The Bartender's Mystical Chronicles

The world feels cold as I walk toward the Academy, the weight of my footsteps echoing in the silence of the morning. Around me, the same familiar faces are scattered, but none of them offer a glance of recognition, none of them show any sign of care. I see them all—those who humiliated me, those who ridiculed me when I tried to stand tall, and those who stood by, too afraid to intervene, too indifferent to help. Their laughter is still sharp in my ears, their mocking words hanging heavy in the air like an unpleasant scent that won't fade. They don't know what it's like to be me.

I despise them. Every single one of them. I despise their confidence, their effortless grace, their arrogance. But more than anything, I despise myself.

I am nothing.

Nothing but a ghost in a world that doesn't care to see me. I've worked harder than anyone else to get here, to learn what others learn with ease, only to be crushed by those born with an innate brilliance I can never hope to match. It's as though the world is divided into two kinds of people: those with an unearned gift, and those who must struggle every step of the way. I'm one of the latter. I am the one who sweats blood just to be seen, only to be left in the dust by the natural-born talents that never even had to try.

How is that fair? How can this be right?

Why is it always me who's left behind?

I try so hard. I sacrifice everything I can—my time, my energy, my peace of mind—only for it to be not enough. And yet, no matter how much I bleed for it, I'll never catch up. I'll always be in the shadow of those who don't deserve it. The geniuses who glide through life, never knowing the price of true struggle. I wish... I wish I could know what that feels like.

The thoughts churn in my mind like a storm, suffocating every other possibility. I seek power. Strength. I want to rise above them, to crush the feeling of being nothing. But why? What would it even mean to be above them? To prove I'm worth something? To finally silence their cruel voices in my head?

I hate it. I hate all of it.

The comparisons, the relentless taunting, the feeling that I'll never be enough. That no matter how much I push myself, no matter how much I sacrifice, it's never going to be enough.

I've fought. I've fought with every ounce of strength I have left, every ounce of pride I have left, but it's all pointless. It's a cycle, a loop of failure, and there's no way out. It feels like I'm drowning. And no one even notices.

---

I am nothing but a walking embodiment of failure. I've become a joke. A source of amusement for others who think it's funny to see me struggle.

There's no place for me here. There's no place in this world for someone like me. The world doesn't care about the people who aren't gifted, the ones who can't just pick up a sword or solve a problem without thinking. No one sees me for who I am—what I am. All they see is the failure, the one who was never good enough, the one who always came last.

At first, I thought it wouldn't matter. I thought that if I just tried hard enough, if I gave it everything I had, I could earn the respect I craved. Maybe someone would say, "Good job." Maybe someone would finally look at me and see the work I put in. I wanted to matter. I wanted to feel like I meant something.

But that never came. No one ever noticed. The world was too busy worshipping the geniuses, the ones who breezed through life without a second thought. The ones who didn't have to struggle just to be seen. I was invisible, as if I didn't even exist. The ones who had it easy, they were the ones that mattered. The ones who could do everything effortlessly. They were the ones worth paying attention to.

And I? I was just a background noise, a name on the roster of those who will never make it.

---

The familiar weight of judgment presses down on me as I walk through the Academy gates. I can feel the gazes, some filled with pity, others with disdain. I'm nothing to them. Just another failed student who'll never amount to anything.

It's suffocating. That feeling of being invisible, of being nothing, of never measuring up. I've lived with it for as long as I can remember. The comparisons, the constant reminders of my inadequacies, my failures. I fight so hard to keep up, yet it's never enough. It's like I'm stuck in a cycle—a loop of disappointment I can never escape from.

I never wanted to be this way. I never wanted to be the person who always came last, the person who had to fight just to be seen. I wanted to be someone who was respected, someone who didn't have to fight for every inch of recognition. But no matter how much I wish for it, that will never happen.

I'll never be good enough.

I'll never be seen.

---

I need to escape. I need to get away, even if it's just for a little while. I've heard of a tavern in the city—a place where no one cares about your title, where no one judges you for being weak. It's a place where you can just be yourself, where the world doesn't matter.

For once, I don't want to think about the Academy, the failures, the comparisons. I just want to breathe without the pressure of expectations choking me.

I make my way through the city, each step taking me farther from the cold, indifferent world of the Academy. When I reach the tavern, I push open the door, and the warmth envelops me immediately. The air is filled with the smells of alcohol, food, and the hum of a person. It feels like a refuge, a place where I can forget everything for a moment.

I step inside, scanning the room. The tavern is full, but there's no one here who seems its close. It's strange. There's no competition, no one trying to outdo the others. Just people living, talking, being–But theres no people at the moment.

And then, I see him.

The bartender.

At first glance, he's nothing special. He's just cleaning a glass, moving with a quiet, practiced grace. There's nothing about him that stands out—no flashy clothes, no haughty airs. But there's something about him. Something that draws me in, something that makes me want to stay.

