"Roff! It's time for a new dish!"

  The bright, almost childish excitement in the voice cut cleanly through the calm.

  Every movement paused.

  She stood at the entrance, twin tails swaying, winter coat patterned with small animals completely at odds with the seriousness of the kitchen. Yet somehow, her presence filled the hall effortlessly.

  Sapphire Rosabelle Astley.

  The owner.

  The noble girl the city would not stop talking about.

  Some trainees stiffened. Others simply stared.

  Roff, however, only lifted his gaze — and there it was.

  That faint spark.

  "My Lady," he greeted evenly. "I was not expecting you."

  "I wasn't expecting this either!" she replied quickly, stepping forward with unmistakable excitement. "But I found something amazing!"

  She placed a small crate on the central counter and pulled away the cloth covering it.

  Inside lay several dark green, oval fruits — rough-skinned, unfamiliar, almost strange against the polished wood of the station.

  A murmur rippled softly through the trainees.

  What is that?

  Roff picked one up, turning it in his hand. His brows knit in curiosity rather than caution.

  "My Lady…?"

  "It's called an avocado!" she announced proudly, already slicing one open.

  The blade parted it smoothly.

  Pale green flesh. Creamy. Glossy. A large seed at its center.

  Several trainees leaned forward without meaning to.

  It didn't look crisp. Didn't look firm.

  It looked soft.

  "Buttery," she continued eagerly. "Mild — but it carries flavor beautifully. I was thinking… we could create something new with this."

  The hall stilled again.

  New

  Roff pressed a thumb gently into the flesh. It yielded easily.

  "You wish to build a dish around it?" he asked.

  "Yes!" Her eyes shone. "Something warm and crisp… balanced with this cool, creamy texture."

  A brief silence followed her words.

  Warm… and crisp… with that?

  The trainees stared at the halved fruit as if it might explain itself.

  From where she stood, Liora could clearly see the glossy surface of the flesh. It wasn't fibrous like pear. It wasn't segmented like citrus. It didn't even glisten like melon.

  It looked…

  Like softened butter dyed green.

  "That's… edible?" Cael muttered under his breath, not quite quietly enough.

  Elenora leaned slightly closer, careful not to appear disrespectful. "It looks undercooked," she whispered. "Like something that hasn't finished becoming food."

  Jarin frowned. "Or something already spoiled."

  A few stifled sounds of agreement followed.

  The color alone unsettled them. Not vibrant like fresh herbs. Not pale like cream. A muted green that deepened toward the skin and lightened toward the center.

  And that seed—

  Large. Round. Almost like a polished stone sitting in the heart of it.

  Liora tilted her head slightly.

  It didn't look dangerous.

  But it didn't look familiar either.

  Which, in a kitchen trained for precision, was almost the same thing.

  Roff sliced a thin piece and held it up between his fingers. The flesh bent slightly under its own weight.

  Soft.

  No resistance.

  "Is it… meant to be cooked?" someone asked from the back.

  "It doesn't look like it would survive heat," another murmured.

  Saphy only smiled, clearly aware of their doubt.

  "That's the interesting part," she said lightly.

  The trainees exchanged glances again.

  Interesting was not usually the first word they wanted to hear about a new ingredient.

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  Liora watched as the light reflected faintly off the smooth surface. When Roff adjusted his grip, a small indentation remained where his thumb had pressed.

  It bruises easily, she noted silently.

  Delicate.

  Rich-looking.

  Almost luxurious.

  But paired with something crisp and hot?

  Her brows drew together.

  Confusion lingered heavily in the air.

  Not rejection.

  Not resistance.

  Just honest uncertainty.

  It was nothing like the sturdy earth fruits they had mastered.

  Nothing like meat that responded predictably to heat.

  This felt… temperamental.

  Strange.

  And yet—

  No one looked away.

  "Is this all… or are there other ingredients involved?" Roff asked, genuine curiosity threading through his voice.

  Saphy's smile widened slightly.

  "I already asked someone to bring the main ingredient," she said casually, as if what sat on the counter was merely a side note.

  Roff nodded once. He did not question it.

  The trainees, however, exchanged subtle glances.

  If that strange green fruit wasn't the main focus… then what was?

  A few minutes passed in low murmurs and quiet anticipation. The avocado halves remained on the board, their surfaces slowly dulling as air kissed them.

  Then heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  Solid. Measured. Familiar.

  The doors opened again.

  The butcher stepped in, both arms straining slightly beneath the weight of a massive slab of pork belly.

  It was thick. Substantial. Fresh.

  He laid it carefully on the central counter with a muted thud.

  The cut was pristine — the skin on top smooth and pale, scraped completely clean of hair, polished almost to a soft sheen. Not a single bristle remained. The surface looked tight and firm, stretched evenly over a generous layer of creamy white fat beneath. Below that, bands of pink meat ran in clean, distinct layers, marbled beautifully.

  It was immaculate.

  Prepared with care.

  Saphy placed a hand lightly on the slab.

  "This," she said brightly, "is the main ingredient."

  Silence.

  Roff stared at it.

  The students did the same.

  Because it had skin.

  Thick skin.

  Do people even eat pork skin? Roff wondered silently.

  Most kitchens trimmed it away. Rendered fat, perhaps. Used the meat. But the skin?

  The trainees felt the same unease ripple through them. The skin looked tough. Almost rubbery in its raw state.

