Chapter Text
Not for the first time, Shadow Milk wondered if staying evil would’ve been the smarter option. At least then he wouldn’t be forced to witness the ongoing tragedy that was Crispia’s socio-economic policy.
He and Pure Vanilla were midway through tea break—euphemistically called mandatory therapy— when disaster struck.
Shadow Milk, in the middle of sipping overly sweet tea (three cubes of sugar, plenty of milk, thank you), and pocketing more cookies than was strictly legal, barely looked up when Pure Vanilla sighed and handed him a scroll.
“Can you look at this? I’m not really sure about the proposal.”
Right. That. Shadow Milk was now, against all logic and consent, Pure Vanilla’s personal consultant. Why? No one knew. Pure Vanilla had smiled like it explained everything and said, “You have unlimited knowledge and a diverse perspective.”
Which, apparently, meant terrorist with opinions.
Still. It was a perfect setup: free snacks, political sabotage, and a new outlet for his complaints. Who would say no?
He unrolled the scroll.
Then wished he hadn’t.
Some people deserved to be sealed into the Sacred Tree and left there to rot.
“What is this?” His voice cracked with the sheer force of disbelief.
“Tuition fee hike,” Pure Vanilla said. “The Creme Republic University claims the Beast War disrupted their supplies and they need more funds to rebuild facilities. I’ve been trying to delay this proposal since last December.”
A pause.
He turned to the beast. “Shadow Milk?”
Shadow Milk blinked slowly. To say he was confused would be an understatement.
The Beast War? What did that even have to do with Crispia? Sure, he’d tried to kill Pure Vanilla. But the monarchy hadn’t been active since the Dark Flour War. And yes, okay, he’d committed a few murders here and there. But fewer people meant fewer problems, right? He wasn’t the one who told the universities to panic and implode. When did he become responsible for budget allocation?
Also—
“Why are students paying for school in the first place?” he asked flatly. “Isn’t knowledge supposed to be free, Vanilly?”
Pure Vanilla tried to defend himself. Key word: tried.
“I wasn’t in charge after the Dark Flour War! I didn’t remember anything, I swear! One day I’m back in the office and the fees are suddenly 50,000 coins a year!”
“So... your kingdom became a capitalist state, huh?”
“That’s not true at all—”
“Well, unlike you,” Shadow Milk said, smiling smugly, “my academy thrived on free education. Back in my day, we built something from nothing. You’re telling me you have an entire kingdom and can’t manage that? What a liar you are, Silly.”
Pure Vanilla perked up. “Wait… you had an academy?” Of course that was what he focused on.
“You didn’t know?” Shadow Milk raised a brow. “Blueberry Academy? First academy of Earthbread? World-class reputation? Principal who unlocked the three laws of gravity?”
He hated remembering those titles, but it was fun.
Pure Vanilla’s eyes widened. “That was you? I studied there! If people knew—”
“—that their principal is now a monster?” Shadow Milk cut in dryly. “Yeah. Thought about that.”
“I was going to say is alive, but sure.” Pure Vanilla placed a hand over his heart. His eyes were dreamy. “Blueberry Academy was incredible. The library was massive, the food was good, the staff actually cared, and—”
“It was free!” Shadow Milk declared, triumphant. “You remember what quality looks like. So what’s your excuse now? Why can’t you give that to others?”
He hovered slightly off the ground, arms folded. “Actually, why would anyone pay for school when my academy still exists? Those fake universities can’t even compete with the brilliance of Master Shadow Milk. Strange…”
That’s when Pure Vanilla looked away. A bead of sweat slid down his cheek.
“Haha… yeah… about that…”
Shadow Milk froze. “…What.”
Pure Vanilla laughed nervously, hands clasped together. “White Lily blew it up. Years ago. That’s when tuition fees started going up. With Blueberry gone, well… the others filled the gap.”
The audacity.
It got infested with monsters. Of course the half-soul had to ruin everything he ever cared about. Again.
Shadow Milk wanted to shove her into an oven, weld the door shut, and listen to her scream until all that was left were cinders. Maybe then, maybe, he’d finally get some peace.
Sure, Shadow Milk went evil and abandoned the school centuries ago, but that didn’t mean people could just destroy his works! It was his first project, too, and he spent so many years with it! Half the library was written by him. All the lessons were passed through him, the building was built using the money he made from selling books! He spent months convincing idealistic teachers to work for free with flowery lies and promises of legacy. And it worked. No tuition. No barriers. Just pure, unfiltered knowledge.
He was the Beast of Deceit! Not the Beast of Capitalism.
What was he supposed to do, trick the poor? They couldn’t even afford notebooks, let alone illusions.
It just proved his point further that no one cared about knowledge. The moment he looked away, they screwed everything up! He still existed, they knew right? Why did no one object to it? Look at the Vanilla Kingdom’s economy! Not even one objection?
It was nuked into breadcrumbs. And they still expect people to pay fifty thousand coins a year for tuition?
He didn’t even care about education that much! Not really!
But he spent hundreds of years building that place. And now it was gone. His work? Scrapped. His legacy? Rewritten by cowards with too many fees.
The more he thought about it, the stupider it sounded.
He decided to take a look around.
There it was, the old library he loved.
On weekends, he used to host book-binding workshops there. Students from all walks of life would crowd into that little space, borrowing books on medicine, technology, literature, anything they could get their hands on. The librarian always scolded him for making their job harder.
He’d take them all out for lunch afterward, just to make up for it. Though deep down, he suspected they were all in on it together.
Now, it was on fire.
Pages lay scattered across the ground, charred and crumpled. Books—his books—malformed and bleeding ink.
He drifted past the classrooms, once his second home.
There was a time when a chalk shortage swept the entire nation, turning blackboard lectures into rare, coveted events. It was absurd. And yet, a group of furious students, fed up with missing half their notes, locked themselves in a room for a week and came
out with an invention: a chalk that never ran out.
