It was nearly six o’clock in the evening.

The culinary team made their way through the corridors of the Concorde Summit’s venue along with Mr. Smithson who walked at the front with Professor Barlowe beside him, hands behind his back.

“As we’re nearly at the kitchen,” Mr. Smithson began, “I’d like to mention that a few adjustments were made to accommodate your team.”

Juniper raised a brow. “Adjustments?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “The Hearthgarden’s main kitchen usually only supports about eight chefs at once for normal events. But this year, the Concord Summit’s organizers chose to scale back the internal team. Chef Tulliver—your head chef for the week—handpicked only the most seasoned locals. The rest? Placed on light assistance tasks. Inventory checks, dish returns, cold station prep.”

“Sounds like we got the real kitchen,” Petra commented.

“You did,” Barlowe affirmed. “And for good reason.”

When they reached the tall and paneled kitchen doors, Mr. Smithson paused, turning to face them fully. “Since Saint Maribelle’s is the one mainly organizing and hosting the event, they put you young ones forward. Although you’re students, your record of performance and faculty recommendations met the standards needed to handle the workload of a professional-grade prep line.”

Richard grinned. “Sounds like we’ve been drafted.”

“Well, think of it as… being seconded,” Juniper told him. “But fancier.”

With that, Mr. Smithson opened the doors, revealing the interior.

The Hearthgarden Kitchen was large but not grandiose. There were wooden counters with deep grain, tiled floors cool to the touch, rows of hanging copper pans, and a ventilation system powered by glowing mana-gems mounted in neat little frames along the ceiling beams.

“Your stations will be designated by the head chef after tonight’s brief orientation,” Mr. Smithson explained. “But for now, while we wait for her, familiarize yourselves.”

The team scattered through the kitchen as soon as Mr. Smithson finished.

Some moved toward the prep counters, inspecting knives, utensils, and the cleverly arranged stacks of clean mixing bowls. Others went to the back room where they found the ingredients stored—each item neatly in its place, labeled in tidy handwriting, and shelves organized by type and use. Everything, from root vegetables to sealed cuts of protein in a cold space, had been accounted for.

Aya, for her part, moved peacefully. She traced her fingers along the spice drawers, paused to admire the copper ladles, peeked into a bin of fresh herbs still damp with dew.

But then—the kitchen doors creaked open with a low groan, and a voice called out:

“Sorry I’m late! …Wait—am I late? I’m not late, right?”

Aya blinked in surprise and peeked out from behind a tall hanging rack of strainers.

A woman stepped through the doorway—tall, with warm, sun-kissed skin and long tan hair pulled into a neat braid, tied off with a lavender kerchief.

At first glance, Aya thought, “a mouse-folk?”

Well, her ears were round and small, partially hidden beneath her braid.

But then she saw the ridge of small, darker bristles peeking through the back of her hair, fanned ever-so-subtly.

“No”, she realized. “Hedgehog-folk.”

Mr. Smithson approached the hedgehog-folk with a wave. “You’re not late, Chef Tulliver. Not even six o’clock yet.”

The woman let out a light laugh. “Oh, thank stars. I had the worst feeling I misread the clock again.”

Professor Barlowe stepped forward. “I’m Professor Barlowe, Saint Maribelle’s. A pleasure.”

She shook his hand firmly. “Marietta Tulliver,” she said with a bright smile. “Head chef of the Hearthgarden Kitchen.”

Aya peeked out a little more, quietly watching from her corner, ears perked.

“So that’s her,” she thought. “Chef Tulliver.”

As soon as Chef Tulliver stepped further into the kitchen, the students who had seen her enter instinctively began regrouping near Professor Barlowe—Richard first, followed closely by Ciela, Juniper, and the rest, with Aya quietly joining from the edge.

Professor Barlowe gestured calmly to each of them. “Oh. Chef Tulliver, let me introduce you to our advanced strand students, as promised. From left to right…”

He introduced them one by one—Ciela, Richard, Juniper, Petra, Orin, and Aya.

“Well,” Chef Tulliver said, placing her hands on her hips, “it's a pleasure to meet you all. Hope you’re ready for tonight’s orientation. It’ll be a short one—I’ve got a pretty tight schedule tonight. Just the important bits. Role designations, kitchen stuff that I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with. Nothing too serious. The rest comes tomorrow morning.”

The students chuckled lightly and offered a collective nod of confirmation. “Yes, Chef.”

Chef Tulliver smiled, then shifted her tone just slightly more businesslike. “Right. So, everyone knows the big banquet’s later in the week—but that doesn’t mean you get to sit around until then.”

