Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins
Chapter 65: Day 2

Chapter 65: Day 2

Day two of the Academy Fest came faster than expected, arriving on the back of a cool morning breeze that carried the scent of distant mountains and the promise of chaos.

This time, we were prepared.

A lot had changed overnight. Our single, desperate stall had transformed into a small, efficient empire. We had more stock, mountains of it, delivered by a frantic but well-paid merchant before the sun had even risen. We had more ingredients, exotic spices and rare vegetables that Julie had only dreamed of working with. And we had more labor. We had doubled our staff with a handful of eager, part-time helpers from the academy’s culinary club, all of whom had tasted our ramen yesterday and were now practically disciples in our new church of flavor.

Our booth space itself had expanded. I had put in a formal, and perhaps slightly threatening, request to Headmistress Evelyn herself. She didn’t ask questions. She just gave me a faint, knowing smirk and signed off on the expansion, a gesture that was both a blessing and a warning.

We even had help from the nearby stalls. A few of our competitors, seeing the tide of public opinion turning so dramatically in our favor, had wisely chosen to collaborate, offering us their storage space and backup supply chains in case another stockout happened. Tables and benches, borrowed and "acquired," had expanded out into the walkways, their boundaries marked by floating, glowing sigils that gently redirected the flow of foot traffic.

Even Masha, my ever-critical and perpetually unimpressed maid, had to admit, "Now it looks like a war camp built for flavor."

In other words, we were ready.

Except we weren’t.

Because this time, the schedule had changed. The academy, in its infinite wisdom and deference to the power of wealth, had granted the high nobles an exclusive, early entry window—two extra hours to explore the festival grounds before the common students and the general public were allowed to enter.

"Of course," I muttered, my voice a low, bitter growl. "Privilege at its finest."

The team had barely set the burners to full flame when the first, elegant group of nobles emerged from the main hall, their silks and jewels glittering in the morning sun.

I was adjusting the rune timer above the main register when I sensed it.

That mana signature. Familiar. Powerful. And laced with a sorrow so profound it was almost a physical weight in the air.

The sound of soft, leather-soled boots on cobblestone.

I turned slowly.

The very first person in the line wasn’t a noble from another house. It wasn’t a duke’s daughter. It wasn’t a foreign envoy.

It was my mother.

Selene Crimson.

And just behind her, a silent, beautiful shadow, was Lucielle.

I tensed, my body going rigid, my carefully constructed walls of indifference slamming into place. ’Damn it. Of all the people, I didn’t want this to be the start to my day.’

Selene didn’t slow down. She didn’t walk. She dashed.

Before I could react, before I could even form a coherent thought, her arms wrapped tightly around me. I staggered slightly, my own arms pinned to my sides. Her grip was fierce, trembling, a desperate, clinging thing that spoke of months of unspoken grief.

She buried her face against my shoulder, and I could feel the warmth of her tears seeping through the fabric of my uniform. Her voice, when she spoke, was a cracked, broken whisper. "I have missed you so much, my son... you know you’re my world... and yet you abandoned me."

I froze, my mind a chaotic battlefield of two lifetimes of pain.

She continued, her tears falling freely now, her voice thick with an emotion so raw it was almost unbearable. "Do you know how I lived? Do you know how many nights I waited by the window, hoping for a letter, a message—anything? I wanted to meet you. I wanted to see you. But these cursed protocols, these walls... and you—you didn’t even answer my calls."

Lucielle stood behind her, her gaze lowered, her own face a mask of silent, shared pain.

"What happened to you, Ashen?" Selene asked, pulling back just enough to look up into my face, her beautiful eyes, so like my own, swimming with tears. "Do you still have your mother? Or am I just a shadow now to the son who once clung to me every time he fell asleep?"

I slowly, gently, placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, creating a small, necessary distance between us. "Yes," I said softly, my voice a raw, hoarse whisper. "You were that mother. But I’m not that child anymore."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Her lips trembled, her heart breaking all over again right before my eyes.

But then—she sighed, a long, shuddering breath. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, a gesture so uncharacteristically common it was almost shocking. Then, she looked at me with a proud, bittersweet smile that was so full of love it almost broke me.

"Fine," she said, her voice steady now. "So then... may I have the honor of tasting the food made by my son?"

I stared at her for a long, silent second. Then, I nodded. "You’re a guest. But don’t expect a discount."

She chuckled, a genuine, beautiful sound that was like music in the tense morning air. "That’s my boy."

Selene didn’t just eat. She stayed. She sat at the best table we had, a silent, regal queen holding court in our humble stall. She talked to the other nobles who passed by, her presence a powerful, unspoken endorsement. She even shared embarrassing stories of when I had tried to "help" her cook soup at age five and had nearly burned down the entire east wing of the Crimson estate.

She remained there for the entire duration of the noble access window. And even as the general crowd was finally let in, she made it clear: she was not leaving.

