[ EU ] In a corner of Hyrule , one man has the bright idea of starting a pot-repairing business .

Guyver, old and portly, waddled over and placed the freshly glued pot on the counter with a satisfied smile. 
 `` There you are! Now, perhaps you should be a little more careful next time'' he said to the customer with a chuckle. 
 
 
 She narrowed her eyes; `` I *am* careful. It makes no difference when that green menace is around. In he comes, whirling and tumbling, waving that sword of his, then off he disappears with *my* rupees!'' 
 
 
 `` Speaking of which...'' he eyed the large woman's satchel, she begrudgingly handed him a red rupee. 
 
 
 `` You know, some say the green menace is doing us a service, protecting the Kingdom from the-'' 
 
 
 `` I do n't care what he is doing or why! He's a nuisance and a thief, though I am sure his wanton destruction does not bother you one bit!'' She sniffed, and exited the little shop in a huff. 
 
 
 That was the last pot repair of the day. Guyver took a moment to admire his shelves, stacked high with pots of different shapes and sizes, all ready for collection. Some beautiful and ornate with gold trim, some small and modest, but all shared one thing; once broken, now repaired. 
 
 
 The green menace coming to the quiet little town had certainly been a windfall for him, enraged families queued outside his quaint little shop, piles of broken pots filled their arms and piles of rupees filled his pockets. 
 Humming happily to himself as he pottered to the workshop, stacks of broken pots towered high above his short stature, shards big and small covered the floor like a pointy porcelain carpet. 
 *Many more pots to repair*, he thought, *and many more rupees to collect*. 
 
 
 His eyes spied the large chest in the corner of the room, twirling his curly brown mustache in anticipation he shuffled over. With one big heave it was open, and the brilliant bright dazzle of thousands of rupees greeted him. 
 `` Hello shiny little friends!'' he said gleefully as he dropped the bright red rupee into the chest. It joined the others with a light *plink! * and Guyver chuckled again, his little round face lit up by the glow of his treasure. 
 
 
 The sound of a small creak interrupted his chain of thought, nervously he glanced around the room, but there was nothing there. With another big heave he closed the wooden chest, and made his way upstairs. 
 A warm glass of Lon Lon milk, and Guyver was tucked up in his little round bed. Sleepily, he thought of all the careful gluing he would do tomorrow, and how much fuller his wooden chest would become. 
 
 
 The next day was like all others, customers dropped off and collected their pots, and Guyver had happily hummed and whistled to himself the whole while. As a treat, he decided to go to the nightly auction house. Armed with a bag full of his precious rupees he made a silent oath to himself that he would buy that beautiful piece of heart he had so been wanting. The auction was over as quickly as it began, and like his disgruntled customers, many left the auction house grumbling as Guyver carried his piece of heart home. Won for a record price of just 50 rupees as most of the townsfolk money was tucked away safely in Guyvers chest. 
 
 
 Another glass of Lon Lon milk and he was sound asleep, the piece of heart placed proudly above his bed. But as Guyver was dreaming of rupees, red, blue, green and silver, the shop door creaked slowly open. 
 The sound of hushed steps making their way to his workshop did not wake him, nor did the loud `` Hyah!'' that cried out, as one of his carefully repaired pots smashed to pieces. But what did wake him from that deep slumber was a loud fanfare of victorious sounding music, he shot out of bed and waddled quickly down to the workshop, images of his rupee dream fast disappearing. 
 
 
 `` No, please do n't!'' he said with a soft cry. 
 A young blonde boy held a pile or rupees above his head. He was dressed strangely, a green tunic and a pointy green hat. 
 `` The green meance!'' he spluttered, hands waving wildly. 
 The boy was looking overjoyed at his find, but his face turned sombre when he saw the tears welling up in Guyvers eyes. Before the boy had a chance to speak, Guyver shot upstairs, whimpering softly to himself all the way. He returned quickly though, holding the piece of heart he had won just hours before. 
 `` Here!'' he cried. `` Please take this, smash all the pots, just leave my rupees, please!'' 
 The boy looked at Guyver, then the piece of heart, and again at Guyver. He carefully set the stack of rupees back into the chest and took the piece of heart from him. Another, even more triumphant fanfare sounded, and the boy grinned happily, Guyver did too. 
 
 
 He went to thank the boy, but in a blur of green and blonde he whizzed out of the little shop. The following day he would discover that the boy had left the town altogether, onto the next stage of his noble quest. 
 
 
 From that day, never again was a pot purposefully broken. The town's people were overjoyed as their rupees were no longer pilfered and their belongings were no longer broken. 
 Though Guyvers shop was quiet now, he did not mind one bit, as his workshop was empty from shards of broken pottery, his wooden chest was still stuffed with rupees, and his belly was still full of Lon Lon milk. 

