Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins
Chapter 62: Dry Run

Chapter 62: Dry Run

The second morning of fest prep began with something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time:

Hope.

Not the delusional, fleeting kind that whispers of a better tomorrow. Not the "things will magically get better" kind that fools and children cling to. No, this was a different, more substantial kind of hope. It was the kind that comes from watching pure, unadulterated chaos slowly, stubbornly, transform into progress. It was the kind of hope forged in the fires of burnt pans and bruised egos. It was the quiet, steady warmth that stirs deep inside when you realize, against all odds, this might actually work.

I stepped onto our makeshift restaurant grounds in the eastern courtyard, and the scene before me was one of controlled, beautiful chaos. The air, once filled with the nervous energy of scattered students, was now thick with the rich, savory aroma of simmering broth and the sharp, clean scent of freshly chopped herbs.

Julie was commanding the prep station like a battlefield medic, her apron tied tight, her hair pulled back in a severe, no-nonsense bun. Jars of exotic spices, sourced from the far corners of the continent, were lined up before her like a row of colorful, explosive grenades. Every ten minutes, she would pause, her brow furrowed in concentration, and scribble something into her battle-worn recipe notebook—adjustments, critiques, culinary war plans.

Beside her, Sasha wielded a knife with a mechanical, almost terrifying precision, her hands a blur of motion as she sliced vegetables at speeds that bordered on illegal. She hummed a cheerful, off-key tune while she worked, blissfully unaware that her discordant melody was driving the hyper-focused Julie insane.

Eren and Noora, a surprisingly effective duo, levitated massive crates of ingredients with rune-imbued gloves, their usual bickering now a low, familiar hum in the background as they argued over what qualified as a ’premium sun-ripened tomato.’

And Masha... Masha sat under the central canopy we had erected, a steaming cup of black tea in one hand, a clipboard in the other. Her sharp, intelligent eyes scanned everything—not missing a single movement, a single flaw, or a single crooked tent peg. She was the silent, unmoving center of our storm.

Floating beside her, suspended in the air by a simple enchantment, was our chalkboard menu, its surface now glowing with a subtle, elegant light:

The Shadow’s Hearth

Ashen’s Flame-Fried Ramen | Beastkin Burgers | Shadow Fries

And below, in a flourish of elegant, golden script that was undoubtedly Noora’s handiwork:

Opening Tomorrow. Eat Smart. Eat Shadow.

"Eat Shadow?" I muttered as I approached, my voice a low note of amused disbelief.

"It was either that or ’We Won a War, Now We Cook,’" Masha said, not even glancing up from her notes.

"...Fair."

Yumi came bounding over then, a tiny basket of fragrant, glowing mana-herbs cradled in her arms. Her snow-white curls bounced with every joyful step, and her cheeks were pink from the morning sun.

"I got the minty leaves you wanted!" she chirped, her rose-pink eyes sparkling with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

"Good job, Chief Critic," I said, patting her head. "You’ve officially contributed more than Eren has all morning."

"Hey!" Eren shouted from across the courtyard, nearly dropping a crate of solonis tubers. "I’ve been hauling since dawn!"

"Exactly," I said, a smirk on my face. "And she’s still ahead of you."

We held our first full dry run that morning. The moment Julie poured the first, fragrant ladle of her perfected ramen broth into the massive iron cauldron, the entire courtyard seemed to still.

A rich, golden aroma, unlike anything this world had ever known, wafted into the air. It was a complex, multi-layered scent—the deep, savory notes of umami from the roasted thunderbeast bones, the sharp, clean scent of spice roots, and the subtle, fragrant whispers of a dozen different herbal infusions, all blending into one harmonious, intoxicating perfume.

Students, who had been rushing past on their way to their own festival preparations, stopped mid-step. One even dropped a heavy, leather-bound scroll, its contents spilling across the cobblestones unnoticed.

"What is that smell?" someone muttered, their head tilted, their nose twitching.

"Is the cafeteria on fire again?" another whispered.

No. This was better than fire. This was flavor incarnate.

Sasha manned the noodle station, boiling and straining each batch of fresh, hand-pulled noodles with a surgical precision that was both impressive and slightly terrifying. The bowls clacked together in a steady, rhythmic beat.

"Two Shadow Ramen! Table three!" she shouted, her voice ringing with a newfound confidence.

Eren and Seraphina, our designated runners, sprang into action. Eren, still clumsy and unaccustomed to the art of balancing a tray, nearly tripped every ten feet. Seraphina, in stark contrast, glided between the tables as if she owned the clouds, her movements a study in elven grace.

Noora handled the order board, her fingers a blur as she embedded glowing rune timers into the wood and directed the flow of service like a seasoned battlefield commander.

