Furina could only fish the macaroni out of the pot with a dejected expression. It had overboiled, turning soft and fragile. The pasta broke apart at the slightest touch. One by one, she watched them fall into the bowl—clumped and unappetizing.
"Wuwuwu…
My precious macaroni! Please, at least try to look presentable!"
In the end, Furina could only scoop the nearly-destroyed macaroni into a bowl with a spoon. She added a generous helping of her favorite meat sauce to salvage it, though it did little to help the sad appearance.
Holding the bowl with forced mystery and a hint of theatrical flair, she walked over to the dining table—only to find that Luc Vaudelier had already finished plating his dish: stir-fried beef served over fluffy rice.
Though simple in concept, the dish looked divine. Richly browned beef cubes glistened with a savory glaze, scattered like stars over a bed of pristine, snow-white rice. Red chili slices dotted the dish, adding vibrant color and a whisper of spice. The aroma alone made her stomach grumble.
Furina's golden eyes sparkled with barely concealed awe… before she looked down at her own tattered macaroni.
A culinary catastrophe.
She slumped into her chair and, half-heartedly, slid her bowl toward her three companions—the trio of Melusine attendants who had loyally followed her since Fontaine's reformation.
The three Melusines exchanged hesitant glances.
"This… uh, this seems a bit different from Lady Furina's usual macaroni…" one of them whispered.
Still, their trust in Furina outweighed their doubts, and they each took a bite.
The result was… difficult to describe.
The taste wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't good. Their expressions strained as they tried to mask their reactions, forcing smiles while their eyebrows twitched. They had agreed beforehand to show no discomfort, no matter how bad the food might taste.
Then came Luc's turn.
The moment they tried his stir-fried beef, the difference was immediate. Their eyes lit up. They began hopping excitedly in their seats, gushing praise.
"It's delicious!"
"So tender!"
"Is this how the Archons must eat?!"
Furina could already guess the outcome. Her confidence collapsed. She wasn't good at anything—not chess, not cooking… and now even her taste in theatrics was being outshined.
She folded her arms tightly and puffed out her cheeks, sulking. A few tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the table.
At the final round of judging—where participants sampled each other's dishes—Furina reluctantly took a bite of Luc's beef fried rice. The warmth, the perfect balance of spice, the depth of flavor…
She hated how good it was.
The tears that had stayed stubbornly at the corners of her eyes finally slid down her cheeks, forming two clear, symmetrical trails on her face.
"I… lost…"
She muttered the words in a tiny voice.
But just as she was wallowing in her defeat, she looked over—and blinked in shock.
Luc was eating her overcooked macaroni.
Big spoonfuls.
The dish had been sitting out for a while and had gotten even mushier, but Luc ate without flinching.
"You know," he said between bites, "macaroni's actually pretty good for a change of pace."
Furina stared in disbelief. Even she wouldn't have eaten that. Normally, she'd toss the whole thing and make a new batch.
In the end, the final tally came in: the three Melusines, eager to protect their lady's pride, gave Furina slightly inflated scores. This gave her a narrow edge in total points—but both Luc and Furina had given each other full marks.
Luc didn't protest. He knew he should be leaving, as she had declared this would be the final dinner he'd cook in her home. So he packed up without complaint.
But before he could step out, Furina suddenly spoke.
"…Why do you cook so well?"
Luc paused, then smiled. A story came to him.
"When I was young," he began solemnly, "my homeland was ravaged by war. My family was lost… I was the only survivor."
Furina gasped softly, eyes wide.
"I wandered the world, starving. Eventually, I met an old hermit—an incredible cook, one of the best the world had ever known. He took me in out of pity, and I became his apprentice."
Luc continued, keeping a completely straight face. "After I learned from him, I vowed to share the beauty of cuisine with the world, and to never waste a single grain of food."
Though the tale was clearly absurd, Furina listened intently, nodding along. She even murmured:
"That hermit… he must have been a very kind man."
Luc blinked, stunned by how earnestly she believed him.
He decided to test his luck further.
"Now, I travel endlessly, searching for where I belong. It's cold out tonight… Miss Furina, would you happen to have a few newspapers I could use? Something to keep me warm in the park."
Furina frowned, feeling a vague tug of guilt.
He's hinting he wants to stay… But still… why is he better than me at everything?
He cooks better. Plays chess better. And even his lies are more convincing!
"…Wait. I'll go get you two newspapers."
Luc accepted the scraps of paper with mock gratitude, but inwardly despaired. This wouldn't keep him warm. He looked at her, eyes pleading.
"…Lady Furina, are you sure you have no intention of letting me stay?"
Furina crossed her arms proudly.
"Nope."
Luc sighed, adjusted the brim of his worn canvas hat, and picked up his sack. His tone was solemn—almost poetic.
"Then I must resume my journey. The mountains are high, and the rivers run deep. If fate allows it… we'll meet again, somewhere along the road."
He turned around dramatically, heart full of fake lamentation—
"Wait."
Luc froze.
He turned to see Furina shyly tapping her foot against the floor, her index finger curling a strand of hair.
"You… you cook better than I do," she muttered. "And I thought about it. Since I'm too lazy to find someone else… I guess I'll keep you around. As my chef."
Luc lit up and nearly dropped his bag from joy.
"But!" Furina added quickly, pointing a finger in warning. "I'm not doing this out of pity, so don't get any funny ideas. Once I've learned to cook, you're out the door!"
Luc didn't care. This was a win.
He practically sprinted back inside and dumped his luggage.
As he settled onto the sofa, he glanced over and asked curiously:
"By the way, why were you crying earlier? Just because I cook better?"
Furina looked away, embarrassed. She hesitated, then sighed.
"…I'm conceited. I always have been. And you… you seem better at everything."
She hugged her knees to her chest. "Chess, cooking, trickery… I keep wondering why all my effort feels meaningless when you can do things so easily."
Luc leaned back, thoughtful.
"That's not true at all."
He smiled gently.
"You know… there's something special about people who stay dedicated to one thing for a long time. Like you. People who endure centuries—or millennia—without losing their passion… they're like gods in mortal form."
He looked at her meaningfully.
"There was once a Go player who died without ever achieving his 'divine move.' Yet even as a ghost, he wandered the earth for a thousand years—still chasing perfection. Most people wouldn't understand that. But I do."
Furina blinked, stunned by his sudden sincerity.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"Wait… that story… Was that real?"
Luc stiffened.
Oh no.
He slipped up.