CHAPTER 60: RECRUITMENT DRIVE

Julie stood still, her eyes shimmering with something soft and distant, a fragile hope warring with years of quiet disappointment.

"I’ll accept your offer..." she said slowly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her voice barely a whisper. "If you pair me with Eren for the festival."

My brows arched. "That’s all you want?"

She nodded, a fierce, desperate conviction in her gaze. "I just want to stand beside him. Whether it’s in the kitchen or during a food brawl... I want to be next to him. That’s it."

I studied her for a second, really looked at her. Julie wasn’t the loudest girl, nor the flashiest. She didn’t demand the world, or seek revenge for being ignored. She just... wanted to be someone’s world.

In that moment, I thought back to the words I’d once spoken to a broken, weeping Eren in the Warzone Arena. "One day, you’ll find your soulmate."

And here she was.

Julie’s eyes might have been focused on the present, but her heart already resided beside Eren’s shadow.

I smiled faintly, a genuine, almost gentle expression. "You’ve got a deal," I said. "And not just that—once this fest ends, I’ll make sure you’re not just some girl who stood beside him. You’ll be someone he treasures."

Her expression froze, her eyes widening in disbelief. Then, it bloomed, a radiant, breathtaking hope that transformed her entire face. "R-Really? You can do that?"

"I don’t say things I can’t do," I replied, my voice a low, confident murmur. "You leave Eren to me."

She fell into her imagination instantly, her gaze turning distant and dreamy. I could practically see the wedding bells and shared aprons dancing in her eyes.

"Alright," she said, her voice filled with a new, vibrant energy as she snapped back to the present. "Then tell me about your restaurant plan. What exactly do you need from me?"

"Simple," I said, my own focus sharpening. "We’re going to open the most profitable stall in the entire festival. I’m not doing this for fun—I want to make real money."

Julie nodded, her earlier melancholy replaced by a newfound determination. "What’s on the menu?"

"Ramen, burgers, and fries," I answered casually.

"Burgers... fries?" she tilted her head, her expression a blank slate of confusion. "Are those... some kind of regional meat skewers?"

"No. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll show you the final dish design later. For now, what I need from you is crucial—you’ll be in charge of all the sauces and flavor bases."

Her eyes widened in a panic. "But I don’t even know what goes in those! I’ve never even heard of them!"

"You don’t have to," I reassured her, my voice calm and steady. "I’ll describe the flavor profile to you in excruciating detail—the texture, the balance of sweet and savory, the level of spice, the thickness. You just need to use your genius to experiment until we get close."

She hesitated for only a second, her mind clearly racing, before she nodded, a look of fierce concentration on her face. "I can try. I can’t promise perfection, but I’ll get as close as possible."

"That’s enough," I said, a genuine respect for her talent blooming in my chest. "I trust your instincts. If you deliver, I’ll make good on my promise with Eren."

A small, determined spark lit up in her eyes. "You better not go back on your word."

"I won’t."

She looked truly happy for the first time since I’d seen her this semester.

"Alright," she said, her demeanor shifting as she crossed her arms like a seasoned general surveying a battlefield. "But to run a restaurant stall of the scale you’re imagining, we’ll need more staff. Two people can’t possibly manage the crowd you’re expecting."

I stood, brushing the grass from my trousers. "I know. And today... I’m going on a recruitment spree."

And so began my long, exhausting walk across the sprawling academy campus. I crossed the high, arching bridges that connected the various towers, navigated the bustling outdoor lecture pavilions, and even barged into the noisy, chaotic first-year crafting halls. It was a grueling process, but by the time the sun had reached its zenith, I had secured four more recruits from various years—each with a decent level of mana control, good communication skills, and, most importantly, a willingness to work for a generous cut of the profits.

Now, I just needed the nobles.

Not because I liked nobles. Far from it.

But because their names carried weight. Their presence generated attention.

And attention meant customers.

So who to choose?

Liora? No. Too complicated. Too arrogant. And—ex-fiancée. I wasn’t prepared to dig through that particular mess right now.

Layla? Too obvious. We’d been meeting far too often, and it was starting to draw the wrong kind of attention. And honestly... her regal, commanding presence would dominate the room and overshadow the actual food.

Which left... Seraphina.

Perfect.

She was beautiful, elegant, and possessed a confidence that was both alluring and intimidating. Her influence among the elven and other non-human student circles would be a priceless asset. Plus, she had that dignified, playful charm that would attract every bored, wealthy noble wandering through the festival.

I approached her during a cooldown period in the combat simulation dome. She stood at the edge of the training arena, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with a delicate, silk handkerchief.

"Seraphina."

She turned, and upon seeing me, her lips curved into a teasing, predatory smirk. "Shadow Prince. What brings you to my humble corner of the world?"

"I need you."

"Oh?" Her smirk widened. "That’s quite direct of you."

"For business," I added quickly. "Festival business."

She pouted, a theatrical, charming expression. "You ruin all the fun."

I chuckled. "I’m opening a restaurant stall. I need faces that attract customers. Charisma. Nobility. You’re perfect."

"You flatter me, Ashen."

"It’s not flattery if it’s true."

She tapped her chin, her violet eyes twinkling with mischief. "And what do I get in return for my invaluable services? Food? Fame? Or are you finally offering me your undying loyalty?"

"You get a cut of the profits. And my eternal gratitude."

She laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes in a summer breeze. "Fine. I’ll help. But only if I get to wear something cute."

"I’ll leave the outfit choices to Masha," I said dryly. "You two will probably have a wonderful time mocking my fashion sense."

"I’m already looking forward to it."

Deal: done.

I moved on.

Next target: the Whitehound siblings.

I found them by the grand fountain near the library, arguing about something utterly insignificant again—probably how many noodles constituted a respectable serving of festival ramen.

Perfect timing.

"Yo," I greeted, my voice cutting through their bickering.

Eren turned, his face lighting up with a surprising enthusiasm. "Ashen! Just the man I wanted to see."

Noora rolled her eyes. "He always wants to see you."

I ignored their usual banter. "I’m recruiting," I said, getting straight to the point. "Restaurant stall. I need people I can trust. Are you in?"

Eren blinked. "You’re doing food now?"

"Don’t question it," Noora added, her gaze sharp and analytical. "If he’s involved, he’s in it for a reason."

I nodded. "We’ll be serving new, exotic dishes. I’m managing the logistics. Julie’s handling the sauces. Sasha’s cooking. I just need some muscle and brains on floor duty."

Eren crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What’s my role?"

"Delivering food, dealing with difficult customers, and, most importantly, helping me taste-test during the prep phase."

"Say no more," he grinned, his eyes lighting up at the mention of food. "I’m in. I’ll eat all your profits if I have to."

"You’ll do that anyway," Noora muttered under her breath.

I turned to her. "And you?"

Noora hesitated, her lilac eyes scanning my face as if trying to decipher my true intentions. Then, she sighed, a sound of weary resignation. "Someone has to keep you lot from burning the place down. Fine. I’m in. But only if I get to handle the menu writing and the stall design."

"Done."

We all shook on it, a strange, unlikely alliance forged in the name of culinary capitalism.

With each new piece falling into place, I could already see the stall taking shape in my mind—crimson and black banners flying in the wind, the rich, savory aromas wafting through the festival grounds, long, eager lines of customers forming before noon.

And at the center of it all: me, with Yumi watching from a safe corner like a proud daughter, and a chaotic, dysfunctional family of misfits making it all happen.

Now there was just one more person I needed to speak to. The one who could turn this mad dream into a functional reality.

Masha.