums, too famished even to cry out for help. When he finished, Selia began telling hers, describing her upbringing in the orphanage and a life equally marred by hunger and strife.

“As long as we don’t starve... It’ll be okay no matter what happens... That’s why we need food. Lots of it. And in order to have lots of food, we need botanical knowledge. We need advancements in agricultural technology. That’s what Princess Mia said,” Selia recounted, concluding her story with a repeat of the quote.

Mia’s words slammed into Arshia’s chest with the force of a hammer before boring deep into her heart. They hurt. She bit her lip. The pain was so visceral. So real. Because they’d struck at the very core of her, resonating with remnants of words she’d once spoken herself, but forgotten. Words that now flared back to life with a deafening peal.

Despite its reputation as an agricultural country, Perujin had once experienced a terrible bout of famine. It had been a year of heavy rain and little sun, resulting in critically low crop yields across the board. Perujin royalty maintained a close connection with their people, most of whom were farmers. Faced with this devastation, the King went on a long journey that spanned the entirety of the country, visiting village after village and consoling his despondent subjects. Arshia had accompanied her father on the trip. Along the way, she saw many things. Men lying by the roadside, too hungry to move. Women staring into the distance, their faces unnaturally gaunt. And the outstretched arm of a young boy...

She never wanted to see such suffering again. It was too much. And it should never be allowed to repeat. So, she prayed...hoping that one day, the world would be free of such misery.

Arshia’s eyes narrowed pensively at the small forms standing before her. She regarded them anew. At first, they’d seemed like any other children, well-clothed and well-fed, but the longer she looked, the more they started to resemble the small figures in her memory. The face of the young boy she’d seen on that terrible day superimposed itself over theirs.

It was meaningless for Perujin to flourish alone. Even if it surpassed Tearmoon in power... Even if it became stronger than all the other kingdoms put together, it would still be just one country. The world would not be rid of the misery she witnessed that day. It would simply be hidden from her by the veil of prosperity in Perujin. Somewhere out there, children would still be lying famished in the streets, their suffering unaltered. Those hypothetical children could be anyone, possibly even the ones she saw before her right now.

Why did I even go to Saint-Noel in the first place? What did I want to do?

Had it been to improve Perujin’s agricultural technology and help the country flourish? Or to foster stability among her people and society? No. It hadn’t been any of those. She’d gone because she wanted to end the cycle of misfortune. To craft a world in which no one would succumb to starvation.

I remember now... That was why I chose to study botany...

A young girl had willed a quiet prayer to the heavens, wishing for a world without the misery she saw all around her. She’d prayed and prayed, but harvest yields remained fickle as ever, and starvation continued to claim lives. So, in time, she’d given up. Her prayers, she’d thought, were meaningless; her wish, unheard.

And yet...

Arshia felt as though a hand had been extended to her. It belonged to a petite princess, radiant and regal, and in that moment, it dawned on her. All this time, she’d thought her prayers had gone unanswered, but what if she was wrong? What if the heavens had just taken some time to respond? This girl before her—this young princess who’d forced her way into Arshia’s life—could be the answer to her long-forgotten prayer. For so long, she’d searched for a way to rid the world of the misery she’d seen. Now, she might be staring at that very path. The door had opened; she needed only to step through.

I thought...it’d never... But now, I... I can—

An emotion she’d never felt before filled her chest. It was intense, and it pushed her forward. She faced Mia and spoke in a solemn tone.

“Princess Mia, regarding your offer of the teaching position, if it is still available, I would be honored to accept it.”

“...Fwoo’d fwat?” Mia stared stupidly, her mouth stuffed full of the cake she’d been devouring as a knee-jerk coping mechanism for disappointment. Her chipmunk-shaped cheeks undulated a few more times but produced no further reply. Meanwhile, her sugar-laden brain struggled to process how the spectacular failure of her master plan had somehow transmuted itself into a resounding victory.

Arshia Tafrif Perujin.

The name was one for the history books, to be forever enshrined in the pantheon of mankind. It belonged to an outstanding scholar who, together with the child prodigy Cyril Rudolvon, developed a strain of wheat that could thrive in the cold, permanently freeing the continent from the scourge of famine...

Thus triumphed Mia the strategist, whose brilliant mind and peerless prescience—the likes of which were rarely seen throughout history—allowed her to successfully persuade Arshia. Indeed, the Great Sage of the Empire had held all the cards before the game even started. Feeling rather pleased after managing this extraordinary feat of sealing victory in advance of the battle itself, she decided to reward herself by indulging in cakes and sweets. In a display of gluttonous frenzy profoundly devoid of the aforementioned prescience, she swept through the pastries, consuming them with reckless abandon. All looming concerns were discarded, including a particularly crucial one—summer was fast approaching.

The Great Sage of the Empire failed to exercise her foresight. Consequently, she did not see coming the extreme humiliation that awaited her a mere month down the road. Forty days remained until F.A.T. would return to torment her once more.