The judging platform shifted and glided across the floating prep stages before stopping in front of Elka Ferrowind.
Marron was surprised Elka didn't have more fans. Now that she wasn't running around trying to finish a dish, she could observe her fellow contestants properly.
Elka's deep tan glowed beneath the stage lights, and her golden eyes were wide with shock.
I guess she didn't expect to be judged first.
She removed the black chef's head wrap she usually wore and the audience was in awe. Elka had white ringlets that fell down her back like a waterfall.
When she presented her dish, Marron instantly wished she had some to eat too.
Elka's Dish: Whetvale Harvest Stack
It was a large white bowl filled with Whetvale delicacies: braised bluejack hare with gleaming root vegetables and a golden mana-infused sea of rice. It was garnished with crispy onions, delicate dandelion caps, and a drizzle of sweet orange glaze.
Elka folded her arms behind her back and bowed.
"I made this dish to honor my roots. Before I got a job as a chef, I hunted rabbits and cooked them in my hometown."
The dwarf judge took one bite and sighed.
"Mmm. Feels like I just chopped wood and sat down to a warm supper."
The dryad murmured, "Sustainable magic, rooted in place. It's seasonal cuisine at its best."
The parchment judge nodded. "Not innovative, but deeply regional. Precise."
The audience clapped softly—respectfully. Elka nodded, her face calm but proud.
Next was Balen.
Balen's Dish: Volcano Puff Pastry with Flame-Crack Cheese
A towering pastry dome stuffed with duskbeast ragu and emberleaf peppers, crowned with enchanted cheese that shimmered with latent fire mana.
"I wanted the dish to explode on the tongue," Balen said, cocky grin in place. "I want the judges to feel the heat—then the layers."
The pastry cracked audibly under the knife.
The dwarf blinked. "By the forge. That's bold."
The dryad fanned herself. "This is practically a potion of energy. I feel… hyper-aware."
The parchment judge arched a brow. "Aggressive but clever. Hidden warmth beneath the flash."
Balen grinned and flexed for the crowd. A rowdy cheer rose from the front row.
Then came Luma's dish.
Luma's Dish: Spiritleaf Wraps with Mana Jasmine & Blossom Glaze
Five delicate leaf wraps—each glowing faintly, paired with floral reductions. One for each season.
Luma smiled softly. "Each wrap reflects a time of year. I wanted them to harmonize with the eater's mana."
The dryad took one bite and nearly teared up. "This is spring."
The dwarf judge nodded. "Delicate. Subtle. Too gentle for my taste—but undeniably graceful."
The parchment judge murmured, "Excellent control. Slightly under-seasoned. But… cohesive."
Applause swelled. "WE LOVE YOU, LUMA!" someone shouted. She blushed and waved.
Then came the final judging platform. Marron's stage.
Her dish sat quietly under its dome.
Golden mana rice, fanned slices of caramel-glazed chicken, and beside it, a gently steaming caramel pudding on its own small plate, catching the light like a memory made edible.
No tricks. No dramatics. Just warmth and clarity.
The dome lifted.
The judges leaned in.
The dwarf cut into the chicken. Juices glistened. Steam curled like incense.
He took one bite, then covered his eyes with a hand.
"I wasn't ready," he whispered. Then ate more, faster.
The dryad scooped rice and meat together. The citrus-honey glaze clung gently to the grains.
Her petals fluttered. "It tastes like waking up in a warm bed after a night of tears. It… steadies you."
The parchment judge waited. He took a single spoonful of the pudding. The caramel cracked like amber as he dipped in.
He closed his eyes.
"…I lost my mother in spring," he said quietly. "I didn't cry until just now."
He dabbed his eyes with a linen napkin. "This is not showmanship. It's memory cooking."
The silence stretched like pulled taffy. Then, from somewhere in the upper seats, an elderly woman's voice cracked the quiet:
"That's... that's how my daughter used to make pudding. Before the plague took her."
The confession rippled through the arena. A young man in the middle section wiped his nose with his sleeve. "My grandfather's Sunday chicken," he whispered to his companion, but the acoustics carried his words. "Down to the way the skin crackles."
One by one, voices began to surface from the crowd—not cheers, but memories spoken aloud like prayers:
"Tastes like coming home from university..."
"Like the morning after I got married..."
"Like forgiveness..."
Marron's knees almost buckled. She hadn't just fed people. She'd unlocked something deeper—a collective ache for comfort that lived in everyone's chest, waiting.
The dwarf judge set down his fork with reverent care. "In forty years of judging, I've never seen a dish make an entire arena remember love."
High above, Sweet Passion stood frozen for once, tail wrapped around her wrist like a silk ribbon.
"Darling," she said, voice raw with emotion, "that's not brunch. That's a healing spell on a plate."
The arena erupted.
Even Balen clapped.
Elka gave a single nod.
Luma whispered, "She did it."
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
Judges' Scores: Final Round Results – Locked.
→ Elka: 166 points
→ Balen: 158 points
→ Luma: 170 points
→ Marron Louvel: 193 points
[Tiny Cup Champion: Marron Louvel – Comfort & Crunch]
[Prize Unlocked: Golden Travel Pass – Region: Frostfall]
[Appliance Upgrade Installed: Self-Cleansing Steam Oven – Tier II]
[Golden Vendor License: Frostfall Market Zone]
[New System Feature Unlocked: Ghost Waiter for Customer Queueing]
Lucy burst from her station like a gelatinous firework, raining celebratory sugar sprinkles.
Mokko wiped a suspicious tear from beneath his glasses and muttered, "I told her. Didn't I tell her?"
Marron stood motionless, stunned.
"I… won?"
Sweet Passion shimmered beside her in a puff of vanilla smoke, an arm around her shoulder.
"You didn't just win, sweetheart. You made an entire town feel. That's rarer than gold."
She handed Marron the golden travel pass—warm to the touch, etched with sigils and snowflake trim.
Marron held it like a living thing.
"I was just trying to cook like Mom did."
"And you did," Sweet Passion whispered. "And then some."
As the cheers continued to wash over her, Marron felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turned to find the VIP from the private box—a woman with silver-streaked hair and kind, weathered hands.
"May I?" the woman asked, gesturing toward the remaining spoonful of pudding on the judges' table.
Marron nodded, curious.
The woman took the smallest possible bite, closing her eyes as the caramel and custard melted on her tongue. When she opened them again, they were bright with unshed tears.
"I'm the regional food critic for the Savoria Times," she said quietly, just for Marron's ears. "I've eaten in every starred restaurant from here to the Crystal Coast. But this..." She paused, steadying her voice. "This tastes like the last meal my mother made me before she passed. Down to the way the custard catches on your spoon."
She pressed a small card into Marron's palm. "When you're ready to open that restaurant you're dreaming of, call me. The world needs more cooks who remember that food is love made edible."
As the woman melted back into the crowd, Marron looked down at the card: Vera Moonwhisper, Senior Food Critic & Memory Keeper.
She looked up into the crowd.
Rows of people stood cheering, wiping their eyes. Someone held up a plate of fries with her name piped in aioli. The orchard farmer threw a fist into the air. The velvet-clad critic gave a single, solemn nod.
Marron smiled through her tears.
The pudding had jiggled. The chicken had shone. And the crowd… had listened.
She wasn't just a contestant anymore.
She was a chef.
And Savoria would remember her name.