Just One Tiny Thing

Yan takes coins from a grey-sleeved customer before starting the next order.

Yan closes the cash box, smiling toward the Master. The Egg waits on the counter.

A grey-sleeved hand makes a tiny pinching gesture beside a sample crescent bun.

Yan raises a confident finger. Her expression says that no job could be too much trouble.

Flour-dusted fingers pinch intricate folds into a tray of little flower-shaped buns.

Yan ties another long red ribbon around a bamboo basket.

The Master holds a drawing of an elaborate dragon assembled from buns.

The Egg sits in its tray, a faint grand diagram hovering above its intact shell.

Yan flings out an arm in expansive confidence. The Master holds a ribbon-bound basket.

An immense ornamental dough dragon towers into the bakery rafters. Yan stands on a stool, reaching up. The Master braces its bamboo supports.

Yan unrolls a sheet that stretches absurdly far across the counter.

Her enormous strained grin freezes, one eye twitching.

The dough dragon pitches sideways. The Master catches its head while Yan grabs at the collapsing body. Flour and ribbons fly.

Yan sits with her empty hands open. The Master has dough on his shoulder. The collapsed dragon rests behind them.

Close on Yan, looking down at the hands that promised everything.

The Master peels dough from his sleeve with extraordinary dignity.

A tray of ordinary crescent buns and the elaborate broken dragon lie beside the same blank order slip.

The Master points to the edible buns beside the extravagant broken head and a small scatter of coins.

Yan raises an open palm to the grey-sleeved customer and faces the conversation directly.

Yan holds up an ordinary empty basket, explaining what she can finish.

Relief softens Yan's face as she lays down a short blank order slip.

Yan and the customer hold opposite ends of the same short slip. A basket of crescent buns waits beside them.

Yan packs crescent buns. A tall young adult in an indigo shirt carries baskets. The Master unwinds the spare ribbon.

Bo lifts an eyebrow over a basket, waiting for Yan's answer.

The customer takes the finished basket of crescent buns with a simple ribbon and pays the balance.

The Master sits with the huge dough dragon head in his lap. The Egg keeps him company.

Close on the Master's unimpressed expression above his ridiculous dough trophy.

Yan and Bo exchange a wooden spoon across the counter in the cool evening light.

Yan pinches a crescent bun beside Bo's hands. The Egg sits on the counter.

The intact Egg watches the wooden spoon from its tray, without any hands of its own.

The price of a tiny change

We like this one because wanting to make people happy is an excellent way to accidentally adopt a dragon. Even making this comic, a small revision can touch artwork, dialogue, timing and exports. The request can be reasonable and still be more work than it first sounds.

Before saying yes, try asking what result the person actually needs. Then make the trade-off visible. Could you add the change for a different price or date? Could something else come out? Who can agree to that? A change can be good business when everyone understands the new deal.

A short note may be enough to start the conversation: “We can add X. That would make the price Y and delivery Z. Shall I go ahead?” If you already promised it, start there and own the mismatch. Yan absorbs her failed experiment and agrees a practical finish with the customer.

Being trusted with something special feels good. We would just like your generous yes to leave enough time and money for you to finish it without becoming part of the wreckage.

This PMI article looks at how unclear requirements and unmanaged changes expand a job. Its examples are larger projects, but the questions can also help with a small order. Further reading: why scope expands

Original fiction. AI-generated art with deterministic crops, lettering and effects. Pilot edition.

More chapters. Fewer good decisions.

Help shape the next chapter.