Knowledge Is Power: The Last Reader

Their second attempt began with confidence.

That was the first mistake.

Aria stood over their equipment with the expression of a master craftsman. Her chin was high, her shoulders back, her hands planted on her hips like she’d been making sugar her entire life.

Kelme watched her from across the shed. "You look like you know what you’re doing."

"I don’t."

"Good."

"I’ve been reading."

He frowned. "That doesn’t make me feel better."

"It should."

"It really doesn’t."

Aria opened the book, flipping to the page she’d marked. "According to this, we need to be patient."

Kelme looked at their supplies—the same battered pot, the same wooden spoon, the same bag of questionable plant matter. "We’re poor. Patience is all we have."

They started again.

This time, they followed the instructions carefully. No guessing. No improvising. No mysterious additions that Aria insisted would "probably help."

Hours passed.

Nothing exploded.

Nothing caught fire.

Nothing turned into something that needed to be buried.

Aria stared at the mixture, her eyes fixed on the slowly simmering liquid. "Kelme."

"Yes?"

"I think we’re winning."

"Don’t say that."

"Why?"

"Because every time you say something is going well, something terrible happens."

Aria opened her mouth. Then closed it. "Fair."

They waited.

Eventually, something began to form. Small crystals, delicate and pale, emerging from the liquid like tiny treasures.

Aria leaned closer. Her eyes widened. "Look."

Kelme stepped forward, peering over her shoulder. "Is that—"

"Sugar."

They stared at it. A tiny pile. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t pretty. But it was sugar.

Aria picked up a grain, holding it up to the light. "We did it."

Kelme smiled, a genuine expression of surprise. "We actually did it."

Aria suddenly jumped up, nearly knocking over the pot. "WE’RE RICH!"

Kelme grabbed her arm, his eyes darting toward the door. "Quiet!"

"We’re going to be rich!"

He pointed at the tiny pile. "We have enough sugar for one cup of tea."

Aria froze. She looked down. The pile was, in fact, embarrassingly small. A few scattered crystals, barely enough to sweeten a single beverage.

She deflated. "...We’re going to be slightly less poor."

"Much more realistic."

They packed the sugar into a small bag, handling it like it was made of gold. It wasn’t. But it was theirs.

Then came the next problem.

They needed a buyer.

Aria looked at Kelme. Kelme looked at Aria. Neither spoke.

Finally, Aria said, "We need someone who wants illegal sugar."

Kelme nodded. "Preferably someone who won’t immediately report us."

"Exactly."

"And someone who can afford it."

Aria smiled. "I know someone."

Kelme frowned. "Who?"

Aria pointed toward the city, toward the market district. "The guy who sells expensive pastries."

Kelme stared at her. "You want to sell illegal sugar to a baker?"

"Yes."

"That’s your master plan?"

"No." She smiled. "It’s our first plan."

Kelme sighed, rubbing his temples. "That’s somehow worse."

They packed up their tiny bag of sugar and left the shed, their steps light with the kind of hope that only comes from doing something incredibly stupid and somehow succeeding.

Neither of them noticed the small trail of sugar they had accidentally left behind them.

Nor the ants following it.

Nor the extremely confused cat that had begun following the ants.

Their criminal empire was growing. Technically. Slowly. And mostly by accident. { this Chapter, I need it to be exactly the same with same ending and events and jokes but add some details about the steps, only the intersing. ones }

Their second attempt began with confidence.

That was the first mistake.

Aria stood over their equipment with the expression of a master craftsman. Her chin was high, her shoulders back, her hands planted on her hips like she’d been making sugar her entire life.

Kelme watched her from across the shed. "You look like you know what you’re doing."

"I don’t."

"Good."

"I’ve been reading."

He frowned. "That doesn’t make me feel better."

"It should."

"It really doesn’t."

Aria opened the book, flipping to the page she’d marked. "According to this, we need to be patient."

Kelme looked at their supplies—the same battered pot, the same wooden spoon, the same bag of questionable plant matter. "We’re poor. Patience is all we have."

They started again.

This time, they followed the instructions carefully. No guessing. No improvising. No mysterious additions that Aria insisted would "probably help."

They crushed the stalks until the fibers gave up their juice, then strained it through a rag that had seen better decades. The liquid went into the pot, where Aria added just enough ash-water to pull the mud and plant bits into ugly clumps that sank or floated, leaving the middle clearer. She skimmed the scum off the top until her wrist ached.

Then came the boiling. The syrup thickened, darkening from watery green to amber to something that looked suspiciously like caramel. Aria stirred constantly, watching for the moment the spoon left a clean trail that didn’t immediately fill back in. When it finally did, she pulled the pot off the heat and set it somewhere cool, where the air wouldn’t shake the forming crystals apart.

Hours passed.

Nothing exploded.

Nothing caught fire.

Nothing turned into something that needed to be buried.

Aria stared at the mixture, her eyes fixed on the slowly simmering liquid. "Kelme."

"Yes?"

"I think we’re winning."

"Don’t say that."

"Why?"

"Because every time you say something is going well, something terrible happens."

Aria opened her mouth. Then closed it. "Fair."

They waited.

Eventually, something began to form. Small crystals, delicate and pale, emerging from the liquid like tiny treasures.

Aria leaned closer. Her eyes widened. "Look."

Kelme stepped forward, peering over her shoulder. "Is that—"

"Sugar."

They stared at it. A tiny pile. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t pretty. But it was sugar.

Aria picked up a grain, holding it up to the light. "We did it."

Kelme smiled, a genuine expression of surprise. "We actually did it."

Aria suddenly jumped up, nearly knocking over the pot. "WE’RE RICH!"

Kelme grabbed her arm, his eyes darting toward the door. "Quiet!"

"We’re going to be rich!"

He pointed at the tiny pile. "We have enough sugar for one cup of tea."

Aria froze. She looked down. The pile was, in fact, embarrassingly small. A few scattered crystals, barely enough to sweeten a single beverage.

She deflated. "...We’re going to be slightly less poor."

"Much more realistic."

They packed the sugar into a small bag, handling it like it was made of gold. It wasn’t. But it was theirs.

Then came the next problem.

They needed a buyer.

Aria looked at Kelme. Kelme looked at Aria. Neither spoke.

Finally, Aria said, "We need someone who wants illegal sugar."

Kelme nodded. "Preferably someone who won’t immediately report us."

"Exactly."

"And someone who can afford it."

Aria smiled. "I know someone."

Kelme frowned. "Who?"

Aria pointed toward the city, toward the market district. "The guy who sells expensive pastries."

Kelme stared at her. "You want to sell illegal sugar to a baker?"

"Yes."

"That’s your master plan?"

"No." She smiled. "It’s our first plan."

Kelme sighed, rubbing his temples. "That’s somehow worse."

They packed up their tiny bag of sugar and left the shed, their steps light with the kind of hope that only comes from doing something incredibly stupid and somehow succeeding.

Neither of them noticed the small trail of sugar they had accidentally left behind them.

Nor the ants following it.

Nor the extremely confused cat that had begun following the ants.

Their criminal empire was growing. Technically. Slowly. And mostly by accident.

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