They were dubbed the Saviors of the Classroom and paraded from room to room for 'sacrifices'. Some classrooms even had statues of them. A joke, one that never really ended.
Now, the classrooms were barely distinguishable from a trash heap.
He wandered forward, turning left automatically. Muscle memory guided him.
The great hall opened before him, once adorned with portraits of the school’s most brilliant minds. Juniors would line up to take pictures with every one of them, chasing the rumor that doing so would make you the next to join them.
It sounded ridiculous. But statistically? It worked 80% of the time.
He remembered a thesis paper once—an actual academic submission—arguing the hall was blessed by a divine being of success. The logic was flimsy, but the writing was beautiful. The student passed, of course, and went on to earn their place on the wall.
Now, all of them were burning.
All because of that stupid half-soul who couldn’t test her unstable experiments anywhere else but his school.
He wandered for another hour. The sun had started to sink, dragging the sky into a soft orange hue. He was getting bored. It was either keep pacing through memory lane or find something else to break.
But when he reached the technical room, someone was already there.
A child?
A small Vanillian kid with pink hair and oversized waffle headphones was tugging a bundle of tangled wires from a broken-down robot. The thing was clearly heavy, twice their size at least, but they yanked it across the floor with practiced effort, then flung the wires into a box held by a helper bot.
Why would a child even be here?
Wait— Was that child stealing his properties?
The motion repeated. Wires, waffles, cream sticks… Once satisfied, the child gave a firm nod.
“That’s all for today, Wafflebot. Great work!” they said, high-fiving the robot.
They peered into the box. “Waffles, waffles… more waffles.” A sigh. “Are these wires even enough? Eh. Whatever.”
Then, without hesitation, they hopped down and motioned for the robot to follow.
“Let’s head back. We need to fix the lights before nightfall.”
The Wafflebot closed the lid on the box and waddled after the child, who strolled out like they hadn’t just taken a bunch of components out of broken robots.
Shadow Milk, still floating near the ceiling like a bored specter, considered his options.
On one hand, it wasn’t his problem. Just a kid scavenging broken tech. Nothing interesting. He could go back to razing Raisin Village or torching the school again. Classic hobbies. That might take the edge off.
Unless the kid wanted to get set on fire. That could be mutually beneficial.
But…
What kind of child wandered around abandoned ruins at sunset? His old students only pulled stunts like that when they were planning to commit minor terrorism or steal illegal pastries from the kitchen.
He sighed. He was bored. And curiosity was still the one thing that got him in trouble.
So, naturally, he jumped down.
“What was THAT?!” the kid shrieked.
Wafflebot immediately dropped the box and drew a makeshift blaster like it had trained for this moment.
Shadow Milk emerged from the crates with a grin. “Hi there!”
Bang.
He leaned back, letting the shot whiz past. “Wow, aggressive! I’m just trying to talk here!”
“Back off!” the kid snapped, waving the blaster with shaky determination. “I’ve got weapons and I will use them! Don’t think I won’t!”
Shadow Milk blinked slowly. If weapons worked on him, he'd be long gone by now.
“Look, look.” He raised both hands like a reasonable ghost. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. What’s with all the wires and parts? You do know looting counts as stealing, right?”
The kid glared at him. “Why should you care, old man? This place has been abandoned since forever. Nobody gave a crumb about it.”
Oh, fantastic. Not only had his precious academy been blown to hell, it was now a community junkyard.
Should he vaporize the child?
Peace, Shadow Milk.
The voice of Pure Vanilla, smug and annoying, echoed in his brain.
Peace and love.
He hated it.
He exhaled sharply and tilted his head. “I’m just a lost traveler, stumbled across this ruin. Are you from around here? I’m looking for a route back to the Vanilla Kingdom.”
(Preferably before he gave in to his worse instincts and turned this into a second Dark Flour War.)
Silence.
“…Uh—” The strawberry-haired kid finally blinked out of autopilot. They glanced at the bot. “Wafflebot, weapon down. Stay on alert mode.”
The bot’s red sensors faded to yellow with a mechanical hum.
The kid turned back toward Shadow Milk, still standing there with his hands raised like a criminal caught in the middle of snack theft. They looked guilty. Not guilty enough to apologize like they meant it, but guilty enough to hesitate.
They stared at each other.
More silence.
“Uh—” the kid repeated.
He raised a brow. “We doing a remix or is that your full vocabulary?”
“I’m sorry?” They finally managed.
Shadow Milk gave a dramatic gasp. “You’re sorry? Truly? May I lower my arms now, or would you like to shoot me again for safety’s sake?”
The kid wrinkled their nose, crossing their arms. “It’s not like it’s my fault. You’re the one sneaking around. Strangers are dangerous.”
“And you’re holding a gun.” His voice was smooth, amused. “So by your logic, you’re the danger here.”
The kid didn’t respond to that. Shadow Milk, slowly, exaggeratedly, dropped his arms, giving them every chance to interrupt if they wanted. They didn’t. Progress.
“Yes, strangers can be dangerous,” he continued. “But most of them wait at least five minutes before pulling the trigger. Now, unless you’d like to add ‘murderer’ to your little resume, can you help me find the road to the Vanilla Kingdom or should I go start another apocalypse for fun?”
The kid narrowed their eyes. “Why should I help you?”
He was losing patience. “Because I’m lost, and it’s sunset. I’m not exactly here to rob your… waffle robot.”
The kid hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Fair point.”
A beat.
“So… are you going to help or…?”
They shrugged. “Maybe. Depends. What’s your name? In case I get kidnapped or something.”
He couldn’t help it. He grinned. “Shadow Milk Cookie,” he said, sweeping into a graceful bow, all flair and confidence. “At your service.”
