The st bell of the night sounded more like a sigh than a chime.

  Chairs pushed tight onto tables. Runic mps dimmed to a low amber. The hall held that tender hush that comes after a long, honest day, the kind that made wood feel softer under the hand and the air itself tasted faintly of citrus and smoke.

  Ludwig stood at the separator with a damp cloth and a quiet mind, dragging the final line of water across the grain until it gleamed. Behind him, the kitchen was a low consteltion of steel and shadow, knives dried and nested, woks wiped and re-oiled, stock lids set like little moons.

  At that moment, Valerie bounced past with a broom, humming a victory fanfare wildly off-key. “Boss, the floor is so clean you could eat pudding off it! Not that we should. But we could.”

  Ludwig let out a chuckle hearing the restaurant’s own sun's words. He then looked back without moving his body towards the sink.

  “How’s it going there, Bilo?”

  Bilo, putting the st ptes from the sink into the drying rack, finally answered. “It's done, chef.”

  “Good.” Ludwig said, voice low but warm. He then turned, set the cloth aside, and took in the tired circle of faces that had carried the day with him. “Guys, I need to borrow more of your time before you go to rest.”

  Without even a sigh or a huff, all of them drew close. At the same time, the air seemed to lean nearer and the runes’ light lifting a fraction as if to see better. It’s like, the restaurant was also listening.

  “I’ll keep this short.” Ludwig began. “Maybe some of you have heard about it in passing. This weekend, I won’t be here. I’m going to Tempest.”

  A beat of silence. Then the reactions, each exactly themselves.

  Vilera’s eyes flicked once, already calcuting. “How long will you be gone, boss?”

  “From the morning.” Ludwig said. “I’ll be there for two days.”

  Valerie threw both hands up like confetti. “Field trip! Do we get souvenirs? I like edible souvenirs.”

  Finka’s mouth tipped into a small smile. “We have to make sure there’s a kitchen to bring them back to, first.”

  Bilo’s shoulders rose, then settled. “What… What do you want us to serve, Chef?” Quiet, but steady.

  Ludwig let out a small smile as he heard that. Aside from the pn and contingencies about the trip, he had also thought about the restaurant.

  His next otherworld venture would be the second time he left his employees in charge of the restaurant. It wouldn’t be the st as well, due to the trade agreement he lent his name to. So, rather than just dictating about what they should do that day, wouldn’t it be better to let them decide?

  After all, sometimes a practice was better than a thousand learning.

  “Decide it yourself, Bilo.” Ludwig started. “That day, you will be the chef.”

  The faun looked at him with widened eyes. His mouth opening and closing like a fish, probably wanted to coax him to retract the decision.

  But with unflinching eyes, Ludwig just looked at him. “I don’t want to hear any objections. Look at it like this, in the future, I will be busy in Ortus because of something. So, before we get more and more customers, which I doubt everyone will be as kind as the people of Tempest, I want you to experience what it feels like to be the one responsible for the food.”

  Bilo’s throat choked. He looked like he’d been handed a sword instead of a dle. “C-Chef, I… I don’t think I—”

  “You’ll manage.” Ludwig cut in, his tone gentler than his words. “You’ve cooked every dish here. You also know the rhythm. You’ll do well.”

  Bilo’s fingers tightened on his apron. A quiet, determined “...I-I guess, I can try, Chef.” followed, barely louder than the hum of the runes.

  “That’s the spirit.” Ludwig’s mouth quirked, just a little. “Vilera will cover your blind spots, Finka will helps you, and Valerie—”

  “Will sell everything with a smile, I know.” Valerie grinned, twirling the broom like a banner. “Guess I’ll call you Chef Bilo that day!”

  The poor faun nearly tripped on his own tail. “P-please don’t.”

  Even Zhark’s chuckle rumbled low from the back. “Rex. You’ll do fine.”

  Ludwig crossed his arms, letting their ughter fill the room before he spoke again. “Good. That’s the energy I want to hear. We built this pce together. It’ll stand whether I’m here or not.”

  He looked at each of them in turn, the calm logic in Vilera’s eyes, Finka’s quiet steadiness, Valerie’s bzing cheer, Zhark’s protective weight, and Bilo’s honest nerves, and felt that rare, solid warmth of pride settle beneath his ribs.

  “Tell me the menu tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.” Ludwig looked back at Bilo who was still fidgeting. “If the ingredients I bought from the market tomorrow are not enough, I’ll go to the market again.”

  “Yes, Chef.” Bilo answered.

  Letting out a st smile of the day, Ludwig looked at all of his employees. “Okay guys, let’s rest.”

  Most of them smiled, and some nodded. But one particur young demon, she did it differently.

  “Let’s goooo!” She shouted on top of her lungs, hands throwing the broom in her grip before taking it back.

  * * *

  Bilo smmed his body towards the bed. It had been such an exhausting day for him. No, not because of the tides of customers that came always flocking into the restaurant. That was already an ingrained routine, draining yes, but exhausting? Not really.

  What was really siphoning his energy today was his own thoughts. The thoughts that kept spiralling because of what the Chef told him the night before.

  That day, you will be the chef.

