Morning sunlight poured through the windows of Crescent Moon Inn.
The golden rays caught the flour dust floating in the air, turning the kitchen into a dreamlike haze of motion and aroma.
Luna yawned as she wiped down the tables. "Chef, I swear my arms still hurt from yesterday."
Maris looked up from her ledger. "You said that yesterday too."
"That's because it's still true!" Luna whined.
Ethan smiled, tying his apron. "Then today we fix that — with reinforcements."
Luna blinked. "Reinforcements?"
"New helpers," he said simply.
Maris raised an eyebrow. "You actually found people crazy enough to work here?"
He nodded toward the door. "They should be arriving any moment."
---
Right on cue, the door opened with a loud creak.
Three figures stepped inside.
The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man with tanned skin and a chef's hat that looked two sizes too small. His grin was easygoing, his hands calloused — clearly used to heavy work.
"Name's Bruno," he said cheerfully. "Former sous-chef from the north docks."
The second was a petite girl with sharp eyes and a dozen spice jars hanging from her belt. "I'm Mina," she said briskly. "Specialize in seasoning. You mess up salt ratios, I'll cry."
And the third… was a small boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, with soot on his cheeks and a nervous expression.
"I-I'm Kiro," he stammered. "Used to wash dishes at the tavern down the road. I'm fast!"
Luna's eyes sparkled. "He's adorable!"
Kiro blushed crimson. "I—I can scrub pots too!"
Ethan nodded approvingly. "Good. We'll need all of you."
---
Training started fast.
Bruno took to the grill like he'd never left it. Mina worked the spice rack like a painter at her easel. Kiro scurried everywhere — scrubbing, fetching, stacking.
But the kitchen was relentless. Orders flew in. Plates piled up. And despite their energy, chaos began to bloom.
"Bruno, the soup's boiling over!"
"Sorry! Big pots make me forget how small they are!"
"Mina, less salt!"
"I measured! It's the humidity!"
"Kiro, that's not sugar— that's rice powder!"
"Ahh! Sorry sorry sorry!"
Ethan moved through it all like calm water, adjusting temperatures, tasting sauces, redirecting chaos into rhythm.
"Everyone," he said gently, "breathe. Cooking isn't panic. It's flow."
They paused, regrouped, and slowly — slowly — found the rhythm again.
By midday, they were sweating but smiling.
Luna wiped her forehead. "You really are some kind of kitchen wizard, Chef."
Ethan laughed softly. "Just practiced a lot."
---
Meanwhile, outside the inn, a sleek carriage rolled to a stop.
Four figures stepped out — travelers in ordinary clothes, but their posture too straight, their eyes too sharp.
"Target location confirmed," one murmured. "Spirit activity consistent."
They entered the inn quietly, blending with the crowd.
Luna greeted them with her usual energy. "Welcome to Crescent Moon Inn! Table for four?"
"Yes," said the man in front. His tone was polite but practiced.
Maris eyed them subtly as she handed over menus. Their movements were synchronized — too precise for simple tourists. She leaned toward Ethan. "Chef, those four? They walk like soldiers."
He didn't look up from his pan. "Let them eat."
---
The undercover Guild agents observed everything — the warmth of the staff, the precision of the kitchen, the way Ethan handled each ingredient with care, as though it had a voice of its own.
One whispered under his breath, "His Spirit resonance is… stable. No distortion, no drain."
Another replied, "That's impossible. No one cooks like this without guidance."
"Then maybe he doesn't need it."
They ate quietly, pretending to be travelers. But when the dishes arrived — a set of Frostvine Stew, Golden Crust Bread, and Cloudberry Tea — all four paused mid-bite.
The taste struck them like memory — calm, nostalgic, grounding.
Even the most stoic of them sighed softly.
One muttered, "This… feels like home."
Luna blinked, confused. "Uh, was it too salty?"
The man shook his head quickly. "No. Perfect. Perfectly balanced."
Maris smirked behind the counter. "Another batch of converted souls."
---
By the end of the day, Ethan's kitchen ran smoother than ever.
The new recruits were exhausted but proud. Bruno laughed as he scrubbed a pan. "Haven't worked this hard since the festival season!"
Mina smiled faintly. "At least no one died of oversalting."
Kiro, half-asleep at the sink, mumbled, "Do we get dinner too?"
Luna grinned. "Of course! Chef always feeds his soldiers."
Ethan served them each a plate of roasted herb chicken with honey glaze. The smell alone revived their spirits.
Kiro's eyes widened. "We get to eat this?"
"Always taste what you make," Ethan said. "That's how you learn."
They ate together, laughing and teasing — a real family in the making.
---
Outside, the Spirit Guild agents stood by the carriage, whispering among themselves.
"Evaluation report: Chef Ethan displays no hostility. Spirit flow remains unusually pure."
"Recommendation?"
"Continue surveillance. He's… different."
As they prepared to leave, one agent looked back through the window — watching Ethan laugh with his crew under warm light.
He hesitated. "He's not dangerous," he said quietly. "He's just… alive."
The others didn't reply. The carriage rolled away, wheels echoing through the street.
---
That night, as the inn fell silent, Ethan stayed behind in the kitchen.
The Infernal Stove's flame flickered softly — a calm, golden heart.
He spoke quietly to the air, as though to someone unseen.
"You feel it too, don't you? The world's changing again."
For a brief moment, the flame shimmered in answer.
Not a word — just warmth.
Ethan smiled. "Then we'll cook our way through it."
And the inn's windows glowed like stars in the sleeping town.
To be continued...