I wonder who he takes after.
Lorenz thought about his son as he looked at the empty stew plate.
It was frustrating, but it was delicious.
He never thought the day would come when he’d be impressed by a dish his son made, but this was far better than anything you’d find at a local tavern.
But even so, something smoldered in his chest like a furnace with lingering heat.
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 onto the plate and leaned back in his chair. He was full, but he didn’t feel like he’d be able to sleep anytime soon.
Lorenz lived with his two sons in a small three-story house near the craftsman district.
As a traveling glass craftsman, Lorenz had earned his living while traveling through various countries, but he thought it strange that he ended up settling down in his hometown, the old capital.
He was confident in his skills, but he never thought he would be appointed to the honorary master position of the glass craftsman’s guild.
He heard through the grapevine that his childhood friend, best friend, drinking buddy, and fighting companion, Holger, had done a lot of work to make it happen. But he hadn’t thanked him. Holger probably wouldn’t want him to, anyway. Lorenz understood that’s how friendships between men were.
Thanks to that, he was able to raise his two sons to adulthood.
His eldest son, Hugo, was training under Lorenz as a glass craftsman. If he continued to train diligently, he would likely become a craftsman good enough to take over the workshop without causing any trouble for customers by the time Lorenz retired.
The one Lorenz was worried about was his second son, Hans.
He wanted to become a chef.
A few days after declaring this, he quit his previous job and quickly decided to work at a tavern.
“I wonder who he takes after,” he muttered again.
He didn’t need to think about it. He was just like himself.
He had really wanted his second son, Hans, to take over as a glass craftsman. His older brother, Hugo, had some talent, but that was it. He would probably climb well up to the eighth station of the mountain, but he wouldn’t be able to reach the summit.
As he was now, he wouldn’t be able to break out of his shell. Hugo had that kind of disposition.
Hans was different.
Hans intuitively knew that the person a craftsman should compete against was himself. His competitive spirit wasn’t about not wanting to lose to others, but about feeling inadequate when he was losing to himself.
When Hans wanted to become a guard, Lorenz had strongly opposed it.
He didn’t think he was unsuitable, but as a father, Lorenz knew there was something he was more suited for. If he became a glass craftsman, he could become a Meister who surpassed Lorenz. He truly believed, and not just because of his fatherly bias, that it was a waste to let such talent rot as a guard.
It was Hans, not Hugo, who had inherited his dexterity and sense of color. And yet.
The reason he couldn’t accept Hans’ desire to become a chef was because it dug up something he thought he had given up on when Hans joined the guards.
It was more of an anger of “why not a glass craftsman?” rather than “why a chef?”
He knew it was foolish, but it was precisely because it was foolish that he couldn’t control it.
Hugo poured him some cooled boiled water in a thick glass.
Instead of “thank you,” the words “You’re still here?” almost slipped out, but he covered it up with a cough. Both Hugo and Hans were his beloved sons, but right now, Hans was the one on his mind.
“Hans’s stew was delicious, wasn’t it?”
“It was alright.”
“It can’t be just ‘alright’ if you had two helpings.”
“…I was hungry.”
Hugo snorted, shrugged, and started clearing the plates.
Hans had long since returned to his room and shut himself in. He couldn’t remember the last time they had spoken directly.
Feeling sorry for Hugo, he took a sip of the cooled water from the glass.
The glass was made by Hugo. It was thick, but the lip was made a little thinner. Lorenz had taught him that this would make the drink feel better on the palate.
It was surprisingly well made. Lorenz had decided that only unsellable, inferior products would be brought home. This glass was one that Hugo had brought this morning, but he couldn’t remember why it had been rejected.
He heard the sound of dishes being washed with water drawn from the well. The water at this time of year must be cold enough to cut through the skin.
“…You’ve gotten better.”
“I know, right? I wonder how food can improve so quickly. It hasn’t been that long since he started going to that tavern, Nobu, right?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about the glass you made.”
The sound of water stopped.
Rain beat hard against the windowpane. Other than that, there was no sound.
After a long silence, the sound of dishwashing resumed. But Hugo remained silent.
“Hey, Hugo, shall we go tomorrow?”
“Go? Master, you mean to Tavern Nobu?”
“…Call me ‘Father’ at home.”
Come to think of it, he let Hans call him “Father.” Hugo’s back seemed to tremble slightly.