My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

They followed him down a side hall, past thick wooden doors and shelves lined with dried herbs and old trophies. Marron's companions stayed close—Lucy jiggling quietly with her tendrils folded inward, Mokko padding in silence. The hall was quiet save for the muffled clinks of cookware and the faint hum of rune-lamps.

When they entered his office, Halloway gestured for them to sit. The old desk before him was scattered with parchment, ink stains, and an oddly pristine tea set. He poured himself a cup, but didn't drink right away.

"You're quiet, Marron," he said at last.

She tried to find her voice. "I didn't know food could be used like that. To heal people."

His eyes crinkled with something between pride and sadness. "Most don't, these days." He leaned back in his chair, steam curling from his untouched tea.

"The art of healing cuisine has dwindled over the last century. It takes patience and restraint. Doesn't win any applause in cooking contests, either."

Marron blinked. "But… why? Isn't saving lives—"

"Not glamorous," Halloway interrupted gently. "Most guild chefs prefer the bold paths. Most enjoy combat cooking, because they can use spice to scorch foes. Some dishes can give people a literal fire in their bellies, or make mages shoot lightning from their fingertips."

He sighed. "It's dramatic and easy to market. Adventurers can't get enough of it."

He reached for a parchment on his desk and slid it toward her. A sketch of a young man with wild white hair stood above a note: Balen—Pyroclast Chef. Specializes in incendiary oils and combustion spice blends.

Halloway sighed. "A few, like Balen, want to increase attack power or make things explode. That's fine. It has its uses. But too few devote themselves to the gentler side of our craft. Comfort and healing food, especially. I worry this type of cuisine will vanish, simply because my guildsmen aren't interested."

The words weighed heavy in the room.

Marron looked down at her hands, remembering the lamb adobo simmering in her pot, the fried chicken wrapped in onigiri, the mushroom custard toast that made an elf smile because it was made just for her.

Comfort food. That was a world she knew better than anyone, because of her mother.

She could hear her voice now, tucked deep in the corners of her memories.

Sometimes, we need comfort to keep us going, Marron. In storms, sickness, or even in the dark--food is what helps us last.

Her throat ached. She bit her lip and whispered, "But if it disappears… who will make food that helps people live?"

Halloway looked at her then—really looked—and Marron thought she saw a glimmer of hope hidden behind the stern lines of his face.

"That," he said softly, "is the question I ask myself every day."

The spark that started in her chest was a full-blown fireball now. There was an invisible thread pulling her toward a stove she hadn't yet lit.

She didn't know if she could make dumplings that stitched wounds, or broths that rewove strength. But she knew adobo lasted people through floods, and her Aegis Chicken Rice had increased Borin's defense. She knew what a single bite of custard toast meant to a lonely customer.

Even if it wasn't magical, food could heal people. It was what her mom strived to deliver every day she worked at the diner.

She straightened in her chair, her pulse still racing. "Then I want to try. Not just to fill bellies or win praise—but to heal. Even if it's small."

Mokko's tail flicked with approval. Lucy bounced with a tiny squeak.

For the first time, Guildmaster Halloway smiled fully, the weariness in his features softening. "Good. Hold on to that. Because once you start chasing the applause of crowds, it's easy to forget the quiet miracles."

Marron nodded, even though she hadn't officially said she wanted to join the guild. As they left the Culinary Guild, she didn't know what her first step would be.

But she'd find it.

"Come back anytime you want to officially join us," Guildmaster Halloway had said before they left his office.

"especially since you want to learn healing cuisine."

+

Back at the inn, Marron leaned back in her chair. Her emotions were still the same. She wanted to try to make healing cuisine. But even as her conviction solidified, the familiar flicker of her system interface shimmered in her vision.

Ding!

[Recipe Roster Analysis: Current protein trend—chicken dominant. Fried chicken onigiri, chicken-based broth, projected comfort-food pathways suggest poultry specialization.]

Marron blinked, half-startled, half amused. "So Whetvale's going to think I'm the 'chicken chef,' huh?" she muttered.

Mokko's ears twitched. "What did it say?"

"That most of my dishes use chicken." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Guess that makes it my specialty for now."

Marron wasn't upset by the idea. Fried chicken was already her cornerstone, and chicken was versatile, approachable, comforting—something almost everyone ate. But she also felt a spark at the reminder: she would branch into desserts again, eventually. Marshmallows and donuts had only been the beginning.

Still, if her dishes were leaning toward chicken, maybe she could use that instead of fighting it.

[New Inspiration Detected: Ginger Chicken Congee (healing-oriented). Optional additions available: shredded chicken for protein depth, toasted garnish for crunch and texture.]

The idea warmed her chest.

A dish for weary bodies and quiet mornings. Food that healed with warmth and care, without any runes being casted.

She could already imagine the way the shredded chicken would drift through the porridge, the ginger's warmth slipping down into bones, the crunch on top reminding the eater they were still alive, still whole.

Her fingers drummed on the desk, restless with energy now. She wanted to start a pot immediately.

Mokko's eyes flicked toward her. "Something on your mind, Marron?"

She grinned sheepishly. "Just… an idea for tomorrow. Something simple. Something healing."

"For breakfast?" He had made the milky cinnamon drink again, and put it in a mug for her. It was awfully similar to horchata.

Marron took a sip and nodded.

"Maybe. I want to make a healing dish, and...I think I know how to cook it." She heard Guildmaster Halloway's voice again, in the same tired but hopeful tone.

Hold on to that. Because once you start chasing the applause of crowds, it's easy to forget the quiet miracles.

Well, tomorrow she was going to try making a quiet miracle of her own.