“Your handwriting isn’t fully polished yet, but for children who only learned letters recently, this is quite excellent.”
“Oh my, is that so? To hear such praise from you, Lord Oren, is an honor. Hoho!”
The mothers beamed proudly at the longtime merchant’s compliment.
“But beyond the writing, the drawings are remarkably realistic—almost as if they were drawn from life.”
“They really did draw them from life, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“What was it…? The teacher assigned them homework to catalogue the fish and seafood found on Dunbrook Island.”
“So oysters grow on Dunbrook?”
“Oysters?”
At the merchant’s excited pointing to one corner of a board, the women nodded eagerly.
“Yes—oysters. They grow on the island’s far shore.”
“Might I see them? I’d like to confirm that such large specimens truly exist!”
“Why oysters all of a sudden, Lord Oren?”
Just then, the village chief came dashing up, out of breath.
“Chief! You should have told us if oysters were available!”
“Eh? What do you mean, all of a sudden…?”
The chief looked bewildered at the merchant’s request.
“Why are you seeking oysters?”
Although Dunbrook is a small island village, it wasn’t impoverished—thanks to its bountiful sea. Fish were plentiful, and shellfish littered the shoreline, so starvation was not a concern.
But marketable seafood was rare. Most traded goods were fish; shellfish sold only in small quantities.
Shellfish weren’t popular with merchants because they spoiled quickly. Fish could be semi-dried, salted, or even made into salted sauces, but only scallops and pen shells fetched a decent price.
“Lately, demand for oysters has soared, and supply can’t keep up!”
“Oysters? Why?”
“You see… the Empire’s nobility has taken to eating raw oysters. They say it’s the secret to marital harmony…”
The merchant leaned in, whispering conspiratorially in the chief’s ear, and the chief’s eyes lit up.
“Goodness!”
“Especially the large ‘Ostrica’ oysters—they’re selling for prices on par with mid-grade meats.”
“Just a moment, Lord Oren. We have some reserved for ourselves—I’ll fetch them so you can judge their quality.”
“By all means!”
Cradling the wooden boards lovingly under his arm, the merchant followed the chief.
Meanwhile…
Patrick, determined to catch a trophy fish, had been standing by the sea for hours.
“Teacher, Teacher! Look at this!”
“What is it? It’d better be something special.”
Patrick, replying indifferently, widened his eyes in surprise—and then waved dismissively.
“No dipping sauce, no point in oysters.”
“Dipping sauce? I don’t know what that is, but these are delicious grilled.”
“True—and they’d make a tasty seafood stew!”
“Then you all eat them. Go on, over there!”
“You won’t regret it later?”
“I won’t.”
“Light a fire, please.”
“Tch. Am I a firestarter?”
The children had collected a basketful of oysters. Their habit of clustering meant even the smaller ones could gather a full basket quickly. But Patrick wasn’t much of an oyster fan.
‘Norovirus scares me.’
In this village, with no proper medicine, a bad oyster could mean days of agony.
“Fire!”
“Teacher, you’re amazing! Wow!”
“Fire’s lit, fire!”
The children arranged twigs under a pot they’d brought, and Patrick cast a simple ignition spell. The tiny flame, barely more than a spark, delighted them as always.
“Wait, add the butter first!”
A child from one of the few families keeping cattle dropped a chunk of butter into the pot, releasing a rich aroma along the shore.
“Now, Ben!”
“Got it!”
Pop!
With a cheerful snap, Ben popped the cork from a bottle of white wine. He’d expected only sweet potato soju from the distillery, but it seemed they made a simple wine too.
“Did you get your parents’ permission for this?” Patrick asked with mock sternness.
“They insisted we share this with you when they heard we’d be making steamed clams with the teacher!”
“I’m not eating any. Don’t use my name.”
“Did you think we’d assume you wouldn’t try it? Seriously, you should taste it.”
“I said I’m not eating. You all go ahead.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Hey, why hasn’t there been a single bite on my line today?”
Patrick grumbled at his idle fishing rod.
“All done!”
While the teacher wrestled with his fishing gear, the oysters steamed in white wine finished. Though no extra vegetables or herbs went in, the combination of butter, wine, and fresh, briny oysters was perfect.
“They’re delicious!”
“Take it slow, Tommy—don’t burn your tongue.”
