[Devil's Ledger — Week 2]
Quota: 0 / 2 (Due: Sunday 11:59 p.m.)
Perk on Completion: Menu Slot +1
Warning: Inquisitor Attention if essence used more than 3 times in one service
The video had gone viral again.
Not the old one from the student vlogger—the new one.
Different kitchen. Different chef. Same dish.
Jax stared at the screen from the office behind the pass, arms crossed, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the silence.
The clip showed a man in a gold-trimmed jacket plating spaghetti that gleamed with the same impossible sheen. The crowd watching him gasped on cue.
The comments read like déjà vu. He's a genius.This flavor changed my life.Romano who?
Chef Aurelio.
The caption underneath the video said, Inspired by the hidden masters of flavor.
Jax closed the laptop and sat back. The smell of basil and resentment filled the air.
By noon, Romano's was packed again—but this time the excitement carried an edge.
Two influencers at table six whispered while filming their plates.
"Think it's true?" one asked. "That he stole it from that other guy?"
"Who cares," the other replied, mouth full. "This place still tastes better."
Jax forced a smile as he passed the counter. "Enjoy the meal."
Inside, the Ledger pulsed faintly from the shelf.
He could almost hear it whisper. Competition feeds appetite.
He ignored it and went back to the kitchen.
Elara stood at the front, running orders like a conductor.
Since she'd come back, service ran smoother than ever—tickets printed in rhythm, plates left clean.
But today she noticed it too.
She met his eyes through the window. "Something off?"
"Copycat."
"Ah." She didn't ask for details. "What do you want me to do?"
"Keep them waiting."
"For what?"
"The truth."
After service, Jax pulled up every article he could find about Aurelio.
The man's story read like theater: the prodigy who vanished from Europe, returned with secret techniques, opened a high-end pop-up in SoHo.
There were no recipes, no interviews. Just hype.
But in one photo, Jax saw it—the faint crimson tint in a bottle on the prep table.
Not wine. Not tomato oil.
Essence.
His stomach turned.
Someone else had a supplier.
Kazimir appeared that night without ceremony.
He sat on the counter, inspecting a lemon like it contained scripture.
"You've been busy," the devil said.
"So has he," Jax answered.
Kazimir smiled faintly. "Ah. The copycat."
"You knew."
"I suspected. Essence leaks. Those who smell its power always try to bottle it."
"Then stop him."
Kazimir's eyes gleamed. "I'm not a policeman, Chef. I'm a patron. You create balance by cooking. He unbalances by stealing. Perhaps you should remind him which palate is genuine."
"I'm not hunting a rival chef."
"You're not. You're hunting whoever's feeding him."
The Ledger flipped open on its own. A new line appeared.
Wickedness Source Detected: 'Broker' — occult distributor, black-market vendor.
Kazimir closed the book. "Two birds, one course. Handle your quota, silence your imitator."
He stood, brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve, and faded.
The scent of sulfur lingered like spice.
The next morning, a health inspector arrived.
Elara met him at the door. "Can I help you?"
"Routine check," he said. But his badge looked off—paper laminate, too clean.
Jax watched from the kitchen as the man's eyes scanned everything, too carefully.
When he reached the Ledger on the shelf, his gaze sharpened.
He smiled faintly and nodded toward Jax. "Keep up the good work, Chef."
Then he left.
Elara frowned. "Friend of yours?"
"Not sure," Jax said.
He opened the Ledger after she left.
A faint new mark glowed on the inside cover—a symbol like an eye made of salt lines.
Underneath: Observation active.
He didn't need Kazimir to explain. Someone was watching.
That evening, the cravings started again.
Customers lingered after eating, asking about reservations, schedules, anything to come back.
A woman offered a hundred dollars for a jar of the sauce.
Another begged to buy leftovers.
Elara noticed first.
"Jax," she said quietly, "they're acting… different."
He nodded. "I used only one drop tonight."
"Then even that's too much."
She crossed her arms. "We can't turn this into addiction."
"It's already happening."
"Then fix it before they come for us."
That night, he followed a lead.
Aurelio's name showed up on a supplier list for specialty imports—rare herbs, custom oils.
Jax recognized one of the distributors: a warehouse near the docks, same district where Rullo's deals had taken place.
He parked down the block, this time with the headlights off.
Inside the warehouse, muffled laughter, clinking bottles—the same atmosphere as before.
He entered quietly, keeping to the shadows.
Stacks of boxes lined the aisles, labeled Truffle Oil, Saffron Reserve, Red Sea Salt.
The smell of metal and smoke curled from the back.
He followed it.
A man in a white coat filled small vials with shimmering red liquid—Essence.
He wore gloves and a respirator, muttering to himself.
Jax pulled out his phone, recording.
The man turned at the sound of a floorboard creak.
For a moment, their eyes met through the mask.
Then the man bolted.
Jax chased him through the maze of crates until they burst into the open alley behind the building.
The man slipped on wet pavement, dropped a crate, and the vials shattered.
The red mist spilled out, glowing faintly as it evaporated.
Kazimir's voice slid into Jax's head. Essence wasted is essence angered.
Jax grabbed the man by the collar. "Who's buying?"
The broker gasped. "I don't—name's Aurelio—he pays top rate—doesn't ask where it comes from—"
The mist swirled around them, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The broker's eyes widened in terror. "It's in the air—what's it—"
He didn't finish. The mist poured into his mouth, silencing him.
His body went limp, then still.
The glow faded.
The Ledger, somewhere unseen, closed itself with a sound like a heartbeat stopping.
Quota 1 / 2 complete.
Jax drove home with the window down, trying to clear the smell.
He didn't feel triumphant. He felt dirty.
Elara was waiting when he returned.
"You went out again," she said quietly.
He nodded. "Handled something."
She studied him for a long moment. "You keep saying that like it makes it better."
He started to reply but stopped when his phone buzzed.
A new notification.
Chef Aurelio had just posted another video.
This time, the caption read: Tonight's special—Basilico di Peccato.
The name was identical to Jax's signature sauce.
Elara saw the screen and exhaled. "He's baiting you."
"Then I'll bite."
The Ledger opened on its own, pages fluttering.
New text appeared across the top:
Wickedness Linked: Chef Aurelio (Fraud, Exploitation, Corruption of Essence). Quota 2/2 eligible.
Beneath it: Warning—Excessive exposure may invite Inquisitor.
Jax stared at the words until they dimmed.
He could feel the next step forming already—the confrontation, the proof, the consequence.
He hated how natural it felt now.
Elara touched his arm. "Promise me one thing."
"What?"
"When this ends, the restaurant survives. Not just you."
He nodded, though he wasn't sure if it was a promise he could keep.
Later that night, as he scrubbed the stove, the smell of burning basil filled the air again—ghostly, perfect.
The Ledger glowed from its place on the counter.
The red letters spelled out one line, rhythmic and steady:
The copycat cooks tomorrow. The city will decide whose flavor reigns.
Jax turned off the lights.
The kitchen stayed warm, pulsing faintly red like an ember waiting for breath.