She split the breakfast cakes and toasted them lightly in the sausage pan, letting them soak up the savory drippings. They turned golden at the edges, crisp on the outside but still soft inside.

Then she began to build.

First sandwich (for herself): Bottom half of the toasted cake. One hash brown patty, still warm and crisp. Three rounds of sausage, arranged in a slight overlap. A spoonful of scrambled eggs, folded gently on top. The top half of the cake, placed just slightly askew so you could see the layers.

She stepped back and frowned.

It looked… fine. Like food. But not like Lumerian food.

Marron glanced at the lavender plant on the deck, then at the small herb bundle hanging from her cart. Parsley. Thyme. Nothing fancy, but—

She plucked a single sprig of parsley and tucked it beside the sandwich. The green was bright against the golden tones of the bread and potato.

Better.

Second sandwich (for Mokko): She made his the same way, but added an extra hash brown because he always ate more than he admitted. Arranged the parsley sprig on the plate next to the sandwich, not touching it—just a small accent.

Third (for Lucy): Lucy didn't need much, but she liked to feel included. Marron made a smaller open-faced version on half a breakfast cake, with a tiny portion of egg and one piece of sausage cut into a star shape with the tip of her knife. She placed it in a small bowl—Lucy's favorite—and added a single mint leaf from the sprig Lucy kept in the cart.

It was one of the few extravagant things Lucy had, besides her ribbon, but...Marron noticed she barely wore it now.

I wonder what happened there. I should ask once things are less hectic.

Marron carried everything out to the deck and arranged the plates on the wrought-iron table.

Three sandwiches. Simple. Honest.

But presented like someone had thought about them.

She stood there for a moment, hands on her hips, and felt something unfamiliar stir in her chest.

Pride, maybe. Or hope.

"Mokko!" she called. "Lucy! Breakfast!"

The door burst open. Mokko stumbled out, glasses slightly askew, nose twitching. "Is that—oh. Oh."

He stared at the sandwich like it was a work of art.

"It's just eggs and sausage," Marron said quickly, defensive instinct kicking in. "Nothing fancy. I just—"

"It looks amazing," Mokko said, and his voice was soft. Sincere.

Lucy burbled excitedly from her jar, which Mokko had carried outside. She formed a little heart shape inside the glass, her translucent body shimmering pink in the morning light. When Marron opened the lid, Lucy carefully climbed out onto a white towel Marron placed on the table.

When the slime was mostly dry, she reached out for her sandwich with her tendrils.

Marron felt her cheeks warm. "Well. Go on, then. Eat it before it gets cold."

Mokko picked up the sandwich carefully—almost reverently—and took a bite.

His eyes closed.

The hash browns were crispy and buttery, the sausage rich with sage, the eggs soft and creamy. The toasted breakfast cake held everything together, its slight sweetness balancing the savory.

"Marron," he said, mouth still half-full, "this is really good."

"I know it's good," she muttered. "That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

She looked at the plates, at the small sprigs of green, at the way she'd arranged everything with care.

"The point," she said slowly, "is that it looks like it's good. Before you even taste it."

Mokko grinned. "Mission accomplished."

Lucy made a cheerful bubbling sound and absorbed her tiny star-shaped sausage piece with obvious delight.

Marron sat down, picked up her own sandwich, and took a bite.

It tasted exactly the same as it always did.

But somehow, it felt different.

She chewed slowly, watching Mokko demolish his sandwich with enthusiasm while Lucy made happy bubbling sounds over her star-shaped sausage. The morning sun caught the lavender blooms, turning them silver-purple. The mana-lights along the fence began to dim as natural light took over.

"So," Mokko said, wiping crumbs from his whiskers, "what's the plan for today? Besides meeting Millie, I mean."

Marron set down her sandwich and pulled out her mother's recipe notebook—the one with the stained cover and dog-eared pages. She flipped it open to the French onion soup recipe, her thumb tracing the familiar handwriting.

"I need to figure out what I'm doing for the retest," she said. "The judges already know my soup tastes good. But they want to see that it's good before they taste it."

"So you're going to fancy it up?"

"Maybe." She frowned at the page. "Or maybe I'm going to make something else entirely. I don't know yet."

Lucy bounced in place, her translucent form wobbling with curiosity. "What else could you make?"

"Anything, technically." Marron closed the notebook. "But it has to be mine, you know? Not just something I think will impress them. Millie said beauty should reveal truth. So whatever I make has to be true first, beautiful second."

Mokko pushed his glasses up his nose. "Your soup is true. You made it for the judges the same way you'd make it for anyone. That's honest."

"I know." Marron ran her fingers over the notebook's cover. "But maybe I've been so focused on being honest that I forgot people need help seeing it sometimes. The soup is full of patience and care and all these layers of flavor that took hours to build. But if it just looks like brown liquid in a bowl..." She trailed off.

"Then people don't know to look for the layers," Mokko finished.

"Exactly."

A breeze rustled the lavender plant, carrying its scent across the deck. Marron breathed it in and felt something settle in her chest. Calm. Certainty.

"I'm going to stick with the soup," she said. "It's my mother's recipe. It's the first thing I learned to make that actually mattered. I'm not going to abandon it just because the Guild doesn't understand it yet."

"That's the spirit," Mokko said, grinning. "Show them what they're missing."

"But first," Marron stood and began gathering the plates, "I need to learn how Millie makes those moon cakes look like they're holding the actual moon inside. If I can understand her technique—how she makes simple things special—maybe I can translate that to my soup."

Lucy bubbled excitedly. "Field trip!"

"Field trip," Marron agreed, smiling.

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