By sunrise, the line outside the Crescent Moon Inn stretched halfway down the street.
Merchants, travelers, scholars — even a few nobles in plain clothes — all waiting, murmuring excitedly.
Luna peeked through the door, her jaw dropping. "Chef… it's not even breakfast time!"
Ethan wiped his hands with a towel, calm as ever. "Then we'll start early."
Maris frowned at the growing line. "Do we even have enough ingredients for all that?"
"Barely," he said, glancing at the pantry. "But we'll make it stretch."
Luna groaned. "I knew we should've ordered more flour yesterday!"
Ethan grinned. "Then we'll improvise. That's half the fun."
---
Inside, the kitchen was already alive.
The Infernal Stove flared with a clean golden light, its gentle hum almost musical. Pots clanged, knives chopped in rhythm, and the air filled with the smell of butter and spice.
Luna rushed back and forth, juggling plates. "Two Spirit Omelets! Three honey-root rolls! And— wait— who ordered grilled fish for breakfast?!"
Maris smirked. "The noble-looking guy in the corner. He's pretending not to be rich."
Ethan chuckled. "Then let's give him the commoner's best."
He seasoned the fish with salt and frostvine powder, flipped it once, and served it on a wooden plate. "Simple, balanced, perfect."
Maris took it to the table, her usual calm tested by the chaos. "We need more hands, Chef."
"Or more arms," Luna muttered, nearly tripping with a tray.
Ethan smiled faintly. "We'll manage. Keep the rhythm — that's all cooking is."
---
By mid-morning, the inn was packed. Every table filled, laughter and chatter blending into a pleasant storm.
"Chef Ethan, your Dreamfruit Custard changed my life!"
"I came all the way from Riverhold for your Frostfire Stew!"
"Can you sign my plate?"
Luna looked horrified. "People are asking for autographs now?!"
Ethan just laughed, stirring a pot calmly. "Let them eat first."
Maris raised an eyebrow. "You realize this is just the beginning, right? By next week, you'll have reporters at the door."
"Reporters?" Luna gasped. "Oh no, I'm not good with interviews—"
"Relax," Ethan said. "We'll feed them too."
---
Outside, a man in a dark coat watched quietly from across the street.
He carried a notebook stamped with the insignia of the Spirit Guild, though he kept it hidden beneath his sleeve.
He scribbled something, muttering softly, "Unprecedented public reaction… lines forming daily… Spirit resonance stable…"
A woman's voice answered through a crystal earpiece.
"Is the target showing signs of Spirit manipulation?"
"Negative. Pure instinct. Untrained but precise."
A pause. Then: "Keep observing. Don't interfere yet."
He nodded slightly and faded into the crowd.
---
Back inside, chaos had turned to rhythm.
Luna moved like a whirlwind, Maris managed orders with surgical calm, and Ethan — quiet, steady — kept everything flowing.
"Luna," he said, "watch the syrup timing. You're three seconds too long."
She blinked. "How can you even tell?"
He smiled. "Because the smell changed."
Maris glanced up. "You really are insane."
Ethan grinned. "Good cooking's a little crazy."
They all burst out laughing, even as pans sizzled and customers called out for seconds.
---
By afternoon, the rush finally slowed.
Luna collapsed into a chair. "Chef, I think my soul left my body around omelet number thirty."
Maris poured her a cup of tea. "You lasted longer than I expected."
Ethan sat at the counter, sipping water. "We'll need more tables. And probably another stove."
Luna groaned. "And another me."
Ethan chuckled. "We'll hire soon. But for now— good work."
For a moment, they just sat there — tired, sweaty, smiling. The sound of satisfied customers drifted from outside, mingled with the distant chatter of new arrivals.
Maris leaned back. "You realize, Chef… we're officially famous."
Ethan looked at the golden flame in the stove. "Fame's fine. As long as we don't forget why we started."
Luna smiled sleepily. "To feed people?"
He nodded. "Exactly."
---
That night, after closing, Ethan stepped outside. The air was cool, the town quiet again.
He gazed up at the stars, feeling the calm after the storm of the day.
Behind him, the kitchen light flickered softly — the Infernal Stove glowing in steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.
He murmured, "Tomorrow will be busier."
But there was no complaint in his tone — only quiet anticipation.
---
Far away, in the Spirit Guild's central hall, Selene stood before a table stacked with reports.
"Crescent Moon Inn," one of the elders read aloud. "Popularity spreading across the southern provinces. Unregulated Spirit phenomena detected."
Selene folded her arms. "He's not manipulating anything. The Spirits respond because he cooks honestly."
"That alone makes him dangerous," the elder replied. "Send a full evaluation team."
Selene frowned. "He's just a chef."
The elder's eyes narrowed. "Then let's see how long that remains true."
---
Back in Crescent Town, the inn lights flickered off one by one.
And in the soft darkness, Ethan's flame kept burning — gentle, steady, unshakable.