Marron woke with a crick in her neck and grass in her hair.
She'd fallen asleep outside the cart last night, too exhausted and exhilarated to make it inside. Now morning sun painted the abandoned market in soft gold, and her back was complaining about sleeping on the ground.
"You're awake." Mokko's voice came from nearby. "Good. We have customers coming."
Marron sat up, wincing. "Already? What time is it?"
"Early enough that you should get the stove going." He adjusted his glasses, looking far too alert for someone who'd also slept outside. "Word spreads fast when there's food where there wasn't before."
She scrambled to her feet and climbed into the cart, quickly checking her reflection in the small mirror hanging inside. Her hair was a disaster, but there wasn't time to do much about it. She tied it back with a strip of cloth and got to work.
The stove took longer to light than she'd like—G-rank fire magic was apparently finicky—but eventually she had a decent flame going. She checked her storage: still had potatoes, some vegetables Mokko had foraged, a bit of fish wrapped in leaves, rice, salt, and basic seasonings.
I need more recipes, she thought. I can't just serve fries forever.
"Mokko?" she called through the window.
"Yes?"
"What else can I make? With what we have?"
He padded over, peering through the serving window. "What do you know how to cook?"
"Back home? I could make... some things. My mom taught me basics before she..." Marron trailed off. "But I'm not confident with much beyond simple stuff."
"Then stick to simple." Mokko's tone was matter-of-fact. "You're G-rank. That's what G-rank does. One ingredient, one technique, done well. Don't overcomplicate it."
"That's it?"
"That's plenty." He gestured with a paw at her storage. "Grilled fish. Steamed vegetables. Rice. Each one, prepared with care, is a meal. Save the complexity for when you rank up."
Marron looked at the ingredients with new eyes. Simple. She could do simple.
"Customer approaching," Mokko announced.
The first customer of the day was an older man with weathered hands and a patched coat. He walked with a slight limp and carried a bundle of firewood on his back.
"Morning," he called out, setting down his burden with a grateful sigh. "Heard there was food here now. Is that true?"
"Yes, sir," Marron replied, trying to sound professional. "I can offer golden fries, or—" she glanced at her ingredients, "—grilled fish? Or steamed vegetables?"
"Fish would be wonderful." He smiled, and she could see the tiredness in his face. "How much?"
"Fifteen silver."
His smile faltered slightly. "Ah. I don't have that much coin on me. I could come back—"
"Wait." Marron looked at the firewood, then at her stove. She'd need more fuel eventually. "Would you trade? That firewood for a meal?"
The man blinked. "You'd do that?"
"Fair trade, isn't it?"
His face lit up. "More than fair. You've got yourself a deal, miss."
Marron felt Mokko's approving grunt from outside as she got to work.
The fish was fresh, probably from the river she'd passed on the way here. She'd watched her mom prepare fish a thousand times—scale it, gut it, season it simply. Her hands remembered the motions even if her confidence wavered.
Scaling was easy enough. Gutting made her squeamish, but she managed.
When it came time to slice the fish for even cooking, though, her knife skills betrayed her.
The cuts were uneven—some thick, some thin. She tried again on the second fillet and did slightly better, but it still looked amateurish compared to what she remembered her mom producing.
"Patience," Mokko called from outside. "Knife work takes practice. Just do your best."
She seasoned the fish with salt and a touch of herb she couldn't name but smelled like thyme. Then she set it on the small grill over the stove.
The sizzle was immediate and satisfying.
She watched carefully, flipping when the flesh turned opaque, trying to remember her mom's lessons about doneness and texture.
When she plated it—the presentation was rough, the cuts uneven, but it smelled incredible—she brought it to the window.
"Here you go. Grilled fish with herbs."
The old man accepted it gratefully and took a bite.
His expression softened. "Oh. That's... that's good, miss. Real good."
[DISH CREATED: SIMPLE GRILLED FISH]
[QUALITY: ADEQUATE]
[EFFECTS: Restores energy, satisfying meal]
Adequate. Not good. Not great. Adequate.
But the customer was smiling, and that was something.
He finished quickly and stood, gathering his firewood. "Here you go. Should last you a few days if you're careful with it."
"Thank you."
"No, thank you." He tipped his head. "I'll tell folks about this place. Comfort and Crunch, right? Good name."
He left with a lighter step than he'd arrived with.
Marron looked at the firewood, then at the coins she hadn't earned.
"Don't look so troubled," Mokko said. "Barter is common here. Sometimes more valuable than coin."
The second customer arrived an hour later—a young woman with flour-dusted hands and a tired smile.
"I'm from the bakery in Thornhaven," she said. "Heard there was a new cart here. Do you need help? I could wash dishes in exchange for a meal. I'm on my break and I'm starving."
Marron looked at the small pile of dishes from yesterday and this morning. She'd been dreading dealing with them.