“…”
“You’re so cringe,” the kid said flatly.
Shadow Milk lit up like the world’s most evil chandelier. “Delightful.”
In the end, the kid agreed to take him back. Shadow Milk was already imagining a very cute hostage situation, thank you very much, but the silence was growing unbearable. He wondered if it was a mistake to follow a child back instead of just finding his own way to the Kingdom. Creepy, sure, but not his style of terror. He preferred something a little more creatively horrifying, like tormenting Pure Vanilla, for example.
Naturally, he broke the silence.
“What are all those wires for? Your little army of Wafflebots?”
The kid—still hadn’t gotten their name—shook their head. “I already have one at home. No, I’m testing a new lightning system for Raisin Village. The last one was made out of years old syrup. Who would even use syrup nowadays?”
The child looked at him expectantly. “Where you come from, they still use syrup?”
Shadow Milk paused, considering. He wasn’t sure where his home truly was anymore. Beast-Yeast had been his stomping ground, but syrup? That felt like something out of the old days.
“Nah,” he answered, surprising even himself with how casually he dismissed the whole thing. “We have better stuff than this.”
The kid nodded, like they expected this answer. “Raisin Village is outdated, huh? It’s a pretty sad place, honestly. But with me here, I’m sure it’s gonna turn around. Electricity will light this place up, just like the Creme Republic!”
What.
They were talking about electricity. The kind of thing they taught in universities. Universities.
“You know,” Shadow Milk drawled, “it’s quite advanced magic. I’ve never seen anyone try it alone.” Except me. He gave a half-grin. “Electricity might turn you into overbaked crumbs.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m smarter than you, blue guy.”
And with that, the silence returned. Another minute dragged by before they finally arrived at the village.
“Here it is. You can rest here before heading out wherever you’re going.”
Raisin Village had changed.
Last time, it had looked like someone had taken a bite out of the world and forgotten to spit it out. Collapsing houses. Shadows in every window. That peculiar kind of stillness that only came when hope had already packed its bags and left.
Now… there were colors and life.
Buildings in soft yellows and browns stood upright with pride, like they actually belonged here. Children’s laughter echoed between the cobbled paths. Traders were trudging home with baskets in hand, their tired eyes brighter than he remembered. They had a new well, too. What a luxury.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.
There was a crowd forming.
Shadow Milk followed Strawberry Crepe as they marched straight into the square, where villagers gathered around a strange, half-finished contraption, like someone had tried to build a beacon out of scrap and ambition.
“Strawberry Crepe! Got your wires back?” someone called—Black Raisin, if his memory served. The one Pure Vanilla always talked about.
“Got everything!” the kid announced, throwing the box down with a grin. “Today is the day Raisin Village enters the new age of technology! You better be ready!”
Shadow Milk cringed.
The villagers gave polite chuckles, fond, even. Someone ruffled Crepe’s hair.
“You’re really gonna do it this time?” an old man asked, skeptical but not unkind.
A younger kid puffed out their chest. “Of course they are! They’re gonna make night-time games possible!”
Another adult snorted. “Just hope it doesn’t fry the crops this time.”
Shadow Milk stayed back, watching as Strawberry Crepe got to work. They knelt beside the strange tower—wires sticking out at odd angles like a nervous plant trying to bloom. The Wafflebot opened the box and passed them tools as the crowd slowly fell into a hush.
“This connects here… and then that…” Crepe muttered, sweat beaded at their brow. “Okay. That should do it.”
Click. A switch. A bulb flickered.
Another flicker. Then another.
The villagers leaned in, breath held.
Three bulbs.
Two—
Pop!
The light sputtered and died.
“No!” Crepe groaned, throwing their arms up. “That should’ve worked! That should’ve worked! Curse the Witches and their half-finished manuals!”
Shadow Milk bit back a laugh.
Now this was entertainment.
The villagers didn’t say much. They didn’t have to. Disappointment lingered in the air like smoke, bitter, clinging to their silence. A few shook their heads, muttered things under their breath as they turned away.
“Guess it was too much to hope for…”
“Just a kid. What did we expect?”
“Hmph. Another waste of time.”
“I don’t know why I thought this one would work.”
And in the center of the wreckage—
Strawberry Crepe stood beside their half-lit contraption, unmoving. Their head hung low, shoulders pulled in tight like they could fold into themselves if they tried hard enough. Fists clenched, teeth gritted, trembling.
And then the first tear fell.
Shadow Milk tilted his head. Oh. That’s what this was. The kid was crying now. Just those pathetic, silent tears. He’d seen it before, too many times, actually.
Didn’t make it any less ridiculous.
Crepe dropped to their knees beside the machine. Whispering something. , wishing the wires would rearrange themselves, that the light would flicker on and fix it all for them.
“Why didn’t it work… I followed everything… I did everything…”
Black Raisin stepped forward, carefully, like she’d seen this happen too many times before. She rested a hand on the kid’s back.
“Crepe—”
“Don’t!” They jerked away, voice cracking. “You don’t understand! You just—You don’t!”
“I’ve tried so hard! I’ve given it everything and still it’s not enough!”
“They’ll laugh at me again. They always do.”
“No one ever believes I can do anything right!”
“No matter how hard I try, it’s always wrong, always broken— I’m always the one who failed!”
Shadow Milk exhaled slowly through his nose.
Oh, great.
Another one of these.
He didn’t need to see himself in this child.
Shadow Milk blinked, as if snapping out of something. The rage, the helplessness, the bitter desperation, it all tasted far too familiar. He knew that voice. , that ache in your chest when the world tells you you’re not enough, even after you’ve burned yourself hollow trying to be.
He didn’t like this.
Not the failure. He adored failure. It was humbling, honest. No, what he didn’t like was the way the kid looked after: curled in like a crushed bug, red-eyed and shaking next to a pile of tangled wires and wasted hope. He didn’t like the silence of the villagers, or the way they pretended not to care while care dripped off them like syrup.
