Marron woke to the smell of bread baking.
Not the sad, preservative-laden grocery store kind. Real bread. The kind that made you think of Sunday mornings and grandmothers who wore flour like perfume.
She kept her eyes closed for a moment, chasing the scent. When was the last time she'd smelled anything like that? Her apartment always smelled like stale coffee and the faint chemical tang of air freshener trying its best.
But this... this was different.
Wait.
Her eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above her wasn't hers. No water stain in the corner shaped like a duck. No cheap popcorn texture that her landlord swore was "vintage charm." This ceiling was wooden—rough-hewn beams that looked hand-cut, gaps stuffed with some kind of dried grass or moss.
She sat up too fast. Her head spun.
The room was small. A single window with actual wooden shutters—not blinds, shutters—let in pale morning light. The bed she'd been sleeping in had a frame made of logs lashed together with rope, and the mattress felt like it was stuffed with straw.
Straw.
"Where the hell—"
A sharp chime cut through her thoughts.
Not a sound. Not really. It rang inside her head, behind her eyes, like someone had just dinged a bell directly against her skull.
Marron flinched, hands flying to her temples. "Ow—what—"
Then the words appeared.
Not on a screen. Not projected on a wall. They simply existed in her field of vision, glowing softly like someone had written them in light:
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]
[Welcome, Marron Louvel]
She stared.
Blinked.
The words didn't go away.
"...Okay," she said slowly, her voice hoarse. "I'm having a stroke. That's fine. This is fine. Strokes happen."
[You are not having a stroke.]
Marron yelped and scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed. The glowing text followed her vision perfectly, staying centered no matter where she looked.
"Who said that?!"
[I am the SYSTEM. I am here to assist you in your new life as a Food Stall Owner in Savoria.]
"Savoria?" Marron's brain felt like it was three steps behind. "I don't—what's a Savoria? Is that a restaurant chain? Did I sign up for some kind of cult MLM scheme?"
[Savoria is the world you now inhabit. You filled out a Rebirth Form. The process is complete. You are now 18 years old and possess the Class: Food Stall Owner.]
Marron looked down at her hands.
They looked... the same? Maybe slightly less dry. Definitely fewer wrinkles around the knuckles. She touched her face. Smoother. She grabbed a chunk of her hair and pulled it in front of her eyes—still the same dark brown, but it looked shinier, healthier.
"I'm twenty-two," she said flatly.
[Correct.]
"I'm in a world called Savoria."
[Correct.]
"And I'm a... food stall owner."
[Correct. Would you like to view your STATUS?]
Two buttons materialized in her vision, floating just below the text:
[YES] / [NO]
Marron stared at them for a long, long moment.
She thought about the sandwich. The card. The golden dust.
She thought about Derek's face when she'd quit. The fluorescent lights. The motivational posters.
She thought about her mom's kitchen, the smell of fried chicken and the warmth of oil crackling in a cast-iron pan.
She thought about Mildred's voice: "You're already thirty-five, haven't been promoted yet, and no boyfriend to speak of."
"This is insane," she whispered.
[You have thirty seconds to respond before the system auto-selects [YES].]
"Wait, you can do that?!"
[Twenty-five seconds.]
"That's coercion!"
[Twenty seconds.]
Marron lunged forward and jabbed her finger at the [YES] button.
It felt like pressing air—no resistance, just a faint warmth against her fingertip—and then the buttons vanished, replaced by a new window:
Marron Louvel
Age: 22
Class: Food Stall Owner
Rank: G
Skills: Basic
Funds: Modest
Reputation: Unknown
Marron read it twice. Then a third time.
She touched her face again. Twenty-two. She'd been thirty-five when she'd fallen asleep last night—or had it been longer? Time felt slippery here.
She was younger. Actually, physically younger.
"Rank G," she muttered. "Of course. Bottom of the barrel."
[All Food Stall Owners begin at Rank G. Progression is earned through experience, customer satisfaction, and recipe mastery.]
"Right. Of course. Video game logic." Marron rubbed her face. "I'm in a video game. I'm actually in a video game."
[Savoria is not a video game. It is a real world with real consequences. However, the SYSTEM provides structure to help you grow.]
"Super comforting, thanks."
She waved her hand at the window experimentally. It didn't move. She tried swiping at it like a touch screen. Nothing.
"How do I close this?"
[Think 'CLOSE' or 'DISMISS'.]
Marron focused. Close.
The window vanished instantly.
"Huh."
She tried again. Open.
Nothing happened.
Status?
The window reappeared.
Close.
It disappeared.
"Okay. Okay, I can work with this." She took a deep breath, then another. Her hands were shaking. "This is fine. Totally fine. I just—I just need a minute to—"
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE]
"Oh, come on!"
A new window popped up, shoving itself front and center in her vision:
QUEST: YOUR FIRST MEAL
Every journey begins with a single dish. Prepare and serve your first meal in Savoria.
Objective:
Cook 1 meal
Serve 1 customer
Reward:
Progress toward Rank F
New recipe knowledge
[Accept] [Skip]
Marron stared at it.
