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“I can’t see my Majic being fit for sorcery no matter how you spin it,” said Bagup. Rubbing his moustache, he continued.
“Besides, the phrase ‘chance of a lifetime’ sounds a lot less convincing coming from the mouth of a guy with even less money than the kid he’s offering to teach.”
“For what it’s worth, I was even one of the candidates for Court Sorcerer back in the day.”
“Until they found out how you cheated your way there and you got disqualified, right? How many times do you think you can tell the same story and still expect anyone to believe you?”
“It’s fine, just trust me. Majic has a real talent for sorcery. He’s got that special something — a natural feel for it that a genius like me would recognize at a glance, y’know?”
“Do I really?”
“The floors aren’t gonna mop themselves, Majic,” said Bagup, who himself went back to cleaning glasses behind the counter as if to lead by example.
“There’s no way a genius Sorcerer like that — much less a candidate for the Thirteen Apostles — would be hanging around in a place like this working as a shady debt collector, no matter how much of a dropout he was. He’s just trying to butter you up by saying you have talent so he can scam you out of money, don’t fall for it.” After pointing his son to a corner of the room that hadn’t been mopped yet, Bagup turned to Orphen.
“Try not to tease him too much, alright? He looks up to you — for what reason, I don’t know — so he probably at least partly believes you when you go telling him lies like that.”
“Oh, c’mon, I haven’t told a single lie all day,” Orphen sulked. He picked up his spoon — so clean he could make out his own reflection in it — and began stirring his oatmeal.
“Majic really does have a talent for sorcery, and he’s still only what, fourteen? Instead of having him mopping floors, you should have him going to school, where he can learn—”
“How to read, write, do math and learn history? I already have him going to school for that—”
“Not that kind of school, a Sorcery Academy I mean. There are plenty of good ones around.”
“And then what, have him aim for getting enrolled in the Tower of Fangs or something?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. The Tower of Fangs isn’t like other Sorcery Academies. It’s a little, well...” Orphen’s tone of voice changed awkwardly as he chewed on his oatmeal a little, finishing his sentence with “It’s a bit unique.” Leaving his spoon in his bowl, Orphen ran his fingers across his pendant once more. The sword-and-dragon pendant was given only to students deemed highly qualified in sorcery by the instructors at the Tower of Fangs. It was like a license of sorts.
Bagup was too busy watching Majic grumpily mopping the floor to notice the shift in Orphen’s facial expression. With a hint of curiosity in his voice, he casually spoke up again.
“So what makes you think Majic has any talent for sorcery, anyway?”
“Whaddya think is the one trait all talented Sorcerers have in common?” Orphen returned, equally as casually.
“Beats me, being the son of a virgin? If that’s the case, I’ll have you know that my wife was no—”
Orphen swiftly cut the jolly old man’s jest off by answering his own question.
“A pure and earnest passion for it. That’s the one, singular trait that all great Sorcerers share.”
Bagup burst into laughter the moment the words left Orphen’s mouth. He laughed so hard that he had to put down the glass he’d been drying off for fear of dropping it.
“If that’s true, then you must be one of the least talented Sorcerers in the world!” Orphen merely let out a little “Hmph” as if to say “think what you want,” then took out his frustration at being mocked on his oatmeal instead.