He didn’t like it at all.
He moved.
Electricity wasn’t like magic. It wasn’t flashy or dramatic. It didn’t care how hard you cried, or how much faith you had. It was math. Brutal, exact math. One wrong calculation, and everything went dark. Or worse, exploded.
This project wasn’t hopeless.
Sloppy, but not hopeless.
He knelt to study the setup. Batteries. A candy switch. Coils. Resistors. All textbook placements. All technically correct, except for the core design flaw: every single bulb wired into one long, linear chain. Like a row of dominoes set up just to fail.
It could never hold the charge.
He snorted. “Child’s mistake,” then louder: “Parallel structure.”
He stood and turned.
The kid was still sniffling, face hidden in Raisin’s shoulder. Clinging to comfort like it wouldn’t abandon them too.
Pathetic.
He cleared his throat.
“Strawberry Crepe,” he said with a smirk. “That was a public disaster.”
Their head snapped up like a viper. “What do you want now?! Come to kick me while I’m down?! You think this is funny?!”
“I think you’re funny,” he said blandly. “But no. Not this.”
Black Raisin straightened sharply. “You—Shadow Milk, right? You really think now is a good time—”
“I think it’s the perfect time,” he said, casually brushing a smudge off his sleeve. “Because unlike everyone else here, I actually know what went wrong.”
A pause. The kid froze.
Raisin blinked. “Wait, you—”
“You’re lying,” Strawberry Crepe said, too fast, too sharp.
“I don’t lie,” he replied. You know, like a liar. “Either you believe me or you don’t.”
They stared at him.
“...You know how to fix it?” Crepe asked quietly.
“Obviously.”
Another beat of silence.
Then: “You are lying.”
“Yeah if only I didn't know you were connecting wires into a long circuit hoping that it would be able to live off the one battery that you snatched from the Academy.” He drawed out. “Very obvious, by the way.”
They stiffened, not expecting that. “You— You know about electricity?”
“Yes. And resistors and switches and magnetic switches. All that stuff. Now, do you believe me or not?”
A pause. The kid was deep in thinking
“Well…” They reluctantly nodded. “Let’s try it then.”
Shadow Milk smiled, slow and dangerous. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Shut up, blue man!!”
“Crepe! Don't say that!”
Children, always so distractible.
At least they weren’t crying anymore.
“The issue here is simple. You’ve wired it as a series circuit, not a parallel one,” he explained. “Series circuits are easy, but they don’t hold up. The voltage is split too thin and then the whole thing dies. You need to rewire it into parallel lines.”
He tugged at the wire, slicing through it effortlessly with his hair. “Here. Rewire this.” He handed the piece to the kid, who stared at it with wide eyes.
“I… don’t know how,” Strawberry Crepe admitted, looking frustrated.
Shadow Milk paused, feeling a flicker of regret. Was this punishment for some past sin? “Really? That’s just perfect. Alright, look…”
He took the wire he’d cut and dug it into the current with practiced hands, barely glancing at the kid.
“Tape,” he commanded.
The child, hesitant but eager, passed him the roll. Shadow Milk wrapped the tape around the wires with mechanical precision.
“Is this going to work?” the kid asked skeptically, eyeing him. “You’re not pulling some kind of prank, are you?”
“Children,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Always doubting.”
“Yes, it’ll work. Now, are you going to help or stand there and talk?”
Strawberry Crepe grumbled, but they nodded and reluctantly joined in. “If this blows up, though, you’re dead.”
“If I could die, sure, maybe. You’re quite the little murderer, huh?”
“You—”
They finished the rewiring. Five new lines of parallel wires connected to the bulbs, each one snaking across the makeshift project. The whole setup was neater, and surprisingly more efficient, using half the wire.
By the time they attached the last two wires, a crowd had started to gather. They were less curious about the child now and more interested in the strange figure who had joined the scene. Raisin, standing on the edge of the crowd, was eyeing Shadow Milk warily, clearly recognizing him. She didn’t stop him from helping, though. Trust or stupidity? He couldn’t decide.
Strawberry Crepe stood still, staring at the mess of wires in front of them. “That’s a lot of leftover wire... I... I didn’t realize I was wasting so much.”
“Yeah, you’re a genius.” Shadow Milk’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now, do you want to stand there all day and contemplate your failures, or do you want to see if it actually works?”
He stepped to the side, leaving the switch unflipped. “Your turn. Go ahead.”
The kid glared at him but stepped forward, their hand hovering over the switch. “This better work.”
Crepe hesitated. Their hand hovered. It felt like the whole world had gone quiet. Just them. The switch. The hope. Could they risk failing again?
“…Just do it already,” Shadow Milk muttered.
Three—
Two—
One—
Click.
Silence.
Then—
“The light!” a kid shouted. “Dad, look!”
“Oh my Witches—it's real! It’s really real!”
“Game night is saved!”
“Behold! The Age of Technology! All hail Strawberry Crepe!”
“All hail Strawberry Crepe!”
The machine glowed like a new sun. Houses across the village lit up one by one, bathed in a clean, brilliant light. Children shrieked with joy, dreams of nighttime play finally within reach. Even the elders, used to syrupy lamps and dim candles, stood dumbfounded.
Crepe froze. They looked at the project, stunned.
It worked.
It actually worked.
Success. Real success. Something that shone, something others could see.
A child ran up. “Strawberry Crepe! You’re amazing!”
Then another: “All hail Strawberry Crepe!”
More joined in, adults too.
They broke into a proud, wobbly smile. “Yes! Of course! This—this is the dawn of technology! All thanks to me—well, and also...”
They turned to Shadow Milk.
“…Mister Blue Guy.”
What.