"What happens if I skip?"
[Then you never get this specific quest again. When you open the window, another quest will take its place. It might be easier or harder. I cannot guarantee which one you get.]
"So I can just... ignore it?"
[Yes. However, completing quests provides valuable rewards and accelerates your progression.]
Marron looked around the small room again. The wooden beams. The straw mattress. The shutters.
She thought about the $200 in her bank account back in her old world. The stack of bills on her kitchen counter. The late notices.
She thought about what the hell she was supposed to do now.
"Fine," she said, and jabbed the [ACCEPT] button.
[QUEST ACCEPTED: YOUR FIRST MEAL]
[Good luck, Marron Louvel.]
The windows vanished, leaving her alone in the quiet room with nothing but the smell of distant bread and the sound of her own heartbeat.
She stood up slowly, testing her legs. They felt fine. Better than fine, actually. Her knees didn't ache. Her back didn't hurt. She felt... good. Rested.
Twenty-two years old, she reminded herself. Apparently, that made a difference.
There was a door on the far wall—rough wood, iron handle. Marron walked over and tested it.
It opened easily.
Beyond it was a narrow hallway, and beyond that, she could hear voices. The clatter of pots. The crackle of a fire.
She took a deep breath.
"Okay, Marron," she whispered. "You wanted a fresh start. You got one."
She stepped into the hallway.
And her new life began.
+
The road to Meadowbrook Commons took most of the day. She left the Cracked Keg with the following:
Directions from Berta
A packed lunch she definitely didn't deserve
A nagging sense she was walking toward something she didn't fully understand.
She had a System, and it was...helpful, in its own way.
Sorta.
After Marron left the inn, a new notification appeared:
[Quest Updated]
[New Objective: Locate your Food Cart]
[Location marker added.]
In the corner of her vision, she saw a glowing arrow pointing west.
Weird...but helpful, I guess?
She tried dismissing it by thinking. Close! Go away! Stop glowing, it's distracting!
Unfortunately, it didn't have any effect. The glowing arrow remained, pulsing gently like a GPS marker. So Marron raised her hands in mock-surrender and followed it.
It's either I just accept this as my new reality or I have a complete mental breakdown. Yay, compartmentalizing! Marron thought, rolling her eyes. Some habits just stuck, even after being reborn.
Through Thornhaven's modest streets, past shops that sold things like "enchanted rope" and "monster-repellent ointment" with the same casual energy as a hardware store back home. A blacksmith hammered at an anvil outside his forge, sparks flying in rhythmic bursts. A woman swept the front step of what appeared to be an apothecary, the windows filled with bottles of glowing liquids in colors that didn't exist in nature.
Marron pretended this was all totally normal and kept walking.
The town gave way to countryside—rolling hills covered in long grass that swayed in the breeze, wildflowers dotting the landscape in cheerful clusters. The sky was impossibly blue, the kind of blue that only existed in paintings or heavily filtered Instagram photos.
No billboards. No power lines. No cell towers disguised as trees.
Just grass and sky and the occasional bird that looked suspiciously large and possibly magical.
It was beautiful in a way that made her chest ache.
She'd been walking for about an hour when she heard the sound.
A low, rhythmic grunting, followed by the creak of wood and the scrape of wheels on dirt.
Marron froze.
Please don't be a monster. Please don't be a monster.
"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to help?"
The voice was deep, male, and slightly exasperated.
Marron peered around a curve in the road and saw... a bear.
A very large bear.
Wearing glasses.
And pulling what looked like a food cart.
She blinked. Rubbed her eyes. The bear was still there, hauling the cart with a rope harness strapped across his massive shoulders. The cart itself looked like a mobile food truck—wooden construction with a canvas awning, a serving window on one side, and sturdy wheels that looked like they'd seen better days. A small chimney poked through the roof, currently cold.
The bear looked at her over his shoulder, adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles with one massive paw.
"You're the new chef, aren't you?"
Marron's brain had officially given up. "I... how did you know that?"
"The System told me. I'm your assigned companion." He gestured with his snout toward the cart he was hauling. "This is your cart. I've been dragging it from the staging area for the past three hours. You're late."
"Late for what?!"
"For meeting me. I was supposed to intercept you an hour ago, but you walk very slowly." He huffed, breath fogging in the cool air. "Now are you going to help, or should I continue doing all the work?"
Still reeling—talking bear, talking bear, there's a talking bear—Marron hurried forward and grabbed one of the cart's side handles.
It was heavier than it looked.
Much heavier.
She immediately understood why the bear was grumbling.
"Where are we taking this?" she asked, trying not to sound as winded as she felt after thirty seconds of pulling.
"Meadowbrook Commons. Old market clearing about two miles west. That's where your cart needs to be set up."
"And you just... knew this?"
"The System provides." The bear grunted as they pulled the cart over a bump in the road. "When a Chef-class is summoned, a companion is assigned to assist. Usually something more convenient than a bear, but here we are."
"You seem upset about that."
