Maximillian The pig farm was a different beast entirely. The smell hit harder than I expected—strong, sour, and absolutely unforgiving. It clung to my clothes, my skin, even the inside of my nose. The noise was worse—grunts, squeals, the constant slosh of mud and feed underfoot. It was chaos, noisy and foul, nothing like the quiet kind of work I used to imagine when I thought about “normal jobs.”But Mr. Matthias didn’t sugarcoat anything. He gave me clear instructions—muck out the pens, scrub the troughs, stick to the feeding schedule. It was brutal work, no doubt about it. Even though I’d never actually done something like this before, it didn’t feel entirely foreign. I knew all about pig farming—at least in theory. I'd heard enough, read enough, seen enough. And hard labor? That never scared me. It never had. I reminded myself of that as I rolled up my sleeves, trying to shake off the creeping doubt gnawing at the edge of my mind. My body still knew how to push through—muscle me
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