“He helped! The village owes him! Everyone, cheer for Mister Blue Guy!”
Raisin groaned audibly. “Crepe… by the Witches…”
The crowd followed. “You’re awesome!” “Thank you, sir!” “Are you a scientist?”
Someone clapped Shadow Milk on the back. He flinched.
“Thank you so much!”
“You’re so smart!”
“You’re our professor!”
“Our god!”
Stupid memories.
It had been so long since anyone had praised knowledge like this.
A small tug on his sleeve. He looked down.
Strawberry Crepe.
“…What do you want?” he asked, cautious.
The kid looked away, fidgeting. The arrogance was gone, well, mostly. They seemed almost… embarrassed.
He raised an eyebrow. “We doing the silent treatment now?”
That jolted them. “I’m trying, okay?! Raisin said to be polite!”
Raisin gave a long-suffering nod in the background.
Crepe took a breath, then bowed, awkward, jerky.
“Please teach me, Professor Shadow Milk.”
He recoiled like they’d cursed him. “Absolutely not.”
The crowd gasped.
“I’m done teaching,” he muttered. “Terrorists exist for a reason.”
“But—please?” Crepe looked up, big eyes and all.
“No.”
“I’ll give you a Waffleb—”
“Why would I need one?”
“Come on—!”
“Why should I?” he snapped. Floating upward, spinning lazily. “You’re not worth my time.”
Silence.
And then—tears.
Big, ugly ones.
“Why won’t you teach me?” Crepe sobbed. “I just want to know!”
“Hey man, that’s harsh,” a villager said. Shadow Milk glared. They backed off.
“You’re so mean!”
“Yeah! They’re crying!”
The shift was instant. The cheers turned. Praise turned to blame. The moment he didn’t give them what they wanted, they turned. Just like always. Not a person. A tool. A symbol.
Quietly, slowly, he raised his staff.
“You know what?” He smiled, mocking. “Maybe you should all go back to school.”
The portal opened behind him. Without a word, he stepped through.
—And vanished.
When Shadow Milk woke up the morning after, Pure Vanilla said nothing about his eye bags or his uncharacteristic silence. He did not comment on the way Shadow Milk chucked the second bottle of milk. No, Pure Vanilla learned better than to disturb Shadow Milk when he was in the mood. That is, if he did not want another glitter bomb with the word ‘yellow bitch’ on.
That didn’t mean Pure Vanilla wasn’t curious. Oh, he was.
Shadow Milk would be sealed inside the tree again before he ever admitted to the king the reason. His foolish decision to help the kid yesterday was an impulsive, one-time arc. What had he been thinking, giving out true, unfiltered knowledge? Hell, that child could have just gotten a book and read!
Stupid!
“Witches be damned…” he moaned, stuffing another cookie into his endless four-dimension stomach.
Pure Vanilla sipped on his Chai.
“My life sucks…” He said out loud, head still on the table.
The other did not bat an eye.
“I'm an idiot.” He said, and the effect was immediate.
Pure Vanilla choked.
“Oh hi, good morning to you too Pure Vanilla cookie.” He chipped brightly, too brightly. “What are you doing? You should be more careful, you know. The kingdom does not need more debt after all.”
“You just said—”
“Nuh uh. How is the tuition fee mr. President?”
“I—”
Pure Vanilla gave up. As if he could ever beat the master of rage baiting. Hah! But then he, as if remembered something, sighed dramatically.
“Terrible. Mr. Vice President. Terrible.”
“And how so?” He could not quite keep the venom out of his voice. “I wonder who could have ruined my beautiful school and destroyed the economical balance of higher education huh?”
Pure Vanilla, as expected, did not rise to the bait. Witches knew he was like one of the guys meditating on the mountains, drinking tea and staying so calm all the time. He pulled out another scroll and handed it to Shadow Milk. He had an idea what was inside, and Witches—
“What the actual— They want to make the public library private?”
There was the word ‘public’ for a reason?
Why wouldn’t they go to his library instead— oh wait he crumbled it.
Nah it was 100% Pure Vanilla’s fault.
Yep.
Shadow Milk took a deep breath.
“Yep. Yep. That's normal.”
Pure Vanilla’s brows knitted. “Are you okay—”
Shadow Milk stood up. In his head he muttered a string of curses at the half-baked students who were starting to get on his nerve.
A sudden shout cut across them.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
Cream Roll cookie barreled into the hall, sweat beading on his forehead. The guard almost tripped before kneeling in front of the two. He took a moment to breathe, and Shadow Milk was almost concerned and about to ask when he blurted out.
“T- The demon child is looking for you, your Majesty!”
Demon child?
Who the he—
Shadow Milk could think of no one in the kingdom who would even fit in that description. Sure, there were some evil stuffs Dark Enchantress made, and there was also—
“I told you not to call them that.” Pure Vanilla's voice clipped like a whip. He calmly stood up, but there was an underlying tension. “Strawberry Crepe is a child. Cream Roll. A child. Not a demon.”
Strawberry Crepe???
Sure, a bit murderous, but a demon?
Cream Roll seemingly ignored Shadow Milk’s silent hitch, instead looking at Pure Vanilla with all the desperation of a soldier protecting the country. He clapped his hand together, barely looking up.
“Y- yes. Your majesty. B- But that child! This is the first time the child goes to the castle again. Who knows what the de- they are planning this time? Please! Your majesty. Please be careful I beg you!”
A demon. Huh.
Looking back, did he know who that child was? A child with the power to invent and learn at such a young age was nothing short of extraordinary. No. No! Shadow Milk. Do not go down the trap!
Pure Vania sighed heavily next to him.
“I get it. Cream Roll. I'll see what it's all about. Tell everyone not to do anything. They are just a child. I told you”
Cream Roll, the idiot he was, still cast a nervous glance even as he stood up. He definitely did not trust Strawberry Crepe, and it made Shadow Milk even more curious. A grown-ass man could not handle a silly dumb kid? That’s rich.
