Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins
Chapter 64: The Price of Divinity

Chapter 64: The Price of Divinity

The lanterns had just started to glow across the Academy plaza, their soft, enchanted light shimmering like a thousand captured embers in the evening sky. The festival was in full swing, a symphony of music, laughter, and the distant, thrilling roar of a magical beast from one of the exhibition stalls. But in our small corner of the world, a different kind of drama was unfolding. I stood at the edge of our stall, my arms crossed, and realized with a dawning, sickening horror that the worst-case scenario had just unfolded:

We were almost out of stock.

I hissed under my breath, my hands clenching into tight fists as I gritted my teeth. "I knew this would happen. I should’ve believed in myself more."

We had barely crossed the halfway mark of the festival’s first day, and already, our ramen pots were scraping bottom, the carefully prepared thunderbeast burger patties were dwindling to a pathetic few, and the fries—the precious, golden, and now legendary Shadow Fries—had almost vanished completely.

Three hours left on the clock. And we were about to shut down.

"Julie!" I called, my voice sharp with a sudden urgency. "Inventory! Now!"

"Three portions of ramen, one burger, and half a basket of fries! That’s it!" she yelled back from the chaotic heart of the kitchen, her voice strained with a mixture of pride and panic. "I’m not a miracle factory, Ashen!"

"Yet," Masha added dryly from her command post at the front, flipping a page on her ever-present clipboard without looking up.

I turned my gaze toward the street and paused, my own breath catching in my throat. My eyes narrowed.

A queue. No, it wasn’t a queue. It was an ocean of people.

Where in the hells did they all come from?

A massive, winding line had formed outside our stall, stretching far down the plaza—over forty people long, and growing with every passing moment. There were new customers, more nobles, curious tourists, and a surprising number of students from rival classes. Even a few professors were in the mix, their usual stern expressions replaced by a look of hungry, hopeful anticipation.

My brain buzzed with a frantic, chaotic energy. ’How the hell do I tell all of them that we’re closing shop early?’

"Seraphina," I said, my voice a low, urgent murmur as I turned to the only person on our team with both the beauty and the theatrical flair to break bad news diplomatically. "You do the honors."

She sighed, a dramatic, long-suffering sound that I knew she was secretly savoring, and glided to the front of the stall, her movements a study in elven grace.

Her voice, magically amplified, rose with a practiced, theatrical flair. "My esteemed guests! Due to an excessive, and frankly overwhelming, display of your excellent taste, and an unprecedented demand for our humble offerings, we regret to inform you that Ashen’s Shadow Kitchen is nearing its daily stock limit. We will no longer be able to serve regular orders after the next few moments!"

The line groaned, a collective, mournful sound of disappointment. Voices, laced with frustration, began to complain.

And then—

"Ashen!" a familiar, imperious voice called out from the middle of the queue.

I winced.

Aurelia.

There she was, a vision in full, formal regalia—bright, sapphire-blue robes, glittering, diamond-like earrings, her golden hair styled to perfection.

"I came all this way only for your food," she declared, stepping forward with the effortless elegance of someone who was used to being obeyed. "And this is how you treat me?"

I ran a hand down my face, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. "You could have shown up two hours ago like a normal guest."

"I was busy at the fencing exhibition," she retorted, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous light. "And now I’m starving."

She crossed her arms, her expression one of expectant, regal demand.

I glanced at Julie, who just shook her head, her expression a mask of helpless despair. "What do we have left again?"

"The same report. One burger, three bowls of ramen, and half a basket of Shadow Fries."

I turned back to Aurelia, a slow, calculating smile spreading across my face. "Alright. VIP seating. Limited menu. Premium price."

Her eyes gleamed. "How premium are we talking?"

"Five gold coins per item."

[System: Alert! Host has initiated a Premium Upsell Negotiation.]

[Custom Pricing Accepted | VIP Status Activated: Aurelia Dawncrest]

[Bonus Effect: +1 Charisma for asserting authority in a high-pressure situation.]

[System: Good move. Extortion never looked so elegant.]

"You’re quite the capitalist, aren’t you?" she muttered, but she was already pulling the coins from a small, enchanted pouch, a smirk of her own playing on her lips.

"Just a man who knows his worth," I replied, my own smirk widening.

