It started when I realized something tragic.
My pudding jar was empty.
Not emotionally. Physically. No coins left. All pudding gone. No backup custard.
And the worst part?
I couldn't even remember when I spent it.
Was it the jam buns? The impulse cheese wheel? The "limited-edition" honey shaped like a dragon?
I, Reika—the so-called Soft Prophet, Archwitch of Whiskers, and Unum Champion—had fallen to the greatest enemy of all:
Impulse snacking.
So I decided to fix it.
I pulled out the oldest budgeting technique from Earth: the coin jar system.
Four jars. Labeled by hand:
1. Essentials (tea, food, basic survival)
2. Wants (pudding, fancy pudding, golden pudding)
3. Savings (for emergencies or unexpected cat-related repairs)
4. Chaos (because let's be honest, things happen)
I brought the jars to the café, gave a little speech (with diagrams), and encouraged everyone to sort their coins this way.
Simple. Sensible. Responsible.
But I should've known.
It started with Hobi the baker.
He stared at the Wants jar and asked, "So… if I buy an extra cinnamon roll, is that morally wrong?"
"What? No. It's just… optional."
"But if I want it… and also need it to feel joy… does it go in Essentials?"
He had a point.
Soon, villagers were gathering around the jars like philosophers.
One woman debated whether buying a third blanket was a spiritual indulgence or emotional necessity. Another tried to split a coin in half to hedge between "Needs" and "Chaos."
Then came the Snack Purists.
"We must live with only what is Essential," declared Elder Bran, dramatically placing an apple into the food bin. "Snacks distract the soul."
Minutes later, he was caught eating jam from a spoon behind the café.
Reika's Coin Method, as they called it, became a lifestyle.
People created their own jars. Some made five. Some made twelve.
One child labeled theirs:
Dragon Coin (for treasure)
Mom Coin (to avoid chores)
Snack Coin (strictly pretzels)
Emergency Goblin Fund
The mayor declared a "Fiscal Harmony Festival" to celebrate the "clarity brought by the Soft Prophet's jars."
They built a giant wooden coin and rolled it down the hill.
Marius made a leather belt with pouches labeled like the jars and called it "The Wallet of Truth."
I asked him where Chaos went.
He smiled and pulled a cookie from his boot.
I give up.
People now host coin sorting circles, where they debate things like:
Is a fourth nap indulgent or sacred?
If your chicken lays eggs, are those free income or divine blessings?
Should pudding be taxed?
Meanwhile, I just wanted to buy snacks without guilt.
But now I'm:
The Guardian of Balanced Spending
The Pudding Economist
Mistress of Coin and Moral Snacking
I even received a formal invitation to advise a noble treasury. They heard about my "Jar Philosophy of Ethical Commerce." I told them I'd come if they paid in jam.
They agreed.
So now I'm richer, wiser, and still out of pudding—but at least my Chaos Jar is full.
And next week? I'm introducing receipts.
Pray for me.