As Cream Roll retreated, Pure Vanilla turned back to Shadow Milk in a silent invite. They idly walked together toward the gate. Pure Vanilla was… nervous? No, surprised, perhaps. Or even excited. Just what did the child do?
They walked out together to the gate. Pure Vanilla seemed oddly… curious himself, almost excited. He spoke as if framing a memory for Shadow Milk.
“Strawberry Crepe is a child, Shadow Milk. They… Before I reclaimed my Soul Jam and remembered, everything was a mess. I forgot everything, and Strawberry Crepe… While others got to go away and started the Republic, Strawberry Crepe woke up in a cryostatic chamber after so many years had passed.”
Shadow Milk hummed. A child left alone to an abandoned kingdom. What a fascinating concept.
The other took it as a sign to continue. “I don't know the exact details, but Dark Enchantress found them.” He let out a deep breath. “And just— they were a lonely child, making Wafflebots day by day to starve off the boredom and loneliness. And you know, they are childish. But…”
“They are just a child.”
Pure Vanilla nodded. “They are. Sometimes people forget they are though.”
A demon child. A person shaped by loneliness and decided to use their brilliance to compensate for their social failure instead. A child who, perhaps out of guilt, chose not to ever stay near the castle. A child who desperately wants validation and forgiveness.
How naive.
That was kind of funny.
Shadow Milk let out a laugh. “Honestly, knowing what I know—”
“Mr. Shadow Milk!” A child claimed, running toward them.
Strawberry Crepe was practically hopping in the air. Behind, a Wafflebot was present, to the suspicion of the guards. The child beamed at Shadow Milk, and Witches, wasn't that weird? They stared at him with those stupid blue eyes, and for one moment, it was him back in the academy—
“Strawberry Crepe!” Pure Vanilla exclaimed happily. “It's great to see you here.”
The child’s bravado folded into something smaller. They swallowed, then bowed with a wobble. “Good morning, Mr. Pure Vanilla Cookie. How have you been?”
Pure Vanilla answered with airy cheer as if nothing strange were happening. “Fine, fine! Shadow Milk, why didn’t you tell me you’d met them before?”
Right away, he snarled.
“They tried to shoot me.”
“It was in self-defense!”
“They stole from the school.”
“It was a ruin! How am I supposed to know you were there?”
“They forced me to watch their pathetic attempt at—”
“Didnt you help me so enthusiastically?”
“I definitely didn’t you brat—”
“Now.” Pure Vanilla clapped his hand together. That stupid smile pasted on his face. “I'm glad you guys have already met! Strawberry Crepe, are you here for Shadow Milk?”
Strawberry Crepe snapped straight. They looked like a bundle of pink flour mashed together. Yet, there was a silent seriousness in their posture. With all the bravery of a child terrorist, they took in a deep breath, and bowed.
“Yes! Mr. Pure Vanilla Cookie! I'm here on a mission to…” they cast an anxious glance at Shadow Milk “Yes. I— I would like to ask Mr. Shadow Milk to be my master. I’ve seen his brilliance. Please, let me study under him.”
They turned to Shadow Milk.
They reached into a leather satchel and produced a sugar-stained scroll, edges frayed by time. Their hands trembled as they handed it over. With the reluctance of a man twice his age, Shadow Milk unrolled it.
The scroll was even older than he thought. It was of a design, intricately made, all entirely too familiar—
“Where did you get this?” His voice was cold.
Where did you get the last scroll of— His— It was his—
“This—” Strawberry Crepe was all too oblivious to Shadow Milk’s silent spiral. “This is the one and only surviving scroll of the Blueberry Academy! The most precious relic of history! It’s said the principal built the entire school from his own magic, brick by brick. Please, Mister, I treasure this more than anything… but I’d rather learn from a true master like you!”
He recognized them, the lines made of the oldest pencil on Earthbread, the ancient scent of Vanilla extract, the texture of handmade oak paper. He knew that many layers of the paper were of drafts that did not make it. He remembered the nights sleeping with it by his side, the promise of a new project luring him to sleep. He recalled opening it to many scholars and architects, asking and marking errors. He thought of the day it was no longer a dream but a reality, and the happiness at finally being able to call something his.
It hurt. It hurt worse than dying and being sealed. It hurt realizing that he still had something tethering him to this land. Earthbread, Beast Yeast, Crispia, there was nowhere he could call his home, but this? This was a remnant of what he once wanted. A home. Shadow Milk felt that uncomfortable silence. Witches. He was cursed, was he? Memories are a cursed, flickering reminder of stupidity and naivety, and this?
This was something.
Strawberry Crepe was standing anxiously next to him. They clearly did not expect the silence, probably hoped that he would be awed by such a precious artifact. Pure Vanilla, already knowing the story, only patted his shoulder in silent encouragement. Shadow Milk wished he had been swallowed by a hole. Gosh. He was feeling too much these days.
He cleared his throat.
“Where… Where did you find this?”
Strawberry Crepe looked at him seriously.
“I found it in one of my ventures into the depths of the Blueberry Academy, sir. It was by chance that I came across the ruin of the Principal’s tower and found this. Since then, I have not told anyone of this artifact, so rest assured, no one except us knows of this sir.”
Witches. That child just single-handedly explored the deepest part of that monster-ridden place?
“I see…” I don’t, but you don’t need to know that. “What I don’t get, however, is why you want me to be your Master. For all you know, I could just be a guy who happens to know a bit.”
Strawberry Crepe gave him a deadpan stare.
“Mister, you live with Pure Vanilla Cookie. Everyone knows you’re the expert.”
Okay. That’s fair.
Still…
“You put too much faith in me.” He told Strawberry Crepe honestly.
