Milo had one rule after mountain adventure:
No potions, no plants, and no goat-related chaos for at least three days.
So naturally, by the end of Day One, he was covered in purple vines, holding a bucket of bouncing berries, and yelling, "STOP SPROUTING ON MY FACE!"
It all started with a small favor.
A suspiciously cheerful one.
---
Mayor Flanagan strolled into Milo's shop wearing a floral vest, aviator sunglasses, and carrying a clipboard shaped like a pear.
"Milo, my favorite root wizard!" the mayor sang. "We've got a teensy, tiny plant issue over by the east orchard."
Milo blinked. "Why do you smell like jelly?"
"Not important! Here's the thing: we have a sad, shriveled, nearly-dead berry bush. Can you work your leafy magic and revive it? Think of the cobblers, the jams, the town morale!"
Milo hesitated. "The last time I helped with a 'small plant issue', the vines developed an appetite for musical instruments."
"Exactly! This one doesn't even hum," the mayor promised. "Totally ordinary. Mostly. Slightly. Go on now!"
Before Milo could form a rebuttal, Flanagan had tap-danced away.
---
Milo stood in front of the berry bush the next morning, squinting. Alma stood beside him with her giant potion book, while Luca slurped aggressively from a smoothie the size of a toddler.
"Looks dead," Luca said, poking it with a straw.
The bush was indeed tragic—wilted, pale, and sporting exactly three sad berries. It gave off the energy of a houseplant that's heard one too many off-key lullabies.
"I think it needs a hydration boost," Milo muttered, flipping through his notes. "Something gentle. A revitalizer with essence of splashroot and maybe a sunbeam tonic."
"Or we could just use Berry Zoom Bloom Deluxe Plus!" Alma exclaimed, holding up a neon pink bottle she made the night before. "It says 'Guaranteed to perk up any plant! Warning: may cause spontaneous joy.'"
Luca read the label. "Also says 'Do not mix with puddle water, direct moonlight, or optimism.'"
"I'm pretty sure we're standing in all three of those," Milo muttered, but before he could object, Alma had uncorked the potion and poured it on the roots.
The earth shuddered.
The bush sparkled.
And then—
It sneezed.
---
The plant made a noise halfway between a hiccup and a hiccup wearing rollerblades. Then it straightened, turned a vibrant magenta, and began sprouting berries at an alarming rate.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
They bounced.
Like actually bounced.
"OH NO IT'S PRODUCING BERRYBALLS!" Milo shrieked as the ground was flooded with rubbery, sugar-scented fruit spheres.
Alma cheered. "It's working!"
Luca slipped on a berry and landed in a split. "It's too effective! I taste raspberry regret!"
The bush, now the size of a small bakery, began humming. Not maliciously, just confidently. Like it had dreams.
Vines shot outward, draping over fences, wrapping lampposts, and tapping politely on bakery windows.
Milo yelped, "It's trying to annex the pastry district!"
---
Within hours, the Berry Incident had taken over half the village.
The vine crept into homes, popped through chimneys, and began redecorating rooftops with berry wreaths.
Kids were using berryballs as trampolines.
Mayor Flanagan turned the fountain into a berry-flavored jacuzzi and declared, "This is the most berriest crisis we've ever had!"
Milo set up a field lab in a gazebo (which was now more berry than gazebo) and frantically scribbled notes.
"I need to counteract the growth factor with a dampening potion… maybe something sleepy… or vaguely annoyed?"
Alma waved a vine away from her notebook. "Or we can befriend it!"
"Alma, it just turned a bench into jam."
Meanwhile, Luca, whose apron now read 'Baker's First Line of Defense,' was waging war against vines attempting to enter the bakery.
He hurled doughnuts like throwing stars.
One vine caught it mid-air and ate it.
Luca gasped. "It's learning flavor profiles."
---
That afternoon, things got worse.
The vine wrapped around the clocktower and rang the bell repeatedly, causing panic and five unscheduled tea parties.
Then the berries began popping open—releasing clouds of sparkling aroma.
Citizens fell into berry-induced bliss naps.
A grumpy cat named Pickles began levitating.
Milo ducked as a vine tried to give him a hat made of berries.
"I didn't sign up for botanical fashion!"
Mayor Flanagan marched by in a berry crown. "Milo! Wonderful news! The vines want to host a Berry Appreciation Parade!"
"That's not a parade!" Milo pointed to a group of vines forming a conga line down Main Street. "That's a takeover!"
The mayor sniffed the air. "Mmm. Smells like community spirit."
"Smells like jamocalypse," Luca grumbled, swatting berries with a spatula.
---
Finally, as the sun dipped and the village glowed in purples and pinks, Milo stood atop a berry barrel and made a choice.
"It's time. I'm making the Reverse Berry Potion."
Alma gasped. "But that was only a theory!"
"Desperate times call for untested antidotes," Milo said gravely, accidentally stepping on a singing berry.
He rushed to his lab, vines tugging at his sleeves like clingy toddlers.
In a whirlwind of flasks, herbs, and Luca dramatically chanting in the background ("Reverse the curse, save the purse!"), Milo crafted a glittery teal potion.
He called it: "Stop Growing Please, I Beg You."
He poured it carefully at the bush's roots.
The bush froze.
The vines paused mid-hug.
A single berry let out a sigh.
And then…
Everything stopped.
---
The vines drooped.
The bush hummed a lullaby.
The berryballs deflated into soft cushions.
The town exhaled.
Milo fell backward into a berry pile and groaned. "We need stricter potion testing procedures."
Alma sat beside him, giggling. "But admit it—it was kinda magical."
Luca flopped down with two berry pies. "I'm keeping the bakery vine. It massages my back."
Mayor Flanagan declared the whole event a success. "Let's call it the Berry Bloom Festival! We'll have jam wrestling and pie catapults!"
Everyone cheered—tired, sticky, and deeply jammed—but happy.
---
That evening, as the town twinkled under berry-scented lanterns, Milo looked out from his balcony.
A vine waved at him.
He waved back.
Because somehow, despite the chaos, this was exactly the life he'd chosen.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow, he'd try to make a potion that didn't threaten infrastructure.
Maybe.