CHAPTER 37: THE WEIGHT OF ACCOMPLISHMENT

The morning sunlight streamed into the half-mended Meadowbrook bakery windows, painting golden lines across the clean tables. Marron pulled the last tray of bread rolls from the oven, steam curling into the air like a sigh.

Her apron was dusted white, hair tied up with a ragged ribbon that refused to stay straight.

The door creaked.

A tall man stepped inside, his presence commanding the room. His uniform was crisp black with red trim, sleeves rolled neatly to reveal strong forearms. His hair was the pale white of wood ash, his skin bronzed by years spent near flame. But it was his eyes—sharp, molten gold—that made Marron’s breath hitch.

The snakekin apprentice sweeping the floor froze mid-stroke. His broom clattered.

"You’re— You’re Balen Rizzlet!" the boy shouted, voice squeaking. "One of the pioneers of wood-fire cooking! You—you’re a C-rank chef!"

Balen smiled faintly, dipping his head. "At your service. Though ’pioneer’ makes me sound ancient." His gaze flicked toward Marron, lingering on her flour-dusted apron. "And you must be Marron. The one who brought rival clans to the same table."

Marron wiped her hands on her apron, pulse skipping. "That was... me, yes."

Lucy whispered loudly from the counter jar, "Shiny eyes. Fancy coat. Very important."

Mokko, standing near the kneading table, folded his arms. His tone was wary. "And what brings a C-rank chef to a half-fixed bakery?"

"Curiosity," Balen said smoothly. "And hunger."

+

The snakekin apprentice nearly tripped over his tail rushing forward. "I read your book! Flame as Shield and Sword! You turned tofu into armor and—and seared fish so hot it scared away monsters!" His eyes glittered. "You’re my hero!"

Balen laughed, warm and indulgent. "Ah, that was my reckless youth. I thought every dish needed to explode to be worth eating."

"Exploding tofu was worth eating!" the boy insisted, tail lashing with excitement.

Balen clapped a steadying hand on the apprentice’s shoulder. "Creation takes many forms. Don’t envy the flame when you have the hammer. Carpenters shape bones of homes. I only shape meals."

The boy’s eyes shone, and Marron felt a pang. They look at him like he hung the moon. When they look at me, it’s... surprise. Or doubt.

+

Balen turned back to Marron. "You realize your bread and stews are being whispered about in markets far from here. Travelers claim they felt stronger after eating. That carpenters found the courage to dream bigger. That lords sat together without daggers drawn."

Marron’s shoulders stiffened. She snapped her towel down on the counter. "I just cooked dinner. They set aside their differences to talk. You would’ve done the same, wouldn’t you?"

The apprentices sucked in their breath. Lucy’s glow flickered. Mokko raised his eyebrows—half surprised, half impressed—that Marron had interrupted a C-rank chef at all.

Balen regarded her for a moment, then his grin spread slow and sly. "Maybe. But I never met the beastkin. Where you’re from, it’s just food. But here, chefs are something special." His eyes gleamed. "The very best of my generation, her name was Juno. Made cakes so good they made queens cry."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice, almost conspiratorial. "And being able to make people feel things with one bite? Isn’t it cool? Customers who tried my kebabs said I inspired them to chase the dreams they’d buried. We’re not just chefs. Not here."

Marron blinked, pulse loud in her ears.

Balen straightened, brushing flour dust from his sleeve. "Maybe you need to visit the Guild to understand."

+

The apprentices begged to see one of his legendary dishes.

Balen sighed dramatically, though his eyes glittered. "Very well. Usually chefs don’t fight. But our dishes can."

He drew a small wax-wrapped square of tofu from his pack and unwrapped it reverently. Setting it on the counter, he flexed his hands. Golden fire rippled across his knuckles like liquid metal.

Lucy gasped. "On fire! On purpose!"

"Dragonfire tofu," Balen declared. His palm hovered inches above the tofu, flames coiling tight. With a sharp strike, the heat blasted downward—searing the surface to a golden crust. Another strike, sharper, cracked it with a puff of fragrant smoke.

"Soft within. Shielded without. A dish that resists blades... or detonates when struck."

He sliced it cleanly and tossed a cube into the air. It landed with a pop! like a firecracker, harmless but dazzling.

The apprentices erupted in cheers. Lucy slapped herself happily against the jar. Mokko’s eyes narrowed, not at the display but at Marron—who stood frozen, breath shallow.

+

"See?" Balen said, brushing off his hands. "Chefs fight differently. And the Guild—well, some will want you on their side. Some won’t. That’s what you’ve got to understand before you—"

A voice barked from outside, rough and cutting through the bakery’s warmth:

"Oi! This the cart-lady’s place?"

More voices followed, jeering, heavy boots scraping against cobblestones.

Lucy froze. The apprentices’ chatter died instantly. Marron’s heart lurched into her throat.

Mokko stepped forward, fists tightening. His apron strained at the seams, and for a moment his hands glowed faintly, like heat radiating off a hot pan. His knuckles cracked—sharp, deliberate.

The system chimed softly in Marron’s head.

[Companion Skill Awakening Detected: Mokko has unlocked Ironpan Fists — a monk-style culinary defense art.]

Mokko glanced back at Marron and Lucy, his voice low but steady.

"They won’t touch you. Not while I’m here."

+

The bakery door creaked open, and Marron’s shoulders stiffened. After the raiders, she’d been jumpy at every sound—half expecting another greedy hand to come reaching for her knives or supplies.

Charity said the gold would last for two hours. Most thieves would be halfway to another town by then. I hope they didn’t return for revenge...

But instead of trouble, a broad-shouldered man ducked through the doorway. He carried himself with the weight of someone who could lift beams as easily as bread loaves. A heavy pack hung from one shoulder. His skin was sun-browned, his hair dark and short, and his thick arms flexed as he set the pack down with a thunk.

The apprentices straightened immediately. Their surprise melted into joy, and in perfect unison they shouted:

"Boss!"