As the morning light filtered into his small stone house, Fheniz stirred awake. It was early, the sun barely up, but it was time to start his day. He moved with practiced efficiency, quickly washing up and grabbing the newspapers he needed to deliver around town. As the sun rose, casting a golden light over Venlores, Fheniz returned home, his morning route completed.
The sun now shone brightly, marking the beginning of what promised to be a beautiful day. Fheniz, still pondering over the excuse he'd need to explain his unplanned absence the day before, stepped out of his house. He was on his way to the radio repair shop where he worked, already mentally preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation with his boss.
But before he could even step onto the road, something caught his attention. A donkey cart had stopped right at the edge of his barren land, blocking his path. Fheniz's gaze traveled up from the cart to see a familiar figure grinning widely at him—Burohagikun, with a smile that practically radiated "good morning."
Fheniz blinked in surprise. "Whoa!"
Burohagikun's voice boomed across the quiet morning. "MOOORNINNG, BRAT!"
"Oh! Uncle Burohagi. Good morning. What brings you here again in the morning?"
Burohagikun, with his usual dramatic flair, jumped out of the cart. "Nothing much! As yesterday it was too late, I didn't stop by ya home to have some tea! So I thought to have it today! And it's morning, ya don't need any better time than this!"
Fheniz chuckled, though his thoughts were still on the task ahead. "Oh okay! Sure! But why don't you come in the evening? Because now I have to hurry!"
"HUH?! WHY?! YA GONNA SAY NO TO THE ONLY GUEST YA GET?! YA GOT THE GUTS TO SAY THAT TO MY FACE?!" Burohagikun barked, his eyes wide with mock outrage.
"That ain't the issue! Actually, I leave by this time every day, to reach my boss's shop. I told you I have the repairing job there."
"AHA! YEAH! JOB!"
"Lol. What'll you understand? You are the boss of your own shoe shop. And you see, my feet are not in your shoes."
"HUH?! YA ARE STILL WEARING THOSE SLIPPERS YA BOUGHT FROM ME, WHAT ARE YA TALKING ABOUT MAN?!" Burohagikun shot back, gesturing dramatically to Fheniz's feet.
Fheniz rolled his eyes, trying to keep a straight face. "I don't mean it that way! BAKAYARO!"
"UGH! YA YAP NONSENSE IN THE MORNING ITSELF! KONOYARO!"
"SIGHS. Anyways, I gotta go now, see ya!" Fheniz turned to leave, ready to sprint to work.
"Wait! Brat!" Burohagikun's voice halted him.
Fheniz paused, exasperation creeping into his voice. "Now what?! Lemme go, I need to reach on time. Oh yeah! I am such a fool! You can drop me there on your ass-kart! That way I'll reach there faster."
"Uhm, alright! But that's not what I stopped you for."
"Then?"
"What excuse had ya made yesterday to take a leave?"
"Umm, actually, I didn't take any permission, I took a leave just like that," Fheniz admitted, scratching the back of his head.
"So, ya boss doesn't care?" Burohagikun asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I don't have any excuse right now, but I haven't taken any leave before, so I don't know how he reacts to his employees taking a leave without any permission."
"Hmm. Come here, I gotta show ya something."
Fheniz sighed, stepping forward reluctantly. "What? I told you I'm in a hurry, so better drop me on your ass-kart, please!"
"Don't get so restless brat! I will, but look at this." Burohagikun pulled out today's newspaper from the cart and flipped through the pages before holding it out to Fheniz.
"Okay, what's there?" Fheniz glanced down at the paper, his eyes scanning the bold headline: "GOOD NEWS FOR ALL THE SHOEMAKERS OF THE COUNTRY!"
He read on, mainly taking on the details than reading it fully, but here was what the article mentioned:
In a historic announcement that has sent waves of excitement throughout Gerwanis, the Royal Court has officially launched a nationwide contest exclusively for shoemakers. This unprecedented competition, set to last for a remarkable two years, aims to revive and promote the ancient and revered craft of shoemaking, a cornerstone of Gerwanasian culture that has long been overshadowed by other industries, particularly agriculture.
