"Now, I have already shown you the last of our unique recipes. Butter-basted steak."

  Roff wiped his hands slowly with a clean cloth, the scent of rendered fat and herbs still thick in the air.

  "Now you all start your practice."

  He stepped aside, giving them the space that marked the transition from observation to execution.

  "Well, we provided you with steak from regular cattle. In our official recipe, we will use the meat of a magical beast."

  A few heads lifted slightly at that.

  "But that is not necessary for training. If your technique is flawed, even the finest beast meat will be ruined."

  He gestured toward the trays laid neatly across each station.

  "Begin."

  The first sound came hesitantly.

  A steak lowered onto hot iron.

  Sssssss—

  Then another.

  Then another.

  Within moments, the hall was filled with the sharp, steady hiss of searing meat.

  Oil shimmered.

  Butter melted.

  Garlic hit heat.

  Some trainees adjusted their stance unconsciously — shoulders squared, elbows tight, eyes sharp. Others swallowed hard before committing their cuts.

  Months ago, their knife grips had been awkward.

  Now, their movements carried intent.

  Not perfect.

  But intentional.

  Liora Vandren inhaled slowly before placing her steak down. She remembered the timing. The angle. The exact moment the crust should form.

  Don't rush.

  The surface began to brown.

  She resisted the urge to touch it.

  Across from her, Cael tilted his pan slightly too late, causing butter to pool unevenly. Elenora basted too aggressively, splashing droplets onto the stove.

  Jarin checked the underside too soon.

  Roff did not interfere.

  He walked between them in silence.

  Observing.

  Evaluating.

  The trainees could feel his presence even when he said nothing.

  Butter foamed golden.

  Thyme darkened but did not burn.

  The air grew thick and rich — savory, warm, heavy with effort.

  "Control your heat," Roff said calmly without stopping.

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  Two trainees immediately adjusted their flames.

  "Listen to the pan."

  They listened.

  The sizzle changed — sharper, then steadier.

  Sir Alaric stood near the far wall, arms loosely behind his back. His eyes followed each movement with quiet approval.

  Sir Dorian leaned against a pillar, chin resting lazily in his palm.

  "Hm," he murmured lightly. "Smells like progress."

  Rista stood with perfect posture near the entrance, red hair catching the afternoon light. She did not speak, but her gaze lingered particularly on those whose hands trembled.

  Conor Barrete remained further back, silent and still. His presence alone kept the atmosphere orderly.

  "Flip."

  Roff's voice cut through.

  The trainees moved nearly in unison.

  Some crusts were deep and even.

  Some uneven.

  One slightly pale.

  One slightly too dark.

  No one celebrated.

  No one relaxed.

  They tilted their pans.

  Spoon.

  Baste.

  Spoon.

  Baste.

  Rhythm began to form.

  The repetition felt almost meditative.

  Liora focused on the sound — butter striking hot meat, returning in a glossy cascade.

  Steady. Just steady.

  Minutes passed like drawn-out breaths.

  "Remove from heat."

  They obeyed.

  "Rest them."

  The hardest part.

  Waiting.

  Steam rose gently from each steak, carrying with it the smell of effort.

  One trainee instinctively reached for his knife.

  Roff's eyes shifted toward him.

  The hand froze mid-air.

  No words were needed.

  They waited.

  It felt longer than it was.

  Finally—

  "Slice."

  Knives moved carefully.

  Edges parted.

  Pink centers revealed themselves.

  Some medium rare.

  Some closer to medium.

  One slightly over.

  One nearly perfect.

  Breaths were released quietly.

  Not triumph.

  Not disappointment.

  Just assessment.

  Roff moved from station to station.

  He tasted.

  He nodded once at Liora's.

  He corrected Cael's heat management.

  He adjusted Elenora's resting time explanation.

  Short sentences.

  Clear.

  Precise.

  When he returned to the front, the room felt different.

  "You are no longer beginners," he said evenly.

  "But you are not masters either."

  He let the truth sit comfortably between them.

  "Today was not about flavor. It was about control."

  Silence.

  Because for the first time—

  No one had panicked.

  No one had burned anything.

  No one had collapsed under pressure.

  It wasn't perfection.

  But it wasn't chaos.

  And that alone showed growth.

  The hall slowly quieted as stations were cleaned.

  Cloths wiped surfaces.

  Pans cooled.

  Knives were washed and dried with deliberate care.

  The scent of steak lingered in the air — no longer overwhelming, but grounding.

  Roff watched them for a long moment.

  Then gave a small nod.

  "Good."

  Just one word.

  But it carried weight heavier than praise.