And me?

I watched. I planned. I adjusted. Every reaction from our small group of volunteer taste-testers, every delay in the kitchen, every wince of dissatisfaction or smile of pure, unadulterated joy. I took notes.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was working. A small crowd of curious students had begun to hover near the perimeter of our stall, pretending not to care while sniffing the air like a pack of hungry, wild beasts.

Then it happened.

A noble girl, her golden hair piled high in an intricate, jewel-studded coif, her dress a cascade of expensive, impractical silk, finally broke from the crowd and stepped forward.

"Do you sell to the public yet?" she asked, her voice laced with the bored, arrogant tone of her station.

I blinked. "Trial menu. One silver coin. Ramen, burger, or fries."

She scoffed—until the rich, savory scent of the ramen broth hit her full in the face. Her expression faltered.

"Ramen," she said, her voice a little less certain now.

Julie served her with a polite bow that could have curdled milk.

The girl took one, delicate bite. Then another. Then another, her movements becoming less and less refined with each spoonful.

Her spoon clattered against the empty bowl.

"OH MY GODS."

Heads turned.

"What is this?!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with a religious fervor. "This is... this is better than Chef Darvian’s tier-eight soul stew!"

"You lie!" another noble, a boy with an equally arrogant sneer, scoffed from the crowd.

"Try it!" she insisted, her earlier disdain forgotten.

And suddenly, the line formed. They came with coin. And they left with wonder.

The ramen—it was the dish they went crazy over. The rich, complex broth, the chewy, satisfying noodles, and the drizzle of our house-blend chili oil over a perfect, jammy soft-boiled egg. One boy, after his first, life-altering bite, actually fainted. No, literally fainted.

Sasha caught him. Barely.

Later, during a much-needed break, I pulled Masha aside. We sat on a crate near the back of the stall, the delicious aroma of grilled thunderbeast patties wafting nearby.

"You seem calm," I said.

"Because I’m watching a miracle take shape," she replied, a rare, genuine smile on her face.

"That’s... poetic."

She smirked. "You’re changing, Ashen. I like this version of you."

"I still hate nobles, war, politics, and most people."

"But you care now," she said softly. "That wasn’t always true."

I looked down at my hands. They were callused now, and burned slightly from a pot of oil I had spilled earlier. "Yumi changed things," I whispered.

"She changed you," Masha corrected gently.

I didn’t deny it.

The second training session began after lunch. This time, I stepped in. I took over the grill station.

I burned myself twice. I overcooked a burger until it was a sad, charcoal briquette. I almost dropped a sizzling pan of solonis fries.

Julie hovered over me like a hawk with a death warrant.

"Flip it now! No! Not twice! This isn’t a pancake!"

"The oil temperature! Are you trying to summon a fire elemental?!"

"Plate it gently! You’re not throwing a discus!"

Despite it all, I smiled. Because I was learning. Because this felt... real.

Meanwhile, Seraphina, who had been tasked with the uniforms, unveiled her chosen designs. One by one.

"Option one: elven-chic silk."

"Too shiny," Sasha said.

"Option two: a leather apron and a backless blouse."

"Too scandalous," Noora coughed, her face flushing.

"Option three: a classic maid aesthetic, with our ’Shadow’s Hearth’ sigil on the back."

"I LOVE THAT ONE!" Yumi shouted from her perch on a nearby stool.

And that was that. The staff would now wear themed maid and butler uniforms.

Sasha muttered, "We’re doomed."

As the sun set, casting a long, golden glow over the courtyard, we all gathered around a long bench, sharing the leftovers from our chaotic but successful day. The ramen was even better now that it had had time to rest. The burgers had a deep, smoky flavor. And the Shadow Fries had already gained a small, but devoted, cult following.

Yumi sat beside me, her cheeks stuffed with a piece of a burger. Masha sipped her tea beside her. Julie and Sasha giggled over something dumb. Noora and Seraphina were engaged in a heated but friendly argument about the optimal placement of the tables. And Eren... Eren was trying to stack the empty bowls for juggling practice.

"Tomorrow," I said, my voice cutting through the comfortable chaos, "we open."

Everyone froze.

Then Masha asked, "Are we ready?"

"No," I said, a slow grin spreading across my face. "But we will be."

Julie raised her cup of tea. "To Ashen’s Restaurant of Mildly Controlled Chaos."

"Cheers!" they all echoed. Even Yumi.

As the first stars began to bloom in the darkening sky, I leaned back and closed my eyes.

I’d fought wars. I’d slain monsters. I’d manipulated kings and queens.

But this? This was harder.

And it mattered more.

Because this wasn’t about rewriting fate anymore.

This was about living it.

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