My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

The morning came too quickly.

Marron stirred awake to the pale light spilling across the inn room and the soft rustle of Mokko setting the table. Lucy was already wobbling happily near the counter, ribbon perked as though she could sense the day's importance.

Breakfast was simple—scrambled eggs, warm bread from the basket of staples, and the last of the fresh fruit Mokko had managed to buy downstairs. They ate quietly, each of them conserving their energy for what lay ahead. Marron felt every bite settle in her stomach like a steadying weight.

When the last plate was cleared (thanks again to Lucy's enthusiastic cleaning), Marron tied her apron and turned her attention to the food cart. She opened the cold box and exhaled in relief—the neatly packed chicken karaage onigiri were still perfectly chilled, each one wrapped in the parchment Charity had helped her source. Rows upon rows, ready to be handed out.

Beside them rested the bowl of deep violet dough for the ube beignets, soft and pliant, with its golden cheese filling tucked safely in a separate jar. Marron closed the lid gently, almost reverently. "Okay. We're ready."

Mokko hefted the food cart's handles with ease, while Marron kept Lucy tucked carefully at her side. Together, they made their way through the streets until the log walls of Whetvale's market square loomed ahead.

The moment they stepped through the wide archway, Marron's breath caught.

This wasn't like Whisperwind's scattered food stalls or Snakewater Cove's cozy riverbank market. Whetvale's marketplace was alive with sound and color—rows upon rows of vendors shouting greetings, clattering cookware, and the fragrant steam of a dozen cuisines mingling in the air.

Beastkin haggled with dwarves over pickled fish. Elves carried baskets of jewel-toned fruit. Goblins bartered for skewers sizzling with spiced meat. Even a pair of fungus-folk shuffled past, their mushroom caps glistening under the morning sun.

And unlike the other towns, there was order here. Every visiting vendor had their own marked square, neatly sectioned off by painted lines on the cobblestones.

Marron swallowed hard. Her square felt both too small and far too large all at once. She set her cart into place, adjusted the boxes of beignets and onigiri, and tried not to imagine herself as a child about to give a class presentation.

Her palms were damp. Her throat dry.

"It's time," Mokko said, steady as always.

Lucy gave a cheerful wobble, as though to second the thought.

Marron drew a long breath, feeling the air catch sharp in her chest before releasing it.

This was it—the first day of selling in Whetvale.

Marron smoothed her apron, adjusted the food cart's cloth one last time, and forced her hands to stay steady. If she kept hesitating, she'd never begin.

The sound of boots scuffing cobblestone made her glance up. A trio approached—two guards in light armor and a young woman carrying a satchel stuffed with scrolls. Their chatter hushed as they paused before her stall, drawn by the scent of frying oil and the sight of triangular rice balls.

The armored man with the grizzled beard tilted his head. "Smells good. What's on offer here?"

Marron's pulse hammered in her throat. Here it is. First customer. Don't freeze.

She bowed slightly, her voice softer than she intended. "Chicken karaage onigiri and… ube beignets filled with cheese. Both made fresh."

The younger guard's eyes lit up. "Never heard of a beignet before, but it sounds sweet." He glanced at his companions. "Shall we?"

"Three rice balls," the woman said briskly, adjusting her satchel, "and two of those… beignets."

Marron's heart gave a nervous leap. Five items. Right away.

She slid into motion, hands finding their rhythm despite the tremor running through her. Onigiri first—she unwrapped three neatly packaged rice balls, arranging them in a simple paper tray lined with parchment. The golden-brown karaage peeked invitingly from the triangle centers, just as Charity had advised her to present.

Then came the beignets. Marron lifted a scoop of violet dough, formed it into a square, and carefully dropped it into the oil. Its sizzle filled the air and as it puffed up into a faint purple pillow, Marron removed the beignets from the hot oil and let them cool.

She used a sharp knife and made a slit large enough to fill with melted cheese, and then dusted the fried pastries with powdered sugar. When she finished, they gleamed like violet gems in a snowy drift.

Marron set them side by side in a small paper box Charity had folded herself, the parchment beneath absorbing the faint sheen of oil.

"Three rice balls, two beignets," Marron said, sliding the trays forward with both hands. She forced herself to meet their eyes and smile.

The guards and their companion exchanged looks—then grinned. Coins clinked against the counter. "Looks better than half the taverns here," the older guard said. "Let's see if it tastes as good."

As they stepped away, Marron felt her knees nearly give out. Her palms tingled, her lungs burned as though she'd forgotten to breathe.

But she'd done it.

She successfully served her very first customers, and they sounded happy.

"Wow! So soft...the cheese works surprisingly well!"

"It's sweet and savory--this flavor is amazing!"

"The rice ball is still fluffy and the chicken is juicy! Never had flavors like this before..."

And behind them, more footsteps were already approaching.

+

Marron barely had time to steady her breath before the next group stepped forward—two beastkin women with sunhats and a dwarf lad bouncing at their side.

"What are those purple ones?" the boy asked, pointing with wide eyes.

"Ube beignets," Marron said, her voice smoother this time, more sure. "Fried fresh, with a savory cheese filling."

His mother chuckled. "He won't settle for anything else now. Two beignets, please."

Marron nodded, moving into the rhythm—scoop, fry, fill, dust. Her hands trembled less this time. She could feel the cart warming around her as Lucy washed the leftover dough and dishes, chirping happily whenever someone complimented the ribbon on her head.

Mokko stood quietly beside the cart, not looming but steady, guiding the line to the right so no one blocked the vendor space next to hers.

The rush built like a tide. Guards, travelers, shopkeepers on their way to open stalls—orders came one after another.

Some wanted a quick rice ball to eat with one hand while carrying goods in the other, others were lured by the crackle of oil and the sweet-scented sugar in the air. Marron's shoulders loosened as her motions grew automatic.

She began to notice things she hadn't at first—the flow of the marketplace itself.

Across from her, a goblin selling skewers barked loudly, waving sticks of charred meat in the air, drawing people over with his booming voice. To the left, an elf with braided hair worked silently but with incredible speed, handing out neat little boxes of salads and roasted nuts before a line could even form.

Further down, a siren perched on a stool used her lilting voice to sing a light, teasing melody about her baked fish pies, and sure enough, the melody carried her customers in like moths to flame.

Each vendor had their own style of commanding attention. Some shouted, some dazzled, some charmed. Marron realized that by comparison, her quiet approach might make her forgettable.

But then she saw the dwarf lad from earlier tugging on his mother's sleeve, grinning wide as sugar dust smeared his chin, and the two guards breaking their rice balls open mid-stride, nodding in approval.

Her food spoke for her.

The line grew longer. Marron leaned into the heat of the fryer, heart pounding, but a new kind of energy filled her chest. Not dread. Not panic. Something closer to exhilaration.

I can do this.