Marron had been experimenting with the cart's storage—discovering ingredients she didn't remember the System mentioning—when Mokko's ears perked up.
"Someone's coming," he said quietly.
She looked up from the golden potatoes she'd been examining. "A customer?"
"Looks like it." Mokko stood, moving to the edge of the cart where he could see the road. "Coming from the eastern path. Moving slow."
Marron set down the potato and moved to the serving window, shading her eyes against the late afternoon sun.
In the distance, she could see a figure stumbling more than walking.
"I could have mistaken him for a zombie, not gonna lie."
The large brown bear snorted. "There are zombies where you're from?"
Her brow furrowed. "No. They're made up, but a lot of movies were made with zombies."
"So are they real or not?"
Marron shook her head. "Not real. If this guy is, protect me, please."
There was no groaning and all his limbs were intact—a good sign. Even from here, something was wrong with the way he moved. The man was lurching, like each step took more effort than it should.
"If he's not a zombie, he's exhausted," she murmured.
"Or injured." Mokko positioned himself near the cart, not threatening, but protective. "Be ready. Not everyone who approaches a lone food cart has good intentions."
"You think he's dangerous?"
"I think he's desperate. Desperate people are unpredictable." Mokko's voice was calm, measured. "But we'll see. Just... stay alert."
The figure drew closer, and Marron could see he was young. Mid-twenties, maybe, with travel-worn clothes and a very light pack. His face was pale, and his steps were unsteady. When he spotted the cart, he stopped completely.
Stared.
Then hurried forward with renewed energy that looked like it cost him everything he had left.
"Food?" he called out, his voice hoarse and cracking. "You're... you're actually open?"
Marron felt something twist in her chest. She knew that kind of desperation. Not the physical kind, maybe, but the soul-deep exhaustion of someone who'd been running on empty for too long.
"Yes," she called back. "We're open."
The traveler reached the cart and practically collapsed against the serving counter, breathing hard. Up close, she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands trembled, the hollow look of someone who hadn't eaten properly in days.
[QUEST PROGRESS: POTENTIAL CUSTOMER DETECTED]
[STATUS: HUNGRY, EXHAUSTED, LOW STAMINA]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: PROVIDE NOURISHMENT]
No kidding, Marron thought, dismissing the notification.
"I can pay," the traveler said quickly, fumbling for a coin pouch at his belt. "I have coin. I just—I need food. Real food. I've been on the road for three days and I—"
"Hey," Marron interrupted gently. "It's okay. Catch your breath first. I'll make you something."
The traveler looked at her like she'd just offered him the world. "Really?"
"Really. Have a seat." She gestured to a wooden crate near the cart that could serve as a makeshift stool. "Give me a few minutes."
He collapsed onto the crate gratefully, and Marron heard his quiet, shaky exhale of relief.
She turned back to her workspace, heart pounding.
Okay. First customer. Don't screw this up.
She looked at what she had: golden potatoes, seasonal berries, spring water, duck fat, salt. Basic ingredients, but she could work with this.
The System had mentioned two recipes she could make: Golden Fries and Sparkling Soda.
Simple. I can do simple.
She pulled out two of the golden potatoes, weighing them in her hands. They were warm, almost alive with whatever magic made them glow faintly in the dimming light.
"You can do this," Mokko said quietly from outside. He'd moved to where he could watch both the traveler and the road. "Just cook. Trust your hands."
Marron nodded and picked up the largest knife.
The moment the blade touched the potato, something clicked. Her hands moved with confidence she didn't remember having—peeling, cutting, slicing into perfect strips. Muscle memory from a life that felt both distant and immediate.
Thanks, Mom.
The potato's flesh was golden inside, sparkling faintly as she cut. Each slice revealed more of that inner light, and the smell was rich and earthy, almost intoxicating.
She finished the first potato and moved to the second, her movements becoming smoother with each cut. The repetitive motion was soothing, meditative.
No phone calls. No emails. No meetings.
Just her, the knife, and the quiet satisfaction of turning something raw into something better.
"Smells good," the traveler called weakly from outside. "What are you making?"
"Golden fries," Marron replied, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. "And something to drink. You look like you could use both."
She found the duck fat in storage and heated it in the small copper pan. While it warmed, she seasoned the cut potatoes with salt, her fingers knowing exactly how much without measuring.
The oil reached the right temperature with a satisfying sizzle when she dropped in a test piece.
Perfect.
She added the rest of the fries, and the aggressive bubbling told her the oil was hot enough to create a proper crust. Steam rose, carrying the scent of frying potatoes that was somehow richer, more alive than anything she'd made back home.
While the fries cooked, she turned to the drink. The seasonal berries were small and deep purple, jewel-like. When she crushed them with a wooden spoon, they released juice that glowed faintly, more vibrant than any berry she'd seen.
She mixed the juice with spring water and a pinch of sugar from the seasoning shelf, stirring carefully.
To her amazement, the mixture began to bubble and fizz on its own, tiny sparkles dancing in the liquid like captured starlight.
Magic soda. I just made magic soda without any carbonation.
The fries were turning golden-brown now, and she could tell from the sound—a lighter, crisper bubbling—that they were almost done.
She lifted them from the oil with a slotted spoon and immediately saw what made them "Golden" fries.
They were actually golden. Not just golden-brown—they shimmered like they'd been dusted with edible gold, each fry catching the fading sunlight through the serving window.
