“My name is Camden Darjean, my Sowing Day is this week, and I am currently an apprentice at the Court Mage Tea Shop.”

  I sigh, avoiding eye contact with anyone, “Introducing myself to a Sowing Day support group might be one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever done.”

  Chuckles sound around the room as I present myself to my government-assigned Sowing support group.

  “In every fantasy I’ve ever read, receiving your class on Sowing Day marks the moment the main character’s life changes for the better. But, as the bastard son of a young noble adventurer, I was sold to the nearest apprenticeship at the age of five, and all my family ties were stripped away. Even my last name, “Darjean,” was given to me by my master for the sake of the tea shop’s prestige – having a no-name apprentice doesn’t look great for business.”

  I take a deep breath, nearing the end of my introduction. “Where I’m going with this is, unless I take some shit army posting that offers a fighting class for my selection, I’ll be a tea shop assistant for the rest of my life. Some of the skills, like liquid temperature control or the charisma boost that comes with a service class, would be really useful, but I guess my dream of being an adventurer was never meant to come true.”

  Sporadic clapping ripples through the room as I sit down. The next poor soul in the group stands to begin their turn.

  As they start speaking, I get lost in thought. Sowing Day is the day every kid dreams of – the day the mystic System assigns you a class, generated skills, stat boosts, and literal magic become reality. No one is completely sure why the System calls it Sowing Day, but the philosophic guess is that it’s like planting seeds for the journey ahead.

  Not everyone gets to be a hero or adventurer, but there are countless possibilities, including personal trait boosts if they are lucky with their class. For me, though, it is just a day my destiny gets locked into a menial tea shop class – if my master even keeps me around. Otherwise, I will be lucky to find work as a roadside barista serving crap tea and shitty coffee to other menial classers.

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  After a few hours, the class comes to an end with resources about how even ‘lame’ classes can be used creatively to make a living.

  The bell dings over the door as I walk into the tea shop. Master is chatting with a few of the elder mages while performing a tea service for them. I’ve never understood why some of the snobbish court mages pay my master so much respect, considering they’re notorious elitist jerks. Yet here they are, giving him small bows before they tuck into enjoying the High Mana Silver Tip White Tea he serves them. The cost of a single pot is so high that Master doesn’t even let me in the storage room where it’s kept – let alone brew it for our high-profile clients.

  “Hey, Old Man, I’m back! Want me to organize the tea room since we’ve been so busy?” I call out as he walks away from the mages’ table.

  “What have I told you about respect in this establishment?” he scolds, regulating the temperature of a new teapot for another group of customers.

  “As long as there’s a customer here, we always treat every person as if they are a young lord in the castle… Even if they are a wise-cracked Old Man like you or a menace of a child like me.” I recite, as I have nearly every day for the past fifteen years.

  He chuckles at our little ritual and waves me off with the pot so I can serve the next group.

  Lucky for me, it’s a table of regulars I’ve known for years, so formality fades quickly, and we slip into casual conversation as their chosen oolong finishes steeping.

  “Cam, your Sowing Day’s coming up – how are you feeling?” Jasmine’s brown eyes flash with a moment of concern. She’s a little older than me and has been a little bit of a crush over the last few years. It’s hard not to be drawn in by her short black curls and genuine smile. She has been a regular ever since she started apprenticing under a low-level court mage. Thanks to that, she picked a mana class during selection and got some decent earth and minor water magic out of it.

  “You know, I was hoping by some miracle I’d be discovered by a great adventurer and receive their legacy – a real combat class. That didn’t happen, so unless I am willing to join the army as some kind of grunt, which I won’t, you’ll probably see me here for the rest of my life.”

  I barely catch a slight grimace from Jasmine as the tea finishes steeping, and I begin pouring for the table. Jasmine’s mentor, Eurid, chimes in, “Don’t give up, Cam. You never know – sometimes the System throws some wildcard classes in the selection. You’re life isn’t over even if you do get a tea-related class. This place is a money-printing machine; you would do well running it with the Old Man.”