Everyone was tired.
The delivery team had sore legs. The dice tournament planners were stress-snacking on too many jam tarts. Even Marius—my ever-faithful knight of questionable sanity—had bags under his eyes deep enough to be taxed by the kingdom.
So, as the Chronomage of Comfort (not my idea, still my title), I made a decision:
Spa day.
Simple. Soothing. Free snacks. Maybe a foot soak and a nice face mask.
"Come to Reika's Rest on the 10th!" the flyer read. "Let's be calm together and put cucumbers where cucumbers have never gone before!"
…I maybe should've worded that differently.
Anyway.
I brought in everything from Earth:
Sheet masks (green tea, of course)
Scented candles
A foot soak basin
A small Bluetooth speaker disguised as a "wind stone of relaxation"
Ten pounds of cucumbers
I cut the cucumbers into perfect little rounds, placed them in chilled bowls, and explained to my guests—Lila, Marius, the mayor's assistant, and three very suspicious goats—that the slices were for their eyes, not for snacks.
"Why the eyes?" Lila asked as she lay back.
"Because they're cooling and reduce puffiness."
Marius squinted. "...So it's a vegetable with vision-based powers."
"Sure."
Everything was going great. People were humming. One person fell asleep with their feet in a flower-scented bucket. Someone else asked if they could write poetry to their foot lotion.
Then a farmer peeked in through the window.
"Is this… face-melting magic?!"
"No," I said.
"Are those slices of preservation herb?!"
"No, they're cucumbers."
"Ah," he nodded. "The legendary skin-crystals."
"Okay, now you're just making stuff up."
Too late. Word spread.
Within an hour, eleven villagers showed up with cucumbers balanced on their foreheads, trying to "absorb the dew of youth."
One elderly lady rubbed hers on her elbow and cried when it got softer.
"The skin… it rebirths itself!"
Next morning, I woke to find three teenagers standing solemnly outside the café.
"We wish to join the Order of the Green Eye," one said, lifting a cucumber like a sacred emblem.
"What."
"We've heard tales of your ritual. We've seen the shine on our grandmother's forehead."
"She glowed in the sunlight," the smallest added. "Like polished soapstone."
They bowed deeply. "Teach us."
I stared at them. "It's literally just self-care and hydration."
They nodded reverently. "As you say, Soft Prophet."
Now, every tenth of the month is known as Cucumber Day.
People gather at the café with hand towels, herbal water, and mystery spa songs (played by my hidden speaker, which they call The Orb of Inner Breeze). Kuro has his own mini robe and supervises by glaring at everyone from a sunlit bench.
We've got:
The Steam of Reflection (it's a bowl of hot water with mint leaves)
The Mask of Renewal (aloe sheet masks, sometimes strawberry if I'm feeling silly)
And The Ceremony of the Slice, which is just people dramatically placing cucumbers on their faces while chanting calming words like "soft," "cool," and "no taxes"
One guy tried to pickle his cucumbers "for extra aging reversal."
I told him to stop before he turned into a sandwich.
Now I'm apparently the Face Sage of the Western Hill.
Again, I didn't ask for this.
But I did get to nap with a lavender towel on my face and a cat curled on my stomach, so honestly?
Not bad.