Nobody should ever trust him with teaching. After all, did they forget the last time? Sure, he was “redeemed”, but that child could never get it. He could not write on the board, could not make lesson plans, could not teach anymore. It drove him into a memory land of what had been, and reminded him of, not what he had lost, but that he was the one that caused the loss. And was that not the point? Sure, that cursed Lily might have been the one to blow up the school, but it was him—
Had he not done it—
Had he been—
So many what-ifs and none of them felt right.
“Go home.” He shoved the scroll back into their hands. “Read a book. I’m done.”
The child’s eyes went wide, trembling around the artifact. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Of course,” he snarled. “Who would want to teach you?”
Pure Vanilla’s tone cut sharp. “Shadow Milk, that’s—”
“Why not?” Strawberry Crepe cried. “I’ll work hard, I swear! Please—”
“Witches, shut up!” His hair bristled in spines. “I don’t care. I don’t teach. Why can’t you half-bakeds get it? Leave me alone!”
He ripped open a portal and vanished before either could stop him.
Shadow Milk was walking around the forest when the child appeared again.
“Please! Accept me!” They held the first edition of the Theory of Transformation that he wrote back then. “This is the oldest book ever in Crispia! Please let me be—”
“NO! Never! Get away you brat—”
He was carving pumpkins with Apple Candy and Black Sapphire when there was a weird noise coming from one of the bigger pumpkins.
Candy Apple started. “Hey Ma—- Shadow Milk Cookie. Do you see… that?”
Black Sapphire deadpanned. “I’m not touching that.”
Shadow Milk was curious though. He opened the pumpkin and—
“Please! I got you this newest Pineapple device coming from the Golden Cheese Kingdom! Please accept me as—”
He closed the pumpkin and popped away.
He was eating lunch.
Apple pie. Yes. Apple pie. Do not ask him why he liked Apple pie.
It was his favourite cafe in the Vanilla Kingdom. People did not stare at him. The owner was an old lady. Who could ask for more than that?
“Excuse me sir?” A tiny waiter said from behind.
He turned back.
“I got you this very powerful potion!” The waiter, Strawberry Crepe— How did they even find that outfit— hold out… Was that the Potion of Luck? “Please—-”
He threw the pie at them.
He might have overreacted.
Screw it. He definitely did.
Then, pray tell, why was the child here again?
How did they even find him? He teleported???
“You.” He sighed for the fifth time that day. Strawberry Crepe looked at him guiltily, scratching their head trying to hide the embarrassment. “You are a menace.”
No normal child would stalk an ancient eldritch horror being (yes, he classified as one) begging it to teach basic knowledge. No normal child would be insane enough to have a security system that followed magical traces of everyone in the Kingdom. No normal child would be so stubborn and not know what a “no” was. No child in general would even want to stay near him. Witches be damned, no one would want to be near him!
Then, why the hell was the child standing in front of him again? First at the castle, next the forest, then the ruin, and now? The milkshake shop???
“What is wrong with you?” He cried.
“I told you before.” That attitude was going to kill the strawberry one day. “I want you to teach me.”
“And I told you–” He gritted his teeth. “—I want nothing to do with teaching.”
“Yeah but…” The child pulled out a chocolate box. It was his favourite black chocolate. How??? “I heard you like dark chocolate, so I got this…”
God. Damn. It.
“Listen. You baked flour.” He said again for the billionth time that day. “I really appreciate it, but I don’t get why it has to be me. You do know that they teach it at school right? They have it all there, so why don’t you just go to school instead of wailing here? Don’t you have classes?”
“Like yeah, school! Go back to class and learn to do math instead of this, kid. This? This is university stuff! You have years to learn! Or you know what? Just go to college if you are so good at it? Bothering a person like me just shows how stupid you are. Stop annoying me and go back to school!”
Silence.
For the first time, Strawberry Crepe looked down. There was something Shadow Milk could not— Shame? Embarrassment? Humiliation? They said nothing. As if they just realized something and wished they had forgotten.
And— Wait, was the child sniffing?
Shadow Milk felt… not bad, but…
Looking back, the child had done nothing wrong. Annoying, definitely, but no normal child would have done that. Strawberry Crepe was obviously not a normal child. They had tried to talk to him many times: When the scroll did not work, they offered books, machines, magical chemicals, and now his favorite food. The child genuinely wanted it. No, the child needed it.
Even though Shadow Milk could no longer call himself “good”, he was trying to do better. And what had he done? Making a child cry. He had always been like this. Too self-centered. Too obsessed. Too focused on his feelings and memories to ever think about others. A stupid lash out without any empathy for other beings.
He was supposed to be better. Not good, but better.
This was not better at all.
How did you comfort children again? The only way he knew was with his students… Oh.
So, his voice softened, and for the first time, instead of floating, Shadow Milk stepped down, and put a hand on their shoulder, just like how he used to do for his students.
“Hey.” The word came out awkward. “No need to cry, okay? I’ll hear you out, but you have to be honest, okay?”
The pink-haired child was barely holding the tears from coming out. Their head snapped up, and in their tears-filled eyes was something. Hope. They blinked, and a few tears ran down their cheeks. Honestly, they looked like they wanted to cry just to spite him. Their eyebrows raised in suspicion. Fair. Imagine the guy who ghosted you the entire day suddenly called you. Shadow Milk would never see him again.
“Really?” Witches. They sounded so… vulnerable. Hopeful. “You’ll… You’ll believe me right?”
“As long as you are honest to me.” This was something he was familiar with. With a smirk, he patted the child’s head. “I’m Deceit. I would recognize deceitlings any day, okay?”
“I don’t know… You are very mean! What if you just…”
He playfully snatched the chocolate from their hand and popped one into his mouth. Yum! Then, he smiled. “See? Payment already received. Now. I’m gonna hear you out, and then we can see what to do from here.”
