Scarecrow: Part Two

Twenty minutes later, all their plates were clear empty. Then, after a couple of stealthy glances, Casimir spoke up. “What about waiting for Katrina before returning to our classroom?”

“I admit she helped us.” Jacques waved his hand dismissively. “But c’mon! Everyone will see a princess walking with three dirty pigs.” He leaned left slightly, eyeing the object of the conversation. Despite being the youngest among them—and a mere Class F—Katrina was the heart of the conversation, looking way more mature than her seniors. “Also, I want her to know as little as possible about me—trust me, avoid powerful people. They don’t see you as a person, but as a toy to have fun with.” Then, he leaned right slightly, bad-eyeing Perry, who was boastfully serving wine at a nearby table while flirting with the ladies. “I can’t stand that guy anymore. Seriously, how the hell did that motherfucker get this job?”

“He seems like a nice person, and, from what I saw, he is doing a great job. What’s the problem?” Are you blind, kiddo? Look at how he’s treating that expensive wine. It’s heresy against the very values of his profession! Himself blurted.

Jacques rolled his eyes. “Are you blind, Bullserk? Look at how he is treating such a fine vintage! It’s heresy against the very values of his profession! If you want to impress girls with acrobatics, use cheaper wine!” Derserk blinked a couple of times, visibly confused by Jacques’ words.

Casimir, sensing the rising tension, quickly stepped in. ”Let’s just agree it was a good breakfast, and thank you, Jacques, for inviting us today.” The 'Javelinist' blushed a little, then waved to Perry, signaling he was ready for the bill. But just as he lowered his hand, all eyes turned once again toward their table while the golden-haired waiter approached the trio as excitedly as a Highlander Knight after receiving the order to slaughter all women and children in New Oasis.

”Thank you for the priceless time you’ve chosen to spend with us. I have your bill right here, and the Fragrance of the Morning family hopes to see you again, perhaps even tomorrow—I’d be happy to reserve the best table, just for you.” Jacques frowned, confused by the giggles Perry’s words had provoked. He knew the breakfast was expensive, but that didn’t explain this reaction. Then, the ’Javelinist’ flipped over the piece of paper and began to read aloud. ”One S. Cake—18 Marini. Two B. Eggs—57 Marini. One M. Glass—5 Marini. Three W. Glasses—6 Marini. Tip...299 Marini..."

“Jacques…the bill…” Casimir muttered in shock, the amount was nearly half of his wage.

”No…this has to be a joke.” Jacques’ voice flickered like a candle’s flame exposed to a breeze. ”I worked all night to earn 201 Marini, and I planned to spend half of it here. I’ve calculated everything to perfection.” His trembling eyes re-scanned the last line. ”What the fuck is a tip?!” In the Free City of Maria asking for a tip was seen as no different than begging. Nevertheless, Jacques knew he would have to compromise with the values embedded in his DNA if he wanted a new life. However, this wasn’t just heresy—it was pure blasphemy.

”You can pay here or at the counter,” Perry explained, struggling to keep his lips from twisting into a grin. ”We are very flexible in adapting to the needs of our beloved customers.” This is the expression I’ve been waiting to see—get what you fucking deserve. Perry and the nobles savored their sweet revenge, seasoned with Jacques’ broken pride.

”On the menu it is written 15% tip on the total amount—what the fuck is this 299 Marini!”

”Sir, everyone in this room understands that tips tend to be slightly higher than standard here. Our esteemed owner believes in rewarding excellence, and my colleagues and I are doing a masterful job of preserving the reputation of this magnificent café.”

Kill them all! Stop being a wimp. Cut his throat—he’s not an Essentia. Show them who rules! Himself’s voice thundered inside Derserk’s skull as he gripped the edge of the table, cold sweat flowing on his skin. The ’Gravedigger’ was seconds away from giving in to dark temptations, and if someone didn’t stop the scramble as soon as possible, the people in the room would come to understand the true meaning of fear.