The challenge? To craft a pair of regal shoes, worthy of the King himself, that embody not just the skill of the shoemaker but the very essence and spirit of the land. These shoes will be judged not on their extravagance or the expensive materials used, but on the beauty of their craftsmanship and the story they tell. The artistry, creativity, and the message conveyed through the design will be the ultimate deciding factors.
This competition is no ordinary contest. With a total of 1,000 prizes to be awarded, the stakes are incredibly high. The grand prize is an astonishing 50,000,000 Wafferions, a sum that could change the life of any artisan lucky enough to win it. The prizes will descend in value from there, with the thousandth prize a respectable 50,000 Wafferions. But more than the monetary rewards, it is the honor and recognition that come with winning that has craftsmen across the country buzzing with excitement.
However, there's a catch. The competition is open to only a limited number of participants—those who register within the first 7 hours and 30 minutes from the contest's start time at 7:00 AM this morning. This narrow window ensures that only the most dedicated and passionate shoemakers will have the chance to compete.
Shoemaking, though a lesser-known industry compared to the flourishing agricultural sector, is deeply intertwined with the very fabric of Gerwanasian society. The materials used in shoemaking, such as special rubber grasses and flowers, are byproducts of the country's rich tradition of floriculture and horticulture. This contest is not just a celebration of the shoemaker's art but also a recognition of the farmers who run this country, whose hard work provides the raw materials that make this art possible.
The Royal Court has made it clear that this competition is about much more than just footwear; it is about celebrating the very culture and history of Gerwanis. By reviving this ancient craft, the Court hopes to inspire a new generation of artisans, to bring back the pride and respect once held for shoemakers in the days of old. The King himself has expressed a deep interest in the outcome of this contest, and it is said that he will personally inspect each pair of shoes that make it to the final judging phase.
This grand competition is seen by many as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, not only to showcase their craftsmanship on a national stage but also to leave a lasting legacy. The shoemakers who dare to enter will not just be crafting shoes; they will be weaving their stories, their dreams, and the spirit of Gerwanis into every stitch and seam.
As the nation waits with bated breath, the countdown to the contest's registration window is rapidly ticking down. Shoemakers from across the land are already preparing, their workshops filled with the sounds of hammers, stitching needles, and the rustling of rubber grasses being shaped and molded into what they hope will be the winning pair of shoes. For many, this is more than just a competition; it is a chance to etch their names into the annals of history.
The excitement in the air is palpable, and as the first and last hours of registration tick down, the race to craft the most regal, the most meaningful, and the most magnificent pair of shoes Gerwanis has ever seen, begins.
(Fheniz had learned to read and write noticing his surroundings.)
Fheniz finished reading and looked up at Burohagikun. "Okay?"
Burohagikun's face contorted in exaggerated disbelief. "JUST, OKAY?!"
"Umm, what else do you expect me to say?"
"Something more? Don't ya get it?" Burohagikun pressed, leaning in.
"I get it. You wanna take part in the competition, don't you?"
"DUH! BRAT!"
Fheniz smacked his forehead in mock frustration. "SIGHS. Read it again, it says 'shoemakers' not 'shoe sellers' like yourself."
"I know! But recently I started making shoes too! I showed ya one yesterday! Did ya forget?!"
"Of course, and they're all the more reason for you to not participate in this competition."
"HUH?! I NEVER THOUGHT YA WERE SUCH A DEMOTIVATOR!"
"I ain't demotivating you; I'm just telling you the truth."
"SIGHS. It says two years, just for two shoes! And maybe by that time, we can make something that might win us something!"
"We?! What do you mean 'we'?"
"I'll get to the point, brat. I was thinking, why don't ya quit ya job and work with me?"
"Whaat?? Wait, wait, wait, why do you want me?" Fheniz asked, genuinely surprised.
"Because… maybe ya are the only one who'd join me and no one else. Why don't ya get the deeper meaning behind it? I know ya are skillful and brilliant, if ya can fix radios then ya can also make shoes. If ya work with me, there's a chance we can upgrade our lives to better standards, don't ya think? Maybe not the first prize, but even somewhere in between would be good. Plus, we got two years to make just one pair of shoes. All we need to do is craft it as creative as our minds can think!"
