Work Text:
Isaiah felt humiliated.
The morning sun hit the glass panes of Philo Flower Shop, but the atmosphere inside was anything but serene.
The previous evening, Isaiah had reached a breaking point of his boredom. He had barged into Xavier’s modest residence, sweeping his gaze across the cramped living quarters with a look of profound physical pain.
"How can you breathe in here, Xavier?" Isaiah had sneered, stepping over a stack of books. "Living among the commoners has rotted your standards. Being on Earth has brought you low; it’s a planet of dirt, noise, and people who had no class. It is beneath a royal to even walk these streets."
Xavier had merely set down his book, his expression unreadable but firm. "If you cannot see the value in the dirt that grows the food you eat, then you have learned nothing from your time here. You need to understand that a crown is only as heavy as the people who support it."
Soon as Xavier dropped his book, he summoned his Lightblade. "If you believe your status makes you superior to the world, prove it."
"If I win, you'll be my servant for the day."
But Isaiah lost the duel, as always.
Now, the punishment was handed down: one full day of service at Jeremiah’s shop. Xavier had departed ten minutes ago, leaving behind a very defeated, disgruntled Isaiah and a very smug Jeremiah.
"I am a scion of the Philos Imperial Family," Isaiah announced to a rack of begonias, his arms crossed over his pristine, silver-trimmed jacket while stomping his boots to the floor. "I'm not meant to touch those... vile weeds. My hands were made to grip the hilt of a lightblade, not to... prune! How insulting!"
Jeremiah didn't even look up from his notebook. "Great. You can start by pruning your attitude. Xavier’s orders: one day of honest labor. And since you can't keep your ‘royal’ mouth shut, we’re playing a game."
Jeremiah held a small notebook with a pen. On the front page, a sticky note read: The Peasant Penalty.
"Every time you call someone a peasant, brag about your 'noble' status, or insult my shop, I write it down," Jeremiah explained. "Each strike equals three hours of manual community service cleaning the Linkon City streets or drainage pipes. To strike a mark off, you must immediately give a sincere compliment to the person you insulted and provide a service that makes them happy. No sarcasm. Or I tell Xavier."
Isaiah recoiled as if slapped with a wet fern. "You expect me to flatter the masses? Preposterous. My praise is a rare currency, Jeremiah! You can’t just devalue it by—"
Jeremiah opened the book and wrote in bold, elegant script:
Referred to the shop’s begonias as 'vile weeds.'
Claimed his hands were 'too holy for manual labor.'
Isaiah’s face turned a shade of pink that rivaled the peonies. He saw the ink drying—a looming threat of sewage duty. He grumbled and snatched a watering can. "I’ll ensure these dehydrated plants receive the finest hydration they have ever tasted."
The Regular
An elderly woman named Mrs. Lin walked in, leaning on a cane. "Oh, a new face! Are you the new delivery boy?”
Isaiah’s eyes twitched. "Delivery boy? I am Isaiah, Fifth Squadron Leader of the Order of Lightseekers, Senior Councillor of the Royal Council, and member of the royal family's last generation. I don't deliver 'bouquets'; I deliver justice. You, on the other hand, look like you’ve been wandering this earth since the Prehistoric era. How can a peasant like—"
Jeremiah’s pen scratched the paper.
Called a sweet grandmother, a prehistoric peasant.
Isaiah froze. He turned back to Mrs. Lin, cleared his throat and smiled. "What I meant to say was... your presence brings a certain... timeless dignity to this establishment. You have the aura of a seasoned matriarch."
The old lady, who didn't seem to hear Isaiah's insults, smiled and walked to the blue flowers section.
He noticed her squinting at a high shelf. "And since your journey here was undoubtedly long, please, sit." Isaiah grabbed a velvet stool and placed it behind her. He then took her heavy grocery bag. "Allow me to read the labels of these flowers for you so you needn't strain your eyes. This one is a Forget-Me-Not flower; it matches the bright pattern on your shawl perfectly."
At the end, Isaiah was pleased to help the old woman—felt bad for insulting her too. The old woman praised Isaiah for being a gentleman as he carried her bought flowers outside the store. Jeremiah rolled his eyes soon as Isaiah's eyes looked at him just to brag.
The Delivery Rider
A courier arrived with a crate of damp moss. He was sweaty and accidentally bumped a display of succulents. "Watch it, you clumsy lout!" Isaiah barked. "Do you have any idea how much those cost? Probably more than your annual salary. You peasants really lack the spatial awareness of a—"
Scratch. Scratch.
Insulted a hard-working courier’s financial status.
He looked at the courier, who looked exhausted and annoyed.
Isaiah’s jaw clamped shut. He stepped forward, taking the heavy crate from the man’s arms. "Give me that. You look as though you are about to combust. Drink this." Isaiah handed him a chilled bottle of water and signed his clipboard with a flourish. "I have optimized your delivery route on this map. You will save ten minutes."
After the courier had some time resting, Isaiah gave him thrice the price of the package, also gave the delivery driver a huge tip and apologized for the insult.
By mid-afternoon, Jeremiah sent Isaiah outside to "broaden the shop's reach." Isaiah walked the pavement of Linkon City with a tray of promotional flower samples, looking like a prince lost in a bazaar.