”This is clearly a violation of the Trilateral Agreements!” Jacques barked, pointing his index at Perry. ”All prices must be established prior to the beginning of the workday and shall remain unchanged until its conclusion. It’s illegal! I’m calling my lawyer!” Instead of intimidating him, Jacques’ remarks triggered a new wave of mockery from the room.

”Sir, a tip is an abstract concept, a reward for good service—the love we put into our work can’t be quantified by mere numbers. That 15% is merely a suggestion, and, since I did such a great job, I thought I deserved a little more, and everyone in this room has agreed—except you.” He stepped a little closer, gently placing a hand over the plebeian’s shoulder. ”Nevertheless, I understand your point. Someone of your social condition might find it difficult to pay even 350 mere Marini. So, just this once, I’ll cover your bill myself. At The Fragrance of the Morning, we care about the lower classes.” A standing ovation from the Noble ladies elevated Perry to the heroic status of a paladin of social justice.

“Perfect, Jacques—we’ve won!” Casimir was visibly relieved.

“Good. Now please—let’s get out of here!” Derserk stammered, drenching in sweat while clutching his chest—one heartbeat away from collapsing.

“Fuck off! Do you think I’m a parasite?!” Jacques snapped, slamming Perry’s hand away. “I consumed your goods, and I’ll pay for them—at the price listed on your menu. Not a single Marino more!”

The foolishest of fools. His harsh reaction smithed Perry’s arrogance. “I respect your stance, but this is beyond me. May I ask you to wait here while I call the owner?” The waiter walked to the counter, lifted the receiver from a wooden box, and dialed the number. “Oh, I almost forgot, what’s your name?”

“FFF-Class ’Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux.”

Silence fell throughout the room, everyone staring at the ’Javelinist’ in disbelief. Until that moment, they had all assumed he was some low-born but powerful Essentia—the only possible explanation for his unshakable boldness. However, this revelation shattered their entire worldview.

According to some scholars, laughter is a natural response to the unexpected, a mechanism to cope with something that violates a deeply held belief. In this world, Class F were the shadows of society, their irrelevant existences tolerated in silence with no right to be in the spotlight. But here he was. A Class F, standing tall while demanding his very antithesis—respect.

So they laughed and laughed—loudly and cruelly—like children at a clown show, until their lungs ached and their stomachs cramped. Yet, the more derisive their laughter was, the more Jacques’ smugness grew.

Mario’s Syndrome. Perry remembered the term from a sociologist who used to frequent his old nightclub. According to her, shame is one of society’s most powerful weapons for preserving its homogeneity. Any rebel who wanted to break away from the ranks could be silenced through ostracism, making them afraid of thinking differently because, after all, few things are as gratifying as the approval of others, and few as devastating as its absence. However, those with Mario’s Syndrome were different. The more they were mocked, the more justified they felt. They saw themselves as the protagonists of their lives and society as the main villain—its hatred wore as a badge of honor.

I need to change my plan. A dull is rock, which is hard to break with raw strength alone. However, a slow and steady stream of droplets can carve through it—patience is the key. Perry was still thinking when he heard his boss’s voice crackle through the receiver. “Good morning, Mr. Efrig, we have a small pro—” Before he could finish, a hand snatched the receiver from his grasp. He turned to protest, but the waiter got frozen by the hardest sight he’d ever seen.

“Are you the owner of this shithole? …Yeah, I’ve got a problem with the bill—why the hell is the tip three times the cost of the food I ate?…I don’t give a shit! That whore can die in her sleep for all I care. Get your ass over here—NOW!…How far?…How much? …Six hours? Perfect. I’ll wait.” He slammed the receiver back into its cradle. Then, without breaking eye contact with Perry, he reached over the counter, uncorked a bottle of whiskey, poured himself a glass, and took a long, slow sip, tasting its bitter aroma together with the bitter expression now adorning Perry’s face. Maybe this isn’t the best way to keep my identity hidden. But finally—I’m having fun. The ’Javelinist’ thought, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, while, behind him, Derserk repeatedly stabbed himself in the thigh.