"I'm upset about the pulling. The partnership is fine."
They walked in silence for a while, the cart creaking steadily behind them. Marron found herself stealing glances at the bear—at his glasses perched on his snout, at the way his fur ruffled in the breeze, at the careful way he navigated the road despite his size.
His paws were enormous but surprisingly dexterous. The glasses looked almost comically small on his face, but somehow they worked.
"So..." she ventured. "You can talk."
"Evidently."
"And you wear glasses."
"I'm farsighted. Comes with age."
"Right. Obviously." Marron shook her head, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up. "Sorry, I'm still adjusting to... all of this."
The bear's expression softened slightly. One ear twitched. "Most new chefs are. Don't worry. You'll get used to the strangeness. Or you won't, and you'll just learn to live with it anyway."
"Comforting."
"I try." He glanced at her. "You can call me Mokko, by the way. Since we'll be working together."
"Marron," she said automatically, then paused. "Wait, you already knew that, didn't you?"
"I did. But introductions are polite."
They crested a small hill, and Marron saw the road stretching ahead, winding through more grassland toward a distant cluster of trees. The glowing arrow in her vision pointed straight ahead.
"Two miles?" she asked weakly.
"Approximately." Mokko adjusted his grip on the rope. "We're making good time, though. Should arrive by late afternoon."
"And then what?"
"Then you set up. Cook. Serve customers. Build your reputation." He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. "The usual."
"Right. The usual. In a magical world. With a talking bear. And a food cart."
"Food cart?" Mokko snorted. "This is a proper mobile kitchen. Small, yes, but everything you need is in there. Stove, prep space, storage. You can cook and serve anywhere, as long as you can pull it."
Marron looked at the cart with new appreciation. A food truck. Her own food truck.
"You'll do fine," Mokko said, with more confidence than she felt. "The System wouldn't have chosen you otherwise."
Marron wasn't sure she believed that, but she didn't argue.
They walked.
And walked.
Her legs started to ache. Her shoulders burned from pulling. The sun climbed higher, then began its slow descent. Berta's packed lunch—fresh bread, cheese, and an apple that tasted like honey—kept her going through the worst of it.
Mokko, despite his size, never seemed to tire. He pulled steadily, occasionally pointing out landmarks: "That's where the old watchtower used to be. Got destroyed in a monster attack five years back." Or, "See those mushrooms? Don't eat them. They're delicious, but they'll make you see sounds for three days."
"Noted," Marron said faintly.
By the time they reached Meadowbrook Commons, the sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
The clearing was exactly as she would later understand it—empty except for weathered wooden posts and stone foundations scattered across the grass like the bones of something that had died long ago.
It must have been bustling once. She could see where stalls had stood, where paths had been worn into the dirt, where a central gathering space had been marked with a circle of larger stones.
Now it was just grass and silence and the wind moving through the abandoned space like a ghost.
"Here," Mokko said, guiding them toward a spot that had good visibility from the main road. "This is a good location. Central. Easy to spot from the road."
Together, they maneuvered the cart into position. The moment they set it in place, Mokko carefully unhitched himself from the harness, and the System chimed:
[FOOD CART POSITIONED]
[Location: Meadowbrook Commons]
[Ready to begin service]
The cart settled slightly, as if it had always meant to be here. The canvas awning straightened. The serving window gleamed in the fading light.
Marron stepped back, hands on her hips, and looked at it.
My food cart, she thought. This is actually mine.
"Well then," Mokko said, sitting back on his haunches with a satisfied grunt. "Welcome to your new workplace, Chef."
Marron looked around the empty clearing—at the posts, the foundations, the ghosts of what had been. Then back at her cart, small and worn but impossibly real.
"Now what?" she asked.
"Now we wait for customers." Mokko yawned, showing an impressive number of teeth. "Or you practice cooking. Your choice."
Marron walked around to the back of the cart and opened the door. Inside was compact but efficient: a small wood-burning stove, a prep counter, storage compartments, hanging utensils. It smelled like old wood and potential.
She ran her hand along the counter.
"I think I'll practice," she said quietly.
Mokko made a pleased rumbling sound and settled onto the grass nearby, arranging himself like a large, furry sphinx. "Good choice. Let me know if you need anything."
Marron climbed into the cart and looked around. The space was tight—she could barely turn around without bumping into something—but it was hers.
The stove was cold. She'd need to figure out how to light it. The storage was mostly empty. She'd need ingredients.
But the knives hanging on the wall were sharp, and the counter was clean, and through the serving window she could see the sunset painting the abandoned market in gold.
She'd quit her job yesterday morning.
Filled out a magical rebirth card.
Fallen through reality.
Woken up twenty-two years old in a fantasy world.
Met a talking bear.
And now she was standing in her own mobile food cart, about to start a new life she didn't understand.
Marron picked up a knife, tested its weight, and smiled.
Okay, Mom, she thought. Let's see if I remember how to do this.
Outside, the sun set over Meadowbrook Commons.
And inside her cart, Marron Louvel prepared to cook.