Then she motioned subtly to the surrounding space. “We’ll be operating here for the entire summit. Lunch and dinner services every day, along with extra food services. You’ll be rotating prep and station duties depending on the flow.”

Juniper squinted at the chart. “Even during the quiet days?”

“Especially during the quiet days,” Chef Tulliver replied. “Never underestimate a lull—just means the rush is gathering speed.”

She moved toward the far counter, tapping lightly on a laminated chart someone had left out. “Now, Rosequartz has plenty of public eateries for daytime guests, but for those staying on-site—diplomats, researchers, invited delegates—we provide meals here. Hearthgarden’s job is to support the private suites, especially those in the summit’s main building’s east wing. You won’t be delivering, but you’ll be making everything that gets carted there.”

“So, no running trays and delivery trips?” Richard asked.

“Correct,” she nodded. “Your legs stay here. Your food travels.”

Just then, Petra raised her hand. “And we’ll be working with the local staff?”

“They’ll be assisting you on the side stations—salads, bread, cold dishes. You lot’s focus? You’ll be on mains.”

Aya’s ears perked just slightly higher, “The main dishes?”

Chef Tulliver nodded and gave her a small smile. “Don’t worry. You were all picked for a reason.”

At that, Ciela raised her hand slowly.

Chef Tulliver nodded toward her. “Miss Trentin, go on.”

“Will there be a guide or reference for the recipes being used throughout the event?” Ciela asked. “A compiled menu or instructions?”

“Ah—glad you asked.” Chef Tulliver turned, unshouldering a leather-bound satchel she had slung behind her. She flipped the flap open and pulled out a slightly worn, thick, corded booklet. “This here’s the Hearthgarden menu ledger for the Concorde Summit.”

She handed it off to Ciela, who accepted it with delicate caution. She flipped it open immediately, eyes scanning the neatly scribed pages and clipped tags marking different sections. Her brows lifted only a little—but it was enough to signal something daunting. Without a word, she closed it gently and passed it along.

One by one, it traveled the group.

It first reached Richard, who could only let out a nervous chuckle.

Then Juniper, whose eyes widened in awe and terror.

Petra was next, and she only mumbled, “Oh my stars.”.

Then Orin, despite being known for barely reacting to anything, squinted as if he was making sure if what he was reading was real.

Finally, the book made its way into Aya’s hands. She opened to a page at random—Herbed Fennel & Wild Hen with Four-Sauce Finish, followed immediately by a Layered Root Roast that required three types of glazes and a schedule down to the minute.

Her ears lowered slightly. “Oh…”

That’s when Chef Tulliver chuckled.

“Looks scary, doesn’t it?”

A few heads nodded in agreement.

“Don’t fret. You’re not cooking all that at once,” she stepped toward them, folding her arms loosely. “Each section covers a different service. Lunch menus, dinner menus, room service standards, and yeah—that beast of a banquet day. But all broken down. Once you get familiar, you’ll find the rhythm. Lunch is usually lighter, smaller prep windows. Dinner’s more formal. Room service has its own flow, but you won’t be on delivery, so no running about.”

Juniper blinked. “No breakfast?”

“Handled by a different kitchen crew,” Chef Tulliver replied. “You lot will be way too busy prepping for lunch and dinner. Trust me, you’ll be grateful for the narrower focus.”

Aya passed the recipe book to Richard, who, along with the other members, had doubled back for another glance.

Then she took a slow, deep breath as soon as it left her hands.

“That was… a lot,” she thought. “But it doesn’t look impossible.”

Then, Chef Tulliver clapped her hands once, grabbing their attention.

“Alright,” she said, “someone’s going to need to make copies of that ledger. There’s a small copy shop two blocks west from here, the shop’s called Ink & Binding. They’re expecting you. Fast hands, no frills. Just let them know it’s for the Concorde Summit, and they’ll rush the prints.”

At that task, Ciela raised her hand. “I’ll handle it, Chef.”

Aya, now once again holding the book after Richard and the others took a second peek-through and passed it back to her, stepped forward and passed it to Ciela. “Here you go, Miss Trentin.”

Chef Tulliver gave a nod at Ciela. “Good. Tell them you need seven or eight copies. And keep the original clean—we’ll keep it as a kitchen master.”

Then she turned back to the rest group and raised her eyebrows slightly. “Now. Role assignments. I assume none of you are picky? You’re trained as all-rounders, right? I’ve got Professor Barlowe’s notes, too, so I’ve had some time to think about where to place you.”