"I’ll join you tomorrow as well," she said casually to Masha, who had been serving her with a quiet, respectful grace. "Once my court duties are cleared."

Masha nodded politely. "Of course, Lady Crimson."

Then, chaos.

Because the rest of the fest opened. The moment the common students and the general public were allowed through the main gates, a stampede, a human tidal wave, hit the stalls.

And we were ground zero.

Every surrounding path—east, west, and south—seemed to lead directly to our space. Lines erupted in seconds, long, chaotic snakes of hungry, curious people. The rune screens that Noora had set up lit up with a frantic, ever-growing list of order counts. Our backup stock, which we had thought would last the entire day, started vanishing immediately. Two of our part-time helpers nearly collapsed just trying to manage the flood of receipts and coins.

But the thing that truly caught the eye was the atmosphere. The plaza area around our stall was filled with two things:

First, people. They were standing, sitting on the ground, perched on nearby fountains—wherever they could find a space, grabbing onto bowls of ramen and trays of burgers and fries with both hands like it was a newly discovered treasure.

Second, the noise. Praise. Endless, ecstatic praise.

"How is this so good?"

"The Shadow Fries have this crunch that echoes in your soul!"

"This ramen... is it enchanted? I feel like I’m floating."

"Can I adopt the chef? No? Then I’ll just marry the dumplings."

One elderly noble couple ate their entire meal in a stunned, reverent silence before nodding to each other. The man then placed a glowing, golden seal on the table—his family’s official sigil of approval, a mark of the highest culinary honor.

That alone caused a ripple of excitement to spread through the crowd. More nobles, their curiosity piqued, arrived. A wealthy merchant, his robes dripping with jewels, tried to bribe Masha for the ramen recipe. She just stared at him with her cold, dead eyes until he backed away, sweating.

Yumi was bouncing from table to table, handing out fortune cookies that Seraphina had enchanted to give mildly accurate, and often chaotic, predictions. One of them read: A crimson flame from your past will reignite your heart today. The girl who opened it shrieked with delight and immediately proposed to Eren on the spot.

Eren ran away.

Julie barked orders in the kitchen, her voice a sharp, commanding presence in the chaos. Sasha delivered trays with a speed and efficiency that was almost terrifying. Lucielle, surprisingly, had found her calling, flashing practiced, charming noble smiles as she refilled drinks and managed the seating. Even I found myself plating dishes, my hands moving with a practiced ease, just to keep up with the relentless flood of numbers.

It was beautiful. It was madness. And it was only getting started.

With just one hour left before the day’s close, I finally took a breath. The stall was stable. There were no fires, no panicked yelling. Masha was managing the order board like a seasoned general. Julie was a whirlwind of culinary genius in the kitchen. Lucielle and Seraphina were still pulling double duty as hosts, their charm and beauty a powerful weapon in our arsenal.

And Sasha—she stood by the storage tent, her shift over, glancing at me every few seconds. She was subtle. But to me, she was obvious.

She wanted to go. She just didn’t know how to say it.

I turned to the remaining staff. "I’ll be gone until closing," I announced, my voice cutting through the din. "Sasha’s coming with me. Keep the fire alive."

Julie gave me a knowing smirk. Seraphina raised a delicate eyebrow. Lucielle just folded her arms, a look of amused resignation on her face.

I walked over to Sasha and, without a word, gently grabbed her hand. "Shall we go?"

She nodded, her cheeks flushing a delicate, beautiful pink.

We passed Seraphina, who was absolutely glazing me with a look of profound suspicion. Julie was pretending not to see us, but she was blushing as she talked with Eric.

Sasha and I made our way into the heart of the festival—just the two of us.

She didn’t speak for the first few steps. Neither did I.

Then we hit the first stall—a ring toss game with floating, shimmering mana loops.

"Winner gets a stuffed wyvern," Sasha read, her eyes lighting up.

"Too easy," I said.

She handed me three rings. I threw all three. Scored all three.

The merchant looked horrified.

Sasha picked the wyvern with the golden wings and hugged it proudly. "Next," she said, her voice filled with a childish delight I had never heard from her before.

We passed by a stall that let you cast illusionary shapes into the sky. Sasha, with a surprising skill, crafted a miniature, glowing Ashen with flaming ramen bowls orbiting his head. I tried to make a frying pan and accidentally created a crown instead.

She laughed, a sound so pure and genuine it made my heart ache.

Then came the mirror booth. It was enchanted, they said, to show your "true self."

Sasha looked into the shimmering, magical surface and saw a warrior in a chef’s uniform, holding a frying pan in one hand and a flaming sword in the other.

I looked, and I saw myself, alone, wreathed in shadow.

She didn’t comment. She just squeezed my arm, her touch a silent, comforting anchor.

We ate fluffy, sweet cotton cloud skewers and honey-glazed berries from enchanted carts. We watched a floating puppet show about a dragon who wanted to open a bakery.

Sasha never let go of my hand.

And I let her keep it.

Because for once, it felt warm.