Lila cleared her throat and kept a neutral expression as she opened a leather portfolio.
"I have a field report that may be relevant to our assessment."
The other judges leaned forward almost imperceptibly. Marron felt the shift in the room like pressure before a storm.
"My younger sibling recently traveled the mountain pass road," Lila continued, her voice taking on the tone of official testimony.
"He reported stopping at what he described as 'an absolute wreck of a cart' for a simple meal."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"Fries and soda, nothing more. But he said they were so perfectly crafted they reminded him of our grandmother's cooking—food that carried the weight of being truly cared for."
Lila's voice cracked slightly. "He hasn't cried since our parents died. Not once in three years. But he wept over those fries."
Marron's breath caught.
Wait—scraggly beard, traveling pack with a torn strap?
The young man who'd begged her for something to eat because he'd been hungry for days?
...
oh.
The silence stretched taut. Marron could feel every pair of eyes on her, waiting. This was it—the moment they'd been building toward.
They knew.
They'd always known.
+
Korith's weathered hands were folded so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Ashfall's usual stern expression had sharpened into something predatory. Even the fourth judge, who'd remained largely silent throughout the trial, was watching her with keen interest.
"Such a curious report," Lila said softly. "Food that humble, yet so affecting. One might wonder who could create such a thing."
Marron took a breath that seemed to echo in the marble-walled chamber. She could lie. She could deflect, claim coincidence, weave some story about similar techniques being common along the trade routes.
Instead, she chose truth.
"That was my cart." Her voice carried clearly through the room, steady and unashamed. "Those were my fries."
The silence that followed was deafening. Judge Korith actually leaned back in his chair as if she'd struck him. The fourth judge's eyebrows shot toward his hairline.
"I don't want to make legendary dishes that change the world," Marron continued, meeting each of their gazes in turn.
"I don't want to craft reality-bending masterpieces or earn titles that will echo through history. I just want to make food that reminds people they're cared for. Food that says 'you matter, you're welcome here, you're not alone.'"
She spread her hands, empty and honest. "That's all I've ever wanted. That's all my cart is about. I just want to join contests and upgrade it."
+
Lila's careful composure cracked, revealing something raw and vulnerable underneath. Her hand moved unconsciously to her chest, as if Marron's words had struck something deep. "Family," she whispered. "You cook for family."
Korith exhaled a long breath, his shoulders sagging with what looked like profound relief. "Not another Juno," he muttered, so quietly Marron almost missed it.
"Thank the ancestors, not another Juno."
But it was Ashfall's reaction that surprised her most. The stern judge who'd pushed her hardest during the practical examination was looking at her with something that might have been respect.
"Straightforward," he said, approval threading through his usually harsh tone. "No games, no manipulation. Just honest intent."
The fourth judge remained cautious, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "Such power in service of such simple goals," he mused. "Unusual. Perhaps... unprecedented."
At the head table, the Head Council Member's expression had gone carefully blank—the kind of neutrality that suggested rapid calculation behind the scenes.
And beside them, Sage's weathered face had settled into something that looked almost like concern.
"The guild has little experience," Sage said slowly, "with those who possess great capability but lack great ambition."
The words hung in the air like a warning.
The Head Council Member's voice cut through the charged atmosphere like a blade.
"Words are easily spoken, Miss Louvel. Intent is easily claimed."
They gestured toward the cooking station that had been cleared during the judges' deliberation.
"Make those fries now. Show us this 'comfort' you speak of."
Marron felt her stomach drop. "Here? Now?"
"The ingredients are simple enough," Ashfall said, though his tone had returned to its usual gruffness. "Potatoes, oil, salt. Nothing exotic about what you claim to do."
+
Fair enough.
She looked around the gleaming marble chamber, with its formal cooking stations designed for elaborate presentations and complex techniques. Everything about this space screamed importance, legacy, power. The exact opposite of her humble cart parked outside.
But Lila was already moving, producing a small sack of mountain potatoes from beneath the judges' table. "Fresh from this morning's market," she said quietly. "The same variety grown in the valleys where my grandmother cooked."
Marron accepted the potatoes with trembling hands. She moved to the cooking station, hyperaware of six pairs of eyes tracking her every movement.
The weight of judgment pressed down on her shoulders, but beneath it, something else stirred—the familiar calm that always came when she had food to prepare and people to feed.