"Calm down, Uncle Burohagi. Maybe we can, but what's the highest chance we will even get any one of the thousand prizes? There will be like millions of people participating. I don't understand how the King will even try those many shoes and decide which are the best. You get what I'm saying?"
"Aha! That's where!"
"What?"
"That's where ya don't know what ya saying."
"What the?! How?! I think I'm right."
"No. There is a reason why the King conducted this competition. Shoemaking is an underrated part of the culture of this country. Ya know most of the people in the country work as farmers in floriculture and horticulture. Whereas shoemaking, cloth making, etc., aren't valued as much as crop sales. But floriculture has a connection to this which serves as a source for shoemaking."
"Okay, okay, so what's the point?"
"Shoemaking requires raw materials like special rubber grass and flowers with similar physical characteristics, which grow best in countrysides like our Venlores. Though some use animal skins too, but let's not go there. So, as shoemaking is an underrated industry, hardly anyone or very few people from other states import the grass and other materials for shoe manufacturing. And other people, or precisely shoe sellers, only sell the shoes they buy from the industries. Very few industries exist in the country that manufacture them. And here's the point: if there are fewer industries, then the competition is hardly anything. There are no millions of people participating in the competition, just a few, and here it is about custom shoemaking, so no one can bring in shoes from another brand and label them as their own or copy the design. There are still a thousand prizes to be given to a thousand participants who will win them. And that's why the registering time is only limited to 7 hours and 30 minutes, and the competition is going to last for two years. This competition is to promote the shoemaking business as part of the culture of the country. I knew I didn't choose the wrong line, because I wanted to be different from the normies here. In the next harvest season after next, prizes will be given. And who knows, we may win some prize or the other! So wha'cha say?!"
Fheniz paused, considering all this. "Hmm. Not bad though."
"Plus it ain't about money, it's simply fun to compete. We'll get some experience." Burohagikun added to showcase how much he valued his thoughts.
Fheniz considering all this, said, "It's not just fun that'll get you two square meals a day. So, I won't quit my radio fixing job. But, I don't say 'no' to your plan either. Because it's worth trying!"
Fheniz stretched his right hand to shake Burohagikun's hand as an agreement to say, "I'll help ya out."
Burohagikun grinned broadly, his teeth gleaming in the morning light as he extended a hand toward Fheniz. The boy hesitated for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around the whirlwind of excitement that had just unfolded. But then, with a firm nod, he clasped Burohagikun's hand in a strong handshake. Their hands connected with a satisfying clap, a silent agreement that this contest would be their shared adventure.
"Thank ya," Burohagikun said, his voice gruff but filled with genuine gratitude.
"You're welcome," Fheniz replied, a small smile playing on his lips. He was excited but knew the clock was ticking. "But now I really gotta hurry. I've lost a lot of time already!"
Burohagikun, always one to embrace the theatrical, swept his arm toward the road where his loyal donkey waited with the cart attached to its back—his beloved "ass-kart." "No worries, brat! Hop on, and I'll get ya to the shop faster than a rooster crows at dawn!"
Fheniz rolled his eyes but couldn't help but laugh as he clambered into the cart. The donkey, sturdy and reliable, might not have been a horse, but it was swift enough for the task at hand. With a loud "YAH!" from Burohagikun, they were off, the wheels of the cart rattling over the uneven ground as they sped toward the radio repair shop.
The journey was short but filled with Burohagikun's endless chatter about the contest, his dreams of winning, and how they would make history together. Before Fheniz knew it, they had arrived. The cart screeched to a halt in front of the small, weathered shop.
"Alright, kid, this is where I leave ya. I'll be off to register for the contest, then head to my shop. We'll talk more about our master plan tonight at ya place!" Burohagikun said, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Okay, no problem," Fheniz replied, jumping out of the cart. "See ya in the evening, Uncle Burohagi!"
