Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins
Chapter 61: Aprons

Chapter 61: Aprons

The sun had dipped low by the time I returned to my dorm, its last rays painting the sky in streaks of soft orange and deep violet. The lamplights along the stone paths flickered to life one by one, their gentle, enchanted glow responding to the encroaching dusk. The air was cooler now, quieter, carrying the scent of damp earth and the distant, fading hum of the day’s activity. For once, there was a sense of peace that felt earned, a quiet respite from the relentless storm of my new life.

My footsteps slowed as I reached the large oak door of the boys’ dormitory wing. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I wasn’t exhausted by brutal duels or haunted by the cursed memories of a black-market auction.

Just plans.

So many damn plans.

Menus. Layouts. Staffing schedules. Cooking logistics. Festival time slots. If this were Earth, I would have just googled "how to open a restaurant" and been done with it.

But here? In this world of magic and monsters? I had to build it all from scratch.

Fortunately, I had one unfair advantage.

She was already waiting in the living room, a leather-bound notebook open on her lap, a meticulously compiled list of materials beside her, and a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

"Masha," I greeted, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.

She didn’t look up from her notes. "You’re late."

"I was hiring people, not seducing dragons," I retorted, dropping my satchel onto a nearby armchair.

"You’re still late."

I dropped into the seat across from her, a weary sigh escaping my lips. "You really care."

She finally glanced up, and despite the annoyed tone in her voice, there was a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I heard from the other maids. You’ve been visiting half the Academy, trying to recruit for your little... eatery."

"Restaurant," I corrected, a hint of pride in my voice. "And it’s not little. It’s going to be the biggest money-maker this festival has ever seen."

She flipped a page in her notebook, her expression all business. "You have eight people on your team so far, including yourself. Two of them barely know how to cook, one is an elven princess with no filter and an obsession with chandeliers, one is Julie, who might have a nervous breakdown and kill someone if the oil splashes, and you still haven’t finalized the decor, the official name, or the supply chain for your exotic ingredients."

I blinked. "You’ve... really done your research."

She tossed the notebook on the table between us. "Of course. You’re my master. If you’re going to fail spectacularly, I want front-row seats."

"You say that like you aren’t going to be the one to help me succeed."

Masha folded her arms, her expression a mask of cool indifference. "That depends. What’s in it for me?"

"You get to insult me in front of the customers. All day long."

She tapped her chin, a thoughtful, almost wicked glint in her eyes. "Tempting."

I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a low, serious murmur. "I need you, Masha. I need you to handle the stall layout, the interior design, the ingredient procurement, and the staff scheduling. Also, the uniforms. Something decent—not the garish garb of the nobility, but not the peasant rags of the common folk either."

"You think I don’t already have something in mind?" she scoffed, a flicker of pride in her voice. "I was hoping you’d ask. I have no intention of letting this place become a public disaster."

"You’ve got that sparkle in your eye again."

She leaned back smugly. "I live to see you panic."

I held up a hand. "To partnership?"

She looked at it for a long, silent moment, then smirked and high-fived me instead. "To disaster."

After our meeting, I changed into something more comfortable and made my way to the back garden, a small, secluded space that had become my sanctuary.

And there she was.

Yumi.

Dressed in a simple, cream-colored dress, her snow-white hair tied back in twin tails with the pastel pink ribbons she so adored. She was chasing around a tiny, glowing mana-butterfly, her bare feet silent on the cool, damp grass. She giggled, a pure, musical sound, each time she missed, her small body running in joyous, uneven circles.

Watching her felt... surreal.

This world, my world, had so much darkness, so much pain and betrayal. And yet, here she was—this small, impossibly bright flicker of light, too innocent to be real.

I leaned against the doorway, a genuine, unforced smile touching my lips. "You hunting dragons again?"

She turned, her rose-pink eyes widening with delight. "Ashy!"

I froze. "Did... did you just call me that in public?"

"You’re late!" she pouted, completely ignoring my panic. "You promised you’d teach me shadow tag!"

"Did I?" I scratched my head, feigning a look of confusion. "Must’ve been a different handsome man with overwhelming charisma."

She crossed her arms, her expression a perfect imitation of Masha’s disapproval. "You said, ’When I get back, I’ll show you what shadows can do when they’re in a good mood.’"

"Did I really say that?" I looked to the heavens, my voice filled with a theatrical despair. "I need to stop making promises."

"Shadow tag!" she insisted, her small foot stomping on the grass for emphasis.

I sighed dramatically. "Fine."

