My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

"Luckily, I do," Mokko said cheerfully. "Beignets were ten gold apiece, rice balls were twenty. We made fifty of each to start. It adds up fast."

Before she could even respond, her system chimed in her mind, neat and undeniable:

[Earnings calculated: 1,500 gold.]

[Quest updated: Surpass 100g in Whetvale. COMPLETE.]

[Reward: +200 XP, Minor Fame in Whetvale, Encouragement Buff applied.]

Warmth filled her chest at the words.

Minor Fame in Whetvale.

Already?

That meant people would remember her name.

Her nervousness dulled, just slightly, under the encouragement buff thrumming like invisible sunlight at her back.

She was building something real using her cooking skills.

Maybe if I had explored this during my time on Earth...things could have been different.

Marron wasn't sure if there was any truth to that. She had been a sales director and part of her salary went to her mom's diner, which had already been behind on payments.

And as much as she loved her mother, Marron wouldn't leave her apartment to move back in with her.

+

That particular thread disappeared though, as Mokko wheeled her food cart closer to the marketplace. Gradually, the sounds outside grew louder—laughter, footsteps, the rustle of bags, and the faint chant of a merchant calling for "hot buns, fresh cider!"

Her potential customers stepped back as the food cart slowly made its way toward their designated spot in the marketplace. As Marron started to set up, dozens of faces lined up in front of her food cart.

Out of the corner of her eye, Marron saw townsfolk, travelers, adventurers with dusty cloaks, even a pair of elves who already had their coin purses in hand.

"Word really spread overnight," Mokko said, a hint of pride in his voice. He grabbed a small board and, with a quick scratch of charcoal, added a new line beneath the cart's sign:

Home of the Original Ube Beignets.

He fastened it under "Comfort & Crunch," then gave Marron a toothy grin. "Looks like you started a trend."

She finished setting up and had enough time to look across the square. Instantly, her heart did a nosedive. Every other stall had some shade of violet on their counters. 'Ube'-inspired muffins, shakes, and candy sticks.

Marron held onto Mokko's words from last night for comfort:

"This thing you call ube doesn't exist in Savoria, as far as I know. We have purple potatoes, but they aren't this mild tasting. They can try imitating you, but unless they're like you, Chef, they can't duplicate this recipe."

Lucy must have noticed how nervous she was, because she tapped her glass jar until Mokko opened it for her. Then, Lucy poked a tendril onto Marron's cheek to get her attention.

"Remember," she said slowly. "they don't have Marron's story. Just pretend to have your recipe."

She smiled and nodded, petting Lucy's head.

"Thanks. I'll try to remember. They can try to copy me, but they still won't beat the original."

Mokko nodded. "Exactly. Ready to open?"

"Yes. Everyone to your stations!"

Lucy prepared to wash the dishes and Mokko approached a separate counter for handling orders and payment.

When Mokko hung the Comfort & Crunch sign, he officially declared, "We're open!"

And the second day begun.

+

The line didn't shrink. If anything, it grew. Every time Marron handed over a neatly packaged beignet or rice ball, two more people seemed to appear in its place. Yesterday, that would've left her flustered, hands trembling, heart pounding with the dread of falling behind.

But today—today was different.

The moment her system window blinked with [Mass Production Activated], the rhythm changed. Her hands moved faster and ingredients were portioned with uncanny precision. Chicken, rice, and seasonings folded together perfectly, not a grain out of place.

And whenever she finished an onigiri and put it on the counter, it doubled itself in front of her eyes.

Beignet dough formed cleanly, frying to a perfect golden brown with a hiss of oil. Marron's hands moved automatically, piping some cheese inside each hot pastry before dusting them with powdered sugar and setting them gently into their boxes.

Instead of struggling to keep pace, she found herself ahead.

Mokko grinned from the till, coins clinking steadily into the gold box. "Three rice balls and a box of six beignets! Next!" His claws scratched notes onto a slate tally board as he called out orders, his voice carrying across the square.

Lucy zipped between them like a cheerful assistant, her tendrils catching stray sugar dust before it could land anywhere messy.

Marron allowed herself a breath, her chest swelling with something she hadn't expected—control. She wasn't drowning in orders anymore. She was riding the wave.

A dwarf woman clapped after biting into her beignet, sugar sparkling on her beard. "Sweet Ancestors, that's good!" She tore the pastry in half, and a ribbon of cheese stretched between the halves, making the onlookers in line gasp.

Her companions immediately placed their orders too, adding to the growing cheer that rippled through the line. Marron met their excitement with a shy but steady smile, sliding another box forward.

For the first time since arriving in this strange world, she was thriving, not just surviving.

And judging by the still-lengthening line stretching out of her square, the day was only just beginning.

The day had barely stretched into noon and the line hadn't shrunk.

I'm ready for them now.

+

Unfortunately, while she was ready for them, the system couldn't double ingredients out of thin air. Today's sales were going smoothly.

Far too smoothly, if Marron were being honest. It was only a matter of time before disaster struck.

Marron removed another batch of beignets from the oil and piped some cheese into each one before dusting them with sugar. The crowd gasped at every gooey pull, the word spreading like wildfire. Everyone wanted a taste.

"This is good, but nothing beats the beignets from that girl's stall! It's the perfect blend of sweet and savory."

Orders stacked up, but for once, she wasn't flustered—her mass production kept her hands steady, efficient.

Then Mokko's voice cut through the rhythm. "Uh… Marron? We're almost out of cheese."

Her stomach dropped. She glanced at the basket—only three small cubes left. Barely enough for one more order.

Panic fluttered, but she shoved it down. Okay. Pivot. Don't freeze. Her eyes darted to the dough, to the sugar, and she knew she could also make some ube-flavored cream.

If something went wrong at the company, we just treated it like a sign to try something new.

Looks like I'll be doing the same thing here. I just hope they enjoy it.