With a final wave, Burohagikun urged the donkey forward, the cart lurching back into motion as they headed off down the road. Fheniz watched them go for a moment before turning to face the shop. The joy he'd felt moments ago was quickly overshadowed by a looming sense of dread.
Standing in the doorway of the shop was his boss, Adapada Konpada, a figure as unique as his name. The dwarf's small stature was accentuated by his half-bald head, where the remaining hair clung stubbornly to the sides. He wore blue pants that were a bit too big, and brown shoes that were scuffed from years of wear. His one good eye, the other covered by a patch, glared at Fheniz with the intensity of a hawk spotting its prey. His lips, or what was left of them, were pursed in a scowl that made the tiny man look even more displeased than usual.
Fheniz could almost feel the anger radiating off of his boss in waves. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the storm that was about to hit.
"Umm, good morning, boss," Fheniz greeted, rubbing the back of his head with a nervous smile. He had read somewhere that a smile could be contagious, and he hoped that maybe, just maybe, it might work here.
It didn't.
Adapada Konpada's face twisted into a grimace that could have curdled milk. "BAKAYARO! WHERE WERE YOU YESTERDAY?!" he screeched, his voice sharp and piercing like a crow's caw. The sound stabbed at Fheniz's eardrums, and he winced. When Adapada shouted, his half-toothless grin became even more apparent—the right side of his mouth lined with teeth, while the left was a barren gumline.
"Umm… actually… it's kinda… umm… complicated… sir," Fheniz stammered, trying to piece together a coherent response.
"How complicated?!" Adapada squawked, his hands on his hips as he puffed out his tiny chest. "Did you know how many customers we lost yesterday?! Because of your one leave! Just one leave! And if you were going to take a leave, you could have at least said that in advance! Now tell me, where were you? What happened?! Come on, speak up! What is it? Come on, go on, start speaking, or should I now give you an invitation, lazy kid, huh?! Why won't you say anything? Why don't you…"
"Sir! Sir! If you stop speaking, that's when I'll start!" Fheniz interrupted, holding up his hands in surrender.
Adapada snapped his mouth shut, glaring at Fheniz but signaling him to continue with a wave of his stubby fingers. "Okay, okay, I won't say nothing now. Now tell me, where were you?!"
"Umm, actually, why does it even matter? I've been working for you for the last two years, and I have never taken a leave. I've never caused any loss to you. So if I took one yesterday, I don't think it's a big deal," Fheniz reasoned, hoping to appeal to some sliver of logic within his boss.
"BIG DEAL?!" Adapada exploded, his tiny frame shaking with the force of his fury. "YOU WANNA TALK BIG DEAL?! I HAVE KEPT A COUNT! THERE CAME 54 PEOPLE WHO WANTED TO GIVE THEIR RADIOS FOR REPAIRING URGENTLY! 18 FOR POCKET WATCH REPAIRING AND 3 FOR WALL CLOCKS! IT HAD BEEN A RECORD YESTERDAY! AND YOU KNOW WHAT?! WHO LISTENS TO RADIOS NOWADAYS?! THEY ARE USUALLY JUST ROTTING IN SOME CORNER OF THE STOREROOM'S EVEN DEEPER CORNER! BUT BECAUSE OF THESE YAHUNYENS' NEWS NOWADAYS, PEOPLE HAVE STARTED VALUING THEIR RADIOS TO LISTEN TO THESE YAHUNYENS' DEEDS AND EXPLOITS, AND THAT COULD HAVE PROFITED MY SMALL SHOP YESTERDAY! BUT NO! THAT WASN'T IN MY LUCK AT ALL! YOU KNOW YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO THIS REPAIRING WORK HERE WITH GOOD PACE! NONE OF US ARE THAT GOOD! MY GOD THAT'S WHAT I PAY YOU FOR! I THOUGHT I COULD HAVE INCREASED YOUR WAGES, BUT YOU RUINED THAT OPPORTUNITY YOURSELF!"
Fheniz stood there, feeling as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He tried to listen to his boss's barking, but all he could think about was one thing. Ughhhhhh, Yahunyens… that's exactly why I took a leave yesterday.