Internally, Shadow Milk was screaming.
What was he even thinking?
Internally, he screamed. What was he doing? He couldn’t teach. Not again. But maybe, maybe he could at least listen. At worst, buy them a book and vanish. At best… Pure Vanilla would be smug about “redemption arcs.”
Okay. Shadow Milk. You had committed war crimes. This would be nothing compared to it.
Now…
“I’m not doing this in the middle of the street.” He said coolly. “Now. Do you by chance have motion sickness?”
“No?” Strawberry Crepe looked at him in confusion. “Why are you asking—”
“Great, we are getting food.”
“Wait what—”
And with a snap, he teleported them to the amazing Freddy Fazbear Pizzeria.
They got a classic cheese pizza with honey drizzles because Shadow Milk was nothing if not a master of great taste.
“Didn’t you just have a milkshake earlier?” The strawberry child asked, and Shadow Milk just shrugged in response. He had had two milkshakes, actually, but it was hard to explain the concept of a permanent hunger after spending years inside a pocket dimension to a tiny kid. He was pretty sure Eternal Sugar sleeping all day was a coping mechanism to deal with the void. Hell, Silent Salt became selectively mute! He really got off easy compared to them.
Pouring a diabetes-worthy amount of honey onto his pizza, Shadow Milk finally relaxed. This. This could have helped with his mania. In front of him, the kid picked up a slice reluctantly. Hah. Did not think this far, did you?
Munching on his second slice, Shadow Milk finally asked the kid.
“So… Why do you want me to teach you so much? As I said, school teaches this stuff, you know.”
The kid stiffened. They were nervous, he realized and quickly backtracked.
“I don’t mean that you do not study or anything. You are smart. I just don’t get why you don’t just go to university and excel instead of running around ruins.”
“You think I’m smart?”
He recognized that look. The look of starving students who treated any validation like a dog getting tossed a bone. The look of someone who had never been seen, of kindred spirits finding each other. Too hopeful. Too…everything.
Do not think about it. “Yeah. You crafted those Wafflebots, didn’t you? Good work for someone who had no one else around.”
They froze.
Silence.
Then—
The child’s voice was shaky. “You… You knew my… What I did? You… You don’t hate me?”
He tilted his head in genuine confusion. “What did you do huh? You look like you can’t even lift a rock.”
His eyes narrowed. “Hm?”
A beat.
Strawberry Crepe shook their head. “Nothing. Just. You were asking me why I don’t go to school, right?”
He hummed, stuffing another slice of pizza down his throat.
“I– I did go to school.” They began, not looking at him. “I went to school for people my age as part of the new universal education policy, and at first, things were… rocky, but… By the end of the third month, the principal told me I didn’t need to go to school anymore.”
He almost choked. “What?”
The child shrugged. “They said I knew everything they had to offer. Something about me being a prodigy and that I would flourish in a better environment. They wanted to talk to Black Raisin about my education, but when I heard of the tuition fee, I just…”
He saw where this was going.
They drew in a shaky breath. “It cost 45000 coins back then for a year, mister. Even if I tried my best, it would take two years to get a Bachelor's degree. I can’t do that to them. I am not even Black Raisin’s ward. She took me in out of the kindness of her heart after— Well. Yeah. I have been mostly self-taught for a while now.”
Still… “Don’t the Creme Republic Universities have scholarships?”
“You think I’m lazy?” The child glared in offense. “Do you think they would want a kid like me? A dirt poor kid with no solid education?”
They huffed. “They advertised about the scholarships and how great they are, but the people who get them are not poor at all. You ever wondered how they got all the extra curriculum achievements? I can’t donate to the poor if I’m even poorer than them and am a child, mister.”
“They see no value in things I gave you, mister. The Republic does not care about how much I want to learn or what I could do. Universities are about how much money you have and what good you could bring to the school. I can’t do that.”
Shadow Milk had long stopped eating.
The education system was really worse than he thought.
Education. Schools. They were meant to grow people and help them, not emptying them out of their pocket and closing the gates for intelligent children with unfortunate upbringings. Even the programs that were supposed to assist these children turned into a game of ‘who looks better in the face of snotty bastards”. Witches. It was his fault. He should have seen this coming instead of wallowing in depression.
And Strawberry Crepe…
They wanted to do good. They wanted to light up that sad village. They wanted to repair it. They had a dream, and they worked so hard for it. They followed him, the most annoying guy ever, to this place. They traded their most precious possession for this. Was it not an undying thirst for knowledge? What every scholar needs?
The most terrible thing was that Shadow Milk recognized it, saw it in himself, and hated it. A child put more effort into fixing things than him. Wasn’t it ironic? He had only been doing the bare minimum. He had been running away from everything for centuries, and this child confronted it in weeks.
Weeks.
“Tell me.” He already knew the answer. “Why do you want to learn?”
Strawberry Crepe’s answer was instant. “I want to fix things.”
“Mister, you may not know much about the Vanilla Kingdom but… I have done bad things and hurt people. I was directly responsible for the slow progress of the Raisin Village and even some deaths. I cannot just feel guilty about it anymore. I have to change. I have to fix it and make this place what it should be: a home for everyone.”
I have done bad things and hurt people.
He had done so many bad deeds he could no longer be sure he deserved to live.
I cannot just feel guilty about it. I have to change.
He was immortal. He could not be killed. He could not atone for his sins anymore. Could he—
I have to fix it.
He had to— He had to do something.
Shadow Milk knew this was stupid. This was reckless. He could not just poke open that wound that just started to scar. But something, someone, was telling him that this was— that it was possible to—
All in or all out.
You had been avoiding this for centuries, Fount of Knowledge.
He mustered a smile. A shaky, nervous wreck, but a genuine smile.
“Kid. You really want to learn, huh?”