Even if those people were trying to decide her fate.
Marron rolled her sleeves and got to work.
She peeled the potatoes with quick and efficient strokes. They were cut into thick strips--some of them were uneven, but she didn't want to measure every fry, especially when she was cooking for six.
The oil heated in the pan while she rinsed the cut potatoes, removing excess starch.
"No special techniques?" the fourth judge asked. "No enhancement of flavor profiles or emotional resonance manipulation?"
Marron glanced up from the stove.
"Just care," she said simply. "And attention."
She slipped the potatoes into the oil, listening to the immediate sizzle and pop. But as she stirred them gently, she let herself think not of the judges watching her, but of Lila's brother on the mountain pass.
Half-dead from escaping the dungeon he'd found himself in, and wanting a hot meal to satisfy him.
Of how happy he was when he drank her fruit soda for the first time, and how he held it like it was treasure.
I know what that feels like.
Marron remembered the days when her mom's diner was just getting started. Sometimes nobody would walk through the door, and they ate the day's menu.
Even fried chicken was a luxury that day. I felt lucky whenever no one came through the doors because that meant I got to eat good food.
But it was devastating for my mom.
She had thought of feeding him food that was prepared with genuine concern.
The fries weren't just fried potatoes; they were a small gesture of welcome in a world that could be harsh and unwelcoming.
You matter, she thought as she lifted the golden strips from the oil. You're not just another customer. You're someone who deserves to feel cared for.
The salt she sprinkled wasn't just seasoning—it was the finishing touch on a small act of hospitality.
She plated the fries simply, in a plain white bowl, and set it before the judges.
As the judges reached for the fries, Marron finally allowed herself to check the notifications that had been accumulating in the corner of her vision throughout the trial.
[TRIAL MILESTONE COMPLETED]
[Major Assessment Passed: Guild Recognition Achieved]
[XP Gained: 2,847]
[Level Up! Level 15 → Level 16]
[New Feature Unlocked: Heart of Home]
Heart of Home: Your cooking space becomes a sanctuary. Cart upgrades now include improved rest and recovery capabilities. After particularly stressful cooking sessions, you and your companions receive enhanced healing and peace of mind while resting near your cart.
But then another notification flashed, this one outlined in warning yellow:
[CAUTION: Emotional resonance exceeding safe parameters. Recommend specialization to prevent cascade effects.]
Marron dismissed the warning with a mental swipe. She'd heard it all before. The system had been nagging her about "safe parameters" since she'd first started cooking with real intent.
When she looked up, she found Lila chewing slowly, her eyes closed. A single tear tracked down the older woman's cheek.
"It tastes like coming home," Lila whispered.
Even Ashfall had gone quiet, his usual stern expression softened by something that looked like old memory. Korith was nodding slowly, as if confirming something he'd hoped to find.
The fourth judge set down his portion half-finished, but his expression had shifted from skepticism to something approaching wonder. "Simple perfection," he murmured. "No artifice. No attempt to overwhelm or impress. Just... genuine care made tangible."
Only the Head Council Member maintained their composure, though Marron caught them dabbing at their eyes with a handkerchief when they thought no one was looking.
Sage twirled a cinnamon stick between weathered fingers, studying Marron with eyes that held decades of experience. When he spoke, his voice carried the gentle authority of someone who'd seen too many promising chefs limited by narrow expectations.
"Perhaps we should explain," he said, his gaze never leaving Marron's face. "We've been questioning her as if she were born and suckled from Frostborn's peak. Might we look into her past to see what else she is capable of?"
Lila straightened in her chair, understanding dawning in her expression. "You're saying we've been testing her in Juno's specialty. Pastry work, delicate confections, the precise art of sweets."
"Precisely." Sage set down the cinnamon stick with deliberate care. "Most chefs in Savoria develop one, perhaps two culinary disciplines where they truly shine—where their emotional infusion reaches its peak effectiveness." His eyes crinkled slightly. "But what if Miss Louvel doesn't operate within such limitations?"
The fourth judge leaned forward. "A generalist? That's... extremely rare. Most emotional cooking requires deep specialization to achieve meaningful resonance."
Marron bit her lip as she watched the judges.
I wish they would talk to me instead of about me. I'm not their pet chef.
As her frustration mounted, she barely noticed the small crackle of energy emanating from her, brittle like tuile but just as sweet.