Raising my hand, I summoned a thin, playful veil of shadow. It coiled along the ground at my feet, weaving and dancing like a curious snake. Yumi’s eyes lit up with a mixture of awe and excitement.

"Okay," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "Rule one—don’t let it touch you."

She gasped. "What happens if it does?"

"It tickles."

Her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. "No! Not that!"

With a flick of my finger, the shadow darted toward her. She shrieked, a sound of pure, joyous terror, and bolted, her laughter echoing through the garden as the shadow chased her through the flowers.

"You said this was training!" she shouted between giggles.

"It is," I called after her. "You’re building your agility. And learning the true meaning of fear."

"I’m gonna tell Masha!"

"She’s in on it!"

Yumi ducked behind a large, ancient tree, but the shadow, sentient and playful, snaked around it. Just as it neared her feet, she jumped over it with a surprising agility and landed softly in a patch of moonpetal flowers.

The shadow stalled, its form wavering as if in confusion.

She grinned, her small face triumphant. "Victory!"

"You’re abusing the flower fields for cover. I should penalize that."

She stuck out her tongue. "Too late!"

I laughed. Genuinely.

Later, as the stars began to appear in the darkening sky, we sat on a stone bench, watching the fireflies dance in the twilight. Yumi leaned against my side, her small legs swinging back and forth.

"I heard you’re opening a restaurant," she said, her voice a quiet murmur.

"Word travels fast."

"Are you gonna make cookies?"

"Probably not."

"Then it’s a stupid restaurant."

I ruffled her hair. "I’ll make you some. Just don’t tell the customers where the real good stuff goes."

She beamed. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Then her voice dropped, becoming small and hesitant. "Do you think I could help... somehow?"

I turned to look at her. "You want to work?"

She nodded, her rose-pink eyes serious. "I wanna help you like you helped me. Even if it’s just... taste-testing."

My heart tugged, a strange, unfamiliar ache in my chest.

"You’ll be our official Quality Control Manager," I said, my voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t name. "The scariest, most important title of all."

Her eyes sparkled. "Really?"

"Of course."

She laughed again, this time quieter, her head resting against my shoulder. And just like that... my world made a little more sense.

The courtyard behind the Academy’s eastern annex had been transformed. What was once a peaceful green space where students came to nap or flirt under the shade of ancient trees now looked like a half-built war zone of carts, tents, barrels, and floating rune lamps. Wooden frames for the festival booths hovered midair, rotating slowly while specialized repair mages etched structural glyphs into their surfaces. Mana sparks, in every color of the rainbow, filled the air like confetti. Clusters of students argued over themes, banners, and food layouts, while others painted signs midair with enchanted brushes.

Amid it all, stood me. And my stall.

Well, the skeleton of it.

Ten wooden tables were arranged in a large, open square with three industrial-grade stoves, two carts for display, and a partially constructed sign that, thanks to Sasha’s creative input, currently read:

"Ashen’s Ramen & Shadow Snacks"

I stared at it, my expression one of profound, unimpressed disbelief. "Remove my name from that."

Sasha pouted from where she was standing, her hands on her hips. "You promised me naming rights!"

"No, I promised to consider naming rights. Also, ’Shadow Snacks’? Really?"

She twirled, a proud smile on her face. "It’s catchy."

"It sounds cursed. Like I’m cooking demonic poultry in a cauldron."

"Well... you kinda are."

"No," I deadpanned. "I’m making food. Earth food. Human food."

A loud clang interrupted us as Eren dropped a massive crate full of cooking utensils. "Delivery complete!" he shouted, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Why is everything in this academy made of mana-infused metal? This crate weighs more than my soul."

Julie, who had just arrived with a tray of her latest sauce-testing creations, didn’t even look up. "That’s because your soul is feather-light, Prince Eren."

"Ouch," Eren groaned.

Noora, who was busy organizing our newly acquired spice rack, called out, "Can someone please tell me why Seraphina just installed a full-sized, crystal chandelier in our serving area?"

Seraphina spun dramatically nearby, a velvet cloth in her hand as she polished one of the crystals. "It’s aesthetic," she said with a wink. "And besides, darling, we’re not just selling food—we’re selling ambience."

Sasha folded her arms. "With all due respect, Princess, we’re not hosting a royal banquet."

Seraphina twirled again. "Speak for yourself, groundlings. The elves have standards."

Julie, who’d been quietly humming to herself while blending a new, red-gold sauce, muttered, "If she installs gold-tipped napkins, I’m quitting."

