Chapter 81

Just who does he take after?

While looking at the empty stew plate, Lorenz was thinking about his son.

It was frustrating, but it was delicious.

He never thought he would be impressed by his son’s cooking, but this was far superior to what you’d get at any old tavern.

Still, something gnawed at his chest like a smoldering furnace.

Outside the window, the snow had turned to rain. Rain falling in the darkness of night was not a pleasant thing.

He threw the wooden spoon into the plate and leaned back in his chair. His stomach was full, but there was no sign of sleep coming anytime soon.

Lorenz lived in a small three-story house close to the craftsmen’s district with his two sons.

He found it odd that, after traveling through various countries as a traveling glassmaker, he had settled down in his hometown, the ancient city.

He was confident in his skills, but he never imagined he would become an Honorary Master of the Glassmakers’ Guild.

He had heard through the grapevine that his childhood friend and drinking buddy, Holger, had lobbied on his behalf. However, he had not thanked him. Holger wouldn’t want to be thanked. That’s how men’s friendships work, Lorenz understood.

Thanks to this, he was able to raise his two sons to adulthood.

His eldest son, Hugo, was apprenticing under him as a glassmaker. If he continued to be trained properly, by the time Lorenz retired, Hugo would be a craftsman good enough to run the workshop without disappointing customers.

What troubled Lorenz was his second son, Hans.

He wanted to become a chef.

A few days after declaring this, he quit his previous job and quickly started working at a tavern.

"Who does he take after?" he muttered to himself again.

There was no need to think about it. He took after himself.

In truth, Lorenz had wanted his second son, Hans, to take over the glassmaking business. His elder son, Hugo, had some talent, but that was all. He could climb to the eighth station of the mountain, but he wouldn’t reach the summit.

As it was, Hugo couldn’t break out of his shell. That was his nature.

Hans was different.

Hans intuitively knew that the person a craftsman should compete against is himself. His competitiveness wasn’t about not wanting to lose to others, but about feeling inadequate when he lost to himself.

Lorenz had opposed Hans becoming a guard.

He didn’t think Hans was unsuited for it, but he knew there was something more suitable. If Hans became a glassmaker, he could surpass Lorenz and become a master. Lorenz truly believed this, not out of favoritism but from the bottom of his heart.

Hans had inherited the dexterity of his fingers and the sense of color, not Hugo. And yet.

The reason Lorenz couldn’t accept Hans’s desire to become a chef was that it dug up something he had thought he had given up when Hans chose to become a guard.

It was less about why Hans wanted to be a chef and more about why he didn’t want to be a glassmaker. Even though he thought it was ridiculous, the fact that it was ridiculous made it all the harder to suppress.

Hugo poured hot water into a thick glass.

Instead of saying "thank you," the words "you’re here" almost slipped out, but he covered it with a cough. Both Hugo and Hans were dear to him, but he couldn’t help but be more concerned about Hans at the moment.

"Hans’s stew was delicious, wasn’t it?"

"It was just okay."

"You had seconds, so it couldn’t have been just okay."

"…I was just hungry."

Hugo laughed through his nose and shrugged, starting to clear the plates.

Hans had already returned to his room and was holed up there. They hadn’t spoken directly in a while.

Feeling guilty as he watched Hugo’s back, Lorenz took a sip of the hot water.

The glass was made by Hugo. It was thick, but the rim was slightly thinner to improve the mouthfeel, something Lorenz had taught him.

It was surprisingly well-made. The glasses brought home were defective and unsellable, a rule Lorenz had set. This glass had been brought by Hugo this morning, but he couldn’t remember why it had been rejected.

The sound of Hugo washing the plates with well water could be heard. The water at this time of year would be bone-chillingly cold.

"…You’ve improved."

"Yeah, I guess. I didn’t think cooking could improve so quickly. Nob hasn’t been working at the tavern for that long, right?"

"No, I meant the glass you made."

The water sound stopped.

Rain pounded against the window. There was no other sound.

After a long silence, the sound of washing dishes resumed, but Hugo remained silent.

"Hey, Hugo, shall we go tomorrow?"

"Go where, Master? To the tavern Nob?"

"…Just call me Dad at home."

Reflecting on it, he had Hans call him "Dad." Hugo’s back seemed to tremble slightly.