CHAPTER 74: DORM EATING [I]

The footsteps grew louder, steady, sharp against the old floorboards.

Freya’s hands clenched at her apron. I leaned back in my chair, waiting like a condemned man pretending the gallows rope was just a scarf.

The nanny appeared in the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowing at once. Her gaze swept across the room — the flour dusted on the counter, the faint smoke curling near the rafters, the crooked cups, the soup still steaming in the pot.

Her lips pressed together in a line so tight I thought she might actually explode.

Nyx sat tall at her feet, tail flicking, smug as a king’s advisor who just betrayed his own kingdom. "Behold," he purred. "They live. The food lives. Miracles all around."

The nanny ignored him, stepping closer. Her eyes went straight to the table. She leaned down, sniffed once, then peered into the pot. Her spoon dipped in, slow and precise, as though she expected poison. She lifted a small taste to her lips.

Freya held her breath. I didn’t dare move.

The nanny chewed, swallowed, then let the silence hang so long I nearly coughed just to break it.

Finally, she straightened. Her brows lifted the smallest fraction. "It is... edible."

Freya nearly collapsed. I smirked. "Edible," I said, nodding. "High praise indeed."

The nanny’s eyes flicked to me, sharp as a blade. "Do not mock. For your first attempt, it is more than I expected."

Freya blinked. "So... it is not bad?"

"Not bad," the nanny confirmed, her voice stern but softer than usual. "The bread is heavy, but it rose. The soup has too much salt, but it warms. You did not ruin it."

My grin spread wide. "We pass inspection."

The nanny gave a single nod, then turned her gaze to Freya. "You, girl. You worked hard."

Freya froze, as if she didn’t know how to take the words. "...Thank you," she murmured.

Then the nanny looked at me. "And you—"

I straightened, waiting for the hammer.

"...did not ruin everything."

Nyx let out a loud laugh — or as close to one as a cat could manage. "High honors! Truly, he grows."

The nanny’s lips twitched, almost like she was hiding a smile. "Clean yourselves. Then sit. You have earned your meal."

And just like that, she turned and walked away, footsteps fading back down the hall.

Freya sagged into a chair, pressing a hand over her face. "I thought she would tear it apart."

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, still grinning. "Instead, she almost complimented us. I’ll take that as victory."

Nyx leapt onto the chair beside me, his tail flicking against my arm. "Do not grow too proud. You are still disasters. Merely disasters who can boil water."

"Boil water, bake bread, make soup," I said, ticking them off on my fingers. "At this rate, we’ll be chefs by winter."

Freya groaned softly, but I saw it — the tiny, reluctant smile tugging at her lips as the firelight flickered across the table.

***

The table was set, soup steaming in the middle, bread waiting on its rough board, and still the chairs stood empty.

Freya sat stiff-backed, folding and refolding her napkin like it was part of military drill. I leaned back, one ankle hooked over my knee, fingers tapping the table in time with the crackle of the fire.

Nyx had already claimed the seat beside me, tail curling smugly, violet eyes gleaming in anticipation.

The first knock wasn’t really a knock — more like someone trying to break the door with their fist. Before I could rise, the door swung open.

Redmane filled the frame like a storm. Broad shoulders, mane of hair wild as always, grin sharp as a blade. His eyes swept the room, then settled on the soup. "Smells like smoke."

"Smells like soup," I corrected, spreading my arms grandly.

"Smells like you tried cooking," he shot back, stomping inside. His boots thudded against the boards, daring them to crack. He dropped into the nearest chair with all the grace of a falling tree. "Alright. Show me the miracle before I starve."

Freya frowned at him. "You might at least greet your hosts."

"Hosts?" He barked a laugh. "This is a last supper."

The second arrival was quieter — a whisper compared to thunder. Nathan slipped through the door, shutting it softly behind him. He hovered near the edge of the room at first, eyes darting from the pot to the mismatched plates, then finally to me.

"...You made this?" he asked, suspicion heavy.

I clutched my chest as if he’d shot me. "Your faith is touching."

"That wasn’t faith," Nathan muttered, moving cautiously to a chair. "That was fear."

Before I could retort, the door opened a third time. Serena entered.

She didn’t stride like Redmane or sneak like Nathan — she glided.

Every step quiet, graceful, her hair catching the glow of the firelight.

She took in the scene — the crooked cups, the smoke still clinging to the rafters — and her brow creased faintly. A heartbeat later, the crease smoothed, replaced by composure as flawless as her poise.

"You cooked," she said, eyes resting on me for a moment, then shifting to Freya.

"We survived," I corrected, unable to resist.

Her lips curved ever so slightly. "That alone is impressive."

Freya straightened unconsciously, chin lifting, though her ears had gone pink.

And then came the last footsteps — steady, sharp, cutting through the chatter like drumbeats.

The nanny appeared in the doorway, arms folded. She looked at the soup, the bread, the flour still dusting the counter. Her sharp gaze swept over us all — Redmane sprawled out, Nathan tense, Serena serene, Freya stiff, me smug, Nyx lounging like a black shadow.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she stepped forward.

"If I must sit at this table," she said, voice cool as ever, "it will not be as executioner. It will be as a witness."

She moved to the chair at the head of the table, the place of judgment, and lowered herself into it with an air of authority that silenced even Redmane’s grin for half a breath.

Nyx purred. "Ah, the final piece falls into place. The queen upon her throne."

The nanny ignored him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Let’s begin the dinner. You all should taste what these two troublemakers made."

And just like that, we were all seated — five students, one black cat, and one stern woman who had seen too many disasters to be fooled by the smell of soup.