"Don't worry, ma'am. I'm very careful. Those biting cabbages didn't even get a chance to nip me," Allen said confidently as he glanced toward the shelf where the biting cabbages had been displayed. It was now empty.
"Ma'am, where did all the biting cabbages go?" Allen asked, a bit surprised.
He had planned to get more biting cabbage to experiment further with the recipe. His culinary instincts told him that the roasted biting cabbage hadn't yet reached the full potential of the ingredient. He needed more.
"You want more biting cabbage? I remember you only bought three." The old woman eyed Allen suspiciously. "Don't tell me you actually ate them?"
"Unique cooking techniques can always turn decay into magic," Allen replied with a toothless smile.
"Now that's a philosophical statement!" the old woman chuckled, patting Allen on the head. "But it's a shame—you're too late."
"Too... late?" Allen's eyes widened. "You mean..."
"Sold out. Oh, I'm so sorry, dear." Her face was full of genuine regret. "I don't know what happened last night, but a group of drunkards barged into my shop. They demanded biting cabbage—shouting about flavor, texture, and who knows what else. They bought all my biting kale. Honestly, I've never seen customers that crazed."
The memory still seemed to unsettle her.
Sold out?
Allen froze, and a sudden flash of realization struck him. He remembered the way the wizards had reacted last night when Tom had bragged about the roasted, chewy cabbage.
Damn it! Those gluttons were competing with the cook for ingredients!
They couldn't possibly think they could replicate his roasted biting cabbage, right? Their so-called "kitchen wizardry" wasn't that good.
Perhaps Allen's expression was so distraught that even the old woman felt a bit guilty. She tried to console him.
"My child, if you truly want more, come back in two days. I can use magic to ripen the larvae of the biting cabbage that I've been nurturing..."
Allen had already braced himself for disappointment from the first half of her sentence. But the second half lit up his eyes.
"Ma'am!" Allen tugged urgently at her sleeve. "Did you just say—biting cabbage larvae?"
"Yes, that's right. The batch I bought before was meant as a backup in case of a shortage. But I didn't anticipate such a sudden rush, so I hadn't prepared them yet," she explained.
Allen wasn't really listening anymore. His mind was buzzing with thoughts of cabbage larvae.
The bitterness of mature biting kale is unavoidable... but if the larvae aren't fully developed yet, maybe—just maybe—the flavor can be modified!
A brand-new idea was already forming in his head. Without hesitation, he looked up and asked, "Ma'am, how much for the biting cabbage larvae?"
"Ah?" The old woman blinked, her voice caught between confusion and surprise.
"I want to buy the baby cabbage biters," Allen repeated.
"I've never sold them before... but if you really want them, I suppose I can let you have this bag for fifteen cents." She rummaged under the counter and handed him a small cloth pouch.
Allen untied it and peered inside. The larvae resembled spores—round and plump, each about the size of a pigeon's head. They looked... cute.
Just one bite each—perfect.
But Allen didn't let their size fool him. These tiny creatures still had the sharp teeth of their adult counterparts. Their bite force could easily tear through flesh.
Black, the cat-like creature squatting on Allen's shoulder, was also intrigued. He peeked into the bag, tail twitching as he stared at the squirming larvae, clearly tempted to taste one.
Not food for you. This is for research.
Allen tied up the pouch, gently tapped Black on the head, and took out a galleon. After receiving two silver coins in change, he turned his gaze to the rest of the shop.
One item stood out immediately—a glass jar filled with some kind of preserved biological tissue, floating in a murky medicinal solution. The tissue itself was small and pinkish.
Allen's eyes dropped to the label.
"Dragon Liver – 16 Sickles/oz"
Sixteen sickles per ounce seemed reasonable at first glance, but only because of the deceptive weight unit. Allen quickly did the math in his head.
Wait... that's seventeen galleons a pound?! Seventeen Galleons?!
How big is a fire dragon anyway? And for such a tiny piece of liver you want that much money? Why not just rob people?
Even compared to premium ingredients, this was insanity. Allen could barely afford this with everything he had in Professor McGonagall's vault—and even that was stretching it.
He stared at the price sign with barely concealed pain, his expression twisting in disbelief.
Finally, he worked up the nerve to ask, "Ma'am, is there any chance the dragon liver is... discounted?"
"Of course, dear. That jar only costs 3 galleons. It contains four ounces. Very cost-effective." The old woman beamed.
Four ounces for 3 galleons... Allen ran the numbers again.
That came to about 13 sickles per ounce.
Still expensive. Still painful.
He hesitated, calculating mentally, weighing every coin in his mind. Then, gritting his teeth like someone about to swallow a bitter potion, he finally said, "I'll take one can."
Dragon liver. A luxury. But also... a challenge.
Given the incredible capabilities of fire dragons, this ingredient deserved to be tested. He wouldn't be a true chef if he backed down now.
He placed the jar carefully into his bag, alongside the cabbage larvae, and made a silent vow:
He would make something extraordinary. These weren't just ingredients—they were invitations to greatness.