My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

Usually, Mokko was a heavy sleeper. A chef he'd worked with in the past informed him he'd slept through an earthquake. So when he woke up to the sound of Marron's scream, he sat up, alert and worried. His paws groped around the nightstand for his glasses.

It wasn't a "I had a nightmare," or "I was totally surprised" scream. Instead, it was the kind that tore through the night air like a sword, full of terror and desperation.

"MOKKO!"

The voice was distant but unmistakably Marron's, and it was calling his name.

He scrambled out of bed and bumped into the table where Lucy's jar was kept. Mokko swore as it nearly tipped over, but caught it in time. "Lucy! Wake up!"

The slime stirred, her form rippling in the water. "What's wrong? Is it morning already?"

"Did you hear that?" Mokko asked, rushing to the sliding glass door. He threw it open and stepped onto the balcony, ears straining for any sound.

Nothing but the quiet night air of Whetvale.

"Hear what?" Lucy asked, now fully alert and bouncing in her jar.

Mokko stood there for a long moment, listening. Had he imagined it? Dreams could feel so real sometimes, especially when you were worried about someone.

He turned back toward the room and froze.

Marron's bed was empty, covers thrown back. Her emergency pack was gone from the corner where she always kept it.

"Lucy," he said quietly, a cold dread settling in his stomach. "Where's Marron?"

Lucy extended a tendril toward the empty bed. "Maybe she went to the bathroom? Or got hungry?"

But Mokko was already moving, checking the small bathroom attached to their quarters. Empty. He looked in the common area down the hall. Nothing.

When he returned to their room, his massive hands were shaking. That's when he saw the piece of paper on Marron's pillow.

Left to get the cart back. If you don't see me by morning, I'm in Whetvale Dungeon.

Get Charity and Halloway before you go.

I'm sorry.

-M

"No," Mokko whispered. "No, no, no."

Lucy read the note over his shoulder. "She went alone? After everything we talked about?"

The rage hit Mokko like a physical force. His first instinct was to charge out of the room, to bang on every door in the guild until he had an army ready to storm the dungeon. He could wake Halloway, demand answers, gather every available adventurer and—

He took a deep breath and forced himself to stop.

Breaking down doors wouldn't help Marron now. If she was already in the dungeon, charging in blindly would only get more people killed. He needed to think, to plan.

But first, he needed to calm down before he did something stupid.

Mokko moved to the small kitchenette in their quarters and began the familiar ritual of making his cinnamon milk drink. His hands still shook as he heated the milk, but the routine helped steady his mind.

The warm scent of cinnamon filled the room. It reminded him of better times, of quiet evenings when Marron would ask about his previous chefs while sipping her own tea.

"Mokko," Lucy said softly. "What do we do?"

"We wait until morning," he said, though the words tasted bitter. "Like her note says."

"But what if she's hurt? What if she needs help right now?"

Mokko stirred his drink slowly, watching the cinnamon swirl through the warm milk. "If we go charging in there tonight, we'll just make things worse. Marron knew that. That's why she left the note."

He sat down heavily in the chair by Marron's desk, cradling the warm mug in his large paws. That's when he noticed her journal, left open beside her pillow.

He shouldn't read it. Journals were private things, full of personal thoughts and fears.

But if it might help him understand why she'd made such a reckless choice...

The last entry was from today, written in Marron's careful handwriting:

About how he suspected her cart was, in fact, a Legendary Tool. Her pen moved feverishly across the page.

One of seven that shaped culinary history. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could be used as a conduit to power up a dungeon, making its monsters stronger. Maybe it can even make the dungeon deeper than the Adventurer's Guild can handle.

Mokko read on, seeing her fears laid out in black ink. Her worry that she wasn't really talented, that all her success came from the cart. Her guilt about being a "walking target" that put others in danger. Her terror that the cart would be used to create something unstoppable.

"She was scared," Lucy said quietly, reading over his shoulder again.

"Terrified," Mokko agreed. "Of losing the cart, but also of what would happen if she didn't act."

He closed the journal gently and set it back where he'd found it. Now he understood why Marron had felt she had no choice. The weight of responsibility, the fear of making things worse by waiting—he'd seen it crush other chefs before.

But understanding didn't make the waiting any easier.

Mokko settled into the chair by the window, his cinnamon milk growing cold in his hands. Lucy positioned herself on the windowsill, both of them staring out into the darkness in the direction of the dungeon.

"How many chefs have you lost?" Lucy asked after a long silence.

"Three," Mokko said quietly. "Two to dungeons, one to bandits who wanted the cart." He adjusted his glasses. "Each time, I told myself I should have done more. Should have been stronger, smarter, faster."

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

Mokko was quiet for a long moment. "Marron's different from the others. She's got good instincts, and she's tougher than she thinks. But dungeons..." He shook his head. "Dungeons don't care how tough you are."

The night stretched on. Neither of them slept. They took turns making tea and checking the time, counting down the hours until dawn when they could finally act.

As the first pale light of morning began to creep through the window, Mokko stood and stretched his aching joints. It was time.

"We'll get Charity first," he said, more to himself than to Lucy. "Then Halloway. Then we plan this properly."

He looked out the window one more time, toward where the dungeon waited in the growing light.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Marron."

