My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

The stranger ate in silence.

From behind her counter, Marron tried not to stare, but her nerves were taut as bowstrings. Every movement they made was careful, deliberate. First, the chicken onigiri. They broke it in half, studying the golden-fried crust, then bit down slowly. Their expression didn't change, but their eyes flickered, sharp and assessing.

Next, the mushroom custard toast. They took a long moment to inhale the steam rising from its golden surface, then ate it with the same patient pace. Beignets, donut holes, the fizzing green soda—all judged in quiet bites, swallowed without fanfare.

Around them, the marketplace continued to bustle, but it felt to Marron like the square had narrowed to this one table.

Finally, the stranger finished the last donut hole and rose. Coins clinked onto the bench, a generous tip, before they adjusted their cloak and stepped away.

That was when someone gasped.

"Wait—that's… Guildmaster Halloway?!"

The name rippled through the nearby crowd like a stone tossed into a pond. Marron's head whipped around, eyes wide. Guildmaster?

One brave merchant darted forward, bowing low. "Sir, please—what did you think of the food?"

Halloway paused, his hood shadowing his features, but his voice carried clear and steady across the square.

"I don't regret ordering any of the meals Chef Marron cooks. They display unusually high-level cooking, especially for someone without guild affiliation."

A hush fell. Then, as if someone had struck flint to tinder, the crowd erupted in whispers, their eyes flicking between Marron's humble cart and the retreating figure of the Culinary Guild's master.

Marron stood frozen, her hands still dusted with sugar, her heart pounding.

+

Marron's fingers tightened on the edge of the counter as the whispers washed over her.

"Even the Culinary Guildmaster enjoys her food?"

"Does that mean she's better than the Silver Spoon chef?"

"She's just a street vendor! But if the guildmaster himself approves…"

Marron's face burned. Better than the Silver Spoon chef? Not in a million years. She'd eaten at restaurants like that back home. Refined, meticulous, leagues above her little experiments with rice balls and beignets.

But the crowd wasn't thinking like her. Their eyes glittered with excitement, their voices louder with each passing second.

And then, cutting through the hum like a knife, came a silken laugh.

"Oh? Better than me?"

The crowd shifted as a tall woman strode forward, her silver hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. Dressed in tailored whites trimmed with green silk, she carried herself with a confidence that made the marketplace feel suddenly smaller.

Whispers rose again—Chef Zehra. The Silver Spoon.

Zehra's gaze swept across Marron's cart, lingering on the soda jars, the neatly boxed orders, and finally on Marron herself. Her lips curved, not quite a smile.

"I don't know about that. But why don't we find out?" Her voice rang with playful challenge, though her eyes were sharp. "Are you ready to wage in a culinary duel, Chef Marron?"

Marron's breath caught, her heart hammering so hard it nearly drowned out the crowd's gasp. A duel? With her?

She opened her mouth—whether to accept or refuse, she couldn't even tell.

But before she could speak, another voice cut in. Calm, steady, commanding.

"That won't be necessary."

Guildmaster Halloway had returned, his presence alone silencing the crowd. He stepped forward, cloak brushing against the cobblestones, his gaze moving from Zehra to Marron.

"This is not the arena for such a contest. Nor is Marron yet part of the guild." His eyes narrowed slightly, unreadable. "If there is to be a duel, it will be under proper terms—and at my discretion."

Zehra tilted her head, her smile sharpening like glass. "As you wish, Guildmaster. But I look forward to the day."

+

Marron's throat was dry, her mind blank.

Dueling against the Silver Spoon's head chef? That's not just recklessness, it's suicide.

But before she could even form a word, Guildmaster Halloway's voice rang out, quiet yet cutting enough to still the crowd.

"That won't be necessary."

The marketplace hushed. All eyes turned to him as he stepped forward, his cloak whispering against the cobblestones. He carried none of Zehra's showmanship, yet his calm presence seemed to command the square.

Now she saw him without the hood: A tall, muscular man with salt-and-pepper hair. There were gray streaks on his trimmed beard. And his eyes were impossibly brown and kind.

"Marron is not part of the guild," Halloway continued evenly, his voice deep and sure. "And even if she were, I would not permit a duel to be decided so hastily. A culinary duel is not for sport—it is trial by fire, with reputations, livelihoods, and sometimes even establishments on the line."

His gaze flicked briefly toward Marron, sharp but steady. "She does not yet understand what she would be walking into."

The words hit Marron like a lifeline. He wasn't belittling her—he was protecting her.

Zehra raised an elegant brow, lips curling in the faintest smirk. "So our guildmaster shields her? My, my. That alone speaks volumes."

Halloway didn't rise to the bait.

He simply folded his arms.

"You know me, Zehra. I want fairness for all chefs. Marron is still finding her footing, while you have established yourself as an A-class restaurateur. Besides..." Halloway's gaze lingered on her food cart.

It was prettier than it had been in the beginning. The weathered wood now looked brand-new, and there were faintly glowing runes etched along its side.

"She has skills and tools most chefs would kill for. Not to mention, a culinary guardian." His steel-blue eyes looked up into Mokko's golden ones. The large bear adjusted his glasses and sniffed. "I came with the cart."

Halloway nodded. "So to rush her into an arena now would waste her potential, the cart's, and possibly anger her guardian."

The crowd gasped. Marron's head snapped toward him, heart lurching. He knows.

Zehra's eyes glittered like a knife's edge. "Ah. Then I was right."

Halloway's expression remained unreadable, but his tone carried finality. "Enough. Marron will cook when she chooses, not when provoked. Until then, let her customers speak for her."

The tension hung heavy, the crowd buzzing with whispers again.

But no one dared press further.

Marron, on the other hand, had a thirst to prove herself beneath all of the shock.