  The words were delivered to him in a calm and confident manner. But for him, it was like the drums of the warband ready to ravage his vilge. After all, he’d always thought of himself as a helper. Someone who followed orders, took care of details, stayed out of the spotlight.

  Safe. Reliable. Invisible.

  But soon, he was supposed to lead.

  The words followed him throughout today. In the prep, in the cooking, in the break, and even now, just before he went to sleep.

  Thankfully, one part of his worries were already gone. The menu.

  He was not as good as the Chef, and of course he didn’t have the ability to bend time and space to his will like him. That meant one thing, the cooking time would increase quite a bit. Waiting for water and oil to come to boiling point was not eternity. But when each of it was repeated every time he finished, it would add up to quite some sum.

  Bilo turned in his bed, his clothes rustling while the frame of the bed creaked under his weight. His mind kept repeating the steps to cook the dishes.

  Pre-fried chicken fried again just enough, tossed half into the sauce, pted it with sesame seed and served it with that sour cabbage called Kimchi.

  For the second dish, the pasta. Aglio e Olio was it called. Transted to Ortus’ native nguage, it was Noddle with Garlic and Oil. The reason he chose this as one of the dishes he would serve was obvious, its simplicity compared to how good it was.

  Moreover, it was such a versatile dish, both meat, chicken, and seafood could be used in it.

  But for the third menu, he drew a bnk no matter how much he thought about it. Soup, that was one dish he never touched. First because the cooking process was complex, and second because the cooking time needed was long.

  Thankfully, his boss seemed to notice that as well. Because of that, he would be the one who was responsible for cooking it. The only thing he needed to do was to garnish it and pted it. Of course he could do that.

  Bilo turned again in his bed. With eyes locking into the ceiling above, he prayed to the Hero.

  “Please. Let me finish my responsibility without a hitch.”

  Well, to be honest. He himself wasn’t sure there wouldn’t be any hiccups when he was alone in the kitchen.

  * * *

  The sun was just beginning to set beyond the hills on the edge of the Land of Fire, painting the treetops in amber and blood. A warm wind brushed the forest leaves, carrying with it the scent of woodsmoke and rain-soaked earth.

  Minato Namikaze stood at the edge of the clearing, watching a small campfire flicker in the breeze. It was supposed to be a quiet evening, another squad of ninjas probing Konoha’s defense repelled, his team resting easy for once. Kakashi was already cleaning his kunai in silence, Rin tending to a small pot of stew, Obito arguing with a frog that had wandered into camp.

  But then, came a rustle. Soft. Too soft for wildlife.

  Minato straightened before he even turned. His hand hovered near the kunai at his thigh. “Obito, stay alert.”

  The next instant, the shadows themselves shifted. A faint blur passed through the treeline, and then a figure in bck appeared before him, crouched low. The porcein mask caught the firelight, an ANBU operative, owl-patterned, expressionless.

  “Jounin Minato Namikaze.” The masked man said, voice ft but respectful. “You are to return to the vilge immediately.”

  Minato’s brows drew together. “On whose order?”

  “The Third Hokage himself.”

  The camp went still. Even Obito stopped talking.

  Minato let out a slow breath, tension slipping into thoughtfulness. Did something happen?

  Iwa hadn’t moved past the probing stages. Skirmishes took pce all across the border, but the full-blown war was not happening. Or at least, not yet. It was a dance he knew well. The skirmishes would escate soon enough, then, just like typical Iwagakure, they would suddenly decre war.

  If it’s not about them, then maybe, another vilge?

  Minato sighed in his mind. Eyes still lingered in the Anbu Ninja, he angled his head to give him an affirmation. “Understood.”

  The masked operative nodded and vanished into the trees, typical of them.

  Minato turned to his team. “Rin, you and Kakashi head back to Konoha at your own pace. And Obito—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Obito said quickly, waving a hand. “I’ll make sure we don’t get lost. Again.”

  “Idiot.” Kakashi mumbled beneath his mask.

  Minato smiled faintly at that, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. He reached into his pouch and withdrew a marked kunai, spinning it between his fingers before setting it into the dirt near Rin’s pack. “If anything happens, use this. I’ll come instantly.”

  Kakashi nodded once. “Understood, Sensei.”

  “See you in Konoha, then.” With quiet inhale, the space folded with a shimmer, a faint fsh of gold cutting through the dim.

  The golden light fred once more, silent as a whisper, and Minato reappeared just outside the office doors. The two ANBU guards stationed nearby barely flinched; they were used to it.

  He straightened his cloak, knocked once before entering.

  Hiruzen Sarutobi stood by the window, pipe in hand, the room was dim except for the soft orange glow of evening light.

  He turned as Minato stepped in, the old man’s eyes steady. However, it was also heavy with something more than duty.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly.” Hiruzen said.

  Minato bowed slightly. “You said it was urgent, Hokage-Sama?”

  Hiruzen exhaled through his pipe, the smoke curling into the fading light. “It is. There’s been a… development regarding Kushina and the weird restaurant.”

  Minato’s face twitched a little, but his experience helped him to keep it from showing.

  “W-what kind of development, Hokage-sama?”

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