Maybe it's the calmness in the way he carries himself. Maybe it's the subtle way he commands the space around him without even trying. He's unassuming, yet there's something in the way he exists that makes the world feel less... heavy.

I sit down at the counter. After a beat, he looks up at me. His gaze meets mine, and I see nothing but quiet understanding. No judgment, no pity. Just a calm, neutral presence. He asks, "What brings you here?"

There's something about the way he asks that doesn't feel like a question. It feels like he already knows. Like he doesn't need to hear my story to understand.

I tell him, and he listens. Just listens. As if my words are enough to be heard. And without asking for more, he pours me a drink.

The liquid is cool and soothing as it slides down my throat. For the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of warmth, a flicker of relief. It's not much, but for now, it's enough.

He doesn't speak much. He just listens, and for that, I am grateful. No words are needed.

I finish my drink and set the glass down. For a moment, I consider leaving. But as I look around the tavern, I realize something. I don't want to leave. I want to stay.

Maybe I'll come back. Maybe, just maybe, this place is where I can find a little piece of myself again.

As I stand up to leave, I glance at the bartender one last time. He's still busy with his work, moving effortlessly through the motions. There's a peace about him, a calmness that I wish I could have.

I take a deep breath. For the first time in a while, I don't feel weighed down. I don't feel suffocated. The weight of the world is still there, but it doesn't feel so crushing. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe tomorrow, I'll be stronger.

But for now, I've made a vow to myself: Tomorrow, I'll be better than today.

---

He gone?

woohoo!

I survived!

HAHA!

Man i only could listen–i only said what bring him here when he entered.

Im done for the day. Home it is!

NEHAHAHA!

As i walked through the door i looked at the moon seeing it along with the stars made me feel relax.

Then a strong wind pass by and so cold to make me go back into the tavern and try to find my coat cause i forgot about it.

Ah. that hits the spot so warm.

lets go now.

hm. seems like im gonna sing.

The moonlight whispers through the trees,

A cool, soft breeze dances with ease.

Autumn's breath, so crisp, so clear,

Carrying memories that disappear.

So I'll walk, through the quiet night,

Underneath the stars' soft light.

With every step, the world grows mild,

Like a dream that's just begun to wild.

In autumn's night, I'll be free,

And maybe one day, you'll walk with me.

The shadows stretch, the leaves fall down,

A gentle hush wraps the town.

Every footstep feels so light,

As autumn holds me through the night.

So I'll walk, through the quiet night,

Underneath the stars' soft light.

With every step, the world grows mild,

Like a dream that's just begun to wild.

In autumn's night, I'll be free,

And maybe one day, you'll walk with me.

And though the world may fade away,

The autumn stars will always stay.

In their glow, I find my place,

In the stillness, I find grace.

So I'll walk, through the quiet night,

Underneath the stars' soft light.

With every step, the world grows mild,

Like a dream that's just begun to wild.

In autumn's night, I'll be free,

And maybe one day, you'll walk with me.

And once again it echoed through the streets again as last time creating wonderful sound.

Other sleep, other hum and other dance with their dear ones again.

I looked at my doorstep i saw the place of the rose to only me to see it to just to be gone somewhere.

I look again at the moon it gives a soft gleaming glow.

I look at the trees in the street its leaves fall cause by a strong wind that made me shiver.

I grip my coat tighter cause of the shiver that it gave to me.

I want to stay a little more in this silence–looking at the stars that look like specks of dust but its bigger in truth.

Then i entered the house.

I said sorry for intruding–for it is not mine it was someone else's.

Then i made dinner and ate it.

I prepared myself a warm bath to clean myself.

I dry myself with a towel it was soft.

I clothe myself–then thought of making a new recipe of a mix..

Autumn theme?

Hm.. lets try it.

I prepared the ingredients.

Then it was done–call it Ember.

It combines bourbon, apple cider, and maple syrup with a hint of cinnamon and fresh lemon juice. It's a warm, cozy drink that captures the essence of fall, with a garnish of apple slice and cinnamon stick for a comforting, seasonal touch. Perfect for crisp autumn evenings.

Ah.

its freshing a cool liquid that is flowing through my body and the alcohol kicking my head to make me forget things.

i walk to go to the window then look at the street then i saw people trying to find something or someone then i heard 'Where is the person that sang? '

hmm. They want to here it again?

Should i make it a little enjoyable at the least..

I dont have time for that.

I ignored the people then i just look at them while i drink my mix i look once again to the moon cause by the reflection of it on the glass.

I open the window then another strong wind came–seems like nature is trying to make me shiver always.

Then i finished my drink then i walk to my bed–i close the window and lights.

After that i lay down in the bed. The drink i made my head feel loose that made me fall a sleep in a deep relaxing sleeping state.