  Pair that… with the soft green fruit?

  Confusion deepened.

  Yet Roff did not voice doubt.

  He had witnessed enough.

  Strange roots that turned into golden crisps. Techniques that felt unnecessary until they proved revolutionary.

  If she brought it here — there was a reason.

  Saphy clasped her hands behind her back and looked up at him expectantly.

  "Roff, it's the same as always. I tell you the process… and you execute."

  A slow breath left him.

  "Yes, my Lady."

  He reached for his knife.

  The familiar weight settled into his palm.

  And though his expression remained composed —

  There was a spark in his eyes.

  Curiosity.

  Challenge.

  Excitement.

  Roff adjusted his grip slightly, blade angled toward the untouched pork belly.

  Ready.

  Knife in hand.

  And stars quietly beginning to form in his gaze.

  Roff picked up the massive pork belly, placing it carefully on the board.

  "First, we clean it," Saphy said brightly. "Make sure the surface is smooth and ready for slicing."

  He grabbed a damp cloth and ran it over the skin, slowly at first, feeling the subtle texture beneath his fingers. The rough bumps of the raw skin disappeared under his careful strokes, leaving a polished, almost reflective surface. The fat beneath gleamed faintly, and the pink marbled meat peeked just below the white layer. Every movement was deliberate.

  "Now, cut it into strips," Saphy instructed, her eyes sparkling. "About an inch to an inch and a half thick. Long enough to keep the skin, fat, and meat together in each piece."

  Roff's hands moved smoothly, almost like a dance. The knife glided through the pork belly with a quiet, precise rhythm. Each slice fell in line with the last, identical in size and thickness. The edges were straight, the surfaces clean. He didn't hesitate. He didn't fumble. Every motion was controlled, efficient, exact.

  The students leaned closer, drawn by the projection of the magic broadcast. Every angle, every cut, every flick of his wrist was visible in perfect clarity across the hall. They could see how he positioned the knife just above the skin, angling slightly to protect the flesh below while ensuring each slice was uniform.

  Some of them gasped quietly. Liora, observing the subtle wrist rotations, could hardly believe how effortlessly the blade sliced through the thick meat.

  They had no idea of Roff's true pedigree. Roff, whose full name was Roffin Alaric Montclair, came from a noble family with an impressive culinary lineage. His grandfather had served as a royal chef, crafting dishes for kings and nobles alike. After his retirement, Roffin's father had continued in the castle kitchens, as had his older brother. Precision, discipline, and skill were not just taught — they were inherited.

  Seeing him in action, it was easy to understand why. Every slice carried decades of tradition, passed down silently from one generation to the next. It wasn't just technique. It was heritage.

  The students, wide-eyed, watched as the pork belly transformed under his hands — from a massive, intimidating slab into neat, uniform strips, ready for the next step. Even with all the strange ingredients and unfamiliar techniques Saphy had brought, it was clear that Roff's mastery was something untouchable, something that demanded both respect and awe.

  Roff carefully lifted the neatly sliced pork strips and placed them into a large stock pot. The vessel was deep, wide enough to let the meat move freely as it cooked. He filled it with fresh water, watching the liquid ripple around the pink-and-white strips.

  A pinch of salt fell in, followed by a few twists of black pepper. Thin slices of ginger were added, their sharp, spicy aroma lifting immediately from the surface. A couple of bay leaves were dropped in, floating lazily like tiny green rafts. The fragrance shifted, warming the hall subtly even before the heat touched the pot.

  He set the pot over high heat, the flames licking the sides. Soon, the water began to tremble, then bubble, and finally break into a rolling boil. Steam rose in gentle waves, carrying the scents of meat and spice to every corner of the hall.

  Once the water reached a vigorous boil, Roff reduced the flame to medium-low. The movement in the pot slowed, and the turbulence of the boil calmed. The scum — a pale, foamy residue — gathered naturally on the surface.

  Roff picked up a skimmer and worked methodically, brushing the foam aside with precise, practiced movements. The students watched intently, some leaning forward as the scum collected at the edge and was removed cleanly.

  With the impurities skimmed off, the water now clear, Roff let the pork continue to simmer gently. The strips bobbed softly, slowly cooking through while retaining their shape. The aroma deepened, rich and inviting, signaling that the pork was nearing tender perfection.

  The magic broadcast captured every ripple, every flicker of steam, every subtle movement, allowing the students to follow along as if they were right beside him. They could see exactly how the simmering water, combined with careful skimming, transformed raw strips into a clean, cooked foundation for the dish.

  The students stood in quiet awe, watching the pork strips settle in the simmering pot. Steam curled upward, carrying the subtle fragrances of ginger, bay leaf, and rich pork into every corner of the hall.

  Even in this seemingly simple stage — cleaning, slicing, and simmering — there was a lesson in patience, precision, and respect for the ingredients. They didn't fully understand how this unusual combination of pork and avocado would transform into a new creation, but the care with which Roff handled every step made it clear: excellence was built from the very beginning.

  And in that moment, the hall wasn't just a place for practice. It was a place of learning, observation, and inspiration — where every bubble in the pot, every slice of meat, every careful movement carried the promise of something extraordinary yet to come.

  The students exchanged glances, excitement and curiosity mingling with a touch of nervousness. Today, they were not just cooking. They were witnessing mastery.