My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!-Chapter 246: Marron is Put to the Test (2)

[STATION TWO - ORDINARY TOOLS: CHICKEN AND RICE]

Marron turned back to check the chicken—

—and found it burning.

She’d gotten distracted by Edmund’s question, lost track of time, and now the skin was charring black on one side. It wasn’t intentional, like her grilled hot dogs.

I’m getting distracted. Having the tools meant I could let my mind wander...and things were okay.

She flipped them quickly, heart sinking. Salvageable, but not good. The burned side would have bitter notes. The texture would be wrong.

"Mistake noted," a Council member said clinically.

Marron gritted her teeth and checked the rice. It was done—slightly overcooked, actually, the grains beginning to stick together. She’d left it covered too long while dealing with the chicken.

She removed it from heat and fluffed it quickly, trying to separate the grains, but some damage was done.

Not terrible. Edible. Fine.

But not excellent. Not perfect.

Just... adequate.

[STATION ONE - LEGENDARY TOOLS: CHICKEN AND RICE]

She approached the second chicken and rice dish—the one where she’d use her tools.

The Precision Blade prepped chicken in seconds. Perfect cuts. Perfect seasoning. She laid the thighs on the Food Cart’s fire plate, which had already adjusted to ideal grilling temperature.

The chicken cooked evenly, the fire plate compensating for any hot spots automatically. Marron flipped them once—not because she had to, but because it felt right—and they came out with perfect grill marks and crispy, golden skin.

The rice was measured by the Generous Ladle—exactly right without her needing to think about ratios—and cooked in the Copper Pot at precisely maintained temperature. She could have walked away and come back to perfect rice. No attention required.

It was effortless.

It was also obvious why Edmund was concerned.

This didn’t look like cooking. This looked like being a passenger in a process that was happening through her rather than because of her.

[STATION TWO - ORDINARY TOOLS: SOUP]

The final dish. Chicken soup made with ordinary cookware.

Marron started from the beginning—chopping vegetables with a standard knife (slower, less uniform, but adequate), sautéing in a regular pot (she had to adjust heat three times to prevent burning), adding stock measured with a normal measuring cup (she second-guessed herself twice and ended up with slightly too much liquid).

The chicken went in. The noodles went in. She tasted and adjusted seasoning—too little salt, so she added more, then worried she’d added too much and added a pinch of sugar to balance.

The soup was good. Really good, actually. But it required constant attention. Constant adjustment. Constant decision-making.

And it took twice as long as the version made with Legendary Tools.

By the time she finished, Marron was exhausted. Sweating. Her hands were cramping from constant stirring and checking and managing four different elements simultaneously.

But she was done. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Four dishes laid out before the Council. Two made with magic. Two made with skill alone.

Edmund stood and approached the stations, the other Council members following.

"Presentation," he said, examining each dish. "The Legendary versions are objectively superior. Perfect color, ideal texture, professional appearance. The ordinary versions are..." He paused. "Competent. Acceptable. But noticeably less refined."

He gestured to the gray-haired woman. "Councilor Vess, you’re our resident culinary expert. Please taste and assess."

Councilor Vess—apparently related to Aldric somehow—approached with a critical eye. She tasted all four dishes methodically, making notes on a small pad.

Finally, she spoke. "The soups: The Legendary version is flawless. Perfect seasoning, ideal texture, the kind of soup you’d pay premium prices for at a high-end establishment. The ordinary version is very good—better than I could make—but noticeably less balanced. Slightly oversalted, broth a touch thin."

She moved to the chicken and rice. "Similar story. The Legendary version is restaurant quality. The ordinary version is home-cooking quality. Both delicious, both would satisfy, but the difference in technical execution is significant."

She looked at Marron with something like sympathy. "Which tells us the tools are absolutely amplifying your output. The question is whether they’re amplifying existing skill or replacing it."

"I vote they’re amplifying," said a younger Council member. "She made four dishes simultaneously without major failures. That requires real skill, tools or no tools."

"But she burned the chicken," another member countered. "Lost focus. Made errors. That suggests she’s dependent on magical assistance to maintain quality."

"Or it suggests she’s human and got distracted," Aldric’s voice came from the gallery where witnesses still watched. "Which is completely normal when you’re trying to prove yourself to a hostile audience."

Edmund shot him a disapproving look but didn’t argue the point.

"Miss Louvel," Edmund said, turning to face her. "I want you to answer honestly. When you use these tools, do you feel like yourself? Or do you feel like something else is making decisions through you?"

Marron wiped her hands on her apron, thinking carefully about her answer.

"I feel like myself," she said slowly. "But a version of myself that has very good partners. The tools make suggestions—perfect angles for cutting, ideal temperatures for cooking, appropriate portions for serving. But I can refuse those suggestions. I have refused them."

"When?" Edmund pressed.

"Earlier. During the soup. The Precision Blade wanted me to work faster. I deliberately slowed down because I wanted to maintain my own pace." Marron met his eyes. "If I was being controlled, I couldn’t have done that."

"Or the tools allowed you to think you were choosing while actually guiding you toward their desired outcome," Edmund said.

"That’s circular logic," the Champion interjected from beside Marron. "By that standard, no one could ever prove they have free will. You could always claim any choice is secretly manipulation."

"Which is precisely my point," Edmund said. "We can’t know for certain. And when we can’t know for certain with artifacts this powerful, the safe choice is containment."

"The safe choice is also the coward’s choice," the Champion said, her voice sharp. "You’re so afraid of what might go wrong that you’re preventing anything from going right."

The Council chamber erupted in murmurs—some agreeing, some protesting, all talking over each other.

Edmund raised his hand for silence. "Enough. This demonstration has shown us what we needed to see. Miss Westfield is clearly skilled in her own right, but the tools significantly enhance her output. The question remains whether that enhancement comes with unacceptable risk."

He returned to his seat. "The Council will now vote. Miss Louvel, you and your companions will wait outside while we deliberate on our decision."

Marron wanted to argue, to say more, to somehow prove definitively that she was in control.

But the Champion touched her arm gently. "You’ve done all you can. The rest is up to them."

They gathered the tools and left the chamber, leaving the four dishes behind as evidence.

In the hallway, Marron slumped against the wall.

"I burned the chicken," she said miserably.

"You made four dishes at once while being judged by twelve people who want to take away your partners," Mokko said. "I’m impressed you only burned one thing."

"But it proves I need the tools—"

"It proves you’re human," Jenny interrupted. "That councilor was right. You got distracted. Anyone would."

"They’re going to take them," Marron said. "I can feel it. They’re going to say I’m too dependent, too risky, and they’re going to lock my tools away."

The Champion was quiet for a moment. Then: "Maybe. Or maybe they’ll surprise you."

"You don’t believe that."

"I believe Edmund Erwell is scared. But he’s not stupid. And he’s not cruel." The Champion looked toward the closed chamber doors. "He genuinely thinks he’s protecting people. The question is whether he can see past his fear to recognize what you’ve actually proven today."

"Which is?"

"That you’re good enough to be trusted. Not perfect. Not infallible. But good enough."

They waited.

Inside the chamber, twelve people debated the fate of Marron’s partnership with tools that had become more than equipment. They’d become companions. Teachers. Friends.

And she might be about to lose them.