My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

The atrium still smelled of smoke and fish, but beneath was the smell of metal left to rust in the rain. Before it was taken away, the memory of the mimic thrashing inside the magic cage was burned in the hair itself.

Marron remained seated at the long judges' table, spoon untouched beside the other abandoned dishes. Her fingers clutched her apron for dear life. Her heart was still thrashing like a kicking jackrabbit against her ribs.

In the chaos, the other contestants' plates were still there, warm on the table. A sea-elf's collapsed soufflé, the dwarf's perfectly carved lamb, the woman's delicate tart. All of it overshadowed by the one dish that had revealed a monster.

I wish we had the luxury of telling them what was happening, but the Guildmaster wanted it to be as realistic as possible.

Lucy's tendrils wrapped gently around her wrist, cooler than usual. "Mar-Mar… it's okay now. It's caught."

Mokko crouched at her side, his massive frame somehow making her feel safer. His tail hung low, ears pinned back in a way that made him look almost like a worried dog rather than a fearsome guardian. He studied her face as if checking for injuries that didn't show on the surface.

"You stood up to it," he said, his voice unusually serious. "You're braver than you think."

Marron tried to smile, but her throat felt lined with sawdust. "Not bravery. Its food tasted empty, like I had to literally swallow lies."

Her words drew murmurs through the hall, from people who weren't easily scared away. Guild chefs and guest adventurers were there in nervous clusters, voices low and shaky. Some looked at her with new respect, like she'd passed a test that no one knew was happening.

Others watched her with unease, as though she had glimpsed something unnatural that marked her as different.

A few of the younger chefs whispered among themselves, stealing glances at her. She caught fragments:

"...tasted deception itself..."

"...how did she know..."

"...what if there are more..."

Marron felt deeply uncomfortable.

To be honest, if I hadn't known it was a mimic, I probably would have enjoyed its food. On the surface, it's perfectly palatable. But there's no deeper story.

Guildmaster Halloway rose at the head of the room, and the whispers died instantly. He looked older somehow. Like they now saw how his broad shoulders carried years of weight and responsibility.

"I'll interrogate the creature myself," he said, his voice cutting through the hush like a clean blade through silk. "It's bound, but we take no risks. Four guardsmen will accompany me."

At his gesture, armored figures stepped forward from the shadows near the hall's entrance. Marron hadn't even noticed them arrive, but now she understood why.

Their gear was unlike anything she'd seen—leather armor reinforced with shimmering dragon scales. They wore helmets carved with runes that shifted when she wasn't looking directly at them. Their polearms hummed faintly with contained magic.

"Anti-mimic gear," someone whispered behind her. Enchanted equipment designed to resist the people-hunting shapeshifters. The sight made several of the gathered chefs step back involuntarily.

"Triple the wards around the dungeon cells," Halloway continued, his gaze sweeping the room. "If it breaks free, I want half the city to feel the magical backlash. We cannot allow this creature to move unseen again."

He paused, his eyes finding Marron across the nervous crowd. For just a heartbeat, his expression softened—not quite a smile, but something warmer than the cold authority he'd been projecting. A acknowledgment, maybe. Or gratitude.

Then the moment passed, and he turned toward the exit. "Clear the hall. Return to your duties. And remember—trust your instincts. They may be all that stands between us and the next deception."

The guards formed a silent wedge around him as he strode out, their enchanted armor clanking softly in rhythm. The atrium doors shut behind them with a heavy boom that seemed to echo longer than it should, leaving the hall buzzing with uncertainty and barely contained fear.

Charity exhaled sharply, fanning her flushed face with her notebook. Ink stains marked her fingers where she'd gripped her quill too tightly during the confrontation. "Gods above and below. A mimic in Whetvale. In our own guild halls. Do you all understand what this means?"

A young chef with flour still dusting his sleeves shook his head, his face pale as parchment. "That they've been here all along? That any of us could be—"

"No," interrupted a stern-faced woman Marron recognized from the herb gardens. Her voice carried the authority of experience. "It means the dungeon at the outskirts isn't done bleeding into our borders. Dungeons spawn aberrations—things that shouldn't exist in our world. When the barriers weaken, creatures slip through like poison seeping into clean water."

"And if one mimic's already made it to the city center..." Charity's voice trailed off, but her meaning hung heavy in the air.

"Then more will follow," finished the herb gardener grimly. "Maybe not mimics. Maybe worse."

The room erupted in frightened voices. Several guild professionals' careful composure cracked under the weight of implications.

"We should form an expedition to investigate the dungeon—"

"Are you mad? We're cooks, not adventurers!"

"Someone has to act before another monster walks into town wearing a friendly face!"

"What if it had children? What if there are young mimics learning to hunt?"

"Enough!" Charity's voice cut through the babble. "Panic serves no one. The guildmaster will handle the interrogation. The Royal Guard will deal with the dungeon threat. We need to do our jobs and trust our training."

+

Marron barely heard the debate happening around her. She sat quietly and touched her spoon while the taste of mimic Balen's dish lingered, like sawdust in her mouth.

If food truly was a window into the soul, then a mimic was nothing but a shadow pretending to cast a reflection.

The thought made her stomach churn. How many times did the creature sit on this very table? It ate with guild members, laughed at their jokes, and listened to their concerns.

How many recipes did it memorize? Does it know any deep culinary secrets?

+

Lucy squeezed her wrist tighter, the slime's cool touch grounding her in the present moment. Mokko leaned closer, his warm breath ruffling her hair.

"You don't have to go chasing dangers into dark places," he whispered, concern in his voice.

"But now you know what they can do. People respect the Culinary Guild for a reason. They hold some despicable creatures beyond these walls."

Marron nodded faintly, though she was still trying to process everything.

+

The path forward was unclear. Would it lead her deeper into the guild's protective embrace? Or would she be subjected to dangerous places, where monsters faked comfort like a warm shawl?

I do know one thing, though. If another mimic showed up, I can tell if it cooks a dish for me.

She could taste the lies beneath the perfect technique.

Is that my edge? Besides having my food cart? Being a mimic lie detector?

If it was, it made her valuable and vulnerable in ways she was only starting to understand.