“This farce ends here,” a third-year student suddenly declared, rising from his seat with theatrical indignation. “I will no longer allow a Class F to insult us.” He stepped forward, steeling the muscles of his huge arms. “You have three seconds to leave, or you’ll face the might of AAA-Class ‘Majestic Salamander’ Rurik Savicevic!”

In response, Jacques frowned at him. “Why are you holding your goblet by the bowl? You’re supposed to hold it by the stem, or your body heat will spoil the wine’s taste. Where the hell did you learn your manners? Hunter’s Paradise?” He paused and exaggerated a gasp. “Cornelius was right—nobility is dead.” The Majestic Salamander was left speechless. He was prepared for insults or threats, but not his father.

“Haha!” Katrina’s malicious laugh echoed through the room a second time. “Rurik, he’s right—you eat like a Woodland Barbarian. I’ve been disgusted by your lack of manners for a long time, but I stayed quiet because I understand that life among the nobility might be difficult for the son of an enriched plebeian.”

*SLAP!* ”LIAR!” Rurik’s girlfriend ran out of the building.

“Melissa, please stop—I can explain!” The ’Majestic Salamander’ followed her as fast as he could while Jacques stared in disbelief at Katrina, who winked at him.

Seizing the opportunity, Perry pretended to trip, spilling a glass of wine straight onto Jacques’ chest. “Oh, ’Imperfect Eclipser,’ I’m so sorry!” The waiter grabbed a napkin, pressing it over Jacques’s Basilisk-Leather Overcoat. “Please, allow me to accompany you to the bath—” Jacques violently stopped his hand. Then, he dipped his index finger into the violet stain, and, dramatically, he brought it to his lips.

“LIQUID FILTH!” The entire room snapped to attention. “An Esmerldo inside a Bologne bottle? Mass-produced garbage that even the plebs despise, passed off as the excellence of Imperial vineyards?” Jacques spat the wine over Perry’s face. “If word of this reached the Capital, not only would this place be shut down—the army would take your head. But worst of all…” He grimaced at the clients around, his eyes radiating sheer disgust. “Only I noticed this sin in a room full of Scions hailing from the most noble families in our nation. Hero Roland must be rolling in his grave right now, witnessing the fall of his empire.” Everyone hastily turned their attention to their goblets, tasting the wine without, however, finding anything strange in its taste.

Sadly, I have no way to prove it, but suspicion will be enough…I guess. As Jacques thought that, the Arpine lady winked at him a second time.

“He’s right, again,” Katrina announced, rising from her table with a bottle in hand. “This Bologne bottle is a reproduction, and if you check the sigil, you’ll notice several subtle inconsistencies. My father once told me about a famous counterfeiter who specialized in Imperial wines. His imitations are flawless, but it seems someone here must’ve gotten greedy and couldn’t wait for a new shipment.” She maliciously glanced at Perry, who, in panic, tried to run, only to be stopped by two seniors. Then, they called the police.

Minutes later, the café’s owner arrived, sweating, pale, and looking very apologetic. However, Jacques refused to hear anything from him, calmly paid the original bill, and then, finally, Jacques, Casimir, and Derserk left the place, heading toward their classroom.

***

“Great job, Jacques. I never imagined you knew so much about wine, and the way you defended yourself? I was in awe! Did you learn all of that while selling drugs to the elites?” Casimir excitedly asked.

“For the last time—it only happened once.” Jacques sighed. “I just grew up in Beauté de Cristal—this kind of knowledge is the bare minimum there.” His mind wandered for a moment, recalling the endless hours his uncle forced him through etiquette drills, wine tastings, and diplomatic training. After what happened today, Jacques was starting to agree with his uncle’s radical idea of a total extermination of the aristocracy.

“We should also thank Katrina when we get to the classroom,” Casimir’s voice softened a little bit. “She’s a really good girl who helped us so fearlessly…and she’s also very beautiful.” The ’Scarecrow’ turned all red.

“I still have doubts about her. She laughed with the other pieces of shit and only stepped in once I had the upper hand. She’s a snake, always ready to support whatever benefits her the most.”