The smell that rose from them made her mouth water despite having eaten at the inn that morning.
She plated them on a simple ceramic dish, poured the sparkling berry soda into a clear glass, and carried both to the serving window.
"Order up," she called, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
The traveler practically leaped from his seat, approaching the counter. His hands trembled as he reached for his coin pouch.
"How much?"
Marron glanced at the price that appeared in her vision—the System helpfully suggesting an amount based on the quality and ingredients.
"Fifteen silver," she said, hoping that was reasonable in this world.
The traveler nodded without hesitation and counted out coins with shaking fingers. They were warm and heavier than she'd expected when he placed them in her palm.
Real money. This is actually real.
"Thank you," he said, taking the plate with both hands like it was something precious. "You have no idea what this means."
He took a bite of the fries.
And froze.
His eyes went wide, then soft, and for a moment Marron thought something was wrong. Then she saw tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
[DISH EVALUATED: GOLDEN FRIES & SPARKLING BERRY SODA]
[QUALITY: GOOD]
[EFFECTS: Restores energy, removes hunger, provides comfort]
[SPECIAL: EMOTIONAL RESONANCE DETECTED]
"I can taste..." the traveler whispered, his voice thick. "Home. I can taste home. My grandmother's kitchen. The way she used to make potatoes when I was small."
He looked up at Marron with wonder replacing the exhaustion in his face. "How did you do that?"
Marron felt something warm bloom in her chest. Pride, recognition, purpose—all tangled together in a way she hadn't felt in years.
"I just cooked them," she said softly. "That's all."
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't entirely true. There had been something else in the cooking. Something more than technique or ingredients.
Intention. Care. The desire to help.
The traveler took another bite, closing his eyes to savor it. With each mouthful, color returned to his face. His hands steadied. The hollow desperation in his expression gradually filled with something like peace.
[QUEST COMPLETE: YOUR FIRST MEAL]
[You have cooked and served your first customer]
[Reward: Progress toward Rank F]
[New recipe knowledge unlocked]
[Your skills have grown]
Marron dismissed the notifications, keeping her focus on her customer. He was already halfway through the fries, eating with the focused intensity of someone who'd been truly hungry.
"What brings you out here?" she asked, wiping down the counter with a cloth that had appeared in the storage.
"Merchant route," he said between bites. "I trade between the villages in this region. Heard there might be food stalls starting up again in Meadowbrook Commons." He gestured around the empty clearing. "This used to be a thriving market, you know. Before the..."
He trailed off, shaking his head. "Well. Before things changed."
"Changed how?"
He drained his glass of sparkling soda—his eyebrows rising in pleased surprise at the taste—and set it down carefully.
"Monster attacks, mostly. Started about two years ago. Nothing too dangerous, but enough to scare off the regular merchants. The trade routes shifted away from here."
He looked around the empty meadow. "Used to be fifteen, twenty stalls here every day. Farmers, bakers, craftsmen. This was the heart of regional commerce."
So that's why the cart was abandoned. Why there are foundations and posts everywhere.
"But you're here now," Mokko observed from where he'd been quietly standing watch. "That suggests things are improving."
The traveler jumped slightly—apparently he'd forgotten about the talking bear, or hadn't fully processed it until now. He recovered quickly, though.
"Getting better, yes. The Adventurer's Guild has been clearing out the monster nests, making the roads safer." He finished the last of his fries and sighed with deep satisfaction. "Still, it'll take time for word to spread that it's safe to set up shop here again."
"So I might be the only stall for a while?" Marron asked.
"For now, probably." He stood, looking steadier than when he'd arrived. The magical properties of the meal were clearly working—his skin had better color, his posture was straighter, and the desperate edge to his movements was completely gone.
"But if you can cook like this?" He gestured at his empty plate. "Word will spread fast. People will come just for the food, regardless of what else is here."
He pressed an additional coin into Marron's hand—a tip, she realized. Her first tip.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "Not just for the food. For the reminder."
"Reminder of what?"
"That there's still good in the world. Still people who care about more than just profit." He shouldered his pack, which somehow looked lighter now. "I'll tell everyone I meet about Comfort and Crunch. You have my word."
He headed toward the path that led deeper into the countryside, and this time he moved with purpose instead of desperation.
Marron watched him go, then looked down at the coins in her hand. Sixteen silver total—one more than the asking price.
"Not bad for your first customer," Mokko said, settling down beside the cart with a satisfied grunt. "That was good work, Marron. Really good."
"It was just fries," she said, but she was smiling.
"It was more than that. You cooked with intention. Made food that meant something." Mokko adjusted his glasses. "That's what separates a cook from a chef."
Marron looked at her cart—Comfort and Crunch, the golden letters declared—and felt that warm, bright thing in her chest grow stronger.
I did it. I fed my first customer in this new life.
"So what happens now?" she asked.
"Now?" Mokko yawned. "Now we rest. Tomorrow, we do it again. And again. Until word spreads and business picks up." He looked at her. "Welcome to the food cart life, Chef."
Marron climbed back into her cart and looked around the small space that was hers. The stove was still warm. The scent of fried potatoes lingered in the air. Through the window, the sun was setting over Meadowbrook Commons, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.
She picked up her knife and began cleaning it, already thinking about what she might cook next.
This is living, she thought. This is what it feels like to actually live.