My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

"Alright," Charity declared, spreading her parchment mock-ups and scribbled notes across the bakery's table, "let's talk selling."

Marron immediately tensed. Numbers weren't her strong suit. Back home she used her debit card until the money ran out, and budgeting gave her headaches. "Uh… how complicated is this going to be?"

Charity shot her a grin. "Not complicated. You'd be asleep if I gave you the real breakdown. This is the short version."

Balen leaned against the counter, arms folded, already looking skeptical.

Charity tapped the parchment. "You've got two products: your savory onigiri and your sweet beignets. They're hot and portable. Now, if packaged right, they will be absolutely adorable. The goal isn't just to make 100g for your system, Marron! We need to profit."

She noticed Marron's face drain of all color.

"Stay with me, it's okay. Don't panic! I'll worry about margins. You just need to know the story you're telling with each dish."

Marron blinked. "Story?"

"Of course!" Charity beamed, snapping her fingers. "Every dish has a story. The rice balls are hearty—good for travelers, guards, working folk who need something filling in one hand and a sword in the other. The beignets? They're playful, indulgent, the kind of thing you bring home to make your kids squeal or impress a sweetheart with. Different vibes, different markets."

Marron scratched her cheek. "You make it sound… like theater."

"Exactly!" Charity sang. "Food is half flavor, half feeling. Get both right, and people pay whatever you ask."

Balen cleared his throat. "Or you set a fair price so folk don't curse your name."

Charity rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, practicality. Which is why I'm here. Marron, just picture it—someone buying a warm rice ball for the road, then later, at the tavern, opening a pretty box of violet sugar-dusted beignets. They'll remember you."

Marron pressed her palms together nervously. "Remember me… is that a good thing?"

Balen gave her a steady look. "Depends how you cook."

Charity didn't let the doubt linger. She spun her parchment back around and scrawled a few quick lines with her quill. "Alright, taglines. You don't have to recite them, but people will see them on your packaging."

She cleared her throat dramatically, earning an eye roll from Balen.

"For the rice balls: 'Strength in every bite! A full belly for the road ahead.'"

Marron tilted her head. "That… sounds like an advertisement."

"It is an advertisement!" Charity shot back, laughing. "Do you want a tired guard on patrol to think, 'eh, I'll just skip food?' No! You want him to think, 'if I eat this, I'll feel stronger.' Words plant ideas, Marron."

Before Marron could argue, Charity flipped her parchment and read the next line with a flourish:

"And for the beignets: 'Sweet as a kiss, warm as a hug—make your day a little brighter.'"

Marron nearly dropped her rag. "That's embarrassing to say out loud!"

"Which is why you don't have to. The box will." Charity tapped her sketch of the violet ribbon-wrapped container. "A ribbon, a tag, a little printed phrase—suddenly, people are smiling before they even taste it."

Balen huffed. "You'd sell rainwater to a man in a storm."

"Correction," Charity said primly, "I'd sell him a cup to drink it from."

Marron stared at her, caught between laughter and awe. Slowly, her expression softened. "You're… really passionate about this, Charity."

Charity's grin gentled into something proud. "Of course I am. My mission in the Culinary Guild is to make sure chefs don't underprice themselves just to move product. Too many talented people work themselves raw and sell for scraps. I can't stand it."

She tapped Marron's wrist lightly. "I know you aren't a member, but I want to help anyway. Because if you don't value yourself, who else will?"

The words struck Marron deep. For a heartbeat, she couldn't answer, only clutch her apron with damp palms.

Balen, watching them, finally sighed. His expression softened, the hard edges mellowing. "She hates it when people undercut just to sell food," he said quietly.

Charity sniffed. "Because food deserves better. Chefs deserve better."

And for once, Marron found herself agreeing wholeheartedly.

She laughed weakly, then sobered when Charity slid one of the parchment slips toward her. Written in neat columns were tiny numbers—ingredient costs, parchment wraps, ribbon for boxes, even charcoal for frying. Marron's eyes swam.

"Charity…" she groaned, "this looks like math homework."

"Which is why I'm not making you do it." Charity winked. "I'll handle the boring bits. You focus on making sure the food warrants the prices. Fair deal?"

Marron nodded in relief, though a small knot of guilt lingered. Was she leaning on Charity too much?

But before the doubt grew, Charity leaned across the table, her grin mischievous. "Don't overthink it, Marron. I wouldn't put this much effort into you if I didn't think you could succeed. If anyone's going to charm Whetvale with food, it's you."

The warmth in Marron's chest spread like rising bread. She looked down at her ink-smudged fingers, smiling shyly. "Alright. I'll do my best."

Balen smirked. "That's all anyone can ask. Just don't burn the beignets tomorrow."

"Balen!" she squawked, swatting at him.

The laughter that followed lightened the Commons, carrying far into the twilight.

As the laughter faded, Marron caught sight of the half-finished inn outside, its beams stretching toward the sky. The thought settled heavy again—if this little business failed, what would happen to all of Meadowbrook's hopes?

She pressed her apron nervously. "Charity… what if nobody buys them?"

Charity's smile softened. "Then we try again."

Marron swallowed hard, trying to believe it.

Trying again… that's so familiar.

She lifted her chin. "Okay, but first I have to do something important."

Charity blinked. "What could be more important than setting up your success in Whetvale?"

"Making sure somebody's around to cook in Meadowbrook." Marron said. "One of the dwarves was interested in learning from me earlier, and he said he'd be passing by soon."

"Oh! I almost forgot about that. All right, me and Balen will leave you to it, then!"

She clapped Balen's back rougher than she meant to, and he almost choked on a bread roll.

"Careful!"