Casimir and Derserk stared at him, stunned. Then, Jacques felt a hand tapping gently on his shoulder. “A truly excellent comparison,” a familiar voice whispered into his ear. “My poison is lethal.” The ’Javelinist’ turned back slowly, his heart overbeating. There stood Katrina Welf, sporting a malicious smirk.

The ’Scarecrow’ stood frozen, completely bewitched by her beauty, too mature for a girl of her age, while the ’Gravedigger’ lowered his eyes, visibly uncomfortable. If only girls had dressed like that when I was alive. Though not a single part of her skin was exposed, that argentine outfit was almost transparent at certain points, feeding the imagination of the ’Gravedigger.’

“Well...ahem...thank you for the help,” Jacques awkwardly mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it wasn’t necessary. I mean, exposure isn’t the best thing for a politician’s daughter.” It was a critique aimed also at himself—he hated losing self-control.

To apologize for the gaffe, he invited Katrina to walk with them. Casimir kept as much distance from her as possible—though his eyes never left her back. ”So why were three of my classmates eating food that they clearly could not afford?” Her fragrance bewitched Jacques.

Yuille No. 37. The scent of the Queen of the Desert, a carnivorous plant famous for rescuing hopeless wanderers from starvation by offering them a sweeter passing—truly fitting for her. “We were just celebrating the creation of our team. But what about you? The way you laughed when we sat down makes me suspect that you knew exactly what was going to happen.”

Katrina’s malicious smirk widened. “You’re absolutely right. Our Constitution assures equal rights and legal status to all Essentias, but most nobles hate having plebeians breathing their same air. If a business raises its prices too much, it risks being accused of classism—but what about tips? They have no fixed amount, and the ones who take them are also plebeians—Divide et impera. An invisible wall that no one has ever dared to break—until today.” She gave slow and deliberate claps. “Congratulations!”. Her smirk exuded mockery, while her eyes shone with admiration.

Nevertheless, Jacques didn’t take the bait and argued. ”Still, you could have warned us.”

“I knew about the wine, and I’d planned to expose them from the beginning. Remember the bottle I used to confirm your story? That wasn’t the original. I swapped the two to have an excuse to alert the police and trigger a full investigation. However, when the three of you walked in, I realized that if I let you suffer a little first, I could boost my reputation by swooping in to save you.

The balls on this whore. For once, Derserk and Himself agreed with each other, while Casimir was too captivated by her curves to understand what she’d just confessed. Jacques, instead, just stared into her unashamed eyes.

“Now it’s your turn to satisfy my lust for knowledge. How did you know the wine was counterfeit? That criminal is an Honorary Class S. His forgeries are nearly perfect, and not even the greatest sommelier could spot a difference without lab equipment and weeks of testing. So how did you know, just from a single taste?”

“Delicacy,” Jacques answered flatly. “You handle precious things delicately, and carelessly the ones you take for granted. Did you see how he treated the wine? I may not be noble, but during the entire breakfast, I was on the verge of exploding. I couldn’t fathom how someone could treat such expensive bottles with so little care.” He shrugged. “Then I simply put three and three together.”

“Thank you for your sincerity.” The ’Data Analyst’ rewarded the ’Javelinist’ with her first genuine smile. “But I have to go now. See you in class.” She began walking away, her heels tapping loudly against the stone path. ”Oh, one last thing.” She turned her head, her sharp glasses catching the sunlight and reflecting it into Jacques’ brown contact lenses. ”Yesterday, I found it strange that there were two boys named Jacques from the same city, and both orphans in my classroom. At first, I chose to ignore it…” Her sincere beam twisted into another malicious smirk. ”But now, things are getting really interesting. I think I’ll give my father a call. Bye-bye.” She waved one last time.

It’s over. It’s fucking over! Jacques cursed himself, while Casimir’s emerald eyes followed Katrina till she vanished into the horizon. Then, he turned back, looking straight at his friends.

“Guys…I think I’ve fallen in love!”

WORLD'S END BLOG:

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