Within minutes, the last of our food had been plated and served to Aurelia at a specially reserved table. She sat with an exaggerated, theatrical grace, lifted a spoonful of the rich, savory broth to her lips—and paused.

Then, she tasted it.

Her expression softened, her eyes closing for a moment in pure, unadulterated bliss. "Still the best thing I’ve eaten this year."

She worked through the rest of the meal slowly, savoring every single bite. Around her, the last of our other customers licked their bowls clean, biting into the last of the burgers as if they were biting into joy itself.

One man, his clothes simple but his hands those of a master craftsman, stood up and approached me. He wore an elegant, pristine white apron, and a golden guild medallion shimmered on his chest. "I own the Emberveil Bistro," he said, his voice a low, respectful murmur. "You’ve likely heard of us. I want you to join my establishment. As a permanent, head chef. You will have full authority over the menu. Sixty gold a week, plus a stake in the ownership."

I raised a brow.

Before I could respond, another voice cut in. A grizzled dwarf with peppered hair and a traveling cook’s kit slung over his shoulder. "I’ll give you three hundred gold for the ramen recipe. A one-time deal. Right now."

I stared at them both, a slow, arrogant smile spreading across my face. "No."

"What?!"

"Why?"

"Because the price of chasing me hasn’t peaked yet," I said, my voice a low, confident purr. "You’re bidding during the storm. Try again after it passes."

[System Notification: Greedy Merchant Offers Rejected.]

[Passive Skill "Entrepreneurial Instinct" has been strengthened. +3 Charisma | +2 Luck]

[System: If you start a cooking empire, can I be the CFO?]

"No."

As the last, faint light of the sun faded from the sky, I glanced at our packed, and now finally quiet, stall. Julie wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, a look of profound exhaustion and satisfaction on her face. Sasha leaned against a crate, her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips. Even Eren looked winded, his usual arrogant posture replaced by a weary slump.

Aurelia stood, a picture of grace and contentment. "Well, that was delightful," she said, walking back to me.

"Glad you enjoyed it."

She smirked. "You know, our ’date’ is scheduled for tomorrow. But since your restaurant will be closed... how about we go now instead?"

I stared at her. "Now?"

"Yes. The stars are out. The crowd is thinning. It’s the perfect time for a romantic stroll."

’I had almost forgotten. I’m booked. Three dates. Three days. Sasha, Seraphina, and now Aurelia. If this keeps up, I’ll need to file a formal complaint with the gods of scheduling.’

But if I refused her now, in front of all these people, she’d turn it into a political drama that would last for weeks.

"Fine," I said, a sound of weary resignation. "Lead the way."

The "date" began with her dragging me to a firefly lantern stall. We each released one into the sky, its paper surface inscribed with a mana-wish.

Hers: May Ashen eventually stop frowning. It’s bad for his jawline.

Mine: May people stop scheduling my life without my permission.

Then she pulled me toward a glowfruit wine vendor. She took a delicate sip and insisted I try.

"I don’t drink," I said.

"It’s just fermented fruit."

"Still don’t drink."

We walked past a duet booth, where a flamboyant bard offered to play a "theme song" for couples. I declined. She accepted. Now there’s a ballad titled ’The Scowling Chef and His Royal Flame’ floating through the festival squares.

Eventually, we reached a quieter area—a rooftop garden that offered a breathtaking view over the glittering plaza. Aurelia sat on the edge of a stone planter, letting the cool night breeze catch her golden hair.

"This," she said softly, "is nice."

I didn’t disagree.

She glanced at me, her expression turning serious for the first time. "You really don’t like romance, do you?"

"I’m not interested in it."

"Why?"

I shrugged, my gaze fixed on the distant, twinkling lights. "Because I have goals. And feelings... feelings complicate them."

She smiled faintly, a sad, knowing expression. "Even so... you’re not as cold as you pretend to be."

I didn’t answer. Because maybe, just maybe, she was right.

When we returned to the stall, most of the team had already packed up and left. Yumi was asleep in Masha’s arms, her small face peaceful. Julie handed me a heavy pouch of coins, the earnings for the day: a staggering one hundred and eighty-nine gold.

Aurelia waved me goodnight with a smirk. "Thanks for the food, and for the fun. Tomorrow... maybe we can have dessert?"

I sighed. One date down. Two more to go. And still no rest in sight.