"Deal," she said immediately.
The woman laughed. "That was fast."
"I hate dishes."
"So do I, but a girl's gotta eat."
Marron made her steamed vegetables—carrots, greens, and something that looked like bok choy. Simple prep, just steam and a pinch of salt.
Her knife work was still uneven. The carrot slices were different sizes. The greens were roughly torn instead of precisely cut.
I need to practice, she thought grimly.
But when the vegetables came out tender and bright, and she plated them simply, the baker's face lit up.
"Perfect. I've been eating bread for three days straight." She dug in happily while washing dishes in a bucket of water Mokko had helpfully filled.
[DISH CREATED: SIMPLE STEAMED VEGETABLES]
[QUALITY: ADEQUATE]
[EFFECTS: Refreshing, light meal]
Still adequate. But the customer was satisfied.
"You're gonna do well here," the baker said as she left. "This market needs good food again."
The third customer arrived just before noon.
Marron saw her coming from a distance and did a complete double-take.
It was a rabbit.
A very large rabbit.
Walking upright.
Wearing a country dress with a floral pattern and a bonnet that looked like it had stepped straight out of a storybook illustration.
"Oh my god," Marron whispered. "That's Beatrix Potter. That's literally Beatrix Potter."
Mokko snorted. "That's Clover. She's from the eastern farmlands. Rabbitkin, specifically."
"She's adorable."
"She can also hear you."
The rabbit—Clover—approached the cart with quick, bouncing steps. Her nose twitched, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and musical.
But Marron didn't understand a single word.
It sounded like... chittering? Soft sounds that definitely had structure and meaning, but nothing her brain could parse.
Marron stared. "I... uh..."
Clover tilted her head, confused. She spoke again, gesturing at the cart.
[TRANSLATION UNAVAILABLE]
[Language detected: ANIMAL TONGUE (Rabbitkin dialect)]
[G-RANK RESTRICTION: You can only understand COMMON TONGUE]
[Suggestion: Consult your companion for translation assistance]
"Oh no," Marron said. "Mokko?"
"She's asking what you have available," Mokko said calmly. He chittered something back to Clover, his voice shifting into sounds Marron definitely couldn't replicate.
Clover's ears perked up, and she chittered back happily.
"She'd like rice," Mokko translated. "Plain rice. She says she's been working in the fields all morning and just wants something simple and filling."
"Rice. I can do rice." Marron looked at her storage, at the bag of rice she'd barely touched. "Um. How much?"
Mokko chittered at Clover. She pulled out a small pouch and showed coins.
"Ten silver," Mokko said. "That's fair for plain rice."
Marron nodded and got to work.
Rice. She'd made rice a thousand times. It was just... rice and water and patience.
She measured out a portion, rinsed it carefully, and set it to cook. The stove's heat was still unpredictable, and she had to adjust it twice to keep it from burning.
While it cooked, she realized she had no idea how to serve plain rice and make it feel like a meal.
"Should I add something?" she called to Mokko.
"You're G-rank," he reminded her. "One ingredient. Let it speak for itself."
When the rice was done—fluffy, properly cooked, fragrant—she portioned it into a bowl. It looked... plain. Almost sad.
But Clover accepted it with both paws, her nose twitching happily. She took a bite, and her ears flattened in contentment.
She chittered something that sounded delighted.
"She says it's perfect," Mokko translated. "Exactly what she needed."
[DISH CREATED: SIMPLE STEAMED RICE]
[QUALITY: ADEQUATE]
[EFFECTS: Filling, comforting]
Clover paid her ten silver, chittered something that might have been "thank you," and hopped away with her bowl, eating as she went.
Marron watched her go. "I couldn't understand her at all."
"You'll learn," Mokko said. "Or you'll rank up and the System will help. Either way, language barriers are part of the work."
"How many languages are there?"
"Dozens. Common Tongue is the trade language—most humans use it, and domesticated beastkin learn it young. But each species has their own tongue. Rabbit, wolf, bear, bird... all different. Then there are regional dialects."
Marron's head spun. "How do you know so many?"
"I'm old," Mokko said simply. "And I've worked with enough chefs to pick them up. You will too, eventually."
She looked at her small collection of coins and bartered goods. Three customers. Three simple meals. All rated "adequate."
"I need to get better," she said quietly.
"You will." Mokko settled near the cart. "But Rome wasn't built in a day, Marron. Neither are chefs."
She smiled despite herself. "Did one of your previous chefs say that?"
"The second one. She liked old Earth sayings." He adjusted his glasses. "She also burned rice for the first week straight. You're doing fine."
Marron climbed back into the cart and started cleaning her workspace.
Her knife cuts were uneven. Her timing was shaky. She couldn't understand half the potential customers.
But three people had eaten her food today and left satisfied.
That had to count for something.