But deep down, he was terrified that she didn't.

+

I won't be getting any more sleep tonight. Mokko settled into the large plush armchair by the window with his mug of cinnamon milk.

Lucy positioned herself on the windowsill, both of them staring out into the darkness in the direction of the dungeon.

"How many chefs have you lost?" Lucy asked after a long silence.

"Three," Mokko said quietly. "Two to dungeons. One to a bandit who wanted the food cart."

He took a sip and then adjusted his glasses.

"All three times, I knew I should have done more. They might still be alive if I had been stronger. Faster. Or smarter."

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

Mokko was quiet for a long moment. "Marron's different. She's got good instincts, and she's tougher than she thinks. But dungeons..." He shook his head. "Dungeons don't care how tough you are."

+

The night stretched endlessly ahead of them. Mokko tried to settle back into his chair, but every small sound made him jump. A creaking floorboard in the hall. Wind rattling the windows. The distant sound of someone returning late to the guild quarters.

Each time, his heart would race, thinking it might be Marron coming back safely.

It never was.

"Maybe we should have gone with her," Lucy said around midnight, her voice small and worried.

"She specifically asked us not to," Mokko replied, but his voice lacked conviction. "The note said to come alone."

"Since when do we listen to kidnappers?"

Mokko had no good answer for that. He made another cup of cinnamon milk, more for something to do with his hands than because he wanted it. The kitchen ritual helped calm his nerves, but only a little.

"I should have done more," he said quietly, staring into his mug. "Should have been watching her closer. Should have seen the signs that she was planning something."

"You're not her keeper," Lucy said, though she sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Aren't I?" Mokko adjusted his glasses. "That's literally my job. Protect the chef, protect the cart. I've been doing this for decades, and I let her slip away like a complete amateur."

Lucy extended a worried tendril toward him. "She's smart, Mokko. And stubborn. If she was determined to go, she would have found a way no matter what we did."

"The last chef who tried to tackle a dungeon..." Mokko's voice trailed off. He'd already told them that story earlier. No need to repeat the painful details.

They sat in silence for a while, both staring out the window toward the dungeon they couldn't see in the darkness.

Around two in the morning, Lucy moved from her jar to Mokko's shoulder, wrapping herself around his neck like a slime cat seeking comfort. Her cool, gelatinous form was oddly soothing against his warm fur.

"Tell me about the good chefs," she said softly. "The ones who made it."

So Mokko did. He told her about the chef who used the cart to feed refugees during the Goblin Wars. About the one who traveled to remote villages, bringing healing meals to places where doctors couldn't reach. About the chef who discovered that certain combinations of ingredients could cure magical ailments.

"Marron's like them," Lucy said when he finished. "She cares about people. She won't take stupid risks just for glory."

"I hope you're right."

The hours crawled by. Three in the morning. Four. Five.

As dawn broke over Whetvale, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds, Mokko stood and stretched his aching joints. His back protested from sleeping in the chair, and Lucy gave a small squeak as she readjusted her position on his shoulder.

He looked toward Marron's bed, hoping against hope that she might have snuck back during the night.

The bed was still empty.

"She's not back," Lucy said unnecessarily.

"No. She's not." Mokko's voice was grim. "Which means it's time to get help."

They gathered Marron's journal and note, along with a few other things that might be useful. Lucy settled herself more securely on Mokko's shoulder, her tendrils gripping his fur like a nervous passenger.

The guild hall was quiet in the early morning hours, but Mokko knew Halloway would be awake. The guildmaster was an early riser, always reviewing reports and planning the day's activities before most people were even out of bed.

Mokko knocked on the office door, his heart hammering.

"Come in," came Halloway's familiar voice.

The guildmaster looked up from a stack of papers, then frowned when he saw Mokko's expression. "What's wrong?"

"Marron's gone," Mokko said without preamble. "She went to the dungeon alone last night."

Halloway was on his feet immediately. "What? How? Why?"

Mokko handed over the note and journal. "Someone sent her a message about the cart. She thought she had no choice but to go alone."

Halloway read the note quickly, his face growing darker with each word. Then he flipped through the journal entries, taking in Marron's fears and doubts.

"This is exactly what I was afraid would happen," he said grimly. "The responsibility, the pressure... it's too much for someone so new to all this."

"Can we get her back?" Lucy asked from Mokko's shoulder.

Halloway set down the journal and looked at them both seriously. "We're going to try. But first, we need to know what we're dealing with. The dungeon's changed since yesterday—if they really do have a Legendary Tool in there, it could be much more dangerous than before."

He moved to his desk and began pulling out maps and reports. "We'll need a proper team. Experienced adventurers who know how to handle dungeon rescues."

"How long will that take?" Mokko asked, though he dreaded the answer.

"A few hours to assemble everyone. Maybe half a day to plan properly." Halloway looked up at him. "I know it feels like forever, but rushing in unprepared won't help Marron. It'll just get more people killed."

Mokko nodded, even though every instinct screamed at him to charge toward the dungeon right now. Lucy squeezed his shoulder supportively.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Marron," he whispered, echoing his words from the night before.

But as he watched Halloway organize what was essentially a rescue mission, Mokko's fear grew stronger. In his experience, the longer someone stayed missing in a dungeon, the less likely they were to come back alive.