Everyone nodded.

“Alright then.” She scanned the team briefly, then pointed first to Ciela.

“Miss Trentin—you’ll take the plating station. It’s precise work, but I hear precision is your specialty.”

Ciela nodded and smiled. “Yes, Chef.”

“Mr. Calloway—meats. Mainline. You’ll take over the grill and pan stations.”

Richard gave a single, casual thumbs up. “Happy to be trusted with fire.”

“Miss Fallore—oven work and specialty handling. You’ll float between pastry and prep.”

“Oh stars, I get the oven?” Juniper asked with a crooked grin.

“Is there perhaps a problem?” Chef Tulliver asked.

“It’s nothing, Chef. She just loves ovens too much. Sometimes, it gets problematic, but the fun kind.” Richard said.

Chef Tulliver chuckled at his answer. “Is that so? Well, I’m still trusting Miss Fallore with oven work, it sounds like she’s really enthusiastic about it,” then she turned to Orin next. “Mr. Redrow—stocks and sauces. You’ll also assist prep for broths and reduction sequences.”

Orin nodded once, no questions ashed.

“Miss Minbury—side prep and garnishes: salads, light roasts, decorative applications. And when it comes to this role, do not rush your cuts. I give that reminder to almost everyone who handles garnishes.”

“Y-yes, Chef!” Petra quickly answered with a nod.

Finally, her eyes landed on Aya.

“And Miss Ribbuns,” she said. “You’ll take the hot veg station. You’ll be prepping and running sautéed sides and steamed accompaniments. Timing matters. It’s a pivot point for both lunch and dinner flow.”

Aya blinked in surprise at the reveal of her role. For it wasn’t the easiest. It needs a fast turnover and steady coordination with the team. Especially since there’s lots of mini dishes that could throw off an entire line if mistimed.

But despite those thoughts, she smiled and gave a small bow. “Yes, Chef.”

“Good. I trust that once those recipe copies are made, you’ll all give them a proper study. Tomorrow morning, we’ll deal with other concerns before moving to prep work, seven o’clock sharp.”

“Yes, Chef!” came the unified reply.

“Excellent.” She clapped her hands again, softer this time. “That’s all for today. Dismissed.”

Right after that, she turned to Mr. Smithson and Professor Barlowe with an easy smile. “Thank you both for your time. I’ve still got rounds to make—and I need my staff to prep the survey sheets. We'll need to screen for food allergies among the guests by tomorrow afternoon.”

Mr. Smithson offered a respectful nod. “Understood, Chef Tulliver.”

Professor Barlowe gave the same nod as well. “We’ll be ready.”

With that, Chef Tulliver gave the team one last glance. She nodded and smiled before she slipped out through the kitchen doors.

As the doors clicked shut behind her, the room briefly held onto the small quiet. Until Professor Barlowe turned back to the students. “Was everything clear so far?”

“Yes, Professor,” the group answered in near-unison.

“Good,” he said. “Mr. Smithson and I will leave you be for now—we still have some matters to discuss regarding the summit schedule and logistics,” then he turned slightly, eyes landing on Ciela. “Miss Trentin. Don’t forget to handle Chef Tulliver’s request.”

“I’ll see to it right away,” she replied with a nod, already tucking the ledger under one arm.

Professor Barlowe gave one final nod, and with that, he and Mr. Smithson exited as well.

Once they were gone, the group relaxed all at once.

Ciela turned to the rest of them. “Alright. I’ll head out now and get these copies made. I’ll probably be back around or after dinner, so don’t wait for me.”

Just as she was about to turn away to leave, she caught Juniper raising a hand. “Yes, June?”

“Say, do you think we can use the cabin kitchen tonight?” Juniper asked. “Y’know… study some of the recipes, try a few things out? Just to get a feel.”

There were quiet murmurs of agreement from the others—Richard already nodding, Petra fidgeting excitedly, and Orin just being Orin.

Aya nodded, agreeing with Juniper. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Ciela scanned them quickly, then gave a small nod of approval. “Fine by me. But don’t wear yourselves out. We’re reporting for prep at seven, remember?”

“We remember,” Richard replied with a confident smile. “We just don’t want to head into the fray with no practice.”

“Good. I’ll see you back at the cabin. Don’t wander too far from the venue. And don’t touch anything that looks like it’ll get us in real trouble.”

The group gave their promises in overlapping tones.

With that, she turned on her heel, tightened her grip on the recipe book, and strode toward the kitchen’s exit.

Aya watched her go, fingers already itching to get back to a cutting board.

The real work was coming.