The silence was terrifying.
Megrie clutched the bowl as if it were her last lifeline.
She knew how absurd her situation was.
Breaking into a private home.
Using someone else's kitchen.
And now—three weapons pressed against her.
In this world, any one of those crimes
was enough to land her in prison.
But she was simply too hungry.
"…If you're going to turn me in," she said, drawing a deep breath.
Her voice trembled, though she tried hard to steady it.
"Could you at least let me finish this bowl first?"
All three men froze.
The patrol guard, Aaron, frowned first, his tone stern.
"This isn't a matter of whether I can grant that request."
He was the order of the town itself.
The embodiment of rules.
The woodcutter, Chino, said nothing.
He stared at the bowl of noodles, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
It really… smelled incredible.
Not the greasy richness of heavy food,
nor the sharp fragrance of expensive spices.
It was a scent that made the stomach tighten—
as if the entire body was responding to it.
The homeowner, Kai, finally lowered his wooden staff.
Not completely.
Just slightly.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Megrie," she answered immediately.
Kai's gaze flicked to her overly thin wrist,
then back to the bowl of noodles.
Something complicated passed through his eyes.
"Do you know," he said slowly,
"that this town hasn't smelled anything like this in a very long time?"
Megrie blinked.
She hadn't thought that far ahead.
She had simply used the bare minimum of ingredients
to make food that was edible, delicious, and not wasteful.
It was the most basic principle she had followed as a chef.
Chino finally couldn't hold back anymore.
His voice was low and honest.
"…Can I try a bite?"
Aaron snapped his head toward him.
"Chino!"
"Just one bite," Chino said, scratching his head.
His sincerity made it sound less like a crime and more like a plea.
"I chopped wood all day. I'm starving."
Almost instinctively, Megrie nudged the bowl forward.
"You can," she said.
At that moment,
Aaron finally sheathed his sword completely.
Chino took the bowl, carefully lifting a small portion of noodles with the chopsticks.
He blew on them.
Then placed them into his mouth.
He chewed.
And then—
He stopped.
It wasn't exaggerated shock.
Not loud praise.
It was the kind of reaction where a person suddenly goes quiet.
"…Ah," he let out a soft breath.
It wasn't really a sound.
It was more like his body had remembered something.
"Well?" Kai asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
Chino took another bite, noticeably faster this time.
"It's not like the food nobles eat,"
he said after some thought, struggling to find the right words.
"But… it's real."
Aaron unconsciously took a step closer.
"Let me try," he said.
Only after speaking did he realize how abrupt he sounded.
He cleared his throat and added,
"I need to confirm whether it contains any prohibited ingredients."
Even he didn't quite believe that excuse.
Kai took the bowl without comment and handed it to Aaron.
Aaron ate with restraint.
One bite.
But as soon as it touched his tongue,
the tension between his brows slowly eased.
A body accustomed to cold rations and dried provisions
felt as if it had been gently supported by something warm.
"…There's no issue," he said quietly.
Finally, the bowl reached Kai.
The homeowner.
The true master of the house.
He smelled it first.
Then he ate.
His reaction was the slowest—
but also the deepest.
"This noodle," he said, lifting his gaze to Megrie,
"wasn't made just to fill the stomach."
Megrie froze.
Kai continued, his tone serious.
"It makes you want to keep living."
The kitchen fell silent.
Only a thin layer of broth remained in the bowl.
Chino looked at the empty bowl, then at Megrie's frail frame, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.
"…Uh," he chuckled awkwardly.
"Did we just… eat your dinner?"
Megrie stared blankly for two seconds.
Then she smiled.
Not in grievance.
Not in appeasement.
But the kind of smile that comes from finally being treated as a person.
"It's okay," she said.
"I can cook again."
Those words
made all three men look up at once.
That night,
no one turned her in.
And inside that small kitchen,
a revolution about food
quietly lit its very first flame.