As Adapada continued to rant, Fheniz's mind wandered. He had to come up with something fast, something so outlandish that it would shut Adapada up and get him off the hook. And then, in a flash of inspiration, the perfect idea struck him. He scrunched up his face, forcing himself to look as pitiful as possible, and allowed his eyes to well up with fake tears.
"I am so sorry for your loss, Sir Adapada Konpada," Fheniz began, his voice trembling as if he were on the verge of a breakdown. "But yesterday, I suffered an even more terrible loss."
Adapada's rant came to an abrupt halt. His one good eye narrowed as he scrutinized Fheniz, the anger on his face giving way to suspicion and then, slowly, to genuine concern. "What happened? Did someone die? Most prolly people make that face when they lose someone."
Death? Fheniz thought, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. Let's not go that far. "No, sir, no one died," he answered hastily, then quickly added, "actually, my uncle… Uncle Burohagi is a pubic hair beard—"
"What?!" Adapada interrupted, his confusion mounting.
"Pubic hair… pubic hair, he has got disease in his balls below the pubic hair, sir! He's had it for a very long time. I mean, that's what I've been working for these years. Ya know for medicines and operations and... medicines and... operations ya know, but yesterday he got a… a… a heart attack in his balls."
"Huh? Heart attack in his balls? What the…?" Adapada's eye widened, his tiny mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"I've read about that disease in a book in the library. It does happen sometimes, ya know. It's said like that because it pains as severe as a heart attack in ya testicles, ya know," Fheniz explained, struggling to keep his face straight. "And not just that, he also gets heart attacks in his ass sometimes too."
"In his ass?!" Adapada's voice rose an octave as he tried to comprehend the ridiculousness being spewed at him.
"Yes! Yes! I'll tell you what happened in detail," Fheniz continued, fully committed to the absurdity of his story. "He has an 'ass-kart'—"
"A what?"
"An ass-kart, sir. A donkey with a cart attached to its back. One fateful day, he was sitting and cleaning the donkey, and unfortunately, that donkey kicked him hard in between his legs…"
"Oooh," Adapada winced, visibly feeling the phantom pain.
"And then?" he urged Fheniz to continue.
Fheniz paused, trying to gauge how far he could push this. "Then, ya know… it's too painful, so we'll talk about it someday later," he said, trying to sidestep the subject.
"Ahh, yeah, correct," Adapada said with a nod. But then his brow furrowed as he remembered. "Hey! But what about the heart attack in his ass?"
"Umm, well that's what, sir. Actually, the same when he was crying in pain after he got hit in his balls, he turned over and prostrated himself in the opposite direction, in pain. The donkey thought that was an invitation for him to kick again. So, the kickass kicked his ass as the ass kicked back, then the kickass kicked the kicked ass quicker than the ass could kick back at the kickass! Then the kickass kicked the kicked-ass kick right back up his ass again, leaving the kicked kickass with a kicked ass that can't kick back!" Fheniz concluded, somehow managing to keep a straight face through the entire tongue-twisting explanation.
Adapada's eye crossed slightly as he tried to make sense of what he'd just heard. His tiny mouth moved wordlessly for a few moments before he finally shook his head, as if clearing out the nonsense. "Got it," he muttered, although it was clear he didn't get it at all.
With that, the day continued as usual. Adapada, still slightly bewildered, let Fheniz off the hook and returned to his usual tasks. Fheniz, relieved that his ridiculous story had worked, threw himself into repairing the radios that had piled up during his absence. The work kept him busy, but his mind kept wandering back to the competition and the plan he and Burohagikun would discuss later that evening.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Fheniz finished the last of the repairs and closed up shop. He made his way back to his stone house, feeling the weight of the day lift off his shoulders. But as he walked, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. If nothing else, today had been absurdly hilarious.
He reached his home just as the first stars began to twinkle in the night sky. With a sigh, he sat down on the small porch, waiting for Burohagikun to arrive. The day had been long, filled with expected twists and turns, but now he looked forward to the evening, eager to see what plans his eccentric uncle would come up with next.