The Travelers
A group of tourists stood outside the Philo Flower Shop huddled over a map, looking utterly lost and blocking the sidewalk.
Isaiah happened to be carrying a stack of soil sacks when he noticed them just idling by and not planning to move away from the flower stand.
"Move, you aimless wanderers! Your lack of direction is a blight upon this thoroughfare!" Isaiah snapped.
Jeremiah, watching from the shop door, tapped his pen against the notebook.
Insulting a traveler's sense of direction.
Isaiah groaned, setting aside the stack of sacks on the floor. He stepped into the center of the crowd. "Seriously. Where are you going?"
One traveler answered, "We're going to the Clock Tower near the Linkon City Park."
The other traveler handed Isaiah the map. "This map is upside down. To reach the Clock Tower, follow the path of the sun."
Soon as the travelers knew the way to their destination, Isaiah gave them all a souvenir.
"And take these." He handed each of them a gold-trimmed rose. "Tell them Philo Flower Shop offers the only blooms worthy of a traveler’s gaze. Now, move with purpose!"
Later that day, those travelers came back to the Philo Flower Shop and bought flowers to bring home.
Stray Cat Owner
Isaiah was taking a break after hoisting a massive sack of soil when he heard a wailing from a distance. In a nearby alley, a young girl was crying because her kitten had climbed onto a high shop awning.
He thought he would have a peaceful afternoon, so he paid no mind at first. But the child's wailing is grating his ears.
"Quiet, child! Your acoustic distress is vibrating my inner ear! It’s just a feline with a death wish!"
Jeremiah happened to come out of the shop to see what Isaiah was doing when he saw Isaiah reprimanding the child again.
Scolding a kid.
His eyes squinted, gesture seems to warn him about his behavior: the notebook, Isaiah. Be a good boy.
Isaiah's shoulders slumped. He sighed, looked at his pristine boots, and then used a nearby trash bin as a stepping stone to gracefully vault onto the awning. He retrieved the kitten with the precision of a master swordsman and dropped back down. "Here. Keep your beast on a shorter leash. And since the kitten looks... under-adorned, take this sprig of lavender for its collar. It’s calming. For both of you."
The little girl stopped crying after she had reached for her cat. "Thank you, young Sir. You saved my cat from danger. Are you a knight in shining armor?"
Isaiah was taken aback from the child's compliment. Instead of bragging again, he simply smirked and bowed. "At your service, madam."
The Manager (Jeremiah)
After that humiliating event, Isaiah marched back into the shop, his boots dusty. "Jeremiah, you despicable scoundrel, you’re a sadistic, flower-peddling peasant who enjoys watching his superiors suffer in the dirt!"
Scratch.
Direct insult to the Shop Manager.
Calling Jeremiah a 'despicable scoundrel' and a 'peasant.'
Isaiah sighed, looking at the notebook. “Fine.”
Without being asked, he grabbed a cloth and a ladder. "I’ll clean this window as penance for insulting you." He spent the next hour polishing the exterior until the shop practically glowed.
The Closing Hour
Finally, its closing time.
Isaiah can finally take a long break.
As the sun dipped below the skyline of Linkon City, the shop was immaculate. The notebook was full of crossed-out strikes, replaced by notes like: "Provided tactical navigation for tourists," and "Elevated local street commerce."
The bell chimed as the door opened. Xavier and Miss Hunter walked in just as Jeremiah was flipping the sign to 'CLOSED.' His eyes scanned the sparkling shop and the exhausted Isaiah, who was currently organizing the last of the ribbons with trembling hands.
"Closing time?" Miss Hunter asked.
Jeremiah leaned on the counter, closing the notebook. "We are. And I have to say, Xavier, your student here is a natural. He’s the most 'efficient' florist’s assistant Linkon has ever seen. He even did some... 'aggressive' community outreach today."
Isaiah snapped to attention, trying to hide a smudge of dirt on his cheek. "What I did is beyond me, Xavier! These people-” he immediately stopped, staring at the three in front of him, forgetting that Xavier is the reason why he was here in the first place.
Xavier looked at him, daring him to continue what insult was about to go out from his mouth.
“These... citizens... were simply in need of proper guidance. My boots are ruined, my ego is bruised, and I have inhaled enough pollen to start a forest in my lungs." he complained.
Xavier looked at the Penalty Notebook, then at Isaiah, who was stubbornly wearing a gold-star sticker Jeremiah had placed on his crest. Despite his grumpy expression and the way he complained about his "ruined" life, there was a faint, satisfied glint in Isaiah's eyes. He had spent the day being useful, and for the first time, he didn't feel like a scion looking down—he felt like a knight standing among his people.
Well, it doesn't sound bad at all.
But Isaiah won't admit it openly.
Xavier and Jeremiah looked very pleased, snickering behind Miss Hunter.
"Good work, Isaiah," Miss Hunter cheered.
"Hmph. Naturally," Isaiah muttered, crossing his arms as he followed Xavier out. "But if you ever make me touch a begonia again, I’m invoking my right to a duel."
Xavier didn't mind it. He'll just accept the duel as always. "If you're ready for my punishments, I suggest you challenge me to a duel again."
Isaiah just humph, showing his dissatisfaction knowing he'll end up losing to Xavier again. "That Jeremiah... he actually made a profit today. Thanks to me. Obviously."