Chapter 126: A Street Market Discovery
Marron stared at the System notification floating in front of her, the question hanging in the air of the empty practice kitchen.
"But...am I going to have to compete with everyone who failed, or can I just...submit something again?"
The notification flickered, then expanded with new text:
[Retest Protocol: Lumeria Culinary Guild]
Candidates who fail evaluation may retest after a 3-day cooling period. Retests do not require re-entry to the arena.
Instead, candidates will be tested in groups of six during designated evaluation sessions (Dawn or Dusk). Each candidate will present their dish to the Evaluation Committee in a private testing room. The same dish may be resubmitted with improvements, or a new signature dish may be presented.
Your assigned group: Dusk Session, Day 3Group size: 6 candidates
Note: Candidates are encouraged to study Lumerian culinary culture during the waiting period. The Guild values adaptation and learning.
Current Retest Availability: 2 days, 18 hours remaining.
Marron read it twice, relief and anxiety mixing in her chest. So she didn’t have to go back into that arena with all those eyes watching. She could just... show up. Present her work. Try again.
Study Lumerian culinary culture,
the message said.She looked down at her soup—still warm in its carefully chosen bowl, the presentation she’d finally paid attention to. It was better than before. But was it Lumerian enough?
She didn’t even know what that meant yet.
"Guess I have homework," she muttered, dismissing the notification.
The Lumeria Street Market sprawled across the lower ring of the city like a living organism—all sprawl and chaos and delicious smells that the upper districts tried very hard to pretend didn’t exist.
Marron descended the crystal staircases as the city shifted into evening mode, the light changing from golden to deep azure, neon signs flickering on like fireflies. The sounds changed too—less refined music and tinkling fountains, more laughter and sizzle and the rhythmic calls of vendors advertising their wares.
"Fresh egg bread! Still warm!"
"Cheese pulls! Beat the record, eat free!"
"Fortune dumplings—your future in every bite!"
The air smelled like everything at once: caramelized sugar and frying oil, garlic and ginger, bread and smoke and something floral she couldn’t quite place. It made her stomach growl despite the soup she’d eaten.
This felt more real than the upper districts. More alive.
Lucy bounced excitedly in her jar. "It smells like a hundred dinners all at once!"
Mokko sniffed appreciatively. "Now this is more like it. Real food for real people."
Marron had to agree. But as she walked deeper into the market, something surprised her: even here, in the "lower" ring where working people came to eat, there was beauty.
Not the pristine, untouchable beauty of the Guild. But something warmer. More playful.
The first stall she stopped at sold egg bread—simple, traditional, the kind of thing her mother would have approved of. But they weren’t served in paper bags or plain wrappers. Each golden loaf came in a small paper box decorated with hand-stamped designs: stars, flowers, little dancing chickens. The boxes were tied with twine, and each one had a small wooden pick with a flag on top—a different color for each flavor.
The presentation was simple, but it was intentional. It made the humble egg bread feel special, worth stopping for, worth photographing.
A young couple in front of her bought two, immediately taking pictures of the boxes before even opening them.
Marron bought one—plain, no flavoring. When she opened the box, steam escaped in a soft puff, carrying the scent of eggs and butter and sweetness. The bread itself was perfect: golden, slightly crispy on the outside, soft and custard-like in the middle.
It tasted exactly like egg bread should taste. Nothing fancy. But the experience of eating it—the cute box, the little flag, the care in the presentation—made it feel like more than just a snack. It felt like a treat.
"Huh," she said softly.
"Good?" Mokko asked.
"Yeah. But also..." She held up the box, studying the stamped design. "They made it pretty. Even though they didn’t have to."
"Maybe they wanted to," Lucy offered.
Maybe they did. And maybe that was the point.
+
Further into the market, Marron found the stall that had been drawing the biggest crowd: Molten Heart Pancakes.
The setup was brilliant in its simplicity. A large griddle where the vendor—a cheerful dwarf with flour in his beard—poured batter and flipped golden pancakes with practiced ease. But the real attraction was what came next.
Each pancake was stuffed with molten cheese that oozed when you pulled the halves apart. And the stall had turned this into a game: a wooden ruler mounted on the wall, and a small photo area with good lighting where customers could document their "cheese pulls."
Pull 10cm: Regular Price
Pull 20cm: 10% Discount
Pull 30cm: 20% Discount
Pull 40cm+: Free pancake + Wall of Fame
The Wall of Fame was covered in photos of triumphant customers holding impossibly long strings of melted cheese, their faces alight with joy and competitiveness.
Marron watched a group of adventurers try their luck. The ranger managed 15cm and groaned in disappointment. The warrior got 28cm and pumped his fist. The mage, surprisingly, got 35cm and received applause from the whole line.
"It’s ridiculous," Marron said.
"It’s fun," Mokko countered. "When’s the last time you had fun with food?"
The question landed harder than he probably meant it to.
When was the last time?
Marron thought carefully. "Not since Whisperwind," she said softly. "During the dinner with the Queen and the Lord Jackal."
Back on Earth, she remembered even fewer moments. When her mother didn’t have arthritis, maybe? They were both young and her mother didn’t fear letting Marron experiment with decorating the daily specials chalkboard.
...and that was it. In the office, I just ate what was convenient so I wouldn’t have to stop working.
Marron blinked back tears as she remembered how spartan her life had been.
Every day was just something she had to overcome, so she could fall asleep in her lavender-scented bed.
It hadn’t been fun or full of play for a long time.
"You gonna try?" the dwarf vendor called to her, grinning. "You got the hands of a cook. Bet you could get forty easy!"
I don’t want to waste my time anymore. I want to live.
Marron found herself stepping forward before she could overthink it. "One pancake, please."
The dwarf’s grin widened. "Atta girl! This one’s a fresh batch—extra stretchy cheese blend."
The pancake came to her hot and golden, slightly crispy on the edges. The dwarf demonstrated the technique: "Gentle pull, steady hands, let the cheese do the work."
Marron held both halves and pulled slowly.
The cheese stretched. And stretched. Thin and glossy and impossibly long.
Twenty centimeters. Thirty. Thirty-five.
The crowd started counting.
"Forty! Forty-two! Forty-five!"
The cheese finally broke at 47 centimeters, and the watching crowd erupted in cheers. The dwarf rang a bell mounted on his cart.
"Wall of Fame! Come on, photo time!"