Marron gasped when she saw the Whetvale Culinary Arena. It might have been a small town, but they spared no expense for this.
It was an open-air canopy threaded with twinkling lights and floating banners. There was decor carved from hillstone and flowerglass, adding a rustic elegance to the venue.
But it was the magic that truly made the Arena special. It bloomed in the air like pollen and when Marron got a whiff of it, she felt so much lighter. Like she'd never had a problem in her life.
I wonder what this air is made of. If I could bottle it up, I'd be a millionaire.
Soon, her excitement gave way to nervousness. She stood behind her assigned cooking station, trying not to fidget.
Comfort & Crunch had been wheeled into a side alcove and enchanted piping linked it to the arena's mana burners. There were even ingredient cooldown runes for the competition, so they could cook without overheating their equipment.
The crowd swelled in the stands and most of them were locals—but Marron could see other food carts, portable booths, and judges seated at elevated tasting thrones.
A voice caught her ear.
"There she is! The duck-fry girl. The critic wrote about her."
Marron flushed and glanced at the stands.
There she was.
That same velvet-clad woman from the other day, the Critic-Class monster. She lounged in the VIP gallery with her hat tilted low and her eyes sparkling. When Marron looked up, the critic gave her a single, slow nod.
She came just to watch me?
Marron's heart fluttered.
The competition hadn't even started yet—and her nerves were already boiling like broth left too long on the stove.
+
Then the music swelled, bold and sultry.
From a golden platform that rose from the center stage, the announcer shimmered into view.
She was tall, radiant, and dressed in a glittering velvet corset with feathered cuffs. Horns curled from her wavy pink hair, and her black heart-shaped tail flicked as she raised a jeweled microphone.
"Hello, flavor fiends! Welcome to the 12th Annual Tiny Cup of Whetvale! I'm Sweet Passion, your hostess with the mostest! I'll be bringing the heat to this delicious little showdown!"
The crowd roared.
Sweet Passion twirled, blowing kisses that left little glitter hearts in the air, her ample bosom bouncing as she charmed the audience.
"Twelve local chefs, three rounds, one golden travel pass to Frostfall on the line! Who's got the flavor, the vision, and the raw passion to claim the Cup? Let's meet our competitors!"
Names and booths were introduced in a flurry of magical light.
Marron barely heard hers. She was too busy scanning the other chefs.
Across from her stood a lean, quiet woman with honey-brown skin and her hair tied in a crisp scarf. Her booth gleamed with copper pots and neatly stacked bundles of dried herbs, wildroots, and grains.
"That's Elka Ferrowind," Mokko whispered. "Whetvale native. Her specialty's slow-cooked food using regional ingredients. She's got a loyal following." Marron followed Mokko's gaze and saw people wearing shirts printed with Elka's face.
Next to Elka was a wide-eyed, vine-wrapped chef named Luma, whose sleeves were literal fern fronds. Her station was a blooming greenhouse, and the scent of fresh basil and hot soil radiated from her prep counter.
"She uses living plants to enhance her meals," Mokko added. "It's like watching a salad perform opera."
Marron swallowed hard.
I don't have anything that flashy.
Don't have any local knowledge, live flora, or fancy infused smoke either.
Marron mumbled, "What I've got is dessert. Jelly and fruit..."
Whispers rose from the crowd again.
"She's a food stall chef?"
"Didn't even bring her own ingredient cooldown runes!"
"What can she possibly make with flowers and a slime?"
Lucy burbled cheerfully from her pouch.
Mokko bumped her with his snout. "Eyes forward, Chef. You made tears with fries. Now make magic with jelly."
She breathed out slowly and adjusted her apron.
"Yeah," she whispered. "Time to sparkle."
+
Tiny Cup – Round One: Theme Briefing and Preparation
Sweet Passion spun with theatrical flair as a scroll of parchment unrolled above the arena.
"All right, darling chefs! Our opening theme is… Balance of Elements!"
The parchment flashed with images: fire, water, wind, earth, light, and shadow—then vanished in a puff of rose petals.
"Your task: Present a dish that harmonizes at least two natural elements. Surprise us. Soothe us. Spark something unforgettable!"
A chime echoed through the arena.
[Round One: 60 minutes. Begin!]
Flames burst to life at the cook stations.
Steam hissed. Knives clanged. Herbs flew.
Marron moved quickly but methodically, drawing on her prep from the day before. She activated her cart's cooling rune and laid out the first layer of her jelly: chilled floral tea made from crushed moonbell blossoms and gleaming starlight petals.
Water and light, she thought. Subtle. Refreshing.
To balance it, she sliced some pear-apple hybrids ("Crisp snap and tart perfume!" Mokko said helpfully) and candied them in sugar infused with crushed glow bark.
The aroma drifted upward: sweet, bright, ethereal.
Marron layered the fruit carefully into a dozen crystal cups, each catching the morning light and refracting it in dazzling colors.
"Just like that summer pop-up," she whispered. "Except now... it matters more."
She looked up.
Luma was plating sizzling mushroom steaks wrapped in live basil leaves that pulsed with mana, the scent earthy and mouthwatering.
Elka was simmering a grain stew with root vegetables and braised bluejack hare, the aroma warm, homey, and nostalgic.
Marron's hands trembled for half a second.
I'm just making dessert.
No one expects me to win.
But then—
"You've got this, Chef Marron!"
She glanced toward the crowd.
A broad-shouldered man in muddy boots waved a turnip in the air. It was the farmer who'd traded with her earlier that week. He was shouting like he was family, and his cheeks were red.
"Show 'em what good ingredients can do!"
A grin crept onto her face.
He believes in me. So do Mokko and Lucy. That's all I need.
She leaned forward, the sunlight catching in her pink eyes. With practiced care, she spooned in the second layer: foam made from whipped herb milk and a single drop of memory syrup.
The top shimmered like a dream—flecks of gold from the citrus zest, crushed crystalmint for freshness, and a blooming violet set in the center like a jewel.
"Jellybloom Parfait," she said under her breath. "Light and magic in every bite."
+
As the final seconds ticked down, Sweet Passion twirled her microphone.
"And that's time, chefs! Step back from your stations and prepare for judgment!"
Tension crackled in the air.
The judges—three of them, cloaked in ceremonial aprons—descended the floating platform, silver spoons at the ready.
Each chef stood behind their dish.
Elka gave a respectful bow, her stew steaming like a mountain spring.
Luma offered her herb-wrapped steaks with a vine flourish.
Marron held her parfait tray like it was sacred.
Her heart thundered as the judges approached. The audience hushed.
"Taste," said the lead judge, lifting a spoon.
Please let it sparkle…