“Tomorrow, let’s make pasta with these! I can bring dried noodles from home.”
“Wow, that’d be great!”
The oysters—easily 1.5 times larger than those he’d known in his past life—looked and tasted different.
‘They didn’t even try to convince me to taste them.’
Casting a sidelong glance at the children, Patrick pouted before folding up his fishing rod and sitting down beside them.
“You said you wouldn’t eat.”
“There’s wine in here. I’m just making sure the alcohol’s cooked off—checking, really.”
He caught Ben muttering softly, ‘Stop making excuses—just admit you want to eat them,’ but he ignored him.
Slurp—
Patrick raised a shell to his lips and swallowed the oyster whole, barely chewing.
“…!”
His eyes widened as he gulped it down.
“See? I told you they’re good.”
“Hey, how did you make these? …Can I have more?”
“There’s plenty—help yourselves.”
Oyster shells began to pile beside Patrick, who couldn’t stop eating.
‘Why are these so good? Wild-caught? No… the flavor’s different. Is it a different species?’
He noticed the shells were a bit thicker and rounder than usual. Whatever the reason, the taste was intensely rich—enough to convert even Patrick, who normally avoided shellfish.
“My parents like to squeeze lemon juice over them, dice onions and tomatoes on top.”
“That’s right—those toppings are delicious too.”
“Then pack me a few to take home.”
“You got it!”
Satisfied with securing dinner, they kept eating until a distant shout reached them.
“Teacher!”
“The chief?”
The village chief arrived at the shore-class with the merchant in tow.
Seeing Oren eyeing their oyster feast, Patrick tensed—but when he heard why they’d come, he generously offered the merchant a piece.
The merchant tasted it without hesitation, nodded in approval, exchanged a few numbers with the chief, and gripped his hand firmly—sealing a deal.
“This is wonderful, Chief!”
“Yes, Teacher! All thanks to you! Haha!”
“Thanks to me?”
“Remember the assignment you gave the children? Lord Oren saw their work and came to verify it.”
“Oh, that…”
“The flavor is deep and the aroma lovely—this will be popular. Thanks to you, Magical Lord, I’ve gained an excellent new supplier. Thank you.”
The aging merchant also thanked Patrick.
“Well… it seems the children are the ones who deserve thanks more than I do.”
Patrick looked back at the children, shyly nudging their shoulders.
“I did assign the homework, but it was these children who surveyed the habitats and drew the illustrations—so the thanks belong to them.”
“I see!”
“You truly are a fine teacher!”
“Teacher…!”
The children, for perhaps the first time, gazed at Patrick with sincere admiration as he shrugged modestly.
“Then this should go to all of you.”
At that, the merchant produced several silver coins and, before anyone could stop him, began handing them out evenly to the children.
“A token of appreciation. Our guild always rewards those who provide useful information—don’t refuse them.”
“Wow! Silver coins!”
“Real silver?”
“I’ve never touched one before!”
Having lived on the island, the children rarely saw money; they gasped at the sight of real silver coins.
“…Teacher?”
Patrick quietly joined the end of the children’s line to receive a coin.
“Come to think of it, we’re all one group, aren’t we?”
“Oh… yes, yes. Haha… ha.”
Patrick boldly pocketed a coin.
‘Pride doesn’t fill my belly. Try digging the ground—see if money comes out.’
Shameless as ever, he remained characteristically consistent.
“Oh, by the way.”
“Yes, Master Magician?”
“Do you purchase bamboo shoots too?”
“Bamboo shoots? We don’t deal in them unless it’s a large quantity…”
“Is that so?”
Patrick’s face fell at the thought of having nothing else to sell, even as his first chance to earn money in exile.
Just then he remembered some mushrooms he’d collected and dried behind the house.
“Lord Oren, I have some dried mushrooms I foraged—quite tasty ones at that.”
“Mushrooms? Do you know their name?”
“I’m not certain of the exact name, but they’re called ‘blue mushrooms.’ Oddly, they’re white in color. Ha!”
“White mushrooms called ‘blue mushrooms’? May I see them?”
The merchant’s interest was piqued.
“Certainly. Follow me. My house is a bit far, but we can chat about life as we go.”
At Patrick’s lighthearted banter, the elderly merchant chuckled heartily.
‘White but called blue mushrooms… It’s worth checking out.’
Half in doubt, he followed after him.