Mokko had been watching Marron all day. Her movements were careful, deliberate—the way someone moved when everything hurt but they refused to admit it.
By midafternoon, she was worse. He'd watched her nearly drop a stockpot and had seen her wince every time she gripped a knife.
When Lyra appeared with that basin of herb-scented water and ordered Marron to soak her hands, Mokko felt something twist in his chest.
Seventeen chefs. I've worked with them in this lifetime, and all of them tried to push through the pain, exactly like this.
He grew silent and contemplative, even as he continued to trade with the beastkin that approached Comfort & Crunch.
+
Master Chen collapsed over a pot of soup, hands so swollen he couldn't hold a ladle. Chef Marta worked three days straight before her assistant found her asleep standing up. Even gentle Chef Pauline ignored her trembling fingers until she dropped a cleaver.
He'd suggested rest to all of them. Every one said "later."
But Lyra—she wasn't even Marron's culinary guardian. Just her friend. And she'd done what he couldn't.
"Mokko, I don't think I can make it back in time to trade with the other beastkin. Would you mind--?"
"Nope, not at all. I'll watch the cart for you." He was already moving before she finished speaking.
+
Alone with the cart, Mokko stared at the remaining ingredients. Most of the rice balls were gone—good trades all morning. A bearkin had exchanged tender chicken thighs for six. A wolfkin trader had swapped flour and butter for four more.
What was his role, exactly? He kept things clean, helped with prep, handled trades when asked.
But was that enough? All of the other beastkin seemed to think so. Now that Marron wasn't with him, they just interacted with her food cart like he owned it.
I appreciate the compliments, but...I'll always be seen with a human. Or human-adjacent beings. He had been a normal bear once, but he felt like it was his calling.
And so far, he'd only had one or two regrets that came with the job.
+
The system had paired him with Marron for a reason. Culinary guardians weren't just assistants—they were protectors. Not just of ingredients or equipment, but of the chef themselves.
I've always been afraid of overstepping. He recalled when a chef shouted at him because he was "just a bear" and they "had been a professional chef for 20 years."
Since then, he'd been far too gentle with the chefs he'd gotten.
But this girl was different. If she listened to Lyra, maybe...it was all right to push back when she said she was fine.
Mokko took a deep breath and wiped his nose with one large paw.
Usually cooking is a good way to reset my thoughts. I can't make very complex things, but I can manage some good biscuits.
As he was a very large bear, learning how to bake made him better at controlling his strength.
The biscuit dough came together easily under his palms. Flour, butter, a touch of milk, salt. Simple but honest food. He worked it with the patience seventeen chefs had taught him.
Don't overwork. Let the butter stay cold. Gentle hands make tender bread.
He rolled it out, cut neat rounds with an old cup. The chicken thighs were perfect—skin crispy from the bearkin's roasting, meat falling off the bone. He shredded it carefully, seasoning with herbs from Marron's collection.
Into the small steamer they went. The brass fittings gleamed as steam began to rise, filling the cart area with warm, comforting scents.
When the biscuits emerged, they were golden and fluffy. He split them open, revealing soft, pillowy centers that released clouds of steam. The seasoned chicken layered in perfectly, juices soaking into the bread.
Simple and filling.
He could even consider it comfort food. The sort that he'd give to somebody to tell them, "Rest. Eat this. It's going to be okay."
A young foxkin approached, coin purse ready.
"Chef's resting," Mokko said quietly. "But I've got chicken biscuits."
The foxkin's ears perked. "Those smell incredible. What can I trade...?"
She pulled out wildflower honey, amber-gold and fragrant. Worth more than a single sandwich, but she looked tired.
"Deal." Mokko wrapped a warm biscuit in cloth paper. "Tell your grandmother her honey will make tomorrow's bread special."
More customers came as word spread.
Each trade felt fair.
By sunset, he'd moved nearly everything and collected goods that would give Marron options tomorrow.
+
Later on, he closed the stall and watched it transform back into a food cart. While he'd been working, he hadn't noticed Lucy around anywhere.
When he reached the fountain, he found Marron there, looking much happier. Her hands were finally relaxed, and the little blue slime was crawling across her arms.
She kind of looks like a snail cat. Mokko reached out and gently tapped Lucy's gelatinous form with one claw. She burbled delightedly. "Mokko!"
"You can talk?"
"Yeah!" Lucy said happily. Marron giggled. "She can say very simple sentences. Lyra said she'd be back tomorrow--she had to finish planting the apple trees."
Mokko nodded and sat down on the dusty concrete floor next to the food cart. There was no way he'd fit on the rim of the fountain.
"Feeling better?" he asked, offering the wrapped sandwich he'd saved.
"Much. Thank you for handling things." She unwrapped it carefully. The biscuit was still warm, the chicken fragrant. One bite and her eyes closed in appreciation.
"This is really good, Mokko. When did you learn to make these?"
"Chef Pauline taught me. She said guardians should know comfort food—for when chefs work too hard."
Marron paused mid-bite. "Ah."
They sat in comfortable silence. The fountain burbled softly.
"I should have listened when you said to rest," Marron said finally.
"I should have been more insistent." Mokko watched Lucy work. "I'm your guardian. That means protecting you from overwork, not just helping you do more of it."
"Deal. Next time you tell me to rest, I'll listen."
"Next time I'll be clearer about it being an order, not a suggestion."
Marron laughed. "Yes, sir."
Lucy blooped approvingly and crawled onto the food cart, cleaning each pot and pan.
"She's really good at organizing your tools," Mokko pointed out. Lucy had already finished organizing three pots and pans by size.
"I'm very glad we adopted her," Marron grinned. "Hard to stay organized when I just think about the next thing we're going to cook."
That, Mokko agreed with.
Even watchers—and tiny helpers—deserved their place in this strange little family they were building.