Stew bubbled on the stovetop and Marron sprinkled a pinch of pepper for an extra kick. The smell of creamy stew clung to the bakery like a weighted blanket.
Marron leaned over the iron pot, ladling thick portions into wooden bowls. Carrots, wild onions, and beans softened in a savory broth. She sliced up the last of the salt pork she'd traded and hoped it would be enough for everyone.
I can always ask the carpenter apprentices if they can get me some meat while they're out.
She balanced each bowl with a warm roll—round, golden, faintly crisp on the outside, fluffy inside.
The apprentices were too polite to admit how hungrily they stared, but Marron caught the flick of forked tongues and the restless tap of clawed fingers against knees. "Careful, it's hot," she said, passing the bowls out one by one.
They didn't wait long. Soon the little half-repaired room filled with the clink of spoons, content sighs, and the eager tearing of bread rolls.
"This is—" one apprentice, a broad-shouldered wolfkin, paused to wave his spoon for emphasis—"this is proper fuel. My muscles feel like they're finally getting listened to."
Another, the snakekin youth who had recognized Marron at the market, dipped his bread into the broth and blinked wide. "I don't know if it's the bread or the stew, but… this feels different. Not just filling. Stronger, somehow."
Marron laughed nervously, smoothing her apron. "It's just beans and stock. Nothing special."
The apprentices exchanged looks that said she doesn't know, does she?
Before Marron could puzzle it out, a chime echoed in her mind.
[New Feature Unlocked — Chef's Insight]You may now view the buffs granted by your dishes.
Her breath caught. The bowls on the table shimmered faintly, like mist catching moonlight. And above the apprentices' heads, words flickered:
Stew of Stamina (+10% work speed, lasts 2 hours).
Golden Rolls (+5% morale, +light regeneration).
Marron nearly dropped her ladle. No way. That's… from me? From food I made?
She gripped the edge of the table, staring at the glowing text until it faded back into the air. "It's just… food," she whispered, mostly to herself. "How can it matter this much?"
The snakekin apprentice licked broth from his fingers, oblivious to her spiraling thoughts. "I used to skip meals when training. Thought food was just fuel, you know? Quick, cheap, nothing fancy. But this—" he tapped his chest with a thumb "—this makes me feel like I can actually do something with my hands. Like the work matters."
Marron's throat tightened. Compliments always slid off her like oil from a pan, but this one stuck, stubborn and sharp. She looked down at her flour-dusted sleeves, remembering her mother in their old kitchen, commanding pots and knives like a queen. Compared to that, she still felt like a kid fumbling with the lid.
Mokko's voice came low from behind her, steady as a grindstone. "Flavor is power here, Marron. A newcomer who got two rival clans to sit at the same table? Who makes apprentices believe in their work just by feeding them? That's not nothing."
She wanted to argue. She wanted to say it was luck, or timing, or an accident. But the way the wolfkin was grinning, the way the snakekin's hands already itched to get back to his hammer—it didn't feel like nothing.
Lucy bounced onto the table, balancing a half-eaten roll in her tendrils. "It's sparkles!" she announced proudly.
Marron blinked. "Sparkles?"
"Mmhm! When people eat your food, I see little warm sparkles float around them, like tiny fireflies that say, you can do it, keep going."
Marron covered her mouth with her hand, a laugh escaping despite the knot in her chest. "That's… actually kind of beautiful."
Mokko raised an eyebrow. "I don't see sparkles."
Lucy puffed up indignantly. "Then you need better eyes."
The apprentices chuckled, wiping bowls clean. Marron let herself smile too, though inside the question still pressed: How could I be the one to make something that strong?
After dinner, the apprentices beckoned her outside. The sun was dipping low, painting the beams of the bakery in honey gold. Marron followed them into the yard where wood shavings littered the grass.
"We wanted to show you," the wolfkin said, pointing at the roof. Freshly set beams gleamed, their cuts neat and sturdy. The leaks were sealed, the frame solid again.
"It's not perfect yet," the snakekin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "but it'll hold. And we'll come back tomorrow to keep at it. We've… honestly never finished something like this before." He looked down at his flour-streaked hands, then back at her. "But your food—it kept us steady. It made finishing possible."
Marron touched one of the beams. It was rough but strong beneath her palm, smelling of fresh pine. For the first time since Meadowbrook, she felt like the village itself was breathing a little easier.
That evening, when the apprentices left and the lanterns flickered on, Marron sat at the bakery's rough-hewn counter with her notebook. Flour smudges still stained her pages from earlier lists.
She carefully wrote down the buffs she'd seen, hand steady now:
Stew of Stamina: +10% work speed (2 hrs).
Golden Rolls: +5% morale, light regen.
She stared at the words. They looked official, like something out of her system's interface—but they were in her handwriting, on her paper.
Her heart thudded.
"Maybe…" she whispered, "I won't be a professional chef like my mom. But I am becoming a chef in my own way."
Saying it aloud made her cheeks burn. It was too vulnerable, too raw. But at the same time, something uncoiled in her chest. She was still scared, yes—but also lighter. Like she could breathe again.
The lanternlight flickered against the bakery's walls, making them look less broken, less abandoned. Marron rested her hand on the notebook and allowed herself the smallest smile.
For once, the fear and the pride tangled together—and she let both stay.