"I heard that," Seraphina said sweetly.

"You were supposed to," Julie replied without missing a beat.

Ah. The tension was already crackling. Time to intervene.

"Alright," I clapped, stepping onto a nearby table for visibility. "Team, listen up!"

Everyone turned, their bickering momentarily forgotten.

"We open in three days. That means we have three days to perfect the menu, fix the layout, rehearse our process, and—most importantly—not kill each other."

Julie raised a ladle, her expression serious. "Define perfect."

"Something that doesn’t give the nobles who eat it a case of magical stomach trauma," I replied. "Let’s start with the sauces."

She nodded and placed six small, numbered bowls on a tray. "I tried to replicate the spice notes you described. These three lean toward a soy-based profile, while the others are more creamy and herbaceous."

I dipped a wooden spoon into the first one and took a sip. Tangy. A little sweet. Slightly off-balance.

"Number two," she said, handing me another spoon.

I tasted it. My eyebrows rose. "That’s... that’s it."

"Really?"

"It’s eighty-five percent accurate to an Earth-style ramen base. It might even be better."

Julie looked like she wanted to faint from sheer, unadulterated happiness. "That was the third version I tried last night. I almost gave up."

Sasha leaned in to taste. "Oh wow. This is delicious!"

Noora sniffed the air. "We’ll need something milder for the younger students, though. And a few options without meat for the elves."

Seraphina nodded in agreement. "If you serve boar bacon anywhere near my circle of friends, I will personally set the pan on fire."

"Noted," I said. "Julie, can you prep two more sauce bases—one mild, one vegan?"

Julie gave a determined thumbs up. "On it."

Just then, Masha entered the stall, a floating clipboard and a deadpan expression her only companions. "Your uniforms are done," she announced. "Simple, crisp, functional. No gold trims, no unnecessary frills, no arguments."

Seraphina opened her mouth to protest.

"No," Masha said instantly.

"Fine," the princess pouted.

"And here’s your preliminary stall blueprint," Masha added, handing me a scroll. "You’ll be running two primary stations—a grill for the burgers and a broth base for the ramen. The serving window will be here. Seating will be under an enchanted vine canopy. And the lighting will be provided by enchanted orbs with adjustable warmth settings."

I scanned the layout. It was... flawless.

"You’re scary good at this," I said, a note of genuine admiration in my voice.

"I’m good at everything," she replied, then her gaze softened as she glanced at Yumi, who was peeking from behind one of the crates with wide, curious eyes.

I waved her over. She ran up, her small boots pattering on the wooden floorboards.

"Hi everyone!" she said, doing a small, perfect twirl in her frilly dress.

Seraphina blinked. "She’s... adorable."

"She’s also our official Quality Control Manager," I said.

Yumi nodded proudly. "I get to eat everything before you do!"

"That’s not how that works," Julie murmured under her breath.

"Too late," I whispered back. "She already has the badge."

Yumi held up a circular, cookie-shaped medallion I had made for her last night. It read: Chief Critic of Cuteness & Cuisine.

"Anyway," I said, clapping my hands together. "Let’s get to work. Sasha—you’re in charge of the ramen toppings. Julie and Noora, you’ll finalize the sauces. Eren, you’re on burger patty prep. Seraphina, you’re on the decoration team with Masha."

Everyone moved—some with sighs, others with shrugs. It was a chaotic mess of clashing personalities, but somehow... it was working.

Hours passed. The air filled with the smell of sizzling meat, steaming noodles, and freshly fried bread. Spices, once foreign and exotic, now floated like clouds of promise. Magic infused every step of the preparation process—levitating pans, instantly chilled plates, enchanted heating stones that kept the broth at a perfect, constant temperature. Even the decorative banner above our stall, now bearing a name Masha had chosen—"The Shadow’s Hearth"—was glowing with a soft, welcoming light.

Yumi perched on a stool, her small face a mask of pure bliss as she nibbled on a half-sized burger. "Ashen... this is amazing."

"You haven’t even tried the ramen yet."

"I’ll eat it all tomorrow!"

I ruffled her hair. "That’s the spirit."

Behind me, I heard the sound of laughter. Sasha and Julie were bantering over the proper way to present a dish. Noora and Seraphina were arguing about the font styles for the menu. And Masha... Masha just sat back and took notes, a proud, almost demonic smile on her face.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was becoming something real.

And for once, I wasn’t a commander in a war.

I was just... a guy building a dream.

With my daughter on one side.

And a strange, dysfunctional family of misfits on the other.