It was the early hours of the morning, the rays of the sun just beginning to hit Peak Mountain City.
Dan!!
Dan!!
Dan!!
Within a room that had several large carcasses hanging from its ceiling, a persistent, almost oppressive sound rang out again and again.
Wearing a thick brown leather apron, a boy who looked no older than 17 and carried a tight, focused expression brought down the knife in his hand on a large piece of meat.
The butcher knife he wielded, its blade wide and long and its handle a deep brown, sliced into the large red flesh on the table before him, facing no resistance whatsoever.
Letting out a breath and blowing away a strand of his red hair that had fallen over his face, the boy steadied himself. Without pause, he lifted his right arm once more and brought it down on the large piece of meat, the motion sharp, practiced, and unhesitating.
For the next hour, the sound of him cutting rang out non-stop, a relentless rhythm. His limb found rest only when a much older man, with sufficient fat on his cheeks and forehead, walked in.
The man had on an apron similar to the boy's, but on his head sat a long brown cap with a flat top, and in his hand he carried a thick kitchen knife that looked like it had seen decades of use.
Entering through a door on the boy's left, he took two steps into the room. When he saw the amount of meat that had already been chopped, his face immediately twisted, and moving around the table, he stopped before the wide basket placed at its end, where the cut meat was being dropped.
A silence that hadn't existed in the room for a long while fell as the man squatted and inspected the flesh in the basket.
As the seconds passed, against his will, the man's frown weakened, each crease slowly fading one after the other.
He dug to the very bottom of the basket, looking for even the smallest error, but found none, and in the end stood up with a grunt.
"That was reckless of you, you're lucky all the veins are intact.
A single misplaced cut and I would have sent you out of here."
"Thank you."
The boy's words were met with a sneer from the man, but he didn't care. He raised his left arm to resume cutting but paused.
He gently placed down the knife in his right hand, picked another with his left, and resumed his work.
Dan!!
Dan!!
Without needing to look up at the man, the boy could see the envy that oozed off the older man; it wafted from his being in the form of a grey miasma, travelling around the room and mixing with the several squirming grey tendrils that already inhabited the space.
No one could see this phenomenon but the boy, and he had begun seeing it a year after he was first employed in the kitchen of the academy.
"When you're done with this, go to the other room and roast 13 pounds of pork.
Don't make it too dry, but it should be rich with smoke."
The boy's expression had been stoic for hours, but at the man's words, a frown marred his face.
"Remember I told you I have an important class this morning. I can't afford to be late."
"Well, that's not my problem. The principal has some guests this morning and he made the order.
As normal, you are free to deny work that is outside your schedule, but you know how he is.
I bet he's boasted of his kitchen staff's providence and then made this order.
Feel free to be the man who embarrasses him."
The boy didn't need to look up to know that the older man had a wide grin on his face.
It wasn't like the man would go scot-free if the principal were to be disappointed; he would get a harsh rebuke and possibly a slash on his wages. But that didn't bother the bastard, because most importantly, he would have a genuine reason to fire him.
"What time does he want the meal?"
"10 am, no delay.
Oh, and make sure you're done with this before you leave."
With those words, the man strutted out, a mocking laugh leaving his lips.
The old man knew exactly what important class the boy had today, and since he had chosen to be a thorn in his side, he had fully committed to making the boy's life miserable whenever he could.
17 years of age, a 3rd-year student of Wutang Academy, Hans Lenslive let out a weary sigh as he looked at the clock on the far wall to his left.
[8:27]
This meant Hans had 93 minutes not just to roast 13 pounds of meat, but also clean up and get ready for class.
Let's not forget he wasn't even done cutting up the large pieces of meat hanging from the ceiling….
Hans' grip on the butcher knife weakened as he drifted into thought. This was the old man's most diabolic scheme so far, and honestly, he wanted to give up.
His left arm loosened further around the handle of the butcher knife, his right heel rising as if ready to pull him away from the suffocating room.
Like with the man who had just been present, a grey miasma representing his despair slowly wafted out of his body, rising into the air with a pointed, trembling tip. But before a minute could pass, he blinked, and his gaze sharpened.
A single thought about the pay the job brought in crushed every negative feeling in an instant.
Hans did not want to die, and with that, he immediately began thinking about how to accomplish the impossible.
It seemed he would have to prove that his perceived moment of brilliance had not just been a fluke.