My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

After Marron made today's batch of fresh bread for the dwarves and the carpenters, she thought about what she could make for herself.

After eating bread for so many days...I miss rice. And I usually need to follow recipes, or else everything goes wrong. But chicken is such a forgiving meat...it always ends up good no matter what.

Well...almost. I forgot to rinse some chicken for a salt brine once, and it was way too salty to eat.

When she lived with her friend Kai—or alone—chicken and rice had always been the most comforting of staples. Whatever passed for chicken in this world, she wanted it as her main protein.

So she consulted her system.

Is there a way I can buy ingredients without going to a market?

Ding!

The reply blinked across her vision almost instantly:

[New Feature Available: Savoria's Convenient Store]

[Requirement: 100 XP to unlock. Payment: XP instead of gold.]

Marron's heart leapt. She had only about 50 gold left, but her XP reserves were much higher. She tapped yes before she could second-guess herself.

Her system interface shifted, and suddenly there was a new tab labeled Shopping. Rows of neatly labeled photos appeared—grain, vegetables, meat, even spices—and Marron felt her shoulders relax.

The first thing she searched was rice.

[Short-Grain Mana Rice – 5 gold per pound]

Effect: increases mana regeneration for 30 minutes.

Her lips curved into a relieved smile. She ordered a bundle immediately.

Then she searched chicken.

The photo that popped up nearly made her drop the notebook. A massive cockatrice stared back at her, its beady eyes glowering, feathers bristling like steel. But the description was simple enough:

[Cockatrice Thighs – 20 gold for 2 pounds]

"…That'll do." Marron clicked purchase before she could overthink it. Her gold dropped from 50 to 30.

The ingredients dropped into her storage box, sealed and ready. Marron ran her hands over the rice bag, heart thudding.

And then the memory returned to her.

The smell of frying chicken oil in the dead of night. The hush of the kitchen when she padded out, rubbing her sleepy eyes, to see her mother bent over the stove. A professional chef, yes—but also an insomniac who cooked when she couldn't sleep, who perfected recipes not just for customers, but for herself.

And sometimes, when Marron was lucky, her mother made one more portion for her.

She didn't know if she said it enough, but the late-night bowls of crispy fried chicken and fluffy white rice had been one of her most treasured memories. Just warm food shared without words, and her mother wasn't stressed about preparing food for the diner.

Her throat tightened. That was why chicken always felt like home.

Just me, mom, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

Marron didn't notice, but the ingredients she held in her hands glowed as they absorbed the emotions from her memories.

"Mom and I really bonded over fried chicken and rice."

Balen's mouth quirked. "Now that's interesting." He straightened, eyes thoughtful. "If you're enthusiastic about it, the food will reflect that. Customers pick up on it, even if they don't realize it. So why not build on that strength?"

Charity tilted her head. "What chicken dish could you make that's both tasty and easy to sell?"

Marron hesitated, then remembered her mother's fried chicken folded into rice balls. Simple, comforting, portable.

"…Onigiri," she said softly, then corrected herself. "Or—um—a kind of stuffed rice ball. With fried chicken inside."

Charity's eyes brightened. "Now that will sell. It's neat, tidy, looks adorable, and if it's delicious, you'll have a line in no time."

Balen nodded slowly. "Smart choice. Chicken onigiri… portable, filling, and versatile. You can prep the rice in batches, fry the chicken ahead of time, and wrap them as you go." He gave her a small grin. "Lass, you might have just found your specialty."

Marron blinked down at her notebook, where she'd sketched a rough triangle. Her heart gave a funny little flutter. A dish with heart. Something she loved, something she could be proud of.

"I'll try it," she said firmly, pencil scratching the words: Chicken Onigiri.

Charity leaned forward, teasing, "See? That wasn't so hard."

Lucy swayed happily. "Marron's chicken rice balls will protect everyone!"

Marron laughed despite herself, the nervous weight in her chest easing a little. For the first time since she'd heard of Whetvale, she didn't feel like she was stumbling in the dark.

This dish was hers.

Ding!

[Cockatrice Rice Ball has been registered as Your Signature Dish.]

That doesn't sound half-bad at all.

The cockatrice thighs looked intimidating in her hands—larger than any chicken back home, the meat darker, with faint streaks of mana-light shimmering in the skin. Marron swallowed hard, then set them on the counter with determination.

"Right," she muttered. "If I'm going to make chicken onigiri, I need to practice."

Balen had stayed, arms folded, watching her gather spices and bowls. "You planning a marinade first?"

"Yes. My mom used to marinate chicken before frying it. Soy sauce, ginger, garlic… though I don't know what half of those are called here." She frowned down at the jars she'd pulled from the System's store, sniffing and scribbling notes.

Balen leaned closer, amused. "You're overthinking. Just start simple and work up."

She tried—she really did. First attempt, too much gingerroot, and the bite made Balen cough and reach for water. Second attempt, bland, under-salted, left her sighing. The third time, though… the scent rising from the pan made Marron's stomach growl, warm and savory with just enough spice to tease the air.

Then came the frying.

The cockatrice thighs hissed in the pan, oil snapping, golden-brown crust forming on the outside. Marron beamed—until she realized she hadn't thought of a breadcrumb substitute.

"Oh no…" she muttered. "They're not crunchy enough."

"You don't need to buy crumbs," Balen said, smirking at her panic. He plucked a roll off the counter, already a day old. "Just let your bread dry out, then smash it into flakes. Voilà. Instant coating."

Marron stared at him, incredulous. "That works?"

"Of course it works. How do you think we manage without convenient shops in every town?" He handed her a rolling pin. "Go on, take out your frustrations on it."

She did—crushing the bread into uneven crumbs, laughing despite herself as Lucy cheered, "Smash! Smash!"

By the time she dipped the next batch of chicken, the coating clung perfectly. The smell filled the bakery, crisp and rich, and when she pulled the thighs out of the pan, the crackle of the crust nearly made her sigh in relief.

She waited, hands trembling, before slicing one piece open. Steam curled up, white meat glistening beneath the golden shell.

Tentatively, she popped a bite into her mouth.

The crunch gave way to juicy, flavorful meat, the marinade soaking into every fiber. It wasn't perfect—too salty, maybe, and the crust a little uneven—but it was hers.

Her chest warmed, a memory flickering of her mother setting down a plate of fried chicken in the quiet glow of midnight.

Balen bit into his own piece and gave a satisfied nod. "There you go, lass. That's a good start."

Marron let out a shaky laugh, relief bubbling up. The rice bag on the counter caught her eye, and for the first time, she could imagine it—the cockatrice fried chicken tucked into soft mana rice, wrapped neat, portable, and ready to sell.

Her first real dish for Whetvale.