  And for the first time since they began months ago—

  They did not look like students trying to survive.

  They looked like cooks learning to stand.

  Suddenly, the door brushed open, and an excited, childish cry rang out.

  "Roff! It's time for a new dish!"

  The sound snapped everyone's attention instantly.

  All eyes turned toward the entrance.

  Now came a small girl, her flowing snow-white hair catching the light, eyes like a frozen lake — piercing, clear, and commanding. Her aura filled the room without a word.

  It was the owner of the restaurant, Sapphire Rosabelle Astley.

  Unlike their previous meeting, when she had been in her formal outfit, now she wore a regular winter coat, soft and cozy, patterned with cute little animals. Her hair was tied up in twin tails, swaying slightly as she walked.

  The contrast was striking.

  From formal grace to playful innocence, yet her presence remained impossible to ignore.

  The trainees froze mid-motion, some gripping their knives a little tighter, some letting their spatulas hover uncertainly above the sizzling pans.

  Roff remained calm, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.

  "Lady Sapphire," he said quietly, nodding. "I was not expecting you so soon."

  "I also wasn't expecting to come so soon," Saphy said, a small shrug in her shoulders, "but it can't be helped. I found something amazing."

  With a dramatic flourish, she pulled from thin air a small, dark green fruit, oval in shape, its skin slightly bumpy and rough to the touch. The flesh beneath, if sliced, revealed a pale, creamy yellow-green interior, soft and buttery, almost glowing under the hall's light.

  Roff leaned forward, eyes narrowing in confusion as he tilted the fruit in his hands.

  "My lady… what is this?" he asked carefully, curiosity tinged with caution.

  Saphy's frozen-lake eyes sparkled with excitement. "This fruit is called an avocado."

  She turned it slightly in her hands, letting the light glint off its smooth, creamy interior.

  "It's rich, buttery, and slightly nutty in flavor. Mild, but versatile — it can be applied in sweet dishes, savory dishes… even as a base for sauces or spreads."

  Her grin widened. "And just imagine the new creations we can make with it!"

  Roff's brow furrowed, tilting his head as he studied the fruit, still unsure. "From… thin air, my lady?"

  Saphy nodded, the tips of her twin tails bouncing. "Yes! And I couldn't resist bringing it in. I want you all to try something new today."

  The trainees blinked, a mixture of curiosity and awe spreading across their faces.

  Even in its simplicity, the avocado carried a kind of magic — not literal, but in the way Saphy held it, full of possibilities yet untapped.

  Roff let out a quiet breath, muttering to himself, "I… was not expecting this either."

  ________

  Earlier that day, Saphy had been busy in her study, cross-legged on the edge of her desk, surrounded by stacks of magic books.

  Between turning pages and scribbling notes, she nibbled absentmindedly on a small pile of chips, the salty crunch filling the quiet room.

  If I adjust the mana flow here… maybe the spell will stabilize… she muttered, eyes scanning the glyphs before her.

  A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

  "Come in," she called.

  "Excuse me," said a polite voice.

  A male servant stepped inside, bowing slightly, holding a small, dark green oval-shaped fruit.

  "Miss," he began, "this morning at the market I came across a particular item. The vendor said it was some kind of fruit. As you instructed, if any new edible items arrived at the port, I should bring them to you."

  He extended his hands, revealing the fruit. Its bumpy, dark-green skin glimmered slightly in the light.

  Saphy's eyes immediately widened.

  Avocado! she thought, her heart skipping a beat. There are so many possibilities with this…

  Stars seemed to form in her eyes as she carefully sliced it open, revealing the pale, creamy flesh inside.

  "Yes! This is definitely an avocado!" she exclaimed.

  She looked up at the servant, excitement barely contained. "How many did you buy?"

  "Only five…" he admitted, shifting nervously.

  Saphy's grin grew wider. "Okay! Go back to the market and buy as many as you can. And… you can expect an amazing new dish today!"

  The servant blinked, frozen for a moment at her intensity, then quickly bowed and hurried off toward the market.

  Saphy watched him go, already imagining all the ways she could use the avocado.

  This… this is going to be perfect, she whispered.

  She paused, looking around the study.

  "Now… where is Roff?" she asked aloud, her voice bright and eager.

  A nearby apprentice, tidying some papers, blinked in surprise. "U-um… I think he's in the 7th Hall, Miss."

  And that brings us to our current situation.

  Now

  A small smile tugged at her lips, twin tails bouncing, avocado held proudly in her hands.

  The stage was set for a new lesson — one that promised curiosity, creativity, and the spark of something extraordinary.